Copyright © 2014-2019 DouglasDD. All Rights Reserved.
Welcome back to the Posse. This chapter takes a look at the five boys of the Puget Posse as they recover from the stress and emotion of the election. Jeremiah had stolen the election from Mark. The Posse was angry about it, but was there anything they can do about it?
All the previous disclaimers apply.
It was Saturday night on what had so far been a quiet weekend for Neville. Dylan had spent Friday night at Evan’s house, but was home now. Neville wondered if Dylan would come into his bedroom to mess around, but decided it was unlikely. He assumed that Dylan and Evan had had enough sex the night before to last Dylan a week.
Neville had gone right to sleep on Friday, after wondering what would happen if he invited Cody over to spend the night. Cody was really Dylan’s friend, even though he’d been spending more time with Neville than with Dylan over the last few weeks. Neville saw Cody as a soul mate; they each liked girls, they weren’t poufs, but they liked making each other feel good sexually. That made them different from Dylan and Evan who were poufs, homos, gays, or whatever they were supposed to be called. That had offended Neville at first, but now he accepted them for what they were. Dylan had become a great brother and Evan was Dylan’s best friend. For Neville, that was reason enough to accept them.
Neville had taken Dylan’s back a couple of times when his father started asking questions. Dylan had expressed his gratitude earlier in the week after Reginald asked Neville why he thought Dylan and Evan slept in the same bed even though Evan brought a sleeping bag with him.
“They do it because it’s warmer and not hard like the floor,” Neville said.
“That’s what an air mattress is for,” Reginald said.
“It’s nicer on a bed.”
Dylan was tired of being talked about like he wasn’t there and was about to speak up when Neville said, “Plus, it’s easier to talk all night if your friend is in bed with you.”
“Ah, so it’s all about staying up later than you should, is it?” Reginald asked. “I should have expected as much. In my day we would have had our bums reddened for that kind of cheekiness.”
“Evan is my best friend,” Dylan finally said. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“I suppose there is no real harm in that. I was afraid there was more to it, but both of you are young boys anyway.”
“More to what?” Dylan asked with such an exaggerated amount of innocence that had Neville ready to burst out laughing.
“Nothing you won’t need to know until later down the road,” Reginald replied. “But, by then, you two won’t want to sleep in the same bed. I should not have even broached the subject, it involved things boys your age are not yet aware of and won’t be for a few years.” Reginald had apparently forgotten his own youthful frolics with his public school mates.
Dylan had been very appreciative of Neville’s help. It was one example of the two step-brothers becoming closer after the rivalries and jealousies that had been a part of their early relationship.
Neville’s mind was not only on Dylan, but also on the members of the Posse. He’d long ago given up on his dream of moving to a new team. He told his father he was fine with being a member of the Posse, even though that wasn’t entirely true.
His mind focused on the tumultuous happenings of the previous week. As much as he disliked Mark, he knew his fellow Posse member had been the best candidate for president. He also knew that Jeremiah had totally screwed Mark over and won the election by playing dirty.
But for Neville, the worst part was that he had inadvertently helped Jeremiah by telling Ellis a lot of what the Posse was doing. Ellis, in turn, had told Alden, who then gave the information to Jeremiah. He thought Ellis was his friend, but instead Ellis had screwed him and his teammates.
Ah, his teammates. Of all of the kids he knew at the Puget Academy his teammates had treated him the best and he didn’t even like them. Well, he did like Misha some, but he still saw the twins as buffoons (even if he thought Mark was the best candidate for president) and Patrick as a dumb Irish boy.
Neville thought about how Patrick treated him. No matter how he insulted Patrick and his heritage, Patrick always had a smile. Neville was sure the little Irish boy took offense, and yet he rarely, if ever, said a bad word to Neville. And it was Patrick’s leadership that had been a huge part of the team earning an A on the dioramas and having them finish first and second in the voting.
The twins treated him well, too, and he never tired of showing his contempt for those two. Misha was the most solid boy in the group. He always worked hard at getting the five of them to get along and work together. Maybe there was more to the group than he thought.
Mark was supposed to return to school on Monday. He wondered how Mark would act after his humiliation of the week before. Maybe he would beat up Ellis. Even better, maybe he would beat up Jeremiah. Neville was certain he’d be hearing some harsh words from Mark regarding his complicity in Jeremiah’s win. Whatever Mark did, Neville was certain it wouldn’t be done quietly.
Neville looked at his clock. It was past ten-thirty. It looked like there wouldn’t be a visit from Dylan just as he predicted. But, he had an incredible urge to talk to his step-brother. He was confused about what had happened over the past few days and worried about what was going to happen. Neville got out of bed, grabbed the boxers that he’d left on the desk chair, donned them, and padded in his bare feet to Dylan’s bedroom.
Neville opened the door and entered the room. Dylan was sitting at his desk gazing into his computer screen. He was naked. Neville could see he was playing a game.
“Dylan,” he said as quietly as he could, hoping not to startle his older brother.
