The Creeper

I always knew of the man who lived in the house at the end of the dead end street as the Creeper. His real name was Mr. Manson, and I thought that his first name was Barry or Barney or something like that. The word around the school was that he liked boys, and from the time I was in elementary school, to the time I was a senior in high school, I was warned by other kids to stay away from his house.

I'd heard the stories, and they were pretty titillating for a young boy growing up, but it was never a first hand account. All the stories were a friend of a friend of a friend who had went there for something or other. Maybe it was someone who was selling magazines for a fund raiser, or maybe it was someone looking to make a few bucks mowing his lawn, but the stories always ended up the same. Mr. Manson would offer to give them a blowjob, free of charge and with no strings attached, and usually the kid would take him up on his offer and receive a toe curling blowjob. Apparently afterward, he would even pay them in some way.

Of course my friends and I would always talk about him like he was some kind of an old pervert, and that was how he came to be known as "the creeper", or more precisely, "the cock gobbling creeper". As boys often do, we would invoke his nickname to insult each other in the worst way we could think of. Usually saying something like, "Yo, I saw Marty coming out of the cock gobbling creeper's house yesterday. He was walking bowlegged with a big shit eating grin on his face. Did the creeper suck your cock Marty?" Everyone would laugh and Marty would punch the offending person in the shoulder and yell, "Bullshit man, that never happened." But it was all just boys being boys.

As for me, I avoided his whole street, as if walking down that dead end road toward his house was risking being stung by killer bees and bit by venomous snakes.

I finally asked my folks about Mr. Manson when I was in middle school, and I had heard another rumor that he had sucked off three guys who ventured onto his property to retrieve a rocket that they had launched from a nearby field that landed on his front lawn. The story was that he had seen the rocket and parachute land, and he had taken it inside. The three guys, whose names and ages weren't disclosed to me, knocked on his door and asked for their rocket back. Mr. Manson invited them all in, and then told them that they could have the rocket back after he sucked their cocks. Apparently these boys weren't shy, and they allowed him to suck them all off one at a time, swallowing each load of cum. Afterward, he gave them the rocket and fifty bucks each, and sent them on their way.

"Mom, what do you know about Mr. Manson? Is he the creep that people say he is?" I asked that evening at the dinner table.

I saw my mother's eyes dart up to my father, who looked down at his food and cleared his throat loudly, then she looked back at me. "Now why do people call him a creep honey?" she asked.

I had hoped that she had heard the same rumors that I had heard and she wouldn't ask me what I meant, but of course I wasn't that lucky. "Well, people say that he likes coc- he likes penis. They say that he likes to suck penis, and not just any penis, but young guy penis." I was aware that I kept saying the word 'penis' over and over again, but I had nearly slipped up and used the word 'cock' instead, and my mother would have tanned my hide if I'd used that word at the dinner table during dinner.

I looked up with a red face at my parents, both of whom were now staring directly at me. "Is it true?" I said with a squeaky voice.

My mother cleared her throat and said, "Well Devon, first of all, the stories that you're hearing are just that... stories. Rumors are created by people with too much time on their hands, and some rumors tend to take on a life of their own, and those rumors may have the potential to ruin someone's life. You just remember that when you're talking about someone that you've never met. Does Mr. Manson suck penis, as you say? I don't really know if he does or not, but as long as he is doing things with consenting adults in the privacy of his own home, who am I to judge him. If he is in fact doing things with young boys, then he will pay for his crimes."

It wasn't an answer to my question, but another look at my father told me not to pursue the line of questioning any further. The rest of dinner was eaten in silence.

When I entered high school, I became more curious about Mr. Manson, and I became more brave about getting closer to his house. The old name calling and teasing that occurred in elementary and middle school slowed, and the stigma about homosexuality seemed to lessen a bit also. Suddenly I wasn't that concerned about being called a 'faggot or a 'queer' by my friends, because it just wasn't cool to use those words anymore. I think part of it was that the shock value we got from using those words wasn't there anymore. We had graduated to the big boy swear words, like 'shit, fuck, asshole and mother fucker', but most of us wouldn't utter those words in the vicinity of any adult still.

