The Worst Of These
Permission was given by Josh, the author of The Least of These, to spoof his story. The more fool him. His only request was that I `be kind to Davey'. And how could I not? Davey is such a tender soul, possessed of a unique physical and psychic beauty and deeply devoted to Mickey as you, Dear Reader, will surely see here in this, the TRUE, unedited and unvarnished story of Davey and Mickey. Despite the factual accuracy of this version, or perhaps because of it, TR has taken the precaution of submitting this story through two blind email accounts and changing his unlisted phone number. Honesty is so out of fashion these days.]
THE WORST OF THESE…
Chapter 1- My Best Friend
Davey and I were born two weeks apart in June of 1968 during the biggest hurricane to hit Texas in decades. Unwelcome disasters always came in threes, our moms would later say. We were each only children with single moms, both friendly girls who had never remembered to take the pill back in the groovy sixties. In the summer of 1974, when we both turned six, Davey and his mom moved to our neighborhood of old, run down crack houses and dilapidated bungalows.
August in Texas is hotter than hell. I was sitting in the shade of our porch watching the neighbor cat stalk and eat a helpless mockingbird. For a kid who was usually on the police unscheduled-checkup list, the blood and guts were great entertainment. So I didn't notice the huge noisy moving van when it belched smoke and broke down in the middle of the street. Either that or I really was nearsighted.
I did notice when it stopped at the vacant house next door. While I was watching the uniformed men unload and surreptitiously casing the contents for a little five finger action, I saw a boy my own age step onto the porch clutching his unzipped pants with one hand and begin to pick his nose with the other.
At that age and with my visual impairment, I had no real acquaintance with beauty. And, after all, I lived in Texas. But this boy filled me with wonder and a desire to tickle my thompson. His features were exquisite, his long beaky nose accentuating the heavy mono-brow that topped it. His small sunken eyes were a watery blue. He had long hair, with an almost-yellow amateur dye job, and a low forehead. His face was flushed with whatever he'd just been doing with his pants down. He was flawless perfection in a six-year-old body. I was in the presence of a superior being, a prince, a veritable movie star.
But I was never a shy kid; I walked up the steps and grabbed his unit. He looked at me steadily and kicked me hard in the shin. I giggled, then he giggled. I liked Davey already. Later when we diddled each other in the back yard, I found that Davey wasn't the best playmate, he had a tendency to be selfish with his hands. But there's nothing like spanking the monkey with another boy to bond the two of them together. Now Davey and me were officially friends.
That night, his mom, Maggie, tucked Davey and me into bed together on top of his waterproof sheets. Davey was evidently a bedwetter. She stroked Davey's stringy hair and then mine. I grinned up at her, my hand already wandering to Davey's pee-pee under the sheet.
"I'm so glad we met you, Mickey. I was worried that Davey wouldn't make any friends when he goes off alone to first grade next week. You saw how shy he is."
Davey snickered and my hand worked its way to his little-boy balls under the sheet while she talked.
She smiled down at us. "You'll look after Davey when school starts, won't you, Mickey?"
I looked into her bloodshot blue eyes, so like Davey's. I would have promised her anyway but now Davey's hand was on my dingaling under the Aquaman rubber sheets. I nodded. "I'll always look after poor Davey, I promise."
Davey rolled his eyes and snorted. Maggie's eyes softened. She kissed us both on the forehead, the stale scent of beer on her breath. At the door, she turned off the overhead light, which only left Davey's nightlight for those inevitable emergency trips to the bathroom. He giggled, then I giggled, then he giggled, then I giggled, and then he pinched me. Hard. I liked Davey.
Davey and I had several days to ourselves before school started and we made the most of it. We diddled, we turned over trashcans, we shot little birds with my b-b-gun, we let the air out of car tires and then we diddled some more.
The first day of school, Mom and Maggie took us to school together. We were going to be in the same first grade class together despite my poor vision and Davey's obvious impairments. Maggie clung to Davey, unwilling to let him go until he made wee-wee in his pants. Then she pushed him away and left with my mom and he latched onto me, demanding that I switch trousers with him. I patted his head and we went to our seats. The look Davey gave me would have peeled paint at twenty paces but I knew he was just nervous to be away from his mom. He glared; I smiled. I was so glad my Davey was with me, if he hadn't been, I think I would have been scared, too. Richardson Elementary was a big, ramshackle school with peeling lead paint on the walls and hundreds of future gangstas in attendance. So I was glad he stuck to me.