He didn’t succeed as Dylan almost jumped out of his chair. “Damn, Neville, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I tried to be quiet,” Neville apologized.
“I know, which is why you scared me. How come you’re not asleep yet?”
“I was thinking.”
“Yeah, that would be you. You think too much.”
Neville nodded. He stood waiting for Dylan to ask him what he was thinking about. When Dylan turned and stared at his computer screen, Neville thought about returning to his room, but decided to hold his ground.
“I needed to talk to you,” he whispered with a shy humility to his voice that caught Dylan’s attention. As much as he wanted to brush Neville off and continue his game, Dylan couldn’t do it; he could feel the neediness in his step-brother’s voice.
“Hang on a sec. I’m playing against Evan and I have to wait for him to finish his turn.”
Neville sat on Dylan’s bed, his back against the headboard. He was disappointed that Dylan didn’t drop everything immediately. Neville saw Dylan as one more person in his life who thought only of himself and rarely thought of what he, Neville, wanted. Nobody from Max, to Ellis, to Cody, to Dylan, and probably even Kathy, really cared about him.
While Neville wallowed in self-pity, Dylan’s turn came up. Dylan put the game on pause, sent Evan a message that he needed to talk to Neville, and logged out of his computer. He got on the bed and lay back next to his brother.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked.
Neville started talking about his thoughts regarding him and the Posse. He talked about the election and how it affected Mark. “Matthew said Mark was really down. That is weird for Mark. I don’t know how he will be at school.” He went on to say he felt somewhat responsible for the situation. He finished by saying he wanted to help make things better.
Dylan wasn’t sure how to respond. He wished he was older and could come up with some kind of sage advice. But he was what he was, eleven years old and realizing, once again, that there was more to his younger brother than just a stuck-up English boy. He decided to ask Neville a question.
“You’re starting to like those dudes aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little bit. They’re not so bad, at least most of the time.”
“So stick with them. Just be a real part of the team. Don’t say anything if it isn’t good.” Dylan thought that sounded like sage advice, all things considered. “You guys need to become a real Posse,” he added after a sudden moment of inspiration.
“What is that supposed to mean? Should we get horses and ride around chasing bad guys?”
Dylan smiled. “That would be sweet; it would scare the shit out of Jeremiah.” He and Neville shared giggles before Dylan answered Neville’s questions. “Didn’t you say a Posse was supposed to help out everybody, or something like that?”
“A Posse is a group formed for the common good.”
“That’s what you guys need to be, then. Jeremiah and that Alden dude cheated to get ahead. You guys have to stop them because it will be good for everybody.”
Neville nodded. “You’re pretty smart, Dylan. I’m glad I came in to talk to you.”
“Do you want to stay?” Dylan asked.
“You mean, mess around?”
“Well, duh—I didn’t mean doing homework.”
“You’re starting to get a boner,” Neville said.
“Take off your boxers.”
“You take them off,” Neville said.
“I think you’re really starting to get into this,” Dylan smirked. He changed his position so he could grab the waistband of Neville’s boxers, tugging them across each hip. Neville made no effort to resist, instead he raised his ass to help. Dylan yanked off the underpants, grinning as he watched Neville’s hairless cock quickly come to attention.
Dylan placed his hand around Neville’s uncut, three-inch erection. He started lightly jerking the shaft, but Neville stopped him.
“Suck it,” he said.
“What did you say?”
“You know what I said,” Neville barked, the snooty attitude Dylan was used to bubbling to the surface.
“Whatever you want, bro.” Dylan was used to Neville’s shifting moods. He’d wanted to suck on Neville’s cock since the first time he’d seen it, and he was going to take advantage of Neville’s sudden decision as quickly as he could.
For Neville’s part, he wanted to do what he thought the rest of the Posse did. He wanted to sit with them on Monday and feel like he was really a part of the Posse. In his mind part of that attitude meant having his cock sucked. He knew for sure that the rest of the Posse had had theirs sucked. He’d listened to them chat about sexual things enough to know that each one of them had received and given blow jobs. He wanted to apologize for snapping at Dylan. He was scared and he knew it showed. He didn’t want to be a pouf, but he did want to be a full-fledged Posse member.
Before he could say anything, he experienced one of the most incredible feelings of his young life. His cocklet was enveloped in a sheath of warmth and moisture as Dylan placed his lips around it and slowly worked his way down the shaft. So, this is why guys talked about blow jobs, why they wanted blow jobs, why some of them begged for blow jobs. As his brain slid into the enjoyment of the intense pleasure surrounding his cock, he knew this would not be his last one.
He heard some moaning, some groaning, some squeaks, wondering where the noises were coming from until he realized they came from him. His body shook, his boner shivered, his belly twitched, he grunted as his cock swelled, and he came like he had never come before as his already tight balls pulled up to shoot nonexistent sperms. He sucked in his breath and felt like he would never let it out again until he blew it out with a long high-pitched gasp. As he lay gasping he remembered how he’d thought that when he turned ten he would be grown up. Grown up is how he felt right at that moment.
