A Boy, A Bookie & A Bet

Not sure what else to do, Mike started unbuttoning his shirt and preparing to step out of his shoes. He snorted under his breath and shook his head, pretty certain that Jake would not be too keen on the two of them using his living room for a sparring ring. But something about this kid had managed to crawl under his skin and put a knot in the pit of his stomach. So for now at least, he decided to go along with this screwy idea.

"All right, Buzzhead," said Mike, surrendering a sigh after he was stripped off his shirt and kicked aside his shoes. "We need a few rules here, so this is how it's gonna work. When I put my hands up like this . . ." said Mike, holding up his palms in front of the boy, "and I say 'go,' that's your cue to assume the stance, get your balance and start moving. Then when you're ready, you give me a nice little demonstration of your, uh, technique. Just remember: Go for the hands, not the face. Now, if I feel you're holding back, I may throw in a few little jabs of my own, just to loosen you up, test your reflexes. But don't panic, bright eyes, I wouldn't dream of hurting you."

And with that, Buzz delivered a quick hard blow to Mike's gut and then leveled him with a swift uppercut to his jaw. Mike fell back into one of the wobbly old kitchen chairs and crushed it.

"Oh, and by the way, don't hold back on account of me," said Mike, pulling himself up into a sitting position on the floor and rubbing his aching jaw. "What the flying fuck was that?"

"My, uh, technique," responded Buzz.

"Incidentally, I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Mike climbed up from the floor. "OK, you made your point . . . and then some. That's a hell of a right hook you've got there . . . for a skinny kid. Tell you what: I'll swing by in the morning—say, 9:00—and pick you up on my way to the gym. Looks like you're gonna get that favor you were fishing for, kid. You should feel honored. I don't agree to train just anybody; in fact, I haven't done it in ten years. But you've got something, and it might be fun seeing how far you can go with it."

"No, Mike," said Buzz, stepping forward. "That wasn't the favor I had in mind—though I sure wouldn't pass up a chance to work out with you, Dude. It's just that I sorta had a different form of training in mind."

"Like what?"

"Unca Jake says you've been working your territory for a long time, and it's got to the point where it's way more business than one man can handle. And he says that you really need somebody to, like, back you up and help you out. You know, like and assistant. And I got to thinking—well, how about me?"

"Son of a fucking bitch!" snarled Mike, suddenly absolutely furious. He was so incensed that he turned his back on Buzz, spit, and repeated the curse under his breath again. Finally, still shaking his head, he turned back to the boy. "Now listen, boy: I don't know what the fuck has gotten into Jake. I swear he's gone off the deep end. He knows, or he damn well fuckingshouldknow by now, to never go dangling something like that in front of anybody without checking with me first. Goddammit, this is fucked up. Look, boy, I'm strictly a one-man operation. That's how I work. That's how I've always worked. And that's how I want it to be. No offense to you, but I don't do partners."

"No, Mike, not partners. Nothing like that. I mean, I get it. This is your game, and it always will be. I would just be around to do whatever you wanted me to do. Listen, I'm a real fast learner. I swear you wouldn't hardly know I was there."

"Sorry, Buzzhead, but it's not up for discussion. Subject's closed."

"But why? . . ."

"It's not personal. You seem like a good kid. Heck, I even like you. But what I don't like is being in a situation where I owe somebody, or I'm responsible for somebody. Shit, that's why I left the docks, and the marines, and even Tommy's gang. I gotta be on my own."

"Mike, please," said Buzz instinctively grabbing the man's shoulders. "Don't say no. Not right now. Give it day. Or a night. Sleep on it . . . or, better yet, why not wrestle me for it."

"Oh hell yeah, I'd take those odds!" laughed Mike, proudly flexing his bicep which was as thick as Buzz's thigh.

"Jeez, dude, not arm wrestling!" yelped Buzz in exasperation, throwing up his hands. "Real wrestling. Full body contact. One-on-one. Basic freestyle. We keep the rules simple: The first to dump the other on his ass five times—your basic takedown—wins."

"Fuck that," snorted Mike. "What if I pin you?"

"Then game over, you win. Free and clear. And I never ask you for anything ever again. Same for me though. If at any point I pin your ass, then I get a shot at that job. And like I said, if nobody pins, then the match goes down to those five takedowns. You're a betting man, Mike. You up for a little challenge?"

