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Stand By Me 17
I just might finish this one without that pesky little month long wait in between!
I'd like to wave hello to the new folks here--wave! Thanks for joining us! Why are you here? And not in a clutch my throat with a look of horror way, picture me looking all curious and interested and if you like, you can picture me really cute--
His parents were downstairs, listening to some crap on the radio—some music program—Your Shit Parade or something—he didn’t like listening to the radio—if he got bored he read a book, or played with people. Why listen to canned music on the radio when you could hear it live? And not that sweet stuff his parents listened to—real swing stuff, that’s what he liked. When he felt like it, he went to the roadhouse outside of town, or went to the nigger—*Negro* juke-joint on the other side of town. Damn it! Clark was taking over his mind. He was making him think about –everything. Things he’d taken for granted his whole life. It wasn’t comfortable. It was confusing and irritating, and it gave him a headache.
He had to agree with Clark though—the more he thought about it, the less sense all this bullshit made. Folks weren’t *really* all that different—all pussy was pink after all, all dick worked the same. And there was a lot of stuff people said about *that* that wasn’t true—most of it wasn’t. Fuck, if that wasn’t true why should anything else be? He’d been to Pete’s house a couple of times, even been inside, and it was cleaner than this house. They were nice to him too. Maybe--*probably* just because he was Clark's friend—but still.
Whitney scrubbed his hand over his head and sighed. Since when did it matter to him what niggers thought about him? Since Clark—damn him. He’s bugging my life!
Whitney wasn’t used to caring about other people or what they thought. It was weird –unnatural. He didn’t have to please anyone—they wanted to please him. That was the way it was supposed to be. And he got what he wanted, when he wanted it. No one could tell him no. That was the beauty of it—no one could.
It had been so different when he was a baby boy...he might as well have been invisible then. No one saw him or cared about him, least of all his parents.They were vaguely kind, but his father spent all his time at the store and his mother spent all her time doing charity work or whatever it was women with pretensions of being more than middle class did. They had a nanny who took care of him. She might not have been the most loving person, but she kept him fed and clean and patched up when he needed it.
The nanny died when a meteorite caved her head in and after that, people finally started to pay attention to Whitney. They began to really hear him, really see him and whatever he wanted, he got. Sometimes he had to work at it, and sometimes he got it right away.
God worked in mysterious ways certainly. His parents behaved themselves; he did what he wanted and they did what he wanted. It was good--in fact, great.
And then one day, he noticed Clark Kent—and everything turned upside down.
Clark— what a surprise he turned out to be. He didn’t have to work at all to get Clark to do what he wanted-- he *wanted* to do it. Clark was such a homo—he loved all of it. It made him kind of cute.
He was cute… nice to look at, all that black hair, he liked following the line of hair down his belly to his cock, he liked the way Clark's eyes shot open each time like it was a surprise….
Whit rolled flat and slipped a hand into his boxers, stroked idly—thinking about Clark, thinking about Lex…both of them, together…how hard would it be to make that happen? …I just need to give them a little nudge. Clark might be harder to convince that way—that bible thumping did effect him in a lot of ways, but. Whitney grinned. Clark—loved that boy-- What a picture though, the three of them—Whitney shivered and gripped harder—yeah, maybe Clark in him, him sucking Lex…or Lex fucking him while he sucked up every bit of Clark and his beautiful cock and—and—god he loved Clark---oh—oh—god!
Whitney rode out the waves of a truly satisfying solo orgasm as his words bounced around inside his skull—Well fuck.
######
Whitney started thinking about other people. He wanted to understand other people. At least, the people that impacted his life. Clark loved Lex, and he loved Clark and he liked Lex a lot, so--he watched Lex. He tried to see what it was that drove him, what kept him in the center of that dark cloud. He began feeling Lex might need a hand.
Whitney took to watching Lionel also, wondering if his speculations were true.