Dylan let Neville’s cock slide from his mouth. “Looks like you liked it,” he observed.
“Yes-s-s-s-s-s-s,” Neville groaned.
“Will you suck me?”
“Will you do it sometime later?”
“Maybe.” Neville wished Dylan would just shut up and let him revel in his fading feelings.
“Can I rub my dick on you?”
“Go ahead.” Neville hoped his answer would quiet Dylan’s chatter.
Dylan draped himself over Neville and started rubbing his erection across the younger boy’s belly. He knew he wouldn’t last long—sucking Neville’s cock had been an incredible turn-on for him. He outweighed Neville by ten pounds, but it didn’t seem to faze the bottom boy. He wanted to kiss Neville, kiss him liked he kissed Evan, but he held back. He didn’t want to mess up what Neville was giving him.
Dylan humped quickly, his smooth little ass bouncing. Neville lay back stoically, understanding that he now owed Dylan something. Dylan had to kiss something, so he kissed Neville’s shoulder as he moaned and heaved and pushed his own hairless cocklet into the ten-year-old’s abdomen. His ass clenched and he sucked on Neville’s smooth skin as he squirted a couple of clear drops over Neville’s torso.
As Dylan rolled off, Neville said, “I didn’t know you could, you know, make sperms.”
“You mean cum,” Dylan said.
“That’s just like the third or fourth time. You and me haven’t done anything since Christmas or you’d know.”
“You could have told me.”
Dylan bit off a snide remark and simply said, “Yeah, I guess I could have.”
Neville climbed out of the bed and started for the door. “You don’t want to spend the night here?” Dylan asked.
“Does that mean you might want to sometime?”
“Maybe.” Neville stopped and smiled at his brother, showing an example of his understated humor. “Even if it means sleeping with a pouf.”
Dylan giggled. “It will be good for you.”
“Night night, Dylan. Thanks.”
Neville left the room. Dylan was happy. He’d done something he’d wanted to do for a long time. Plus, he might have actually helped Neville deal with his Posse problems.
It suddenly occurred to him that Neville was naked when he left the room. He’d been wearing boxers when he came in. Dylan looked around the dark floor. He was about to turn on the light when he saw what he had been seeking. He eased out of bed, picked up Neville’s boxer, then returned to his bed. He placed his brother’s underpants to his face and took in the musky smells. Being a pouf isn’t all that bad, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep with Neville’s boxers beside him.
Saturday night was interesting for more boys than just Neville and Dylan. Will was the best overall friend of the Posse, even though he was with the Fantastic Five. He and all five of the Posse members had struck up budding friendships. They had found out he was much more sexually experienced than they were. The big reason for that was the education he had received from his big brother, Gary.
After he was sure his parents were in bed, Will snuck over to Gary’s room for a prearranged meeting. While they messed around together often, the brothers didn’t do a lights out rendezvous very often.
Gary was fourteen and a freshman. He’d been the eighth grade president at Puget Academy the year before. He thought about running for student body president until he realized the eighth grade class president had plenty of prestige while doing much less work than the student body president. It was Gary who talked Will into running for fifth grade vice-president.
“It’s a good do-nothing job,” Gary had said.
“I heard that all of the fifth grade jobs are do-nothing jobs.”
“Yeah, there is that, but the vice-president does even more nothing than the rest of them. Those are the best kinds of jobs, the do nothing kind. But, the teachers like you when you have one of them because they think you are active in school and that turns teachers on.”
“You were active in the student council lounge,” Will giggled.
“Damn, that was fun. Get the right guys in that back room at the right time and the sperms would flow. We were sure old man Vargas knew what was going on, so we were safe back there, if that makes sense.”
“I dunno, I guess it does. I know I had fun the two times I was back there.”
“Too bad you didn’t win the election,” Gary said.
“Patrick is a pretty popular little dude.”
“So are you, right? I mean you are my little brother, so you must be popular.”
“It’s just he’s so cute, and he has that killer smile, and he’s always so nice to everybody. But at least I lost to my friend, so I can’t get mad.”
“So, little bro, you could have talked about all of this before bedtime. You must have come in here for something else.”
Will shoved his hand inside of Gary’s boxer shorts and found a hard six-inch piece of teen steel. “I kinda wanted this.”
“I thought so. I’ve been hard ever since you came in. Take those PJs off.”
Will stripped off his Seahawk pajamas while Gary removed his boxer briefs and pulled back the blankets. Gary looked at his naked ten-year-old brother, admiring his hairless three-and-a-quarter inch cock. Gary wasn’t gay, but he loved sex with guys, especially with his little brother. Will had been sucking his cock since they were eleven and seven and he was quite good at it.
“Have you fucked Tanya yet?” Will asked.
“Not yet, but naked on her bed with her is a good start.”
“I know who I want to be naked with.”