Mike had to laugh at the boy's proud demeanor. It was almost too easy. He had at least 30 pounds of pure muscle on this kid. Probably more. And what Buzz couldn't know was that in addition to boxing, Mike had also been a champion wrestler in the marines as well. In fact, in a lot of ways, he even preferred the close contact of hand-to-hand to the stiff formality of the gloves.

"OK, kid. Sure, it's your funeral."

Abruptly remembering where he was, Mike looked around the room.

"But first, we'd better clear a bigger space. Jake would go off the deep end if he knew we were roughhousing in his living room."

Mike pushed the old coffee table into a corner and was about to do the same with an ancient-looking rocking chair when he was suddenly tackled by the youth who sent him and the chair flying. Angrily, Mike got to his feet.

"What are you: a goddamn fucking idiot? I didn't say I was ready!"

"And you didn't say you weren't either. You snooze you lose, dude."

"I'm gonna fucking snooze you, beanhead. That was Jake's favorite chair."

Without warning Buzz lunged forward again and caught a thoroughly shocked Mike around the waist and toppled the two of them into the table and chairs. The table collapsed and the chairs went flying in all directions as both men came down hard onto the thinly carpeted floor. Buzz attempted to shift his weight up and climb onto Mike's torso so as to pin him; but the man acted quickly and used his superior strength to grasp the boy and fling him roughly aside.

"Get the fuck off me! I'm gonna cream you. So that's how you fight: you're a damned little cheater."

"Sorry, Grandpa. Still not ready?"

"Listen up, punk. You don't know Jake like I do. We trash his place, and he liable to come after us with a shotgun. Jesus, what a mess."

"OK, OK," said Buzz, grinning sheepishly and getting to his feet. "It my fault so I'll take the rap. He's always accusing me of being reckless with my weights anyway. I'll just say one of them slipped out of my hands and hit the table and chairs. That stuff was already pretty rickety to start with, you know."

Buzz helped Mike move the shards of the table aside, and then just as they began picking up what was left of the chairs, Mike dropped the two he was carrying and lunged for Buzz. The boy shoved the chair he was holding at Mike, blocking his legs and causing him to stumble; then Buzz reached out, grabbed the man by the shoulders and pulled him forward, causing him to fall flat.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" yelled Mike who then scrambled to his feet, lest the boy fall on him and attempt to pin him. "You're one slippery little eel, I'll give you that."

"Speed demon, Mike," said Buzz beaming with pride. "Speed was always my thing, that and being able to think on my feet. Coach said you can't hit what you can't catch."

"Oh, I'll catch ya," said Mike with a devilish grin. "We had a few speed demons in my day too. I know your game. I've beat your game. Hit and run: that's what we used to call it. But nobody can run forever."

Slowly, surely, Mike began to counter the boy. He started by backing Buzz away from the center of the room, cutting off his escape routes. As Buzz went through his dance-like motion, bouncing lightly on the soles of his feet, his balance began to grow more tenuous as he tried to keep one eye on the man and the other on obstacles in the room and the rapidly decreasing amount of space left to him to operate in. Finally, he tripped over some debris and went to his knees. Mike opened his arms and flew toward him, but Buzz, waiting until the very last moment, rolled on the floor, extended his long left leg out, and knocked Mike's legs out from under him, toppling the man right into the old coffee table. Now loudly muttering in frustration, Mike shook his head and got to his feet once again.

"I don't fucking believe this."

"Believe it, Mike. That's four-zip."

Just then, someone banged on the wall and began yelling that he was ready to call the cops if the racket in Jake's apartment didn't stop. The boy remained in his stance, but Mike straightened up and raised his hands in an obvious show of backing off.

"Well, that's it for me, kid. I always take a step back when people start talking about calling the cops."

"Are you conceding?" asked Buzz, relaxing and also straightening up.

"Me: quit? You've gotta be kidding. I don't give up a fight. I'm just suggesting we call a truce for now—king's X—and then tomorrow we can take this thing to where it should have been in the first place: the gym. I'd say we've done enough damage for one day—wouldn't you?"

Mike noticed that the boy was still eyeing him suspiciously. The hint of a sly smile formed along the edges of the man's mouth. He suddenly took a step toward Buzz and extended his hand, startling the boy who quickly jumped back.

"Shall we shake on it?" said Mike.

"Heck, no!" said Buzz, shrinking away from the hand. "I don't trust you."

Mike chuckled. "Now what are you afraid of? You're the one up four-one."