He turned up at the radio station when they were both there—he showed at church, making his mother happy, he showed up at the drug store, at the diner, and he watched. He saw Lex wince when his dad pat him, he saw how hot Lionel’s eyes got sometime when he watched Lex preach. Yeah—he was on fire for something…
Whitney figured it was time to step in. Lex could probably use the break, but mostly, he told himself, there was something to be gained here.
The afternoon sun beat hard on the street outside and Whitney sat gratefully in the relative coolness of the drug store and leaned against the soda fountain counter. He swung his stool idly and crunched on the ice in his glass, sipping the watery pop left in it. When the fan swept his way, he leaned into the breeze, eyes closed. The soda jerk asked him if he wanted another pop, and Whit smiled to himself. He shook his head and ignored him.
Yeah, the poor kid had hardly known what hit him; one minute they’d been yakking it up, the next--on the floor in the storeroom. The kid had been good, but not that good. Still. Whitney smirked, remembering the kid shaking in his lap and screaming his brains out.
Now he spent all his time trying to get Whitney to do him again and probably driving his girl friend nuts. Whit grinned. No one could say no to him. No one.
And look here, just what the doctor ordered.
Lionel was walking up the street in that damn Lord of The Manor way he had. Ass. Time to throw out a line, see if it caught. He stared out through the glass doors of the drug store, could see Lionel snaking his way through the cars parked at the curb outside. His hat was off, and he was patting his forehead with a large white handkerchief and he had a big silver topped cane in the other. Whitney snickered, as far as he knew there was no reason for him to carry the cane—it was just another in a long list of affectations Lionel had. What a mook.
He thought“You need to come in here, get cool.”
It didn't take long—Lionel was walking into the drug store, headed for the fountain and Whit smiled. Always easier to nudge them along in the direction they wanted to be nudged, even if they didn’t know it. He cut his eyes at the kid behind the counter, and grinned, watched him blush. Sometimes all they needed was a little push.
Lionel looked at him immediately upon sitting down. That slow crawl of eyes over him, he knew the look from plenty of people and almost always ignored it. But this time…he smiled at the man.
part one of Whit's...plan.
I'd like to wave hello to the new folks here--wave! Thanks for joining us! Why are you here? And not in a clutch my throat with a look of horror way, picture me looking all curious and interested and if you like, you can picture me really cute--
His parents were downstairs, listening to some crap on the radio—some music program—Your Shit Parade or something—he didn’t like listening to the radio—if he got bored he read a book, or played with people. Why listen to canned music on the radio when you could hear it live? And not that sweet stuff his parents listened to—real swing stuff, that’s what he liked. When he felt like it, he went to the roadhouse outside of town, or went to the nigger—*Negro* juke-joint on the other side of town. Damn it! Clark was taking over his mind. He was making him think about –everything. Things he’d taken for granted his whole life. It wasn’t comfortable. It was confusing and irritating, and it gave him a headache.
He had to agree with Clark though—the more he thought about it, the less sense all this bullshit made. Folks weren’t *really* all that different—all pussy was pink after all, all dick worked the same. And there was a lot of stuff people said about *that* that wasn’t true—most of it wasn’t. Fuck, if that wasn’t true why should anything else be? He’d been to Pete’s house a couple of times, even been inside, and it was cleaner than this house. They were nice to him too. Maybe--*probably* just because he was Clark's friend—but still.
Whitney scrubbed his hand over his head and sighed. Since when did it matter to him what niggers thought about him? Since Clark—damn him. He’s bugging my life!
Whitney wasn’t used to caring about other people or what they thought. It was weird –unnatural. He didn’t have to please anyone—they wanted to please him. That was the way it was supposed to be. And he got what he wanted, when he wanted it. No one could tell him no. That was the beauty of it—no one could.
It had been so different when he was a baby boy...he might as well have been invisible then. No one saw him or cared about him, least of all his parents.They were vaguely kind, but his father spent all his time at the store and his mother spent all her time doing charity work or whatever it was women with pretensions of being more than middle class did. They had a nanny who took care of him. She might not have been the most loving person, but she kept him fed and clean and patched up when he needed it.