Not for the first time, Gary wondered if his little brother was gay. It didn’t matter to him, especially now when all he wanted was the expert work of his little mouth, tongue, and hands. That was what he got as Will sucked his big brother until his mouth filled with his hot teen spunk. They did their ritual kiss so Gary could get a taste. They finished with Gary sucking Will to a dry cum.
“That was fun, bro,” Gary said. “But you better go. We can’t let mom and dad find us sleeping naked together.”
“So, I’ll put on my pajama tops. They won’t know. We used to sleep together all of the time.”
“Yeah, until they told us we couldn’t when they caught us in bed a couple of months ago. They said we were too old for that now. Good thing they didn’t know we were naked.”
“Please, just this once? We’ll tell them I had a nightmare.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll set the alarm on my phone for six, then you can sneak back to your room.”
Will grinned. “I love you, Gary.” He gave his brother another kiss on the lips, cuddled up to him, and fell asleep within seconds of the light going out.
The twins did something new that night.
“I want to try something,” Matthew told his brother.
“Something dirty, but a different kind of dirty.”
Matthew told how he had read online about guys fingering each other’s asses when they were doing blow jobs. “It’s supposed to feel really good.”
“Then go for it.”
Instead of going sixty-nine, Matthew started sucking off his twin. After a few minutes, he let his right index finger wander into Mark’s crack. While they had rubbed each other’s asses and even let a finger into the private crevice, they hadn’t done much with each other’s puckers.
That changed when Matthew started to rub Mark’s. “Does that feel good?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah, it feels really good.”
“I think I’m supposed to stick my finger inside of you.”
“That sounds gross.”
“Doing gross stuff never stopped us before.”
Matthew had problems getting his finger up into Mark’s resistant hole. Mark came up with the idea of using lube and headed to the main upstairs bathroom to get some lotion. Matthew then rubbed it on Mark’s pucker and over his finger and was soon in to his second knuckle. He moved it back and forth some while he sucked his brother’s cocklet.
“Feels super good,” Mark said. “Your mouth feels better though.”
“I’ve never put my mouth in your ass,” Matthew said.
“I meant on my weenie, you dork.”
Matthew pulled his finger out of Mark’s hole. The experimenting had ended—at least for that night. Neither of them knew how to go for the magic button, even though they had read about it. The brothers went into their familiar sixty-nine position and got each other off rather quickly. Matthew went to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned they talked about whether they wanted to try more stuff with their asses.
“It felt good,” Mark said. “But it musta feel even better if everybody keeps talking about it online. I read about licking asses and putting your dick in them. That is too gross even for me.”
“Maybe we need to read more. We might find out about that secret button which is supposed to feel so good.”
“I’m happy doing blow jobs.”
“Yeah, me too.” But, they both knew that there was more they could be doing with each other in bed, and maybe they would soon. But for the moment they were sticking with what made them happy.
After dinner on Saturday, Patrick sat in the living room with his father, his Uncle Ted, Ted’s latest boyfriend, Rolando, and Grannana, watching television. Uncle Ted said his boyfriend wouldn’t have a problem with Patrick being himself, which Patrick interpreted as permission to be naked. However, as bold as he could be at times, Patrick also had a bit of a shy streak around strangers, especially adults, so he compromised in his mind by wearing a pair of briefs and a t-shirt.
Both Uncle Ted and his young boyfriend were disappointed. Ted had told Rolando how Patrick was a nudist around home. At eighteen, Rolando was much younger than Ted. Ted liked Rolando because he looked fifteen, but was of legal age. He also liked that Rolando shared his taste in young boys.
Ted, Rolando, and Patrick sat on the couch while Brian and Maxine each occupied a recliner. Brian was pleased that Patrick showed some restraint around Ted’s boyfriend by wearing a t-shirt and boxers. While he didn’t have a problem with Patrick learning about the world of sex from Roy, he didn’t like the way Rolando was ogling his nine-year-old son.
Brian was somewhat amused when Patrick started playing with himself through the cotton of his white briefs. Brian knew that Patrick did it unconsciously. It was like sitting on the couch was a trigger for him playing with his little boy cock. However, the fact that he never did so when “proper” company was visiting made Brian wonder if maybe there wasn’t a bit of intent involved.
Rolando noticed what Patrick was doing as well and stared at the young boy as his fingers played with his obviously hard little tool. There was no doubt that Rolando was turned on. If the teen made any kind of move on Patrick, Brian was ready to land on him.
Fortunately, that did not happen. Ted checked his watch and told Rolando they needed to get going if they were going to make it to their movie on time.
“I hope it isn’t porn,” Brian said with a laugh.
“He’s eighteen,” Ted said. “Porn is good, right Patrick?”
Patrick blushed as he removed his hand from his crotch as if he’d just realized what he had been doing. “I don’t know,” he said innocently.
“Thanks for the great meal, mom,” Ted said as he grabbed his coat.
“Yeah, thanks for dinner.” Rolando acted like he was fulfilling an obligation rather than being sincerely thankful.
“I don’t know if they had a movie to go to or not,” Brian said after they left. “I think they were getting bored.” Or Patrick had gotten them too turned on to sit around any longer, he thought.
