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Hard Ball

© December, 2000

Chris Carr

 

 

 

 

 

 

"'Sup," the boy said, entering his apartment.

Juice sat up, furiously observing the boy as he entered.

"The fuck is this?" he spat. Vincent glared at him, but said nothing.

"Juice, this is Vincent. Vincent, Juice," August tendered.

"The fuck he doin' here?" Juice snorted.

"Yo', I gotta go," Vincent announced, heading for the door.

Timidly following him to the door, August whispered,

"I'll see ya' later?"

"Yeah, whatever," Vincent replied, closing the door.

 

"The fuck was that?" Juice charged. In a fit of rage, he stood, glaring at August, his hand jetting out to pop him on his head.

"The fuck was that, August?" he repeated, whacking the boy again.

"Nobody Juice," August apologized, ducking smacks.

"Nobody! Why the fuck nobody knockin' on yo' door, then?"

Enraged, Juice made a fist.

"Com'on Juice," August pleaded, "calm down."

"Tell me to calm down bitch! I buy you shit, and risk my ass comin' over here fo' yo' punk ass and this how you repay me!!"

 

His fist uncoiling, Juice's face changed, his countenance sullen now. Lashing out, he grabbed the boy, dragging him toward the futon.

"Come up outta yo' clothes!" he ordered. Nervously complying, August undressed, his heart pounding. Not even bothering to remove his own pants, Juice merely opened them, positioning behind the naked boy. Stroking his hardening wand, in minutes it stood erect as he pushed against August's entrance.

"And don't give me none of that condom shit," he spat, rubbing some of his precum around the head of his dick. "Least I can get is some ass," he muttered, lining his spear up.

 

Gripping the boy's shoulders, he rammed in, a grimace on his face. August yelped, raising up on his toes to avoid the splitting lance, but Juice steadily advanced, demanding the boy, "Shut the fuck up!"

Trembling in pain, August waited for his ass to adjust to the piercing pole, parting his tight hole. Damn, he hated it when Juice got mad. Deciding to just ride it out, August bit his lower lip and winced as the last of Juice's 8 inch staff lodged home.

His own dick flaccidly dangling between his legs, he eventually felt his asshole stretch to accommodate the boy's girth. Using his shoulders to gain leverage, Juice stared at August's plump ass as it slid up his pole. Shit feel good, he thought, working up a rhythm.

Soon he was pumping his entire length deep within August's tunnel, raising up on his shoe clad toes to reach the last few inches. August grunted, his asshole spread wide to accept the invading blade, all to Juice's delight.

"MY cakes!" He blasted, ramming deep again. August grunted again, his ravaged asshole aching.

 

Within minutes, Juice was panting, his dick swelling even bigger within the boy.

"Take it, bitch!" He snarled, gripping the boy in a bear hug. Lodging his dick as deep as he could within the youth, he roared, throwing his head back as he planted his seed.

"Damn! Damn! Damn bitch!" He bellowed, sinking his dick deep with each cry.

August cried out too, his shrieks a result of the pain he was in. He'd never been raped before and wondered if this counted. Juice was just pissed, he reasoned.

With a final slap and profane utterance, Juice withdrew, zipping his pants quickly.

"Shouldn't make me mad at you August," he muttered, pausing to pass his hand over the welt raising on August's face. Lingering another second or two, he slung the door open and left, slamming it in his wake.

 

 

 

He wasn't sure why his mother had named him August. His grandmother had mentioned a Josias August, a local musician from her home town in Louisiana once. Who that man was and how he came to bear his name, wasn't certain.

He knew little to nothing about his mother. Waging an unsuccessful battle against cocaine addiction, she eventually lost to an overdose, before August turned 11. He and his sister were destined to be separated at the hands of the state had not his grandparents stepped in at the last minute.

Choosing rather to struggle on his own than face the growing storm around his burgeoning sexuality, he left home before his 19th birthday. His grandmother balked while his grandfather scoffed, grunting,

"Ain't natural."

His attempts at college proving unsuccessful, he eventually gave up and took the first job that came along. That first year, he'd almost starved, his reckless spending at the mall and fast food joints a force to reckon with.

 

When word of his "outing" reached his cousin Charles, he passively divulged he was "family", too. Playing a surrogate father to the boy, he'd frequently stop by to check on him. Though he meant well, his constant nagging proved sometimes annoying.

His latest buying spree resulting in another cash flow problem, Charles eventually found out when his gas was turned off. Launching into another tirade, his cousin bombarded him with questions to which he had no answer. Just what was wrong with him? Why was he so stupid and why didn't he ever think ahead?