We did well in first grade, especially after we took those candid snapshots of the teacher on his knees with the janitor. We were inseparable. When Davey went to the bathroom, I went to the bathroom. When he played at recess, I played at recess until he finally must have discovered a place where I couldn't find him. Whenever Davey met someone, I was right behind him. When Davey told me to piss off and get a life, I laughed and patted his head. Davey was an innocent. And darned if I didn't feel a little bit like a hero looking after him.
I looked after Davey by day and Maggie looked after Davey by night, changing his sheets and wiping his always-runny nose. All in all, we had a fun first grade and both passed to the second grade, despite Davey's attempts to talk the teacher into holding me back a year. Davey was such a kidder.
In second grade, they tested me and put me in a special class. The look of relief on Davey's face was heart-rending; he would miss me. He handled our separation well, though, making his own friends and running the school's numbers racket at recess. I was still followed him to school and back every day despite his endless attempts to find a new route. Davey was so cute.
All through grade school, we stayed in the same school, despite me being in those special classes, and spent nights at each other's houses, doing our homework together with Maggie's help. We explored our neighborhood together, constructing a fort out of building materials we swiped from a local hardware store. Davey joined Little League but quit when I said I'd try out. We did Boy Scouts together and learned to make campfires, pick locks and fellate the hornier Eagle Scouts. I liked scouting but there was something else I liked about those guys. They told us more about the facts of life than all the issues of Hustler I'd been able to shoplift. Campouts were always especially informative.
As always, I shared everything I learned with Davey while he feigned sleep at night in our bedroll. I told him about guys doing it with busty prostitutes (oooh, gross!), with other boys, and with sheep (maybe not so gross). I remember whispering to Davey that sometimes `Boys do it with other boys. But they're not supposed to." Davey rolled his eyes and scooted further away in the bedroll. I put my arms around him and patted his back reassuringly. Davey told me take a hike but he just must have misunderstood the scoutmaster's schedule. He was always slow that way. I pulled him close, glad I was there to take care of him. We fell asleep that way. I loved waking up entwined around Davey, the bedroll fragrant from his nightly farts. If Davey had been any other boy, it wouldn't have been fun.
The summer after we turned twelve, our moms took all-night jobs of some kind in the red light district and we were left alone a lot. I guess Davey and me became latchkey kids. We lay around all summer, watching endless Dukes of Hazzard reruns and getting high with the neighborhood teenagers. One day, Maggie took us to the local city pool. I had my regular baggy swimsuit but Davey was going to swim in just shorts.
He took off his long tee shirt to reveal skintight Daisy Dukes that rode up high in the back, baring the white fleshy mounds of his doughy ass. Davey's flabby stomach protruded over the low waistband. He stood there, my Ideal of virile young boyhood in the flesh. Now I had seen Davey naked plenty of times but he definitely filled the shorts out nicely (I wanted shorts like that) and it was the first time my cock responded to the sight of another boy. I took Davey's hand in mine and didn't even notice when he struggled to get free. I had long ago gotten used to that. What I was concerned about was whether my woodie was showing. My weenie was so small that it was sometimes hard to tell.
Reruns are fun and Scott Baio is even hotter when you're high but Davey and I finally ran out of things to do that summer that wouldn't land us in juvie. I came up with a plan to keep Davey entertained. The idea came to me when Davey was lying on the floor watching television one day and I started idly rubbing his butt. As usual, Davey pretended to fend me off and even asked me if I `fucking wanted to take this outside, asshole'.
While the offer was tempting, I had other concerns. Touching Davey's fat, flabby ass while I pinned him down had given me an erection, a roaring hard-on. I wanted to touch his butt with it; just sort of press Junior into it, but quickly banished the thought. I hated to remind Davey of my shortcomings. But for the first time, I had the conscious thought that I might be a swish.
