Poppas Cub Ch 06

Chapter Six

The Harley throbbed to life as Mike passed the bar. He could feel Kyle's puzzlement and put a reassuring hand on his knee.

He swooped in and out of local traffic gracefully. Kyle's new jacket protected him from the onrush of the air, the leather was stiff, and felt like armor. He wondered where they were going, but trusted Mike.

He reflected upon their conversations as Mike pulled onto SR 14 and headed east.

Past Camas, he pulled into the quiet little community of Washougal, Washington.

Kyle had never been here before, and softly Mike maneuvered through the quiet streets.

Weaving through the long, rural neighborhoods was like a soft dream to Kyle. He loved the quiet, loved the space.

Mike pulled to one side and unzipped his jacket, flipping up his visor.

He extracted a strip from a classified newspaper, which had a red circle in ink around it.

Kyle strained to see, and Mike handed it to him, restarting the bike.

It looked like some sort of house listing, and Mike eased around the neighborhoods and found a mailbox with the same number.

He stopped and looked up the drive.

The old farmhouse was not in the best of condition, and the for sale sign in one window made it obvious that it was in some sort of abandonment.

Kyle tilted his head.

Mike purred the bike up the drive and parked it.

He took off his helmet and shook his head.

"I grew up here," he said softly.

Kyle's eyes widened.

"Before my mom went into the nursing home, this is where she raised us kids," he explained. "It's been thirty years or more since I've been up this road."

He took a brochure from the plastic container on the front of the home and carefully folded it in four quarters.

Kyle watched him.

"Besides we had to make sure those leathers of yours looked good," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Kyle tilted his head.

"Poppa, why did we come here?" He asked.

"I needed you to see where I came from, I think. I'm not sure. I did want to ride some, and for some reason this place called. All of the parks and places they would have been crowded, but here, nothing. It's dead."

Kyle looked at the magnificent fur trees, the cedars which threatened to spear the sun itself and turned to him, "dead, no. Nothing close to dead. Maybe some bad memories?"

Mike shook his head.

"Not here, not until we moved into Camas. This was the place of my innocence. Maybe I needed to feel that again. To feel fresh."

Kyle leaned up for a kiss.

Mike leaned down, he liked the solider feel of Kyle in leather, and his moustache softly tickled his lips.

Their tongues brushed only softly.

"Com'on cub, let's get to the bar."

"Yes Poppa."

Within minutes they had returned to the heart of downtown. Kyle led the way inside.

"Can I see some I.D. please?" The barkeeper asked.

Kyle proffered his wallet and smiled a bit.

The man behind the bar smiled at him.

"Now son you do know where you're at, right?"

Kyle replied by pulling back his jacket and showing off the, ‘cub' paw print. He thumbed at Mike behind him.

The bartender eyed Mike.

"So you finally got laid, huh old man?" He teased.

"You might say that," Mike said.

Kyle's stomach tightened.

"So what'll it be, birthday cub?"

Pitcher of Miller," Kyle replied.

Two iced glasses were put on the corkboard serving tray as the large pitcher was on it. Kyle dug into his walled but the bartender waved a hand.

"Not on your birthday, cub," he said. "First one's on us."

"Thank you," Kyle replied, carrying the load.

Mike walked past the cigarette dispenser into the secondary room. Tables to the left, a billiard table with red felt to the right. In the distant right, an incredibly small stage and dance area. Kyle had not been expecting much and at the North Bank, he hadn't been disappointed.

Darla swished at him effeminately from two tables that had been pushed together.

"Kyle, oh, Kyle! Oh my lord, you've gone butch! Isn't he so CUTE!"

Sitting at the table was Darla, Frankie and two other friends, Markus and James.

Carefully he sat the pitcher down, and took his place at Mike's right. He was feeling both shy and excited, the mixture of birthday right-of-passage and new-kid-on-the-block. The beer was very helpful.

The group en masse' had small birthday presents for him.