Charles forked over the money, avowing, " you gon' pay me back." That had been three days ago, his errant gas service finally restored the next day. Fortunately, it was by phone Charles had discovered his destitute condition. Had he actually stopped by and saw August's bruised face, he would've really had hell to pay.

For the first time in his life, August had resorted to using makeup. Saddened by what he saw looking back at him in the mirror, he'd bought a light foundation to cover his bruises. He'd seen neither hide nor hair of Juice or Vincent since their fortuitous meeting. His bed empty, he nevertheless longed for some company but wondered at what price.

Juice'll come around, he contended, he just needs time. And he was rather relieved he hadn't ran into Vincent lately. Explaining his marred visage wasn't something he was looking forward to. The jerks at his job had been enough to deal with, let alone an insecure teenaged boy.

 

When he ran into the boy at his bus stop, however, he wondered just where the fuck his guardian angel was when he needed him or her? Covering the most obvious blemish with his hand, he quietly sat at his stop, praying the boy wouldn't address him.

Vincent stared, but said nothing. August glanced up at him occasionally, waiting, his heart tormented by desire.

"'Sup," Vincent quipped, bouncing his ever present basketball.

"Hey," August squeaked.

Taking out his little compact, he glanced at his face in the mirror, checking his makeup. Relieved his bruise didn't seem that noticeable, he closed the compact, pushing it back in his backpack.

"'S'that on yo' face?" Vincent asked, staring at him.

"Clinique," August allowed, nervously checking the street for his bus.

"Clineek? Naw, what's that brown shit on yo' face," Vincent persisted.

"Clinique," August repeated, raising his hand in a half-hearted attempt to cover his face then deciding against it.

"Makeup?"

"Yeah."

Vincent moved closer, examining August's face. August made his half-hearted attempt to cover up again but just looked away.

 

"Going to work?" Vincent said, bouncing his ball.

"The mall," August said.

"A'ight. Which one?"

"Rosewood."

 

His basketball pounding the pavement again, Vincent walked away a few paces. Nigga got a sexy ass body, August drooled, following the boy's departing form. Vincent feinted, agilely pivoting to suddenly face him. Surprised, August looked away.

"Why you not goin' to work?" he questioned.

"My day off," August replied.

"On a Wednesday?"

"Yeah, I have to work Saturdays."

"Oh."

"You... you wanna go?" August tendered. Vincent held his ball, pondering August's offer.

S'cool," he consented, bouncing his ball again.

 

 

At the mall, Vincent drew looks from both girls and closeted guys alike. His ball dropped off at August's before leaving, he swaggered through the mall, unaware his stirring features were of any interest to the glancing shoppers.

"So, you got a lady?" August hazarded.

"Got lady friends, but ain't hooked up with nobody right now," Vincent returned. He's got the prettiest eyes, August thought, stealing glances at him.

"What school you go to?" He quizzed, trying to draw the boy out.

"Briarwood."

"Lemme see... You in umm.. the 12th grade, right?"

"11th."

"Hmmm... you look older," August replied.

A store display catching his eye, August entered. Vincent followed, waiting as he browsed through shirts. With barely enough money to window shop, his choices were severely limited. What he needed was a working man to pamper him. Then he could be all that he was meant to be, he deduced.

"Who you hang out with?" August asked, pausing in front of a table of sweaters.

"Nobody... 'cept my homeys."

"All day?" Vincent nodded.

"And yo' pops doesn't get on you for skippin' school?"

"He ain't knowin'. All he know is gettin' drunk and that damn job of his."

"Oh...Where's he work?"

"He be fixin' on cars at this garage."

"And he goes to work drunk?" Vincent nodded his head.

 

Lifting a sweater to his chest, August asked,

"You like this?"

"'Scool."

 

They shopped several other stores, some Vincent would've never entered on his own. When August stopped at his favorite bath and body store, Vincent stood at the entrance, reluctant to enter. Curious, he watched as August shopped sweet fragrances, applying some to his soft skin. Anxiously observing the peculiar looks they were drawing, he finally entered, too many unanswered questions arising as a result.

 

In a great rotunda of the mall, they happened upon a huge merry-go-round.

"Let's get on," August said, cheerfully.

"You crazy," Vincent frowned.

"No, com'on. It'll be fun," August said.

Vincent hedged, observing the children boarding the gaudy attraction. "But that's a kiddy ride," he protested.

