Jon's Path by tanj
Alright, listen up. What we got here is your basic homosexual teenage graphic story involving consentual sex. Ready to toss your cookies? If so, I figure you won't wanna read any further, so don't. In fact, if you're reading this part, you probably shouldn't even be here to begin with. Go away.
For those of you who have persevered this far, I hope you enjoy the following glimpse of Jon's path. Salut!
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Jon woke up with a feeling of dissatisfaction on his mind. He lay there with his cock still in his hand and four patches of dried, scaly cum variously positioned on his stomach and chest from the jack-off session an hour or so earlier.
He tried, so hard, to deny the yearnings deep inside as he listened to the tiny basement suite for signs of life. At three-thirty in the morning - Thursday morning - there was little chance his roommate would be awake. The longer Jon lay there, the deeper his despondency became. Seventeen years old, eighteen in just under a month, he knew he could not afford the plans his mind made against his own will. But he had to do something to ease his need.
Getting up as silently as possible he eased his mattress up to deposit his latest magazine back into its hiding place. Stealth was the key. Jon had the bedroom right next to the stairs that descended into the basement. Outside his door were a washer and dryer, another door to the right that led to the rest of the suite, and the stairs climbing to the left. The door to the right was half open, but no light escaped the hallway beyond. He peeked around it to see if Kev's bedroom door was closed. So far, so good; closed and no light shining through the gap at the bottom. He eased the hall door closed and had a delicious burning sensation in his groin as he realized, beyond his conscious control, that he was going to do it. Still nude and rubbing the flaky cum from his torso, Jon slipped into his worn Nikes and climbed the stairs, slowly, his feet staying close to the sides of the treads to minimize the creaking.
At the top of the stairs he checked the locked door leading to the top half of the house. No light reached his eye from the crack at the bottom there either. Jon's cock was almost completely hard as he turned to the exit. As soundless as the dew forming on the grass outside, he slipped out, making sure the door was not locked. It would be disastrous if he were to be locked out - naked - in the middle of the night. Greeted by the late-spring air, his pecker was now completely rigid and bouncing slightly, in time with his pounding heart. A quick scan of every window in sight showed no signs of life. A thrill ran through his entire body.
Silent as the shadows he cast from the streetlights, Jon slipped around the corner of the garage and into the alley. His nuts were drawn up tight to his body, but his cock still strained against it's own sheath of flesh, a single pearl of precum glistening at the circumcised tip. An evil grin stretched his face. He was feeling confident now; he was going to do it! Staying close to the fences, hoping that no dogs were overnighting in their yards, he reached the end of the alley, the street stretching left and right into the 50's style middle class neighbourhood. The burning intensified as he stepped onto the street and looked up and down, almost daring somebody to see him now.
Massaging his tight, wrinkled sac with one hand and his erect nipples with his other, Jon walked casually down the street towards the edge of the steep decline overlooking downtown. A shot of adrenaline coursed through him as a lone car passed through the intersection behind him. He stood stock-still until the quiet of night returned, it didn't take long - obviously the occupant(s) of the vehicle had not seen him. In half a minute or so, Jon reached the winding road that followed the edge of the cliff. Now he planted his feet wide apart and stroked his prick with overt, exaggerated movements. Alternately watching his own fist, the motions of his cock, and the street for witnesses. He was starting to feel rather disappointed; was nobody going to see him? It was no good if the danger of getting caught was not real enough.
As if in answer to a prayer, or fulfilment of a curse, a pick-up truck rounded the curve to his left and came to a sudden - and loud - stop almost as soon as the headlight beams touched Jon. Staring directly at the dark windscreen, Jon's eyes slid shut, his head tilted back and his mouth opened in a silent moan as the cum erupted from his tool in long ropy strands; three, four, five shots splattered the pavement. Jon's head almost immediately snapped back to a position of alertness, in time to see the drivers door open and a darkened head with close-cropped hair appear beside the cab. "You fuckin' PERVERT!!" a males voice rang out as Jon transformed into a blur of motion, sprinting for the relative cover of the nearest alley. Next time, Jon thinks, I'll bring my bike.