I started using the dead end road as a short cut to get to another friend's house. I wouldn't make it all the way to his house, but I would cut through the property of an abandoned house that was right next door to his. Occasionally I would see him outside, and to me he looked like a normal guy, not at all what I expected him to look like. Nobody seemed to talk much about him anymore, so I really didn't care if anyone saw me.

Being in high school was an adventure for a young teen boy with raging hormones. It seemed like I was popping a boner every time a breeze blew, and the skimpy clothes that the girls wore just made things worse. My problem was that I was a skinny kid with a big nose and glasses, and my parents couldn't afford designer clothes, so I was kind of a loser in school. That meant that the girls wouldn't give me the time of day. The longer I went without getting any action, the more I was worried that I might remain a virgin forever, especially after hearing about so many other guys who seemed to be having sex all the time.

My freshman year passed by pretty uneventfully, followed by my sophomore and junior years in which my right hand became my best friend. Masturbation seemed to be the only way to curb my nearly constant erections, and at one time I was stroking myself around four times a day. By the time I was a senior, I still hadn't had a girlfriend and I was still a virgin, so I was getting more desperate for any kind of close contact.

I got my licence at eighteen, and suddenly money became my driving force. I wanted a car, and because I was still in school full time, and jobs were so scarce, I decided that I would continue my seasonal lawn mowing jobs for one more summer, if they still wanted me. For the last four years, I had eight different houses on my street that I mowed for, so I began to call each one to see if my services were still wanted. As luck would have it, only two of the eight still wanted me to mow. The economy was hitting people hard, and everyone seemed to be cutting back.

Two lawns was just not going to cut it(no pun intended), so I headed out to knock on more doors. The dead end street that I had avoided most of my life seemed like my best bet, as there were some expensive houses with very large lawns, and large lawns meant more money.

I hit all seven houses on the street before Mr. Manson's house, and had picked up three medium sized lawns and one large lawn, which was really good because I had raised my rates, and no one seemed to have a problem with that.

I almost didn't bother to even go to Mr. Manson's house at all, as my brain was trying to convince me that I would be making enough money with what I had. But then I decided that I wasn't a little boy anymore, I was a buff eighteen year old man with confidence, and I wasn't going to let the stories of children keep me from more potential profit. Taking a deep breath of fresh morning air, I headed up the front walkway to his front entrance, and rang the doorbell.

A few moments later the door opened and there he was. "Can I help you?" he asked. He was a clean shaven, well dressed man in his mid forties with a slick haircut, square jaw and piercing eyes. To me he looked like he could be a movie star.

"Hello sir," I said, then went on to repeat my practiced speech. "My name is Devon Bubior, and I was wondering if you would be needing to have you lawn mowed this summer."

He stood there staring at me for an uncomfortably long moment, then said, "How old are you Devon?"

"I'm eighteen sir, and I'll be graduating this June," I replied.

He nodded, then looked me up and down as if he was inspecting me. "My lawn is pretty large you know? It would take a couple hours to mow the whole thing."

"That's quite alright sir, I'm not opposed to hard work, and I've already signed contracts with four of your neighbors to do their lawns," I said, feeling like I actually had a chance to get this.

"I could use someone to mow my lawn, but only if you can mow it weekly, at least until mid summer when it slows down growing."

"Yes sir, I can mow it as often as you need, as long as you can pay for it," I said with a friendly grin.

He smirked, then said, "Payment is not a problem, and money isn't an issue. In fact Devon, if you'd like to make even more money this summer, there are plenty of ways you can do that here."

Blinded by the idea of making money, I quickly answered, "That would be awesome sir."

He nodded again, and I started to wonder why I had always been so worried about meeting him. After all, he seemed like a perfectly normal person. Maybe all the rumors had been false, made up by boys with overactive imaginations. "Well good Devon, by the way, my name is Barclay...Barclay Manson, but I prefer to be called Clay" he said, and held out his hand for me to shake. "Why don't you come inside and we'll get the details worked out?"

Still shaking his hand, I nodded and said, "Sure.", then I stepped into the house that I never thought I would enter.

The inside of his place was immaculate, and as soon as I entered he asked me to please remove my shoes. I was used to it at my house anyway, so I nodded and kicked them off.

