Just a Nice Boy

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes, I need an editor and no, I do not want an editor. Yes, it jumps around too much, yes there's too many people to keep track of, yes it's too long, yes it's too short, yes it's in the wrong category, yes this is stupid shit, and yes I suck.

But if you're that upset by it all? Just email me your bank account number and routing information and I'll refund every penny you paid me to read this story.

For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this tale.

*.*.*

Albert Rosenberg knew he'd screwed up the moment he saw the flashing lights in his rearview mirror. Tijuana Jack had ice cold draft beer and it was served by a beautiful woman with Texas sized titties on full display.

But that was still no reason to sit and have seven of them. Having seven beers and then deciding to drive home had been a real screw up.

"Had anything to drink tonight, sir?" the Oakleaf police officer was courteous.

"Yes sir, far too many," Albert confessed, opening the door of his car.

"Sir, stay in your car," the officer ordered.

Fifty minutes later, Albert was sitting in a cell, glumly looking at the gray cinderblock walls, the gray steel bars, the gray cot, with its gray sheet and gray blanket.

"Hey, how's it going?" a young man on another cot cheerfully said.

"Like shit," Albert mumbled.

"So, what'd you do?" the young man asked. "Must have been serious if they put you in here with me."

Albert was suddenly afraid. Had they put him, a drunk, in with a serial killer? True, it was his third DUI in two years, true he would lose his license, again, for at least a year.

But he wasn't a dangerous man. Albert had heard the horror stories of people that drove in a blackout and came to, only to realize they'd killed a family in an automobile accident. He'd sat impassively while this girl sobbed because a drunk ran over her and now she'll never walk again.

But those stories didn't apply to him. Albert Rosenberg was always careful as he drove, always exercised diligence.

"Brandon Wright," the young man said, happily sticking out his hand.

"Albert Rosenberg," Albert said, shaking the young man's hand.

"Jewish, huh? Tell me, Albert, have you heard the good news? The good news that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ died for your sins?" Brandon asked.

Then the handsome man collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Sorry, man, sorry," he giggled.

He gained his composure.

"Was raised by the Reverend Always Right, I mean, the Reverend Alan Wright and his beautiful wife, Mrs. Never Home, I mean Mrs. Natalie Wright. No matter what the argument, dear old Dad can find some fucking biblical quote to back his argument up, and dear old Mom is so fucking whacked out on prescription pills she doesn't know what day it is," the young man said.

The handsome young man smiled, green eyes shining. Albert wondered if the young man might be on some sort of drug; he seemed too happy given their surroundings.

"Let me tell you how it started, Albert Rosenberg," Brandon said.

1.1.1

My father had it in his head that I would follow in his footsteps, become a self-righteous pompous sanctimonious prick. Maybe that's not how he saw himself, but that was how I saw him. He was a good old fire and brimstone, hellfire and damnation preacher. Every Wednesday night and every Sunday, twice on Sunday, he would rail and scream and scream and jump up and down, preaching judgements.

He never seemed to preach about Jesus dying to forgive our sins, never seemed to talk about the loving side of God. Just the vengeful, vindictive God.

And because I'd been born a son, a good looking young man, with thick brown hair and beautiful green eyes, because I was tall and muscular, because I had a good, strong voice, I would be a preacher.

I don't think so.

Right after I graduated from High school, my father decided I would go to Atwell College of Divinity. I was already registered to Connelly College here in Oakleaf, Texas. But Dear Old Dad pulled some strings and suddenly Connelly had never heard of me and Atwell was welcoming me to the fall semester.

So, I stole fifty bucks from my mother's wallet and bought a bus ticket for Houston, Texas. Why Houston? Why not?

On the bus, I met this older man, probably my father's age. We sat and catted the whole way to Houston.

When we pulled up to the terminal, Matt, that was the nice old man's name, Matt asked me if I had a place to stay. I told him I didn't.

It had been a whim, a total lark, an adventure.

"Well, I got an apartment couple of blocks from here; come on," Matt said.

So I went with him. He held onto my arm, as if he was afraid I'd run, or someone else would steal me away from him.

His apartment turned out to be just this one tiny ass room. There was a twin bed against one wall, a small table and two chairs against the other wall. And on the table was an old television and a vcr machine. We had a vcr at home, along with 'Family' movies. There was a stack of tapes on the table too and I went and looked at the tapes. I was sure this guy didn't have 'Old Yeller' or 'The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes' in his collection.