“I think they were being males and thinking about sex,” Maxine said.
“I didn’t like Rolando,” Patrick said. “He kept looking at me.”
“You didn’t help matters by playing with yourself,” Maxine chided. Patrick blushed again.
“The Wombat does need to be a bit more aware of what he is doing down there.”
“I never play with it like that when I’m dressed,” Patrick reminded him.
“There you have it,” Maxine said. “You were in your underwear so you must have wanted to show yourself off.”
“Grannana, that’s not fair.”
“Maybe not, but it’s true. Now come help me empty the dishwasher and keep your hand out of your pants while we’re in the kitchen. Learn a little bit of self-discipline. Lord, I hate to think what that hand will start doing when he reaches puberty,” she finished, as much to herself as to Patrick.
Patrick followed Maxine into the kitchen, worried that he would receive a brooming. Being broomed across his underpants clad butt stung almost as much as when his Grannana hit him on his bare butt. But he wasn’t to find out his fate or get the dishwasher emptied. As they entered the kitchen, Maxine let out a cry of pain and sank to the floor, clutching her side.
Fear gripped Patrick as he yelled out for his father. He went down at his knees and looked at the old lady’s ashen face. “Grannana, what’s wrong?” he asked with concern. Fighting back tears he took her hand in his.
Brian dashed into the kitchen and saw his grandmother on the floor. He saw the old lady was in pain. “Grannana, what happened? Can you talk?”
“I’m fine,” she managed to spit out weekly. “Just indigestion.”
“Whatever. Indigestion doesn’t knock you down on the floor.” Maxine had a stubborn streak in her. She refused to acknowledge that she could get sick, even though her experience as nurse told her that wasn’t true. Her obstinacy was a constant source of frustration for Brian, and for Ted when he was around.
Brian bent down next to Patrick. “Can you get up?”
“Of course I can get up. I’m not crippled. I just have a stomachache.” She could barely get the words out. Brian tried unsuccessfully to help her up. Every movement seemed to give her a jolt of pain and each time she sank back down to the floor.
“I’m calling 911,” Brian said.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Maxine told him, “or I’ll broom you within an inch of your life.”
Brian ignored her and made the call. He was informed that fire department EMTs were on the way. Maxine tried to sulk, but doing so was too painful. Brian and Patrick did their best to make her comfortable.
The EMTs arrived to find Brian comforting two family members on the floor: an older lady and a sobbing young boy clad only in a t-shirt and briefs.
After a slew of questions, accompanied by prodding and poking, it was decided to summon an ambulance to take Maxine to the hospital ER. She tried to be furious about the decision, but once again the pain squelched her indignation.
“I’m going to the hospital to be with Grannana,” Brian told Patrick.
“Can I go?”
“No, this could take all night. I just need to find a place for you to stay.” He silently cursed Ted for taking off even as he acknowledged that there was no way his uncle could have foreseen Maxine’s collapse.
“I can go. I’ll be good,” Patrick said, not even bothering to battle his tears. “I’m scared for Grannana.”
“She’ll be fine,” Brian said. “You know how tough she is. Nothing can get to Grannana.” Brian knew that Maxine held a huge place in the boy’s heart. Her space was far bigger than what Patrick’s grandmother and mother had together. Maxine might be Patrick’s great-grandmother, but the role she played in the household was that of his mother. Brian respected her strictness and no-nonsense approach to life, and he knew his son felt the same way. Even though Patrick would sometimes whine about her decisions, he generally knew she was right. And those times he didn’t think she was right, the end of her broom on his butt made her decision legitimate.
But there was more to her than stubbornness, discipline, and brooms. She was also a loving, caring individual. She treated Patrick like he was her son and never failed to give him the attention he needed. Most importantly, she gave both Brian and Patrick her unconditional love. Brian didn’t want to think about what raising his son would have been like without her.
“Can I stay with Mark and Matthew?”
“They live too far away,” Brian told him. He knew the twins’ parents the best and knew they would be more than willing to put up Patrick for the night. But he had another choice he could make. While he didn’t know them as well, he’d had pleasant encounters with the parents of the Russian boy, Misha, at school functions. He could also call the parents of Ian or Carter, two of Patrick’s friends on his soccer team. He knew their parents better, but they lived in the opposite direction of the hospital, while Misha lived more in line with his destination. He decided to call them first
“Then where can I stay?” Patrick asked, trying unsuccessfully to sound grown up instead of whiny and panicky.
“You have lots of friends. I’ll start making some phone calls.” Unbeknownst to the members, the Posse parents had traded phone numbers. He looked up the number for the Larsons. He dialed it with trepidation, not wanting to impose on someone he didn’t know well and fearful of rejection. It turned out that Lois Larson was more than happy to help out.
“Misha will be very happy. He likes your son very much,” she said. “Don’t worry about bedding, we have a guest room. Even so, I wouldn’t be surprised if the two boys slept together. Why else spend the night, right?” Brian agreed with a smile.