The tiny room filled with the sombre notes of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata", Jon's favourite piece to wake up to. His eyes opened slowly and with an almost audible rasp.
Shit, Jon thought, three and a half hours of sleep is not enough when facing a calculus final.
He glanced at his digital clock. Seven-thirty. As listless as his mind was, at this point, he still had enough clarity to admire his ingenious circuitry. The clock was wired to an infrared transmitter, and instead of beeping or turning on the radio at the set time, it beamed a pulse to a receiver wired to his Discman, which was, in turn, wired to a set of car speakers set into handmade cardboard boxes to produce the correct tone. Jon was a bright kid. Interested in electronics, but not too thrilled by the math involved with his hobby. Not that it was difficult... just so damned tedious.
Jon threw on some underwear and left his room. He almost walked face first into the hall door, forgetting that he had closed it tight the night before. A left into the washroom - immediately across the hall from Kev's room - and into the shower. The cold metal of the tub on his feet chased the remainder of sleep from his head, and then he remembered the tight thrill of last night. A crooked, boyish grin split his face at the thought of his naked sojourn and his cock, still half hard from his morning erection, started to rise again. Haven't even pissed yet, Jon mused to himself. Diverting the water from the faucet to the showerhead, he let a warm, golden stream escape. The noise of the shower masked the patter of his urine into the tub; starting at his left foot, rising in a crescendo to the drain, then back to his foot. Now I can pound it, he thought, images of his daring the night before filling his head (you fuckin' PERVERT!).
"Hey, Kev." Jon greeted his roommate who was already at the battered table in the kitchen, reading the newspaper. Shirtless, as was his norm at any time of day or season.
"Hey, Jon." Kev was always reading a newspaper in the morning, as if being current was going to change the state of the world. "You got a final today?"
"Yeah, calculus. Last one. Then I'm free as a bird, all day, every day, for the remainder of my life! Unless you count work or university..." Jon filled a bowl with cereal and milk and rapidly inhaled his impoverished meal.
"Luck, dude." Kev responded while backing away from the carnage between spoon and corn flakes.
"Thanks, mano... later." Jon flashed his grin at Kev and noticed, for the umpteenth time, the butt-ugly face his poor buddy was stuck with. Kev was tall, almost 6'6" and rather lanky, but nicely toned and with a very sexy trail from his navel downwards, disappearing below his unbelted jeans. Otherwise his body was perfectly smooth. Too bad he was so straight, Jon thought, then again, if I ever did get into his pants I'd have to double bag that mug for sure. Shit. Jon gave himself a mental slap for the errant queer thought, which were becoming increasingly dominant inside his head these days. Kev would never dream of anything remotely gay, and, to be sure, he would not appreciate such thoughts from Jon.
Jon hefted his hybrid street cycle - a Schwinn Sierra 700 - from the sturdy hook planted in his bedroom wall and slung it over his shoulder, the other bearing his school bag filled with scraps of paper, totally disorganized notes, his programmable Hewlett Packard 48G, all the stuff you would expect to find in a high school senior's bag. Jon and his bike were practically inseparable. A gift from his parents - before they tossed him out of the house, no, their "Christian home". Up the stairs, out the door and onto his steed in one fluid motion, Jon was off. He could make school in less time than it took the average motorist to drive to the same destination. When he was on his bike, Jon was the wind. He spoke a language with his bike that nobody else knew, couldn't even guess at.
The city was laced with paths that were meant exclusively for cyclists and joggers. That did not, however, mean that Jon had to respect any mere pedestrian. Roller-bladers were the worst. Swooping from side to side, taking up way too much acreage, Jon usually hollered a simple "on your left!" when overtaking them. Sometimes, if the skater were particularly inept, he would pass within millimetres; just for the fun of having them twitch or flail their arms in shock, then look back with his grin and an "I own this path" look on his face.
In fact, here comes one now... Jon thought.
"On your left!"
WOOOSHHH!
Ha-haaa! What a total roofus! Look at him! Knee pads and elbow pads and a helmet. Is this guy afraid to hurt the pavement?