'Anal Actions' and 'Cock Sucking Sweethearts' were just a few of the titles he had.

While I was looking at the titles of his tapes, Matt was busy making us some drinks. As he stirred the vodka and orange juice, he mentioned that he had a couple of joints too.

This got my attention. I've drank a few times; my best friend Derek Davidson's mom is a bit of a drunk. My dad doesn't like me hanging out with Derek, but I like Derek. And I like his mom and his older sister.

In fact, the first time I saw Vickie, Derek's mom, I thought she was his sister. She's got long blonde hair, slightly pudgy face, pouting lips and really nice boobs. Since she's only five feet tall, she looks a lot younger than she is.

Actually, I have no idea how old she is; she must have been only eighteen or nineteen when she had Linda, that's Derek's older sister.

Linda looks exactly like Vickie, even down to the height and big boobs.

But we, Derek and I have never been able to score any weed. Linda one time said she knew someone that knew someone that could get us some, but she just took our fifty bucks and laughed at us.

Matt rolled a joint, then turned on the television and there was already a tape in the machine. He rewound it and we sat on the edge of his bed. He put his hand on my leg as he lit the joint and I watched as 'Cum Bath' flashed on the screen of his television.

He handed me the joint and I took a mammoth hit and almost coughed. But I didn't want to look like a punk ass bitch in front of Matt so I held the smoke in, eyes watering.

Then I did cough when the movie started. On the screen was a massive cock and it was spurting jizz all over. Then the camera backed up and I saw that the huge dick was spurting cream all over this guy's face.

And the guy had his mouth open, trying to catch all the jizz.

Matt handed me the joint again and I took another massive hit, watching this guy eating another guy's sperm. Matt rubbed my leg as we watched a guy start fucking another guy up the ass

"You uh, you like that?" Matt asked.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, this is good shit," I said.

"Yeah, guy in the ground floor has some really good shit," Matt said, still rubbing my leg.

Then the guy fucking the other guy's ass pulled out and started creaming all over the guy's ass and back, just shooting all over him.

The joint burned my fingers, but by now, I was really feeling it; the weed and the alcohol. The tape ended with this dude laying on his back with these five guys kneeling by his face and they're all jerking off and coming all over his face.

Then Matt slipped in another tape and we watched 'Anal Action' and it's nothing but guys fucking other guys up the ass and he fixed me another drink, watching this shit.

Then Matt said, "Hey, can I blow you?"

By now, I'm all kind of fucked up and I just pulled my shorts and drawers down and Matt said, "Wow!"

My dick's about seven and a half inches long, but it's nice and fat and the head has this nice fat lip, this ridge all the way around.

Anyway, Matt knelt on the floor and started jacking me, then he started sucking me.

And he pulled his own clothes off and he had a really nice looking cock, about as long as mine, and about as fat as mine, but he's uncut, and his balls are huge.

He got back to sucking my cock. I started moaning; Matt could suck cock even better than Rhonda Jensen, the school whore. He slid a finger up my ass while he sucked my cock and his other hand squeezed my balls. And I'm sitting there, watching this guy on this shitty TV taking a really big dick up his ass and here's this guy jamming his finger up my ass.

"Fuck!" I screamed and Matt swallowed my spunk.

He just kept sucking my cock and finger fucking my ass and he jammed a second finger up my ass while I watched a guy on television getting fucked like he's a girl. Then Matt's mouth popped off my cock and he stretched up and jammed his tongue into my mouth and I can taste myself all over his tongue. And he's still fingering me, fucking me with his two fingers.

"Hey, you uh, you want to suck my whang?" he asked.

I didn't really want to, but, I mean, fuck, the guy just sucked mine, so I agreed. He pulled his fingers out of my hole and I go to pull my shorts back up but he stopped me.

"No, no, just kneel on the bed, huh?" he said and laid down.

So I knelt over him and I stroke his cock; he's got a nice fat vein and then I put my mouth over the head of it.

I've never sucked a cock before; it's weird. It's nice and soft and rubbery and it's nice and hard and slick and it tastes like sweat and flesh. And I'm thinking I'd love to suck Derek's cock.

I'd never ever thought of sucking my best friend's dick before. But now, as I'm sucking this old guy's big fat whang, I'm thinking Derek's cock's about the same size as mine and I bet he tastes great.