From Darla he received a small bottle of good whisky and some condoms for, ‘family planning' as a gag gift. Mike advised him that those damned things, ‘tasted like rubber' and got a big laugh.

Frankie slipped him a very fat baggie of marijuana under the table as well as a funny little jar with a yellow wrapper around it marked, ‘rush'. He eyed it curiously and was told in hushed voices that it made everything just a little more fun. Kyle was all for fun, and both were slipped into the enormous pockets of the leather jacket.

Marcus, was the second youngest to Kyle, he was twenty five, and enjoyed the look on Kyle's face as he unwrapped a short stack of books, gifts from he and James. The top two were Meatmen #1 and #2, anthologies of gay male comics, and the bottom one was a rare copy of, ‘the joy of gay sex'. Kyle's eyes lit up as the delicate drawings played across his sight.

"Like he needs any help..." Mike growled playfully at them.

Kyle poked at his poppa, pointing out a particularly graphic pose and giggling slightly.

"Oh, right, like my back is gonna be able to handle that," Mike said.

"Well you could try letting me on top for a change," Kyle countered as playfully.

"Why you little," Mike growled in mock ferocity. "I'll put you over my knee."

"Like you weren't planning to do that anyway," Kyle replied dryly.

"Ladies, pul-lease. I don't know what I'm going to do with either one of you," Darla gestured.

Birthday wishes were given, toasts and cheers made.

Kyle felt very comfortable. He was understanding that he'd made a large social breakthrough. This was the last taboo, the last barrier to not just his adulthood, but also his education as a gay male. From this point on, he had all that he needed to learn about his new culture.

Food was ordered, delivered and devoured, and the beer flowed freely.

They talked about everything, nothing, and all places in between.

Despite his youth, Kyle felt also included. He and James could talk comics across the table. On occasion Mike would drop a Vietnam comment to Darla or Frankie. Marcus was very technically literate and Kyle and he had many computer discussions.

As the pool was free on Sunday, the men took turns playing. Mike was quite a sharpshooter billiards wise and ran the table until he got distracted by Kyle bending over and muffed an easy sink. Frankie wouldn't let that one go and neatly retired the older man off the table. He, Marcus, and James tag-teamed for the lead a few times, until Darla smoked Marcus.

Kyle couldn't shoot a ball to save his soul, however none could best him at missile command. His nimble fingers played the trackball deftly, keeping the machine alive for easily a quarter hour. His only competition was Marcus who gave a respectful showing.

When Kyle flipped the asteroids machine twice, they all groaned something about sandbagging.

Kyle's winning smile rarely left his face even as the late summer evening drew long.

Mike plied him with drinks and Kyle enjoyed the warm, fuzzy glow. He nauseated easily and was not able to put down the vast amounts others did, but enjoyed himself none the less.

Nature called, as often it did to those who drank copious amounts of beer.

Kyle went back into the bar room, down the short hall and at the end, toward he left was the men's room. It was tiny, and dingy, with two rust stained urinals and two stalls. Kyle had always used stalls, feeling self-conscious about himself, and as he went into the far stall, he sat down. After conducting his business he stepped out to see a chalkboard along the wall. It had various telephone numbers, and in a corner, was the outline of a paw-print. In it read a short note:

‘K, whenever you're ready. Love, M'

Kyle shivered, and wiped the board clean. He scrawled back:

‘M, I'm ready. Love, K'

Kyle washed his hands, combed his hair and goatee.

He returned to the group and sat down, this time sipping at a glass. In a few moments, Mike went and came back. He whispered into his ear.

"Be sure. Be very sure."

Kyle responded by kissing him.

Mike's eyes traveled to Frankie who headed out to the garden.

A quick nod from him at the doorway and Mike tapped Kyle on the shoulder.

Kyle stood.

Darla watched him, as did James and Marcus.

He walked tall, dignified.

Mike had already gone, and Frankie was at the door. As Kyle passed through, he reached behind, and flipped the privacy lock.

