Stand By Me 5
2/8/05 08:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThis is the part where I play with my new toy, and post every day. Then reality sets in, and it doesn't flow as quickly--and then the middle slump--then bang! it's back for a bit--and then we drag into homebase crawling over broken glass. Is it like that for anyone else? heh.
But in the mean time--this is the best fun ever!
Previous Parts are here,swinging their partners between their legs...dancing? Who's dancing?
Saturday morning, he mucked out the stalls, dropped fresh straw, brought the cows into the milking shed, put out feed, got them washed and hooked up to the milking machine and his dad came in to take over.
“Pete’s here son, tractor’s being cranky again. If you’re done you can watch him work on it,” Which was his dad’s way of acknowledging he and Pete were friends. It wasn’t approval, but it was the best Clark could hope for. He grinned at his dad.
“Thanks. I think I will”
His dad was moving down the shed and called out over his shoulder, “You can bring some of your mom’s pie out to the yard if you want.”
Clark grinned even wider, “Yes sir!” and sprinted for the yard.
Pete was elbows deep in the tractor, a smear of grease on one cheek and a frown on his lips. Clark watched him quietly, Pete was so interesting when he worked, he wore his real face then, not the carefully schooled look of affable semi-idiocy he generally showed to white folks, excluding Clark. He muttered to himself and frowned and cursed under his breath—Clark had to use his Hearing to catch that and it always made him snicker. Pete heard him then and looked up, smiled when he saw it was Clark.
“Man, you scared me good-I thought it was your pa—and me over here cursing.” They could hear the dogs barking crazily at the end of the drive and looked over to see trucks moving up the road, Revival! painted on the side of one in purple, surrounded by golden rays. A fancy car brought up the rear. The boys looked at each other.
“We sneaking out there?” Pete asked, a wicked grin making his brown eyes shine.
“Oh, heck yeah!” Clark laughed, “besides I know you can’t let that car go by without seeing it up close!”
######
Saturday afternoon was his own time and Pete and he ran out to the field they were setting the tent up in. It was quite something to see, not as big by far as some he’d read about and not even as big as the one he’d seen in county, but it was beautiful to make up for size. It was purple and white and fluttered in the breeze as the men pulled and yanked and wrestled it into shape. The canvas snapped like a ships sail when a stiff breeze caught it and Clark grinned, imagined it sailing off into the sky.
The boys leaned back and listened to the men yell instructions back and forth, the breeze they fought against kept the bright afternoon sun from getting too hot—Clark had splurged and bought pops and Pete had a little bag of lemon drops he’d bought, knowing they were Clark’s favorite. It was a pretty fine way to spend a lazy afternoon.
Pete spotted the preacher’s car, and proceeded to tell Clark all about it—one of the families Pete did work for received car magazines and catalogs in the mail, and Pete got all the old issues, there wasn’t much that Pete didn’t know about cars. What Clark knew about them he figured, you could fit in a thimble and still have room for more.
“It’s a Cord Phaeton, Clark. Nice car…” Pete was lost in admiration and rattled off something about the engine and the interior, and Clark just liked the way the sun flared off the chrome and the lovely deep purple color. Suddenly a smaller, racier car swung up behind the big car, throwing up plumes of dust like smoke and a tall red-headed man jumped out, followed at a slower pace by an equally tall white clad figure.
Pet elbowed Clark savagely and Clark rubbed his ribs and pretended it hurt.
“There they are! It’s that evangelist and his boy preacher!”
“Boy preacher?” Clark looked uncertain. “He doesn’t looked like a boy from here.”
At the distance they sat, it was hard to tell, the figures were basically smears of color. Clark glanced quickly at Pete, who was drooling over the new car, and used his Sight—and it seemed that the ‘Boy Preacher’ was right next to him, so close he flinched. The preacher was no longer a boy, but not much older than Clark—maybe a few years? And—and—pretty. Clark blushed. He *was* pretty, with his thick dark red hair and gray eyes and—Clark shivered from head to toe. What was wrong with him? First Whitney and now…
“Can we go, Pete, I gotta get cleaned up before--” his breath hitched in his throat. “Before dinner.”