The nanny died when a meteorite caved her head in and after that, people finally started to pay attention to Whitney. They began to really hear him, really see him and whatever he wanted, he got. Sometimes he had to work at it, and sometimes he got it right away.
God worked in mysterious ways certainly. His parents behaved themselves; he did what he wanted and they did what he wanted. It was good--in fact, great.
And then one day, he noticed Clark Kent—and everything turned upside down.
Clark— what a surprise he turned out to be. He didn’t have to work at all to get Clark to do what he wanted-- he *wanted* to do it. Clark was such a homo—he loved all of it. It made him kind of cute.
He was cute… nice to look at, all that black hair, he liked following the line of hair down his belly to his cock, he liked the way Clark's eyes shot open each time like it was a surprise….
Whit rolled flat and slipped a hand into his boxers, stroked idly—thinking about Clark, thinking about Lex…both of them, together…how hard would it be to make that happen? …I just need to give them a little nudge. Clark might be harder to convince that way—that bible thumping did effect him in a lot of ways, but. Whitney grinned. Clark—loved that boy-- What a picture though, the three of them—Whitney shivered and gripped harder—yeah, maybe Clark in him, him sucking Lex…or Lex fucking him while he sucked up every bit of Clark and his beautiful cock and—and—god he loved Clark---oh—oh—god!
Whitney rode out the waves of a truly satisfying solo orgasm as his words bounced around inside his skull—Well fuck.
######
Whitney started thinking about other people. He wanted to understand other people. At least, the people that impacted his life. Clark loved Lex, and he loved Clark and he liked Lex a lot, so--he watched Lex. He tried to see what it was that drove him, what kept him in the center of that dark cloud. He began feeling Lex might need a hand.
Whitney took to watching Lionel also, wondering if his speculations were true.
He turned up at the radio station when they were both there—he showed at church, making his mother happy, he showed up at the drug store, at the diner, and he watched. He saw Lex wince when his dad pat him, he saw how hot Lionel’s eyes got sometime when he watched Lex preach. Yeah—he was on fire for something…
Whitney figured it was time to step in. Lex could probably use the break, but mostly, he told himself, there was something to be gained here.
The afternoon sun beat hard on the street outside and Whitney sat gratefully in the relative coolness of the drug store and leaned against the soda fountain counter. He swung his stool idly and crunched on the ice in his glass, sipping the watery pop left in it. When the fan swept his way, he leaned into the breeze, eyes closed. The soda jerk asked him if he wanted another pop, and Whit smiled to himself. He shook his head and ignored him.
Yeah, the poor kid had hardly known what hit him; one minute they’d been yakking it up, the next--on the floor in the storeroom. The kid had been good, but not that good. Still. Whitney smirked, remembering the kid shaking in his lap and screaming his brains out.
Now he spent all his time trying to get Whitney to do him again and probably driving his girl friend nuts. Whit grinned. No one could say no to him. No one.
And look here, just what the doctor ordered.
Lionel was walking up the street in that damn Lord of The Manor way he had. Ass. Time to throw out a line, see if it caught. He stared out through the glass doors of the drug store, could see Lionel snaking his way through the cars parked at the curb outside. His hat was off, and he was patting his forehead with a large white handkerchief and he had a big silver topped cane in the other. Whitney snickered, as far as he knew there was no reason for him to carry the cane—it was just another in a long list of affectations Lionel had. What a mook.
He thought“You need to come in here, get cool.”
It didn't take long—Lionel was walking into the drug store, headed for the fountain and Whit smiled. Always easier to nudge them along in the direction they wanted to be nudged, even if they didn’t know it. He cut his eyes at the kid behind the counter, and grinned, watched him blush. Sometimes all they needed was a little push.
Lionel looked at him immediately upon sitting down. That slow crawl of eyes over him, he knew the look from plenty of people and almost always ignored it. But this time…he smiled at the man.
part one of Whit's...plan.
Re: Oh, yeah!