Mike sat in an armless Adirondack style chair made of cedar, next to a matching table, smiling slightly. The Garden was poorly lit, and they were the only ones in it. He sipped from a glass of ice water.

Kyle heard the door shut, and unbeknownst to him, Frankie took a small sign and tacked it to the door. It read, 'private party'. He nodded to the bartender who understood that such things happened from time to time.

Kyle walked to him, and Mike patted his lap to sit down for a moment.

"It's pretty quiet," Kyle said.

"I asked if we could have some space," Mike said. "I know you'd love to show off, but perhaps just being outside, might be enough."

Kyle blushed and nodded.

Mike beckoned with a hand, and softly they kissed. Both men grew aroused and Mike groped at Kyle's crotch softly.

Kyle rubbed his lips against Mike's mustache lovingly, and their kissing grew feverish. Mike unsnapped the button at the top of the pants and gave them a yank down.

Kyle's eyes grew wise as he was tugged down, his ass laid up.

"Count with me, cub," he growled.

With each strike, each spank, the intensity grew. Mike stopped at every third spank or so, and the longer it went, the higher Kyle's voice got, as if he were going through a reverse puberty. At seventeen or so, his butt was a brilliant fuchsia, and he was gritting his teeth, hissing the count. At twenty, a single tear ran down, and at twenty-one, he nearly passed out.

Mike helped him stand, eased him onto the table.

The endomorphs coursed through Kyle's body like heroin, his face was flush. Mike looked him over carefully to make sure all was well.

Kyle nodded in a positive manner.

Mike took an ice cube from his drink, and softly rubbed it against the pink butt.

The contrast of the hot spanking and the ice cube had a calming effect on Kyle.

Mike pulled the chair up, to softly taking his domain of the younger man.

Softly, he lowered his head and ran a gentle tongue at the base of Kyle's scrotum.

Kyle moaned, his tool jutting toward the sky.

Mike's flickering tongue went up and down the penis, teasing, as it never would strike the head, nuzzling the shaft, and back down. Deeper he went and tenderly rolled his tongue around Kyle's tight pucker.

Kyle began to breathe deeply, his head lolled to one side. Softly he said something.

Yes, cub?" Mike asked, and returned to his rimming.

"Please," Kyle weakly gasped.

"Please what?" Mike teased, speaking to Kyle's groin, the hot, moist air complimenting Kyle's crimson tanned ass.

"Please, poppa, please."

Mike leaned forward and stuck the length of his tongue into Kyle's ass, softly gnawing on the perianal area.

Kyle moaned, and then outright begged, "Please, Poppa! Please fuck your cub!"

Mike's failing of course, was that he could never turn down a begging man.

He stood, and unbuttoned his fly, the head of which dripped it's clear fluid.

Without lubrication other than saliva, he pressed the tip against Kyle's soft rectum.

Gently he stroked Kyle, which caused him to writhe. When Kyle had gotten used to the pattern of the stroke, Mike dropped an inch of his thick penis into the younger man's tightness.

"Gah!" Kyle said.

Mike smirked his hungry smile and slid another inch in, slowly parting the muscle. Kyle had only barely remembered to relax himself.

Mike started to fuck Kyle gently, the dry friction causing them both to excite even more.

"Yes, poppa," Kyle slurred, his mouth open.

Mike's cock pumped the younger man faster, and harder, in time to his hand which was wrapped around Kyle's dick.

Quicker, and quicker both men went, until Kyle couldn't take it any more.

A long, thick stream of semen arced into the air, staining his new shirt and even reaching the lowest part of his chin. His ass contracted and Mike reacted, roaring with pleasure as he shot hot sperm into Kyle's wanting bottom.

Both men rested for a while, staying in position.

Mike took his hand off Kyle's dick and softly licked off the semen.

"Kyle," he said softly.

"Yes, poppa?" Kyle replied.

"Happy Birthday, cub," He said, reaching for Kyle's hand.

"Thank you, poppa." Kyle said, smiling.