Matt pulls me around so now I'm kneeling, my ass close to his face.

And he started fingering my hole again. His big fat fingers sliding in and out of my hole feels fucking amazing and I suddenly got this thought; I wonder if Derek would let me fuck him. I know I'd let him fuck me.

I started going crazy, jacking Matt off, sucking on him and he started jamming his fingers in my hole and all of a sudden he screamed and my mouth is filling up with sperm. I'm thinking I don't really like the taste of this shit and I'm swallowing it because I fucking love sucking cock and eating sperm and I'll bet Derek's sperm tastes fucking great.

Even after he pushed my mouth away from his cock, Matt kept fucking my ass with his fingers.

"God damn, boy, like sucking dick, huh?" Matt said.

"Yeah," I admitted.

"I'm going fuck your pussy, you hear?" Matt said.

He pulled his fingers out of my ass and got out of the bed.

I just stayed right where I was; he didn't tell me to move.

Then he came out of his bathroom and he had a tube in his hand. And even though I just sucked him off, his pole's getting hard again.

He knelt behind me and I felt this really cold, really slimy shit on my ass hole and I couldn't help but shiver. Then he started fingering me again, but this time, his fingers are just sliding right in and out of me.

Then I felt him push his fat hard cock against my hole.

The first few seconds? I wanted to scream for him to stop; my ass felt like it was on fire, like he was splitting me in half. And then something in me went 'pop' and I actually screamed; it felt so fucking good.

He put his hands on my hips and started pounding me. I'd fucked Rhonda a couple of times and I imagine, this must be what she felt like. A big fat cock ramming in and out of her hole. No wonder she was such a slut.

"Oh, oh, God damn, fuck yeah," Matt groaned and suddenly I felt something really warm filling my guts.

I came, I came all over his blanket, just squirted my come in a big fucking puddle.

Matt pulled his cock out of my ass, then actually scooped my come up off his bed and licked his hand clean.

Then we smoked another joint and he drank another drink and fell asleep.

Me? I couldn't sleep; I was on fire.

When he was really snoring, I went and dug his wallet out of his jeans. The mother fucker had like a thousand bucks in his wallet. I knew a bus ticket home was fifty bucks, I knew a bag of weed was like fifty bucks. A really good bag of weed might be a hundred. So I helped myself to two hundred bucks and took the tube of lubricant off the floor, and let myself out of his apartment.

There were four apartments on the ground floor. Only one had its lights on, though, so I knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" a huge black guy snarled at me.

"Hey, Matt sent me," I said.

"Yeah?" he asked, but not as mean sounding.

"Yeah, said give me a hundred bucks worth," I said, holding out one of the hundred dollar bills.

"Hold up," he said, grabbing my hundred dollar bill and slamming the door.

A few minutes later, he handed me a sandwich bag about half full of weed. He actually laughed when I told him thank you.

Then I jammed it in my underwear and ran to the Greyhound bus station.

*.*.*

A clang was heard and Brandon looked in the direction of the sound.

"Mother fucker, get your fucking hands off me, cock sucker, I fucking reduce you, know what I'm saying," a short African-American man was squealing.

Albert hoped they would put the newcomer into their cell. It would give Brandon someone else to talk to.

His happy seven beer buzz had worn off the moment the police officer had put him into the rear of the cruiser. Now, he had the beginnings of a hangover.

But they put the surly young man into a different cell.

"Wright, you in here again?" the guard said.

"Yeah," Brandon smiled.

"Boy, you just a nice boy, why you can't stay your ass out of here, huh?" the guard asked, then walked away before Brandon could answer.

"Anyway, I bought a bus ticket back here to Oakleaf," Brandon continued to tell Albert. "Left on Thursday, made it back by Friday night."

2.2.2

I got home and no one had even noticed that I'd been gone. Dad just assumed I was with Derek, my mom just assumed I was there but she was too fucked up on whatever to notice, and my sister just didn't care if I was there or not. So I went to my room, hid my weed with my Penthouse magazines, hid the tube of lube in my underwear drawer and went and took a shower.

I wanted to call Derek, tell Derek I had some really great shit, but as oblivious as everyone was, they'd get all pissed off, I just came home and I'm gone again.

Plus that, I could smell popcorn. And popcorn meant 'family night' in our house. Family night was my dad's idea. Just in case you're not unhappy enough, it's time for the whole family to sit together and bond, playing board games.