“Sure thing, Clark, me too,” Pete said. “Those damn cousins are coming for dinner,” he glowered. “Those people—they don’t even *buy* food, they just go around the family. Show up on your doorstep with they plates and forks in they hands, bibs tucked in…They’re cheap Clark, they’re moochers…”
Clark laughed about loud at Pete’s description of those ‘damn cousins’ and the family, he had a way of making aggravating things seem so funny, and Clark pushed his worries aside. Another time he’d think about it, now he just wanted to enjoy being with his best friend.
######
They split up at the edge of town and Clark walked on toward the farm. He cut through the edge of the fields and headed through a small stand of trees, a shortcut to the farm. It was cooler under the branches of the oaks and smelled nice, there was a hint of sweetness in the air from grasses growing along the road and sunlight shifted through the moving branches. Clark stopped to cool down and enjoy the pleasant scent. Something cracked fallen twigs behind him and he whirled around.
“It’s just me.”
Whitney. He froze Oh no—wait, I know he couldn’t have seen—a flash of his dream whipped through his mind. Oh no.
“Clark. I haven’t seen you at school lately. Where’ve you been? Don’t farm boys get any days off?” He was smiling and kind of circling him as he talked. “Saw you and Pete Ross up on the field...watching the tent go up, were you?”
There was something about how Whitney said what he said that made him blush and Whitney was closer again.
He sniffed and Clark jumped, “What?”
“Lemon drops,” he said. “I smell lemon drops” and Clark was instantly, horribly, hard. He shoved his hands into his pockets trying to hide the fact. Whit glanced down at the sudden movement and back at Clark, into Clark’s eyes. “I like lemon drops, got any more?”
Clark shook his head and backed up as Whit kept walking closer and closer until he walked him into a tree.
“You okay Clark?” Whit asked his face full of concern, but his eyes were glittering, and the lines that bracketed his mouth quirked. Clark found himself staring at those little lines, they kept getting closer, and suddenly he felt a hot line of pressure across his fly. He gasped.
“Whitney—what—oh!”
Whitney replaced his single finger with his hand. He pressed lightly against Clark.
“You’re beautiful Clark, you know that? I can’t keep my eyes off of you. I see you looking all the time—and you drive me crazy.” and he squeezed again, gaining another gasp from Clark “I bet I can make you forget that clinging vine—she thinks she owns me, but she doesn’t. I do what I want.”
“Please—don’t –don’t …”
“Don’t? Don’t do this?” and he kissed him and it was exactly like his dream, Whit’s lips were soft and warm and pressed against his so softly, gently, and the tip of his tongue slid over his lips and disappeared. Whit pulled back and Clark was breathing so hard he felt light headed and Whit smiled at him, pet him, asked, “Have you never been kissed before, Clark?”
Clark felt himself flame more and Whitney smiled. “That’s… that’s sweet.” He pet Clark again, and Clark tried not to stand on tiptoe and scream when he squeezed him, tried not to rub against his hand. Whit pulled his head forward again and kissed him again, and Clark found his mouth falling open and his head turning just so, giving Whitney access to his mouth, and he found himself sucking on Whitney s tongue, it just seemed right, and when Whitney pulled away Clark *knew* this time he was going to pass out.
“You taste like lemons,” Whitney whispered. “I wonder--”and Clark embarrassed himself beyond belief, he clung hard to Whitney, whined high and tight in his throat and came in his pants. The other boy’s hand was still pressed tight against him and Clark knew he could feel him pulsing, feel the wet spreading and he shoved his face against Whitney’s shoulder, too embarrassed to look at him.
Clark could hear the surprise, the shock, in Whitney’s voice, “Damn Clark, that was, that was…damn.”
He sounded a little less like a slick seducer and more like an awestruck kid—and he couldn’t take that--Clark yanked himself away and ran.
“Wait! Wait!” He heard Whitney call out but he kept running, he was sick, he was a curse, he was some sort of devil, he’d known all along he was evil—here was the proof of it. Because he liked it. It made him afraid and sick and happy and so embarrassed he wanted to die and he wanted to do it again
He pulled his clothes off when he got home and washed them out as best he could, told Mom he’d fallen in the pond. Sadly, it happened enough that she believed him. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be ungainly and clumsy when you were.
He prayed hard and long that night, prayed for dreamless sleep and prayed for time to turn back and for once in his life to just be normal. He prayed he’d forget about the afternoon, and forget about wanting it again. He prayed so hard, and tried not to feel like he was yelling into an empty house….