I really took to butt rubs and whenever I took to something, I always included Davey. I gave him my lunch money so he'd co-operate and started rubbing him every day after school while our moms were sleeping it off somewhere downtown. Of course, I made him rub me, too. We kept doing it all through seventh grade and we got good at it. The first time I felt his stiffie against my ass, I was thrilled. That he could be excited, however reluctantly, by the rubs seemed way too good to be true. Maybe I could start untying his feet from the radiator while we did it.
I remember the first time he came. It must have been August because that's when the fleas get bad in Texas and I'd been picking them off him for weeks. He was humping my ass roughly with his boner and no way was I going to stop him. It reminded me of my favorite neighborhood poodle who often grabbed my legs and hunched me with a glazed look in her eye. I always came in my Underoos and after the first time had made friends with all the mutts on our street and never went anywhere without dog treats in my pocket. I knew now why they were called man's best friend. After Davey came that sweaty August afternoon, his prick against the skidmarks in my shorts, I was roaring hard with that aching need to cum that all tender young boys get and I ground my tiny dick against the threadbare carpet until I came too.
I lay there, feeling shame and wondering if I was making poor Davey gay. When we stood up, both our shorts were wet through but he acted as if nothing had happened and ignored me, as usual. Davey's mind was special that way but I still wished that he'd given in to my pleading for a reach-around. Junior felt like he had a carpet burn.
I had my first wet dream that next summer and told only Davey about it, first thing next morning. He pretended to ignore me but I could tell he was interested. Sometimes poor Davey was hard to read. I began masturbating at least five times a day and told Davey about that too. Davey said nothing to me about masturbating or wet dreams but who was he kidding? I began fantasizing about jacking off with Davey and watching him choke his fat chicken. Sometimes I felt guilty about taking advantage of Davey but that never lasted longer than it took me to recharge. Still, these carnal thoughts seemed a betrayal of what I felt for my Davey.
Something was happening to me, something changing in how I felt about Davey. I liked being around him more than ever, loved the smell of his flatulence and the scent of his breath before he brushed his teeth. I found myself happy to watch his watery blue eyes, his sparse lashes encrusted with sleep when he woke up in the morning, or his bloated stomach when he breathed, or his long greasy hair when he shoved it behind his ears. Deep down in me, something new was stirring and I was only vaguely aware that it was covered by local sodomy laws. Being with Davey began to spawn sleazy dreams in my boyish imagination and whispered seductively to my scrawny body.
He was so beautiful. I had never kissed anybody unless you counted that one time with the Great Dane on the next street but I wanted to kiss Davey. When I tried that, though, he punched me and told me keep my fucking tongue to myself. I could be patient for Davey, though, so I restrained myself. Davey didn't always understand things the way I did. I alternated between bouts of guilt and desire, along with marathon jerk-off sessions that left my peter raw when Davey wasn't around. I just had to think of a way to explain it all to Davey in a way he could understand.
I got my opportunity the next time we had some killer weed and a day off of school. I waited until his pupils were dilated and his eyes unfocused and asked him if he wanted to try something fun with all our clothes off. Maryjane always made Davey horny so he readily agreed. We stood and I stripped off my clothes as seductively as my urgent need to get off allowed. Davey was transfixed, his eyes on my cock.
"Geez, Mickey, is that, uh… all you've, uh… got?" Davey always stuttered when he had an erection, it was one of his more endearing traits.
"It's not whatcha got, it's how ya use it." I told him confidently. The mailman had told me that the last time I'd earned my weekly dollar.
Davey snorted and rolled his eyes. I shook my head sadly, Davey was so simple minded but that was one of the things I loved about him. It certainly made it easier to get into his pants so who was I to complain?
"Come on, Davey, you said you'd get naked." I reminded him gently.
He frowned at me, his huge nostrils flaring.
"Dammit, Mickey, you asshole, don't call me that. I…uh, keep telling you…its David."
He spoke, of course, with his cute speech impediment.
"Whatever, Davey, just lose the clothes." I said, patient as always, with my poor Davey.
He sighed and pulled off his clothes and tossed them onto the floor. He stood there gloriously nude before my eager eyes, his shoulders slumped and his eyes darting around the room. I guess maryjane made him nervous as well as horny; I'd seen this reaction before to our sessions. He didn't have to worry; I'd always take care of my Davey. I looked at his teen body that was taking its first hesitant steps towards manhood.
