Thursday, October 22, 2020

Runt – Part Three of Three Parts, Post #137

Well, Runt better get busy and land the deal because this is the last episode of his story. Will he accomplish his goal or not? Let’s find out.


* * * * *


 For the final week before school started, Park took me on as a personal challenge. We got up early and ran. I surprised us both by showing some stamina, thanks to the swimming pool, probably. We hit the rope every day, and I was climbing here quarters of the way up it before the week was out.

We spent some time on the basketball court and pitched baseballs, softballs, footballs. For the first time I learned what was expected of me in those sports even though I could rarely deliver. I wasn’t a jock and never would be, but at least I knew the basics.  Even more, Park overcame his obvious reluctance to address the issue and showed me how to stop throwing and running like a girl. Suddenly, PhysEd didn’t seem the horror it had been before. Even a bent, vindictive old man like Coach Barson couldn’t fault my classroom work. Still he wouldn’t give me anything better than a C. So I devastated his jocks in the other classes. I worked so hard and put in extra time so the grading curve was unusually high by the time the first tests came around.

I was still picked last for teams, but nobody tried to give me to the other side as a freebie anymore. I got a few hits off the pitcher at softball, even scored a couple of goals in soccer, but mostly just came closer to carrying my own weight as a team player. Except in swimming. I confounded Barson and everyone else by being the best at the butterfly in the whole class.

“Hey, Dan,” a familiar voice hailed me in the parking lot after last period one day. “How’s it going?” My knees did their “weak” thing when his hand clapped me on the shoulder briefly.

“Hi, Park. Thought you’d be at practice,” the words were rendered stupid when I saw him on a pair of crutches with a bandaged right foot.

“Twisted my ankle pretty bad. I’m out for a few days. Hear you’re doing okay in gym.”

“Almost holding my own,” I said with a grin. “Thanks, Park. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Glad to help. Hate to see somebody taken advantage of. It’s not sportsmanlike.”

“Where you headed?”

“Home, I guess. I get bored watching the team practice. You headed to work?”

“My day off. Trying to decide whether to go swimming or go home and chill out. Can you swim with that thing?” I asked hopefully.

“Can’t do anything. Fucker’s cramping my style!” he added bitterly. “Well, my boat’s a couple of rows over. See you later.”

As he turned, one crutch caught in the wheel well of the car beside mine. Park went down with a crash. Immediately, I knelt beside him, acutely conscious that I cradled his shoulders in my arms.

“You okay?”

He let out a groan and pulled his knee to his chest. “Shit! Wrenched my knee. Dammit!” He grimaced. “Now my leg’s cramping.

I literally dragged him to his feet and dumped him in the front seat of my car as he clutched at his injured leg. He cussed a couple of times and then lay back across the seat, his arm over his eyes, obviously in pain.

Without waiting to be asked, I pulled up his pant leg and started massaging his calf. The rough bandage supporting his ankle got in the way, so I unwound it and soon rubbed his bare flesh. It seemed to give him some relief.

I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to ignore a monstrous erection and having the time of my life while seeming to do him some good. He planted a bare foot against my chest while I played with his leg from ankle to knee. I kneaded, I squeezed, I slid my palm up his calf, I drew my hands down the length of his leg. To me, it was sensuous as hell! To him, it was relief. He began to relax.

“How about the knee?” I asked through a dry throat. “You want me to work on it?”

“Yeah,” he sort of panted. “And the thigh.”

I eased up over the knee but was little help to him there. He groaned when my hands gripped him on the upper leg, so I started acting like I was massaging. Hell, maybe I was. If it helped, then that’s what it was. For me it was one free, gigantic grope. He said nothing as my hands moved higher and higher. My eyes fixed on his groin. Spread out on the seat like he was, I saw it move.

At first I thought I was mistaken, but it happened again. I sneaked a quick look at him, but his arm still covered his eyes. I gently massaged higher on his leg until I could clearly feel his shorts beneath the denim of his jeans. His groing was fuller now.

With an audible swallow, I gently placed one palm over his fly and pressed. Except for a reaction there, Park didn’t move a muscle. Emboldened, I fumbled with his belt. He came up like a shot.

“Not here!” he said.

“Where?” I managed to gasp.

“I don’t know. Drive somewhere.”

I threw his crutches in the back seat, helped him settle his injured foot on the floorboard, and raced for the park at the edge of the mountains, all the while afraid he’d change his mind. Partially by design, I pulled into the turnout where I’d watched him and Terry Milkstone last summer.

He didn’t change his mind. Leaning on my shoulder, he shucked his trousers and then flopped on the blanket I’d spread on the ground. Still in some obvious distress, he settled his leg gingerly.