Tsk! __TBC
But in the mean time--this is the best fun ever!
Previous Parts are here,swinging their partners between their legs...dancing? Who's dancing?
Saturday morning, he mucked out the stalls, dropped fresh straw, brought the cows into the milking shed, put out feed, got them washed and hooked up to the milking machine and his dad came in to take over.
“Pete’s here son, tractor’s being cranky again. If you’re done you can watch him work on it,” Which was his dad’s way of acknowledging he and Pete were friends. It wasn’t approval, but it was the best Clark could hope for. He grinned at his dad.
“Thanks. I think I will”
His dad was moving down the shed and called out over his shoulder, “You can bring some of your mom’s pie out to the yard if you want.”
Clark grinned even wider, “Yes sir!” and sprinted for the yard.
Pete was elbows deep in the tractor, a smear of grease on one cheek and a frown on his lips. Clark watched him quietly, Pete was so interesting when he worked, he wore his real face then, not the carefully schooled look of affable semi-idiocy he generally showed to white folks, excluding Clark. He muttered to himself and frowned and cursed under his breath—Clark had to use his Hearing to catch that and it always made him snicker. Pete heard him then and looked up, smiled when he saw it was Clark.
“Man, you scared me good-I thought it was your pa—and me over here cursing.” They could hear the dogs barking crazily at the end of the drive and looked over to see trucks moving up the road, Revival! painted on the side of one in purple, surrounded by golden rays. A fancy car brought up the rear. The boys looked at each other.
“We sneaking out there?” Pete asked, a wicked grin making his brown eyes shine.
“Oh, heck yeah!” Clark laughed, “besides I know you can’t let that car go by without seeing it up close!”
######
Saturday afternoon was his own time and Pete and he ran out to the field they were setting the tent up in. It was quite something to see, not as big by far as some he’d read about and not even as big as the one he’d seen in county, but it was beautiful to make up for size. It was purple and white and fluttered in the breeze as the men pulled and yanked and wrestled it into shape. The canvas snapped like a ships sail when a stiff breeze caught it and Clark grinned, imagined it sailing off into the sky.
The boys leaned back and listened to the men yell instructions back and forth, the breeze they fought against kept the bright afternoon sun from getting too hot—Clark had splurged and bought pops and Pete had a little bag of lemon drops he’d bought, knowing they were Clark’s favorite. It was a pretty fine way to spend a lazy afternoon.
Pete spotted the preacher’s car, and proceeded to tell Clark all about it—one of the families Pete did work for received car magazines and catalogs in the mail, and Pete got all the old issues, there wasn’t much that Pete didn’t know about cars. What Clark knew about them he figured, you could fit in a thimble and still have room for more.
“It’s a Cord Phaeton, Clark. Nice car…” Pete was lost in admiration and rattled off something about the engine and the interior, and Clark just liked the way the sun flared off the chrome and the lovely deep purple color. Suddenly a smaller, racier car swung up behind the big car, throwing up plumes of dust like smoke and a tall red-headed man jumped out, followed at a slower pace by an equally tall white clad figure.
Pet elbowed Clark savagely and Clark rubbed his ribs and pretended it hurt.
“There they are! It’s that evangelist and his boy preacher!”
“Boy preacher?” Clark looked uncertain. “He doesn’t looked like a boy from here.”
At the distance they sat, it was hard to tell, the figures were basically smears of color. Clark glanced quickly at Pete, who was drooling over the new car, and used his Sight—and it seemed that the ‘Boy Preacher’ was right next to him, so close he flinched. The preacher was no longer a boy, but not much older than Clark—maybe a few years? And—and—pretty. Clark blushed. He *was* pretty, with his thick dark red hair and gray eyes and—Clark shivered from head to toe. What was wrong with him? First Whitney and now…
“Can we go, Pete, I gotta get cleaned up before--” his breath hitched in his throat. “Before dinner.”
“Sure thing, Clark, me too,” Pete said. “Those damn cousins are coming for dinner,” he glowered. “Those people—they don’t even *buy* food, they just go around the family. Show up on your doorstep with they plates and forks in they hands, bibs tucked in…They’re cheap Clark, they’re moochers…”
Clark laughed about loud at Pete’s description of those ‘damn cousins’ and the family, he had a way of making aggravating things seem so funny, and Clark pushed his worries aside. Another time he’d think about it, now he just wanted to enjoy being with his best friend.
