Markwildyr.com,Post #251

 

Image Courtesyof Masterfile (Royalty-Free Div)

 

This week, we’ll finish the briefsaga of Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford, an ordinary guy living an ordinary life…until he sees the neighborhood kid in the back yard engaged in unnaturalactivities with another boy. So let’s see what he does about it.

 

* * * *

            SHAMUS LAZRUS SHUTTLEFORD

The opportunity to confrontyoung Timothy about his improprieties didn’t arise until the weekend. Shamushad just finished mowing the back lawn when Timothy appeared at his fence.

“Want me to edge it for you,Mr. S?” he asked in a pleasant baritone.

“I wouldn’t mind if you do,Timothy. I’ll fix some lemonade we can enjoy afterward.”

A wide grin split the youth’shandsome features. “Deal.”

As he watched Timothy, cladonly in shorts made from cut-off Levis and canvas slippers, Shamus was struckby how controlled this young man was. More than most eighteen-year-olds, hewagered. With that realization, came the understanding that Timothy hadn’t beenseduced the other day, he’d willingly collaborated in his debauchery. Thatthought was succeeded by another: did those shorts have a zipper or buttons?Shamus’ cheeks burned with that question. Why had it even crossed his mind?

Keeping an eye on Timothy’sprogress, he appeared on the back porch with a pitcher of freshly squeezedlemonade the moment the boy put the edger back into the shed. He’d long agolearned his offer of monetary payment would be spurned, so lemonade was thesubstitute.

The boy rinsed his hands inthe tap at the side of shed and dried them on the seat of his jeans beforetaking the lounger beside Shamus and accepting a tall, sweating glass of ade.

“Thanks, Mr. S. This’ll godown easy on a day like this. Hot for May, isn’t it?”

“Unseasonably.”

The boy chatted easily aboutschool and the Leopards, the high school football team he played for. But hewasn’t a selfish talker, he laced his description of his days with questionsabout Shamus’ family and work at the bookkeeping firm. Pleasant company, Shamusacknowledged for the ten-thousandth time. Had been since he was in elementaryschool. Shamus supposed they’d bonded so well because he was a fair mechanicand over the years had helped Timothy keep a parade of clunkers running. Likelywhy the boy was reluctant to accept payment for his help in the yard.

Eventually, the news of theweek was exhausted, and conversation languished. Now was the proper time toadmonish the lad over his behavior the other day. Even so, Shamus was reluctantto spoil the pleasant mood.

After a short silence, the boyspeared him with a look. “Anything you want to say to me, Mr. S”

“Beg pardon?”

“I know you saw me in the backyard the other day. Saw the blinds on your kitchen window close.”

“I… well….”

“I’ve known for a long timeyou could see our hidey spot in the back yard. But I thought you’d be at workthat day.”

“I took that afternoon off.”

“My bad luck, I guess.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll say nothingto your parents. But you should refrain from such actions. It’s… it’sunnatural.”

“Not according to the researchI’ve read. Lotsa guys do it. Don’t get me wrong. I just let this buddy have hisway every once in a while. Some researchers say masturbation’s healthy.”

Shamus felt his eyes widen.“That was not masturbation.”

Timothy grinned at him. “No,it was better. But I don’t let it get out of control. Bert would blow me everyday if I’d let him, but I only let him in every month or so.”

“Timothy, I’m not sure suchconversation is appropriate.”

“Why not? You saw me, so whoelse would I talk about it with? Sorry if it offended you.”

“Well… no. Disturbed, maybe.But offended?” Shamus licked his lips. “I don’t know. My concern was for you.”

“Thanks, Mr S.”

A small silence grew beforeTimothy spoke again.

“How about you? What do youdo… you know, for relief? Never see a woman over here. And you don’t go outmuch.”

Shamus was certain his earswere a bright red. He should have been in control of this conversation, butthis teen was taking it where he wanted.

“That is definitely not anappropriate question.”

“Why not?” Timothy asked. “We’refriends, aren’t we? Why can’t friends discuss things like that? You know,intimate things.”

“You should go to your fatherfor such advice.”

“I’m not asking for advice.I’m asking how you take care of your need. I know Mom and Dad still go at it,and you’re no older than they are.”

“Timothy!”

“Sorry. But don’t get mewrong, Mr. S. I like girls.” A grin grew on the youth’s lips. “A lot. Have somehot times, you know, enough to get to aching. But never scored. Not yet. Soon,I hope. And in the meantime, gotta do something to keep the lid on.”

As the boy fell silent, Shamusgrew aware of a heat building in his loins. He lifted a leg to hide a growingcondition.

“Too late,” Timothy said, alaugh hiding in his voice. “I already saw it.” He indicated the large bulge athis own groin. “Got to me too. See. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Shamus didn’t know what washappening to him. Maybe the boy’s voice was hypnotic, his powerful personalpresence too much for Shamus to handle. But whatever it was, he allowed the boyto talk on. Then he was aware of the boy’s hand touching him. Little Timothy’shand—but now, he was big Timothy, a strapping six-footer with wide shoulders,narrow waist, trim hips and long legs lightly covered in hair.

As he moved his hand to theyouth’s groin, a long-repressed memory emerged from his fogged brain. Thememory of a golden-haired youth with emerald eyes from his youth. Jimmy. Ah,the things they’d done. The pleasure they’d shared.

Shamus grunted as Timothy’sfingers attacked his fly.

 

*.*.*.*.

Sometimesconversations go awry. I wonder how Shamus will regard this one in the space ofa day or two later. Not certain, but I’m sure of one thing. He’ll remember itfor a long, long time.

 

My contactinformation is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it!

See you later.

 

 

Mark

 

New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.