Flustered now that my dreams seemed about to come true, I didn’t know what to do next, so I began working on his injury again. He made no protest as I slowly worked my way up his limb to the shorts covering his manhood. Nor did he object when I drew them off him and unbuttoned his shirt. He was exposed to me now in all his magnificence.

“Well, Runt,” he said with a frown on his face. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“How… how did you know?” I whispered, laying a hand on his broad chest and fingering his nipples.

“Shit, kid. You get a hard-on every time I come around. What else could it mean? Am I wrong?”

“No,” I said, boldly leaning down and suckling one of the little brown things.

Park gasped in surprise. “Damn, is that what the girls have to put up with all the time?”

I moved to his navel. One hand found his cock, which revived impressively, the other played over his chest.

Taking a boy’ in my mouth was nothing like I’d imagined. There was no unpleasantness, no reluctance, no hesitancy. His big shaft slid down my throat like they were made for one another. Beneath the soft, silky skin there was an exciting hardness. Strength and power and potency!

When I tried to take too much, the human reaction set in. I gagged and coughed. Sheepishly, I came up and met his gaze. “Sorry. I’ve never done this before. I’m learning. But I’ll do the best I can for you, Park. I promise.”

His visage had been stern, uncertain. Immediately, it cleared. “I know you will, Runt. I’ll tell you what feels good and what doesn’t, okay?”

I nodded and bent to do his bidding. True to his word, he told me what felt good and what felt better. And I gloried in every second of it.

“I’m co—“ he started to warn me, but it was too late. His musky, milky semen flowed. Park’s seed! Park’s essence! The private, personal part of Park that he shared with very few. No matter that seconds later I would just be a queer to him, at this very moment I was his partner, his mate, his receptacle.

As he lay panting on the blanket, I rose to a sitting position to study him, hoping to preserve his male beauty on my retina forever. Instead of grabbing for his clothing, he surprised me.

“Don’t you want to get it off?” he asked.

“Y…yes,” I whispered.

“Strip,” he ordered.

I did so reluctantly. Nothing I had could favorably compare with any part of him. When I was naked, he looked me over frankly.

“Yeah, Runt. You’ve filled out a lot. You’re a good-looking fucker, you know that?”


“Yeah, you.” He reached up and touched me, leaving me reaching for the stars and beating a rhythm in the air. I about fainted at his touch. “Lie down,” he ordered.

I could not believe the next ten minutes. Naked, my paragon sat beside me on the blanket and explored me in ways I had never imagined. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I came without a word, without a groan, without a sound, almost as if surprised by the climax. I was surprised by the intensity.

Park let out a shout, but he continued to stroke as I shot my seed in the air. He pumped, and I spewed.

“Kid!” he half-laughed. “Are you ever going to stop?”

“It’s… over,” I gasped, clutching his forearm with both hands. “It… it was beautiful, Park! Like… like….”

“Crap, you never did this with anyone before, did you?”

“No,” I admitted. “Nobody.”

“Well, just so you’ll know, I never did it with a guy before. But I was curious, and you seemed to be willing. And safe,” he added.


“You know. You’re quiet. Not going to blab to everyone. And I’m not going to catch a disease from you.”

“What…what did you think about it? About me?” I had the temerity to ask.

He considered for a second. “It was okay. You know, better than doing it to yourself. And you? I like you. You’re okay. I knew you wanted to do something with me, but you didn’t push it.” He shrugged. “I knew you were available, but you didn’t make it obvious, I guess. Hell, I’m not saying it right.”

“Are we going to do it again?”

“Do you want to?”

I nodded emphatically. “Yes. I’d like to do it again. See if I can’t do it better.”

He laughed as he reached for his trousers. “You do it any better, and it might be better than a piece of tail.”

“I’ll do it better,” I said emphatically.

Later in the car as we drove home, I screwed up the courage to talk about it again.



“You ever think about doing the other?”

“The other? What-- Oh. No, never thought about anything like that. Why? You willing to let me screw you?”

“Park, I’d let you do anything!”

The car was quiet until we got to the edge of town.

“I’ll give it some thought,” Park said with a sly grin. “Maybe we’ll try that the next time.” He paused a moment. “Okay, I thought it over. How about tomorrow?”

 * * * * *

 How about that! Don’t know about you, but it looks to me like Park made the first move. Now that Runt got what he wanted, he has tomorrow to look forward to… a brand new adventure. But you’ll just have to imagine that one.

 Now that the story has ended, I’ll revert to my normal schedule of posting on the first and third Thursday of each month.

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

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Twitter: @markwildyr

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 And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 Until next time.


 New posts the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

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