"No it's not," August countered.

Vincent gawked, dumbfounded, as August continued toward the line. Grabbing his hand August challenged, "Com'on nigga, when was the last time you had a li'l fun?" Pulling him toward the line, he happily bought two tickets, a reluctant Vincent still in tow.

"Which one you wanna ride?" August asked, stepping onto the wood paneled deck. Vincent stood beneath him, anxiously glancing around at the patrons passing by. Relenting, he boarded, sheepishly joining August aside a painted horse. Hunching his shoulders, he watched as August skipped over to a white horse.

"I like this one," he sang, placing his foot in the stirrup. "Help me," he said, struggling to mount his selection.

Vincent got beneath him, lending his weight to August's efforts, helping him straddle the horse. Wondering if he'd lost his mind, Vincent hopped aboard the horse opposite him, just as the carousel started.

Their horses bounding merrily around the large calliope, Vincent marveled at himself, searching to remember the last time he'd done something like this. As a kid he'd always avoided riding such attractions, ashamed to admit his own fancy. Even now, his anxiety over being discovered almost overshadowed his enjoyment.

August, on the other hand, was elated, his head flung back, his arms raised in jubilation.

"Weeee!" he squealed, a smile on his face. Captivated, Vincent watched, his carefree revelry somehow enchanting. Was it this easy to return to the wonder and happiness of one's childhood?

His apprehension lessening in the face of August's childlike abandonment, Vincent smiled, despite himself. August looked over at him, his horse's declining cycle lowering him below the boy.

"See, told you," he beamed.

The ride ending all too soon for August, the boys dismounted, Vincent somewhat bewildered. He'd never done anything like this in his entire life and was tempted to try another round.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" August suggested, leaping off the carousel.

"Dang nigga, you just becomin' a li'l kid, huh?" Vincent cracked.

"Ain't that," August defended, "I just know how to have fun."

Once again, Vincent acquiesced, shaking his head in amazement.

 

 

Several hours later, they made the return trip back to their decaying neighborhood, Vincent becoming solemn. As they silently walked to August's little apartment, he quietly inquired,

"Why you let him do it?"

August said nothing, the high of his enjoyable day suddenly wearing thin. Brushing his hand across his face, he continued quietly.

 

 

At his apartment Vincent retrieved his basketball, bouncing it a couple of times on the carpeted floor. August watched, desire and caution buffeting his aching heart, the boy's inherent appeal unavoidable. Vincent warily tolerated his adoration, fidgeting his basketball from one hand to the other.

"What?" He implored, looking down.

August couldn't get enough of him. His eyes caressing the boy's svelte form, Vincent visibly squirmed as they neared his midsection.

"Yo, I gotta bounce," he hastened, turning away from August's wandering eyes.

Jumping between him and the door, August seized the object in question, causing the boy to jump.

"Choo doin'!" He exclaimed, backing away. August barreled ahead, dangerously playing his hunch. Pinning him against the door, he passed his hand over the forbidden area again.

Vincent snatched his basketball away, snuggling it against his chest as if it needed protection from what was ensuing below. Paralyzed, his eyes widened, as August fingered his swelling protrusion. Licking his lips, he emitted a frustrated hiss as August unzipped his pants.

Before he could protest, he felt the cool room air on his exposed length. Tentatively glancing down, he was shocked to see August positioning his mouth in front of his jutting pole. Tucking his basketball beneath his arm, he reached down and grabbed the youth, lifting him erect. His eyes warning August he shouldn't pursue that action, he sighed softly when he felt the boy's velvety hands stroking his column.

Writhing helplessly against the door, he rose up on his toes, his knees buckling as he clutched his basketball for dear life. "Shit!" he yelped, snatching August's talented hand away from his pulsing stiffness. The way he was gripping August's hand, you'd think the boy had rubbed acid on his tender appendage.

Exhaling loudly, his chest heaved as, despite his efforts, he felt his body quiver. Grasping August's hand hard, he held it suspended in mid-air. Huffing and sputtering, he felt the familiar tingling, his rampant teen libido uncontrollable.

"Shit!!!" he shuddered, dropping his basketball.

Glancing down, he quivered as cum dribbled out the swollen head of his dick and onto the carpet below. August stepped aside, scarcely avoiding his dripping issue.

 

As soon as the last, fat dollop of cum trickled from his spasming cock, Vincent released him. Wrestling his still erect rod into his pants, he zipped them, sprinting across the floor to grab his basketball. Dashing out the door, he slammed it behind him...

 

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