“Looks like you’re going to spend the night with your friend Misha,” Brian happily informed his son.
Patrick’s face lit up for the first time since his Grannana had collapsed to the floor. “Yes. I like Misha.” He went to his room and packed his backpack with overnight things. But, when he returned to the living room his face had lost the temporary glow it had acquired from the news about Misha.
As they rode in the car, Brian once again assured Patrick that Grannana would be okay and for him to relax. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear something.”
“Even if it’s bad news?”
“Don’t worry, the news is going to be good.”
When he dropped Patrick off, Brian found that the Larsons were special people. He had sensed as much the few times he dealt with them, but on this particularly tough night their inherent decency showed in full.
Misha hugged Patrick as soon as his friend entered the house. His mother had told him what the situation was and Misha could almost feel the hurt Patrick was feeling. The boys started for Misha’s room, leaving the adults to deal with whatever it was the adults would need to deal with.
“Patrick, you be good, okay?” Brian admonished. “The Larsons are doing us a huge favor.”
“Dad,” Patrick replied with a note of indignation in his voice that asked how his father could think that he would be anything but good.
Brian grabbed his son and hugged him, ruffling his short cropped hair. “I know what you’re thinking, but it is my duty as a dad to tell you to behave. Got it, Mr. Wombat?”
“Got it.” Patrick managed to eke out a smile in spite of himself.
“Come on, Wombat, let’s go to my room,” Misha said with uncharacteristic impatience.
“On my way, Wolverine,” Patrick answered. As soon as his father left the house, Patrick felt isolated. Normally staying over at friend’s house was freeing, but because of Grannana’s condition he wanted the comfort of his father. It was ironic that on the night he would be staying with one of his best friends for the first time he wished he was with his father.
Patrick barely got settled into Misha’s soccer-themed room when Ryan and Lois came in to talk to Patrick about how they were there to help. They’d already discussed with Misha what Patrick would probably be feeling. Patrick was attentive to what they had to say, but he wished they would leave him alone with Misha. If he couldn’t be with his father, then he wanted to be with Misha.
Finally, the two boys were left alone. Misha was eleven with the maturity of an older boy. Even though Patrick was a little over two months away from turning ten, the age difference meant nothing to the two boys. They were friends and they liked each other and that was all that counted.
Yet even though he was older and more mature, Misha wasn’t entirely sure how to handle Patrick and his concern about Grannana. He could see that his friend was hurting inside and he wanted badly to make him feel better. He decided to handle it the way things were often handled among friends at the orphanage—with a hug.
So, for the second time that evening Misha wrapped his arms around his friend. He said nothing, but was pleased when Patrick leaned his face against his chest and put his arms around him. The two flopped on the bed, holding on to each other. Misha felt not only Patrick’s tears, but his fears as well.
For his part, Patrick was not embarrassed at baring his emotions in his friend’s bedroom. Misha was the voice of reason and patience in the Posse and Patrick trusted him. He lay his head on Misha’s solid chest, breathing quietly. Misha stroked Patrick’s back through his shirt.
“She couldn’t even get up off of the floor,” Patrick said suddenly. “She was hurting bad.”
“Your father said she would be okay.”
“He’s a great dad, but he’s not a doctor. What if she had a heart attack or her stomach exploded or something?”
“How can a stomach explode?”
“I don’t know, but what if it did?”
“One thing we learned quickly in the orphanage is to not worry about what you cannot fix. If we did worry, we would be afraid all of the time.”
“I love her. She’s like my mom to me.”
“You keep saying how strict and mean she is.”
“I know. She really can be strict sometimes, but really, she’s never mean. That’s just me saying stuff.”
“She’s not mean even when she brooms you?”
“Even then, cuz when I get broomed I deserve it.”
Misha kept stroking Patrick’s back. He liked the feel of his friend’s head on his chest. He had wanted to touch him for such a long time, and now he was petting him, even if it was through his shirt. Maybe Patrick needed more petting than he was getting, Misha thought. When his hand came close to Patrick’s pants, Misha moved it under Patrick’s shirt and started petting the warm, soft skin of his back.
“That feels really nice, Misha,” Patrick purred. “You make me feel good.”
Misha quietly moved his hand along Patrick’s back. He thought about Nikki and how Nikki had been the older boy and he had been the younger. With Patrick it was the other way around. He had often felt like Nikki was his protector even more than he was his friend. He didn’t want to be like that with Patrick. He wanted them to be equal friends and to be boyfriends if that was what Patrick wanted. Right now he was protecting Patrick from his worries. If they were true friends, then someday Patrick would be protecting him. He never really had a chance to protect Nikki. There was never any doubt between them that Nikki was the older.
Again without asking, he lifted the hem of Patrick’s shirt, exposing his back from the shoulder blades down. Patrick lifted his arms, inviting Misha to remove the shirt, which Misha did. Misha then removed his own shirt so that Patrick’s bare chest rested against his own.