"I'll ask you to always remove your shoes when you come in," he said as I followed him into a large living room area. He walked around a leather couch and sat in a matching chair. "Have a seat Devon, and we can discuss your wages."

I sat in the middle of the couch and was surprised at how comfortable it was. I felt like I sank into a soft cloud, and the leather was so supple that I couldn't stop rubbing my hands over it.

Clay noticed and said, "It's nice isn't it? It's made from the softest leather in the world, imported from Bangladesh. It feels absolutely amazing to lay on it naked."

I stopped rubbing and raised them up quickly, my mind picturing him laying nude on the couch that I was currently sitting on. Seeing my reaction, Clay began to laugh loudly, then said, "Don't worry Devon, it's been thoroughly cleaned since the last time I, or anybody else laid naked on it."

Suddenly I felt a bit nervous about being here, and I wanted to get back to business. I cleared my throat and said, "Why don't we get back to business then Mr. Manson?"

"Please Devon, call me Clay. My father is Mr. Manson, and yes, we can get down to business. How much do you want for mowing the lawn?"

"Well," I said, "is fifteen an hour too much?"

"That's pretty cheap Devon, I was thinking more on the order of twenty an hour."

"Really?" I said, shocked that anyone would offer to pay me more then I asked for. "That would be sweet."

He nodded his head, then said, "Perhaps I can sweeten the pot even more Devon. You see, I have this thing that I like to do, and if you'd let me do it to you, I could certainly make it worth your while."

A drop of sweat began to drip down the side of my forehead as I suddenly became very nervous. I swallowed hard, then asked, "Like what?" I asked, afraid that I already knew the answer.

He didn't answer me right away, instead he smiled and asked, "Are you going to tell me that you haven't heard any stories about me in school Devon? It seems that every young man that comes knocking at my door has heard about my proclivities. Tell me Devon, what have you heard about me?"

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and my pants seemed very tight also. Even though he hadn't come right out and said it, it seemed like the stories were all true. "Um, I ah, I..." I stuttered, not sure how to answer his question. Should I say that I've heard he loved sucking cock, or should I play dumb and say that I haven't heard a thing? "I haven't heard," I finally finished. Now I was leaving the ball in his court, or so I thought.

"Come on Devon, you're in the public school system right? I'm quite sure you already know what it is I like to do. Are you telling me that you've never heard about me?"

"Uh, maybe I should leave," I said, but I couldn't seem to get my body to move off the most comfortable couch I've ever sat on.

"You can leave if you'd like. I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to do. But I think that you came here for another reason, didn't you Devon? I think you came here today hoping that I would offer you more than a job mowing my lawn. Is that why you're really here Devon? Are you looking for another type of - job?"

I didn't know what to say. I had come here looking for work, and mowing lawns was what I was prepared to do. I didn't come here for that other thing, did I? There was no way I could do that. But why was my cock so hard?

"Tell me the real reason you're here Devon," Clay said. "Stop beating around the bush, and tell me what you really want. I've got a hundred dollars in my pocket that you can have if you tell me what you really want from me." He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of folded bills. I could clearly see there was hundreds in the stack.

I was looking into his eyes and I saw him look down at my crotch and smile, then he licked his lips and I shuddered. This wasn't at all right. Hell I'm not attracted to men in the least, never have been, but for some reason my cock was throbbing in my pants. Was there something wrong with me? It was so confusing.

Clay peeled a hundred dollar bill off the pile and held it up between his thumb and pointer finger. "I'm not going to say it Devon, you have to ask for it, that's the rule. You ask, and I take it from there."

My throat was so dry that when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing but a squeak come out at first. I closed my mouth and licked my lips to get some moisture, then tried again. "Blow...job," I said, then looked down at the floor in shame. I almost couldn't believe that I said it.

Clay leaned forward and said, "What? You'll have to be more specific Devon. Speak clearly please, and this time, ask politely."

Now my shame was so bad I wanted to get up and leave, telling him to kiss my hairy ass and slam the door. I knew I could still leave with dignity, but my damn cock had other ideas, and it wouldn't be denied. I cleared my throat and haltingly said, "I'd like - I'd like a - blowjob - please."