"Four-zip, Mike."

"Damn, right. Four-zip. Look at you: you're sittin' pretty. You know, kid, you really oughta take me up on my offer. When I put my hand out, it means something." Mike took another step in the boy's direction, and again Buzz shied away.

"I'll bet," said Buzz half under his breath. "Can we just call a timeout without all the damned handshaking—OK?" said the youth, continuing to keep his distance. Mike finally shrugged and gave up, and turned to survey the damage. He was genuinely shocked by what he saw.

"When the fuck did we find time to destroy the place? Well, I can tell you right now: Jake's gonna go plumb crazy."

"For sure. And I don't think that bit about me dropping a weight is gonna fly now. What are we gonna do, Mike?"

"We do what we can," said Mike with a sigh. "Cone on, let's get some of this mess cleaned up." He grabbed the overturned table which was basically a big square wooden top with a thick base attached and attempted to right it, but the heavy base attachment promptly fell off.

"Damn," muttered Mike.

"I got it," said Buzz who lifted the base. "Where are we gonna put this?"

"In the corner," said Mike, nodding to a position in a far corner of the kitchen. Buzz followed Mike into the kitchen and observed as the man stood the square top against the wall. When Buzz moved in to place the base alongside it, Mike reached over and hooked his arm around the boy's waist.

"Let go, you cheat!" exclaimed Buzz dropping the heavy base.

"Who you callin' a cheat, sweetheart? There wasn't a single regulation move in that little demonstration you just put on out there." Already Mike had spun Buzz around and clasped the boy from behind, locking him up tight by drawing his arms securely across his body. He clasped Buzz close to him and then pulled him into the living room where he leaned over and spoke softly into his ear.

"A word of advice, boy-o. The next time I offer my hand, take it. I always honor a handshake deal."

"OK, great" said Buzz, struggling and breathing heavily. "Let me go and we can shake hands now."

"Nice try, Buzzhead. But it's about time I finished this."

Mike lifted Buzz off his feet and then simply lowered the youth to the floor. Though the young man struggled mightily and attempted to use his legs to prevent Mike from grounding him, the man knew just how to use his frame and balance to counter everything Buzz tried. Ultimately, it all came down to a question of pure raw strength.

The man used his thighs to lock the boy's hip and legs flat, then leaned forward and extended the boy's arms out and away from his body. Despite that, Buzz was still able to keep one shoulder elevated just barely off the floor. But Mike was in no hurry to pin him, and was in fact thoroughly enjoying this exercise in domination. He knew, and could see in Buzz's desperately flashing eyes that he also knew, that the final outcome of this match had already been decided and was now only a matter of time.

Mike slowly pushed the boy's arms further out, making it excruciating for Buzz to keep his shoulder even an inch off the floor. Then still straddling him, Mike inched forward until the full weight of his legs and thighs were on top of the boy's upper torso, and young Buzz, exhaling one last desperate cry, could hold out no longer and simply collapsed flat onto the floor.

For Mike, whose eyes had never left the boy's face, this was a moment of sweet triumph, made all the more so by the fact that his young and clever challenger had tried every trick in the book to beat him and still had failed. Not bad, he thought, for an old man of 42.

"Another thing you should know about me is that I really,reallyhate to lose," grinned Mike.

Looking up at the man still sitting astride him, Buzz also smiled, and then leaned forward licked his tongue across the tip of the erection now clearly visible along one leg of Mike's dark pants.

"What the fuck! . . ."Mike sputtered and jerked back violently, landing flat on his back. As Buzz sat up and looked at him now smiling lustfully, Mike stumbled back until finally coming to rest against the bottom of the sofa. He glared at the boy.

"I don't do that kind of shit, boy."

"I do," said Buzz, grinning broadly. "And I've wanted to do that to you since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

"Little fucking slut. You've gotta be out of your mind . . . and I'd have to be, too, to even consider laying a hand on the nephew of my best friend. Shit, how'd a fucking queer like you ever worm his way onto a wrestling squad?"

Buzz just laughed. "Shoot, Mike, half the damn team was queer. And the other half was leaning that way by the time I graduated. Of course there were only four guys total on the team, and the other gay guy happened to be my best friend Randy. But gee whiz, it's like Randy is always saying: You can't roll around half-naked on a mat with a guy too long before somebody comes up gay."