######
They split up at the edge of town and Clark walked on toward the farm. He cut through the edge of the fields and headed through a small stand of trees, a shortcut to the farm. It was cooler under the branches of the oaks and smelled nice, there was a hint of sweetness in the air from grasses growing along the road and sunlight shifted through the moving branches. Clark stopped to cool down and enjoy the pleasant scent. Something cracked fallen twigs behind him and he whirled around.
“It’s just me.”
Whitney. He froze Oh no—wait, I know he couldn’t have seen—a flash of his dream whipped through his mind. Oh no.
“Clark. I haven’t seen you at school lately. Where’ve you been? Don’t farm boys get any days off?” He was smiling and kind of circling him as he talked. “Saw you and Pete Ross up on the field...watching the tent go up, were you?”
There was something about how Whitney said what he said that made him blush and Whitney was closer again.
He sniffed and Clark jumped, “What?”
“Lemon drops,” he said. “I smell lemon drops” and Clark was instantly, horribly, hard. He shoved his hands into his pockets trying to hide the fact. Whit glanced down at the sudden movement and back at Clark, into Clark’s eyes. “I like lemon drops, got any more?”
Clark shook his head and backed up as Whit kept walking closer and closer until he walked him into a tree.
“You okay Clark?” Whit asked his face full of concern, but his eyes were glittering, and the lines that bracketed his mouth quirked. Clark found himself staring at those little lines, they kept getting closer, and suddenly he felt a hot line of pressure across his fly. He gasped.
“Whitney—what—oh!”
Whitney replaced his single finger with his hand. He pressed lightly against Clark.
“You’re beautiful Clark, you know that? I can’t keep my eyes off of you. I see you looking all the time—and you drive me crazy.” and he squeezed again, gaining another gasp from Clark “I bet I can make you forget that clinging vine—she thinks she owns me, but she doesn’t. I do what I want.”
“Please—don’t –don’t …”
“Don’t? Don’t do this?” and he kissed him and it was exactly like his dream, Whit’s lips were soft and warm and pressed against his so softly, gently, and the tip of his tongue slid over his lips and disappeared. Whit pulled back and Clark was breathing so hard he felt light headed and Whit smiled at him, pet him, asked, “Have you never been kissed before, Clark?”
Clark felt himself flame more and Whitney smiled. “That’s… that’s sweet.” He pet Clark again, and Clark tried not to stand on tiptoe and scream when he squeezed him, tried not to rub against his hand. Whit pulled his head forward again and kissed him again, and Clark found his mouth falling open and his head turning just so, giving Whitney access to his mouth, and he found himself sucking on Whitney s tongue, it just seemed right, and when Whitney pulled away Clark *knew* this time he was going to pass out.
“You taste like lemons,” Whitney whispered. “I wonder--”and Clark embarrassed himself beyond belief, he clung hard to Whitney, whined high and tight in his throat and came in his pants. The other boy’s hand was still pressed tight against him and Clark knew he could feel him pulsing, feel the wet spreading and he shoved his face against Whitney’s shoulder, too embarrassed to look at him.
Clark could hear the surprise, the shock, in Whitney’s voice, “Damn Clark, that was, that was…damn.”
He sounded a little less like a slick seducer and more like an awestruck kid—and he couldn’t take that--Clark yanked himself away and ran.
“Wait! Wait!” He heard Whitney call out but he kept running, he was sick, he was a curse, he was some sort of devil, he’d known all along he was evil—here was the proof of it. Because he liked it. It made him afraid and sick and happy and so embarrassed he wanted to die and he wanted to do it again
He pulled his clothes off when he got home and washed them out as best he could, told Mom he’d fallen in the pond. Sadly, it happened enough that she believed him. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be ungainly and clumsy when you were.
He prayed hard and long that night, prayed for dreamless sleep and prayed for time to turn back and for once in his life to just be normal. He prayed he’d forget about the afternoon, and forget about wanting it again. He prayed so hard, and tried not to feel like he was yelling into an empty house….
Tsk! __TBC
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2/8/05 11:14 pm (UTC)