Patrick lay his head back down on Misha and Misha continued to stroke Patrick’s back. Once, when Misha’s hand reached Patrick’s pants, Patrick whispered, “Lower, Misha, lower.”
Misha let his hand wander back up Patrick’s spine. As he moved it up to the nape of his neck and started back down, he wondered if he’d heard Patrick properly. When he got to the waist of Patrick’s jeans, he heard the same words, “Lower, lower.”
Misha rubbed along Patrick’s waist line, but he didn’t feel it was right to go lower, not with Patrick worrying about his Grannana.
Patrick started to rub Misha’s chest. He loved the feel of it, the feel of the chest of a pubescent athlete. He moved down along Misha’s belly, taut and muscular, lacking the bits of baby fat still part of the makeup of so many tweens. His hand found the waist line of Misha’s sweats, but he ignored his own pleas and worked his way back up again.
The next time Misha’s hand reached Patrick’s pants, he kissed his friend on the forehead, eliciting a quiet moan from the little nine-year-old. He kissed him again and Patrick kissed Misha’s chest in return.
This time when Patrick’s hand reached Misha’s waist band it didn’t stop. Instead it lightly worked its way under the sweats and into the warm, almost moist region of Misha’s bare pubic mound.
“No, Patrick, we mustn’t,” Misha whispered.
“But, Misha, I want to,” Patrick protested.
“Not this time.”
Patrick was disappointed, but he also understood. Misha was trying to ease his fears, not trying to do something sexual with him. For Patrick “not this time” meant that it would be okay some other time.
Patrick felt constricted in his jeans. He rolled off of his friend and removed his pants. He was now clad in only his white briefs and his socks. He felt freer and lay against Misha again. Before Misha could do anything the phone rang. Patrick’s head perked up wondering it was his dad calling.
After a few minutes Lois knocked on the door. Misha invited her in. She told Patrick it was his father. “You can use the bedroom phone.” She left, not commenting on the fact that the two boys were half naked on the bed.
Patrick looked at Misha. “Their bedroom, not mine,” Misha said, and he led Patrick to the phone.
It was Brian, his father. Patrick listened intently. A grin broke out on his face, the first one Misha had seen all evening. “Cool. Thanks dad. See you tomorrow.”
Patrick told Misha the problem was a kidney stone. While it was very painful it wasn’t dangerous. Grannana would probably be home the next day. Misha gave Patrick another big hug, this time one with smiles instead of tears.
The two of them returned to Misha’s bedroom. Misha removed his sweats and was now wearing only a pair of Seattle Sounders boxers.
“Oh, those are so cool. I want some for my birthday,” Patrick said. “I gotta tell dad to put it on his list.”
Before they could get back on the bed, Lois called Misha on the house intercom, startling Patrick. He wondered why she hadn’t used it to tell them about the phone call, then decided there was no way the thinking of adults could be deciphered. Lois told them there was ice cream and cookies to help celebrate the good news.
Patrick reached for his pants, but Misha stopped him. “We just put our shirts on,” he said. “That is enough.”
The two preteens came into the living room in nothing but t-shirts and underpants. Misha’s parents observed, but said nothing about what they saw. Instead, Lois brought out two bowls of chocolate ice cream, each topped by a pair of chocolate chip cookies. The snack disappeared quickly while Lois told Patrick how happy she was that there was nothing seriously wrong with his great-grandmother. After spending what they felt was a polite amount of time with the adults, the two boys said their good-nights, excused themselves, and after the obligatory hugs, hustled back to Misha’s bedroom.
“They look ready for bed,” Ryan said after the boys left.
“They aren’t going to bed this early,” Lois said.
“When they do hit the sack, I’m sure they will be sharing Misha’s bed.”
“Doesn’t that worry you?”
“No. Should it?”
“Honey, we’ve talked about Misha maybe receiving a different kind of education at the orphanage. If that is the case, I wouldn’t want him hurting Patrick.”
Ryan thought about that for a moment then said, “First, we don’t know what Misha learned. Second, I wouldn’t worry about it. From what I’ve seen and heard of young Patrick, he seems to be pretty self-sufficient.”
“His father is trusting us.”
“And we are trusting Misha. You’ve heard Misha talk about Patrick. He thinks the boy walks on water. And Patrick had no problem showing his emotions around Misha, which shows a great deal of trust. I think those two are going to be getting along just fine. I wouldn’t be surprised to be seeing a lot more of Patrick from here on. I have this feeling that the two are destined to be best friends.”
“I hope you’re right. I truly hope you’re right.”
If Misha and Patrick had heard that conversation they would have agreed completely with Misha’s father—they were made for each other and would never hurt each other. While neither one could express those thoughts yet, they felt connected in a very special way.
The two boys flopped on Misha’s bed chatting about the surprise evening snack. “Those were awesome cookies,” Patrick said. “Just as good as Grannana’s.”
“My mother baked them,” Misha said proudly.
“Then she is a totally awesome baker.”