He smiled, a big, bright, toothy smile, while I nervously bit my lower lip. "Well then, why don't you pull that beast out so I can see what I'm dealing with," he said.

My hands were shaking as I reached up to my button and fumbled with it before finally un-hooking it. I'd never had a problem undoing my pants before, but this time it took me a few tries until I finally popped it open, then lowered my zipper. I glanced up at Clay to see that his eyes were fixed on my hands, and he had a hungry look on his face. Was I really going to go through with this? Apparently I was, because the next thing I did was reach inside my boxers and grabbed my swollen member. A moment later I was pulling it out into the open air for him to see. This was an unusual feeling for me as I wasn't used to showing my junk off to anyone.

"That's a nice looking cock Devon, but I won't go near it until you take your jeans and underwear completely off," Clay informed me. When I looked around the room and back toward the door I had come in, he added, "Don't worry, no one is here, and no one is coming."

I nodded, then stood up on unsteady legs. My open jeans slid down easily, and my boxers followed suit. I sat back onto the incredibly comfortable sofa, feeling the baby smooth leather cushioning my bare ass, as I yanked my pants and boxers off and set them aside. Instinctively I covered myself as I sat, my body full of tenseness.

"I can see that you're nervous," Clay said. "Why don't you lie back on the couch, close your eyes, and try to relax."

Nervous was an understatement. I listened to his advice, and laid back, but my eyes refused to close completely. Instead I lowered my lids and focused on my cock, which was pointing directly at my face. I heard movement, and a moment later Clay was on his knees in front of me. He put his hands on my knees, and opened my legs, then he crawled forward until he was between my thighs.

My hands were still covering all my private bits, and I was shaking like a leaf on a windy day, as I watched him move in. His eyes were locked on the prize as he reached up and gently took hold of both my wrists, then lifted them up and out of the way, exposing them completely. I had never before felt so vulnerable.

Once I was wide open for him, he spent a long time just looking at every inch of me down there. I never knew there was that much to look at, but he seemed to relish spending an inordinate amount of time inspecting me. I was watching him closely, and he seemed so intrigued with my balls and ass, that it was almost as if I wasn't even there anymore, except for that part of me.

Moving very slowly, he leaned forward, bringing his face right up close to my middle. I tensed up even more than before, if that was even possible, and waited to feel his touch on my skin. Instead, I heard the unmistakable sound of him inhaling deeply. My eyes opened wide and I tilted my head forward to see him better, and he was nudging his nose around my ball sack, and sniffing me.

"Mmm, you smell incredible Devon," he mumbled, never pulling his nose away. I watched as he moved his nose all around my sack, then even lower and...was that his nose touching the spot just below my nut sack? Another deep sniff, and he moaned, then moved back up. This time he moved up over my balls and sniffed the base of my cock.

The more Clay sniffed, the less careful he got about where his face and nose touched me. I felt his nose brush against the base of my cock just a bit, then he moved to the right side of it and pushed his nose down to my stomach. It was at that point that I felt something tickling my ball sack just below his nose. It was just for a few seconds while his nose was lying along side my throbbing cock, but I wasn't sure what it was until he moved his nose to the other side and I felt it again, this time a bit more insistent and once again under his nose. It was his tongue, he was licking my balls!

I sucked in my breath as Clay used his tongue to roll my left testicle around. It was an odd feeling, not unpleasant but just different. I've yanked my stick probably a thousand times in my short life, but up to that moment on that comfortable couch, I hadn't ever really paid too much attention to my balls. Then he tilted his head again and made a loud slurping sound, and all of a sudden my testicle was inside his mouth.

"Huuhh!" I cried out, and pushed myself up to see what he was doing to me. The sensation was incredibly arousing, and when I felt his tongue flicking from underneath, I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was a warm, wet pressure being applied as his lips closed over the loose skin and then he starting sucking. "Whoa!" I cried out as the pressure nearly became too much and turned to pain. The slightest bit of extra pressure or suction would have made me curl up into a ball of writhing pain, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. It was a bit nerve wracking for me though, because I didn't know what his intentions were. I was so vulnerable right then, and it was worrisome.