"Not 'Life' God, please not 'Life' God, I hate that fucking game God, if you're listening, please not 'Life,'" I begged as I put on my pajamas and walked into the living room.

No, it was worse than that. It was 'Monopoly.' That game goes on forever, just long enough for Mom's medication to start wearing off so she's cranky as hell and starts talking shit about Dad's tiny dick and some ass hole she knew named Frank.

I'm great at Monopoly. Great enough to know how to lose quickly. Forty minutes into it, I'm bankrupt and Mom's actually grinning because she's got a couple homes on her properties.

I stuffing the popcorn in my mouth as quick as I can; I'd not had anything to eat in forever.

Finally, it came down to Mom and Donna, my sister. And then Mom landed on one of the properties that Donna's got two hotels on and its game over.

Dad decided we've suffered long enough and we're given parole and Mom called Donna a money hungry little bitch and knew it was time to run.

Later that night, I made myself two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and wished we had beer, or vodka, or whiskey, or anything. But I drank down my glass of milk, it does a body good, and then had to take a humongous shit. In the laundry hamper, I found a pair of Mom's panties and sniffed her pussy while shitting. Then I whacked off into the toilet while sniffing her panties.

Dad used to tell me it was better to spill my seed into the belly of a whore than to spill my seed on the ground. I wondered what he would think if he knew I was spilling my seed into his septic tank.

I wondered what he would say if he knew an old guy had spilled his seed up my ass.

Saturday meant I had to do chores, yard work mostly. The stuff Dad's too fucking old to get off his fat ass and do. But for whatever reason, it's good for me to do it.

Yeah, Dad, feels fucking great for me to do it.

And uh, hey, uh, who's going do this shit while I'm at Atwell College? Think Donna would ever take the chance of getting her hands dirty?

But it's Saturday so I got busy on yard work and Dad's smiling proudly that I'm doing yard work without being told to do yard work, without being threatened, without being ordered. I finished and earned myself another beaming smile from Dad when I asked if there was anything else I needed to do.

Then I took a shower. In the shower, I made sure to clean my cock good. Just in case Derek might want to suck my cock after I suck his.

Derek looks a lot like his mom; he's got long blonde hair that he has pulled back in a ponytail, a sweet pudgy face and sweet kissable lips.

He's the same height as me; we're both six feet, one inches. In fact, we've accidentally worn each other's clothes and they fit.

My chest has a few hairs on it, but Derek's is baby smooth.

Just thinking about licking his chest, sucking his nipples, my cock is throbbing. So once again, I fill Dad's septic tank with my seed.

Then I get dressed, stuff the bag of weed in my drawers, get the tube of KY jelly and finally I'm free.

"Oh. It's you," Linda sneered as she opened the door of the trailer.

Vickie wasn't home, at least her Mercedes wasn't there. Vickie owned a 1970 Mercedes-Benz in this hideous metallic green color. She'd been fucking this really old guy; he was like seventy, maybe even eighty years old. He was married but obviously that didn't mean much to him.

Anyway, Vickie was fucking him and mentioned that she really loved his car. A couple of days later, he dropped dead of a heart attack.

Died on the golf course, not between Vickie's legs.

Well, anyway, a few weeks after he died, Vickie answered the door of her trailer and there was this old woman using a walker to get around and she just handed Vickie the keys and the title to the Mercedes-Benz.

"Enjoy it, whore," the old woman said and hobbled away as fast as her walker would take her.

Derek waved me in and we went to his room.

"Man! Where you been?" Derek asked me.

"Fucking Houston, man and you won't fucking believe what I did," I enthused.

I told him about meeting Matt on the bus, told Derek about going back to Matt's apartment.

"Dude! A vcr? I didn't even know they still make them!" Derek laughed.

"Shit, probably don't," I laughed.

I told him Matt had a bunch of tapes and we lit up a joint.

"Fucker!" Derek snapped, jealous.

"And we're sitting there, watching these fucking fag movies, smoking a joint," I said.

Then I told Derek that all of Matt's movies were gay porn and he laughed. Then I pulled the bag of weed out of my drawers and he gasped.

He locked his bedroom door and searched frantically through his dresser drawers until he found the rolling papers we'd bought when Linda said she'd get us some weed. I was still talking, still telling him about my trip to Houston.