Jon faced forward just in time to see another cyclist about four feet in front of him, looking back at a jogger he had just passed. A violent swerve to the right and Jon was off the path at about fifty-five kilometres-per-hour. A dip in the turf caused Jon to think of the heavy rain that had occurred two days back, this could get messy. The broken metal snow fence post sticking up a few centimetres didn't even show until he was right on top of it. A deft twitch of the handles made the front tire miss and throw the back into a skid to the right as planned. Jon's left foot skimmed the ground in case the skid became too pronounced, but this was not the case. Instead, the rear tire encountered a piece of ground that was bone dry, abruptly stopping the skid and righting the rear wheel.
Jon executed a near perfect shoulder roll and sat up thinking, "Shit! What is that... about the third time I've ever been dismounted unintentionally?" He looked over to his bike, about ten feet away. The seat was twisted to an odd angle, but that was no problem, it was on a friction lock. Otherwise, it looked fine. Atta boy, he thought, a little spill every now and then would never hurt you, would it? Next, Jon unslung his backpack to check his HP. A broken liquid crystal display would be costly to replace, not to mention the loss of some formulas hidden deep within its bowels.
"Duuude! You alright, man?"
Jon glanced up to see kid he'd nearly smeared. Whoa. Brown hair, bit of a wave to it that would probably turn into a curl if it were longer, light brown eyes with flecks of gold, roman nose, finely chiselled features, fit, jogging shorts showing off perfectly developed legs powdered with light brown hairs up to about mid-thigh, oh, god... look at those arms and hands... He was barely suppressing a giggle, the amusement showed in his smile. He was holding onto a Trek 7600. Nice freakin' package.
"Uhh.... Yeah," Jon slid his pack closer to his crotch, hoping to hide the stirrings there. "I think everything's working to spec." He waggled his calculator at the young god and tried to produce his patented grin.
"You woulda made it, ya know, if ya hadn'ta panicked in that dip. Coolest wipe I've seen in weeks, man!"
"...Right. Whatever...man." Halfway between fear at showing any sign of queerness and anger at this kids attitude, like he knows more about riding than I do, Jon got up and made for his trusty bike. "You should consider what's in front of your bike as more important than what's behind it. You can tell the front; it's got the handlebars." And with that, Jon was on his freshly adjusted seat and out of earshot within seconds.
The calculus exam was easier than Jon expected; some basic derivations, some definite integrals, one indefinite integral, a Taylor series expansion, and one differential equation involving exponential population growth. He wasn't sure about his answer to the last one, but Reinner, the math teacher/football coach (some combination!), probably threw it in there to eliminate any perfect scores. Typical.
Now what? Jon would gladly leave this shitty-ass school behind forever. Sure, there were some good times, but they certainly didn't outweigh the tedium and bureaucratic bullshit he had put up with for three years. Certainly time enough for a last piss. Leave his mark, as it were; "Jon was here" written in ammonia and testosterone one last time. Jon slipped into the men's room already lowering his fly.
Inside, he whizzed an intricate pattern all over the inner surface of the urinal. He briefly debated colouring outside the lines, but put the thought out of mind. He didn't have any particular beef with the janitor; he was a pretty nice guy. Jon turned slightly to admire his own cock in the long mirror against the opposite wall. "Yah... not bad!" he said, giving himself his own crooked grin. A stab of fear entered his chest when he caught the hint of motion at the edge of his vision.
Quickly swivelling back towards the urinal and leaning inwards to hide his growing rod, he looked over to the stalls. No sign of life there, not even feet below the partition. But as he watched, one slow foot, then another, silently placed themselves on the floor. Shit. Shitshitshit! Busted! What was that guy doing? Spying on me over the top? Then, much to Jon's shock and amazement the jeans above those feet were lowered to a bunch at sneaker level. Mesmerized, Jon watched as bare knees slowly lowered themselves to the tiles. Jon had a full-blown wood at this point and couldn't tear himself away from the sight. Caught in a web of his own adrenaline and curiosity, he could not decide to flee or stay. The result was a paralysis that kept him leaning into the urinal, one thumb hooked into his open zipper, slack-jawed, as a cock appeared beneath the lower edge of the partition.
