just sat back in the beanbag chair. Nate put his underwear back on carefully and remained on his stomach for a good ten minutes. Carl’s boner was tucked underneath his waistband. His nose seemed to burn from the contact.
He left after Nate’s family returned, and when he jerked off that night he tried to time it so that they would be doing it at the same time.
Mario was supposed to drive them to the comic book store one day but backed out at the last minute. So Nate and Carl went walking along the tracks. They then veered off into a clearing in the woods. They were farther away from home than they should have been, but they knew the tracks were behind them as they continued deeper in.
At first the sun strobed through the trees but as they went farther—and only later in life did Carl question why they’d walked so far—the sunlight got watery and weak.
Carl was getting ready to ask Nate whether they should turn around when they saw the shack. It was small, a lean-to, wooden and decrepit, and it sat in the middle of the forest as if it had grown there. The door in the front was cracked open. Nate crept toward it.
“What if there’s somebody in there?” Carl whispered. Nate got closer. He pushed the door and it creaked as it swung in. Carl saw only a pool of dark beyond the frame. Nate peeked inside and motioned for Carl to join him. Carl did, hearing every stick and leaf crunch under his feet.
On the floor of the shack was a gray mattress, half folded against one wall and littered with dead leaves. On top of it was a billiard cue.
“Holy shit,” Nate said as he stepped inside. “Look.” He pointed to one corner. Stacked there were porno magazines, at least twenty of them. Nate picked up a stack. “These are weird,” he said. They weren’t the garishly colored covers of the newsstand porno magazines. They were dark and murky with foreign titles. The cover creatures were enclosed in latex and masks and gagged with red balls.
“We need to get back,” Carl said, but Nate was already rolling up four magazines and trying to stuff them down his pants.
“Help me,” Nate said. He handed Carl the roll of magazines and lifted his shirt, holding out the waist of his pants. At the last minute he held out his underwear waistband too. “That should hold them better,” he said. Carl looked down. Even in the dim light he could see Nate’s cock, soft and nestled in the cup of his briefs. He knew that Nate knew he was looking. He slid in the magazines. Nate lowered his shirt.
“You take some too.” The ritual was repeated. Nate took his time, rolling and rerolling the magazines to make them tighter, and unabashedly looking into Carl’s pants. “Let’s go,” he said once he had them inside.
They stepped outside the shack. The woods were even darker. And just there in front of them was a man. He was lying facedown on the ground, and how they’d missed him before was a mystery. He was wearing a white shirt and maybe pants. He was motionless, but that was all they saw because Nate took off running and Carl followed. They ran with a fear greater than any they’d ever known, until they were back on the tracks and back in the light.
“He was dead,” Nate said when they’d gotten a comfortable distance away.
“Are you sure?”
“He wasn’t moving,” Nate said, and that was true, though Carl later seemed to remember an empty bottle lying nearby.
They got back to Nate’s house but crept behind the garage to where his dad kept a metal barrel for burning. They put the magazines in the barrel, showered them with lighter fluid, and lit them. As the pages disappeared Nate took his dick out and peed on the fire. Carl took his out too. Though typically pee-shy, he was able to let go just then. Their urine hit the flames and evaporated. They burned the pile until there was no trace.
Once home Carl sat on the living room chair and took off his
He left after Nate’s family returned, and when he jerked off that night he tried to time it so that they would be doing it at the same time.
Mario was supposed to drive them to the comic book store one day but backed out at the last minute. So Nate and Carl went walking along the tracks. They then veered off into a clearing in the woods. They were farther away from home than they should have been, but they knew the tracks were behind them as they continued deeper in.
At first the sun strobed through the trees but as they went farther—and only later in life did Carl question why they’d walked so far—the sunlight got watery and weak.
Carl was getting ready to ask Nate whether they should turn around when they saw the shack. It was small, a lean-to, wooden and decrepit, and it sat in the middle of the forest as if it had grown there. The door in the front was cracked open. Nate crept toward it.
“What if there’s somebody in there?” Carl whispered. Nate got closer. He pushed the door and it creaked as it swung in. Carl saw only a pool of dark beyond the frame. Nate peeked inside and motioned for Carl to join him. Carl did, hearing every stick and leaf crunch under his feet.
On the floor of the shack was a gray mattress, half folded against one wall and littered with dead leaves. On top of it was a billiard cue.
“Holy shit,” Nate said as he stepped inside. “Look.” He pointed to one corner. Stacked there were porno magazines, at least twenty of them. Nate picked up a stack. “These are weird,” he said. They weren’t the garishly colored covers of the newsstand porno magazines. They were dark and murky with foreign titles. The cover creatures were enclosed in latex and masks and gagged with red balls.
“We need to get back,” Carl said, but Nate was already rolling up four magazines and trying to stuff them down his pants.
“Help me,” Nate said. He handed Carl the roll of magazines and lifted his shirt, holding out the waist of his pants. At the last minute he held out his underwear waistband too. “That should hold them better,” he said. Carl looked down. Even in the dim light he could see Nate’s cock, soft and nestled in the cup of his briefs. He knew that Nate knew he was looking. He slid in the magazines. Nate lowered his shirt.
“You take some too.” The ritual was repeated. Nate took his time, rolling and rerolling the magazines to make them tighter, and unabashedly looking into Carl’s pants. “Let’s go,” he said once he had them inside.
They stepped outside the shack. The woods were even darker. And just there in front of them was a man. He was lying facedown on the ground, and how they’d missed him before was a mystery. He was wearing a white shirt and maybe pants. He was motionless, but that was all they saw because Nate took off running and Carl followed. They ran with a fear greater than any they’d ever known, until they were back on the tracks and back in the light.
“He was dead,” Nate said when they’d gotten a comfortable distance away.
“Are you sure?”
“He wasn’t moving,” Nate said, and that was true, though Carl later seemed to remember an empty bottle lying nearby.
They got back to Nate’s house but crept behind the garage to where his dad kept a metal barrel for burning. They put the magazines in the barrel, showered them with lighter fluid, and lit them. As the pages disappeared Nate took his dick out and peed on the fire. Carl took his out too. Though typically pee-shy, he was able to let go just then. Their urine hit the flames and evaporated. They burned the pile until there was no trace.
Once home Carl sat on the living room chair and took off his
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