Though his cock wasn't as long as I'd like it, it was fat and had a nice juicy crown. He had a hairy bush for a kid, though, and his testicles were like two ostrich eggs. It didn't look as if he'd washed down there recently and I relished the thought of his glorious smell. His dick got hard while I looked at it and we both began to stroke ourselves while we watched each other. His privates were flush and moist looking with a little smeg visible around the tip. I watched him; fascinated by the way his overdeveloped low hangers pulled up on each stroke and the way his cock fit his fat fingers perfectly.
I dropped to my knees automatically; it wasn't like I hadn't had practice. Letting go of my cock, I reached tentatively to his balls and cupped them in my hand. Davey stopped jacking his dick and watched me fondle him, his eyes glazed. Either it was the weed or he was as turned on as I was. I ran my hand along the underside of his shaft and he groaned. I took his cock in my hand and he filled it better than even our scoutmaster had. I wanted to touch my cock to his.
Shoving Davey to the floor over his lukewarm protests, I straddled him and put my hands on either side of his shoulders. I lowered myself down to his body until our cocks pressed together and I could feel his balls under mine. We both held our breath and I savored the clearer air without Davey's garlic breath. We shouldn't have had Mom's spaghetti before we did this and I made a mental note for next time. Sometimes being Italian had its drawbacks. Davey's bleary blue eyes turned glassier and deep in my cock I felt the wicked urge to move. I rubbed my hard cock against Davey's flabby belly and he moaned appreciatively. He wrapped his arms around me and we began to rub ourselves together faster. I thought of kissing him but who was I kidding, I was horny and needed to get off. Knowing me, I'd shoot any second.
Davey grabbed my bare ass and we ground against each other, approaching our climax. I stared into Davey's eyes until those milky blues became too much, too raw, too bloodshot, too honestly stoned, and I had to look away. As usual, it didn't take me long and I gushed onto Davey's pale white belly. But Davey still had not cum. Always thinking of Davey, I curbed my desire to just get up and go clean off and I jacked him off until he came hard in my hand with a loud groan and a louder fart that echoed in the small room. He looked up at me; his stringy hair, radiant with last month's bleach job and black roots, falling around his head in a halo of blonde beauty. He gave me a dazed grimace and tried to push me off of him. Knowing he didn't mean it, I held on and we finally dozed together, naked and sweaty and cum covered, on the floor.
I have heard it said by priests that the first time you hold the naked body of boy in your arms, it is one of the most incredible experiences of a lifetime. I would say that it is even truer when the one you hold is the beautiful boy you love with all your tender horny teenage heart. My darling Davey was an Adonis, a teen god, and I felt so lucky to have been able to share this experience with him. Lord willing, we could do this again in a half-hour. I felt so lucky, so blessed, as I held him that day and listened drowsily to the sounds of the police sirens and gunshots from our street.
Over the next few months, thanks to date rape drugs supplied by the gangbanger down the street, we had many more sessions like that, each hotter than the one before as Davey lost all his inhibitions. We became lovers; even fifteen-year-olds are capable of love and passion. At least I was, Davey usually needed the pills or the poppers I kept handy for our afternoons. Davey would learn, I was sure of it.
My heart was bursting with love for Davey but other times I was wracked with guilt, knowing that the minimum sentence for statutory rape was high even for another minor. Reality became, for me, focused down to Davey and the smell of his unwashed body next to mine, the glow of his high in those gorgeous eyes, the smell of his flatulence in the very air I breathed. His over-bleached hair, no friend to shampoo, was my sunrise and my sunset.
In some glassy-eyed, post-coital, marijuana induced way, I knew I was in love with my Davey.
[Dear Reader: Just so that there is no confusion on the subject, I want to say that The Least of These is my absolute favorite teen romance. I love it very much and love the characters, especially Davey. The spoof represents that affection and is not intended to demean the beauty of the original in any fashion. Making jokes is a great way to show your love but it may also explain why I'm single. Josh really did give his permission. Peace. Tragic Rabbit]