Holy shit. Look at that! Jon's coma broke like a wave on the seashore. He walked, almost ran, to the stall beside the mystery boy's and locked himself in. The person next door quickly plopped his butt back onto the toilet. Jon hastily lowered his own jeans as far as possible, hoping he didn't scare the guy as bad as he himself had been scared. Apparently not. Once again, the boy lowered his knees to the floor and turned to the side, giving Jon a full view of a perfectly curved hard cock. This guy was so hard the head was purple. Jon's hand extended, shaking, until it was directly under the wall. The kid on the other side slowly knee-walked his hips under the space, pushing his cock into Jon's waiting hand.
Oh, mano, mano, mano!! This is too MUCH! Jon could smell the aroma of teen sweat and soap mixed with arousal. The silky hardness was everything Jon expected as he caught the drool of precum from the slit nestled inside a shallow cleft and worked it over the head. A breathy moan escaped the stall next door. Jon's hand started moving up and down the shaft, slurping slightly every time he moved downwards, away from the lubricated head. Jon sunk to his knees, hoping for a taste of this well proportioned prick, but was disappointed as the kid slid backwards. Then a hand appeared exactly where Jon's had been moments before, waiting, fingers moving ever so slightly.
Too far into this to back out now, Jon quickly slid his pelvis closer to the waiting hand. His cock nearly exploded as that hand, with the barest sprinkling of forearm hair, wrapped itself around the turgid meat. Jesus, that feels good. He closed his eyes, savouring the sensation of the warm palm and firm fingers enclosing his prick, feeling every motion of that hand and a warm wetness over the head...WHAT!? Jon's eyes snapped open as he looked downwards, seeking a glimpse of the mouth he knew was on his cock. All he could see was his own small patch of pubic hair (no sexy trail like Kev) and about two-thirds of his six and a half inch cock mostly covered by a hand not his own.
Quickly, Jon backed off before he fell off the edge of his abyss, before he emptied his load into the other stall. He stood up shakily, watching the bottom of the partition wall hoping that the other kid's prick would slide under again. It did. Yah! Jon thought, that's it! Back to his knees once again, Jon latched his hand around the base of this beautiful, fat cock, slightly larger than his own. He bent closer, inspecting every detail of the head, and then slipped it into his mouth. Another moan, somewhat louder than the last, issued from next door, and Jon was rewarded with the taste of the smooth precum that was leaking out. Working his tongue across the slight depression holding the slit, the stranger's hips bucked involuntarily, pushing a little more of the shaft into Jon's eager mouth. Soft sounds of increasing urgency were coming out of the kid on the other side, and Jon was waiting for the sudden swelling of the head to tell him when the climax was imminent. As soon as he felt that, Jon pulled his face off the cock and watched close up as six or seven quick, staccato bursts of cum propelled themselves against his face and t-shirt. Alright!
The other kid's knees drew back as he held onto his sensitive cock, shiny with spit and cum. Jon immediately slid his tool back under the partition. Once again, Jon was rewarded with the velvety warmth of a mouth around his head. He knew it wouldn't take long, not after seeing such a blast from so close. Jon was not a noisy person when it came to sex; in fact he was almost eerily silent. The other boy had no verbal warning from Jon that it was time, but he probably knew the same way Jon did; from the sudden, intensified hardness of Jon's cock. He never actually shot his loads if the danger or excitement wasn't there; he dribbled instead. This time, however, the danger and the excitement were enough to make him jet his load into the other stall. The kid had pulled off, and Jon didn't know where his shots had landed. All he knew was that it was extraordinarily satisfying.
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If you would like to read more about Jon, let me know, I have a lot of ideas for Jon and all his friends! Any constructive criticism will be warmly received. All flames will be read and trashed, except for the particularly illiterate or obtuse ones; I like to save those for when I need a good chuckle.
tanj_wirehead@hotmail.com