Misha wanted to make the two of them the topic rather than cookies. “Do you remember what happened when you saw me naked at Wild Waves back before school started?” he asked.
“How could I forget,” Patrick blushed. “That was so embarrassing.”
“Why? I had a boner as well.”
“But, mine was like an instant boner. I never did that before. I never did it again either.”
“Do you have a boner now?” Misha asked quietly.
There was a momentary pause and Patrick said, “Yes,” just as quietly. Misha was about to ask if he could see it when Patrick asked, “Do you want to see it?”
Misha nodded. Patrick pulled off his t-shirt first, causing Misha to giggle nervously. “Your boner is not on your chest,” he snickered.
“I just wanted to be like I was at Wild Waves,” Patrick told him.
“You mean naked?”
Patrick pulled off his briefs, answering the question. His three-and-a-half inches of young boy steel stood proudly at attention. Misha smiled and quickly stripped, his four-and-a-quarter uncut cock ready for action.
“Yours is big,” Patrick said. “No wonder we won the challenge.”
Misha grinned proudly. “I wanted to be naked with you ever since Wild Waves.”
“You look funny with your skin still there.” Patrick reached over and ran his hand across Misha’s foreskin.
Misha shivered. “You have never seen one like this before?”
“I have. My father is like that for one. He said he made a mistake listening to Grannana and Uncle Ted and got me cut.”
“I think you look very nice,” Misha said. He placed his finger on the glans of Patrick’s member. This time Patrick shivered.
The two boys ran their hands lightly across each other’s cocks. They weren’t actually masturbating each other, but they were stimulating the prepubescent cock of their friend in ways that had each emitting boyish moans while their bodies shuddered with pleasure. They were now facing each other on the bed, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Do you have orgasms yet?” Misha asked. Almost every boy at the orphanage had had an orgasm by the time they were nine, but he found out that wasn’t usually the case in the outside world.
“Do you want one now?”
“Yes,” he replied in a sultry voice.
Misha grinned. “Get on your back.”
Patrick obeyed and his friend started to masturbate him. Patrick spread his legs wide, opening his genitals for Misha to do with as he wished. Misha put his thumb and three fingers around Patrick’s boner and started jerking him off.
He’d wanted this so badly for so long. He wanted even more—he wanted to put his mouth around Patrick’s beautiful little cock. But not today, not this time. Things often happened fast at the orphanage, sometimes too fast. He wanted Patrick to learn things slowly. Of course he was unaware that Patrick was no stranger to oral sex or he would have dived right in and started sucking.
Patrick wriggled and moaned as Misha expertly worked his penis with one hand and fondled his tight little ball sac with his other. Patrick couldn’t believe that he was going to have an orgasm in front of Misha and on Misha’s bed. It was what he’d wanted from the first time he’d had his first dry cum. Misha jerked, Patrick moaned, Misha fondled, Patrick groaned. Misha jerked harder, Patrick wiggled and shuddered and suddenly raised his ass and pushed into Misha’s hand. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, Misha, Misha, Ohhhhhhhhh, Misha,” he gasped.
Misha felt the spasms shoot through Patrick’s cock, wishing he’d felt them in his mouth. He lowered himself on top of Patrick and started humping the smaller boy. His cheek was against Patrick’s cheek. Patrick kissed Misha’s cheek, Misha kissed Patrick’s neck, Patrick felt Misha’s muscular young bubble butt, Misha kissed Patrick’s lips, Misha moaned again, Misha shoved his cock into Patrick’s abdomen and humped hard, his lips on Patrick’s, and then to his surprise his tongue in Patrick’s mouth as he let out a low whine as he held on tightly to Patrick and kissed and shook and had the most incredible cum of his life, and he’d had many. He removed his mouth from Patrick’s and lay on top of him, breathing hard, recovering from the sensations at the same time he took in Patrick’s fresh young boy smells.
“Misha, that was too amazing.”
“It was okay with you, what I did?” Misha was worried about hurting Patrick. He was so sweet, so innocent, that humping him and kissing him—having sex with him, just didn’t seem right.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes.”
Misha breathed an internal sigh of relief. There was more to Patrick than he thought.
“I want to do it again many times more,” Misha said.
“Yes, with you, many times more.”
The two could have done it more that night, but they were emotionally spent, especially Patrick. They finally got off of the bed and washed, brushed, flossed, peed, and finally lay naked together under the covers. They wrapped around each other as if they were one entity. They each wanted more. Their young minds knew they hadn’t scratched the surface. They had no doubt they would be sleeping together many more times. They were ready to do whatever was required for them to be best friends.
Saturday night brought recovery to the Posse members after a trying week. Monday would bring the challenge of how they would react to Jeremiah’s coup d’état. Something had started that week and that weekend, something that Jeremiah hadn’t counted on. He was ready for the group he despised to fall apart, starting with Neville and his defeated rival, Mark. He hadn’t counted on the Puget Posse finding a resolve they didn’t know they had. He hadn’t counted on them fighting back.
Next: A Common Purpose