When Buzz's eyes trailed down to the bulge in Mike's pants, the man knew that, in effect, the boy was calling him out. Even as the youth shifted forward onto his hands and knees and began a slow crawl toward him, looking for all the world like some sleek young panther stalking his prey, Mike draped one hand over his crotch in a vain attempt to conceal his obvious desire. When at last the kid was mere inches from his face, moving in for the kiss, Mike extended both hands out and held the boy at bay.

"What are you afraid of, Mike?"

"I can't . . . do that," said the man, avoiding his gaze. Mike's breathing was shallow, his whole bearing uncertain. His heart was pounding so hard, it felt as if it might jump out of his chest at any moment. Mike was burning with a shame borne of the fact that this boy, not even half his age, had seen right through him.

"So are you really gonna tell me that you've never gotten super lonely sittin' around in that nice big apartment of yours, and gone out late at night sometimes, and drove around until you spotted some skinny kid on the street with his thumb up. And picked him up. And took him to some back room somewhere. And paid him to do all the stuff I want to do to you right now?"

"Damn you, boy. Don't go pretending like you know me. You don't get to tell me how I feel. If I ever did something like that—if!—then that was different from this and you damn well know it. That was just . . . It didn't mean anything. He was nobody to me."

"OK," said Buzz, taking a deep breath. "If that's the only way I can have you, then close your eyes, pretend I'm that skinny kid. Name your price, Mike."

Buzz lowered his head to the man's lap while still managing to keep his gaze on his stricken face. As the boy's tongue flickered out and began lapping at the lump down Mike's pants leg, Mike's grasp on Buzz's shoulders began to weaken, and the stiff rigidity that had seized his body began to dissolve, until finally, Mike dropped his hands to his side and collapsed back against the sofa, and released a great long sigh that seemed to well out from the deepest part of him.

"Oh, fuck!" groaned Mike moments later when he felt Buzz begin to unbuckle his pants, then groaned again when the boy reached into his boxers and fished out his meat. Mike looked down to see the youth sensually massaging his still stiffening rod, and clenched his teeth at the near magical effect the boy's touch was having on him. Then, abruptly, Buzz grasped and began tugging at the man's pants, pulling them down. Mike lifted his hips and helped get them down his thighs and then shoved his boxers down too. His eyes were glued with rapt anticipation on the boy, anxious to see what he would do next.

With Mike's long stiff weapon fully exposed to view, Buzz smiled and showed his appreciation for what was before him by lightly stroking and squeezing it before bending forward and planting his mouth over the slick mushroom head.

"Fuckin' shit, boy!" gasped Mike, his hips involuntarily thrusting up as a sharp jolt of electricity shot through his groin. Even as he settled back down and caught his breath, he continued to shudder and moan. He could not ever recall feeling anything so piercing and yet so utterly exquisite at the same time. The boy wasn't just sucking him; he was bathing his shaft in a variety of sensations as he maneuvered his eager tongue all around the intensely sensitive dickhead. It was obvious Buzz was no novice to cocksucking; he knew exactly what he was doing. Mike felt another sharp pang of pleasure and it made him jump. He reached down and forced the boy's hyperactive mouth off his aching cock. Already in just a matter of seconds he was on the verge of coming.

"Mike—"

"Shut up! Goddammit!" snarled Mike as he pushed Buzz away and climbed to his knees. With a fierce look he lunged forward and caught Buzz around the waist, taking them both to the floor with a thud.

"Don't . . . talk to me, you damned little punk! You don't know me. You don't know one goddamn thing about me. Fuck, I oughta take you apart right now."

In an instant Mike was all over Buzz, kissing him, licking him, biting his erect scarlet nipples. The boy twisted himself about and managed to shove his gym shorts and jockstrap down his legs and kick them aside as the man climbed on top of him. Mike pressed the bulk of his body into the slender youth and then crushed him in a kiss. Buzz welcomed the kiss; in fact to him it felt like a double kiss, their warm wet mouths merging while below, their feverish cocks melting together in a welter of heat. The kiss was hard and physical, tongues dueling and teeth clashing, as boy and man tried to consume the other. Finally, Mike broke the kiss.

"This is crazy. I can't do this."

"I think this says you can," said Buzz, wrapping his fist around Mike's rigid cock. "It's beautiful, Mike. I can't wait for you to fill me up with this thing."

"Crazy little fucker," said Mike, grinning and shaking his head. "I'm gonna make you eat those words."