Neighbourhood

All characters are over 18. The story includes some reluctant sex and some name calling. If these elements cause you discomfort, I recommend you skip this story.

*****

The old brown house had been let to new renters after the Fergusons moved away the previous August. The new tenants brought a different vibe to the neighbourhood. Whereas the previous couple had been quiet, kind senior citizens, the present occupants were young, loud and boisterous. The small front yard was now littered with beer caps, cigarette butts and spent condoms. The deck was nearly covered in over-turned beer bottles and dozens of cases of empties. They lounged around on an old couch they had set up on the deck. They lived like hedonistic college students, but they never seemed to attend classes. As far as any of the neighbourhood gossips knew, the three men living there didn't work, but probably collected some kind of social assistance. Their music ranged across the harder metals and seemed to play twenty-four hours.

I happened to be walking about ten to fifteen paces behind Mary Miller one cool, sunny Spring afternoon. She was always a sight to behold in her short skirts and fishnet stockings; she wore a leather jacket over a torn t-shirt that showed her midriff and navel piercing. Her hair was dyed black and she was made up like a porcelain doll. She was a Goth throwback and she owned the look completely. I confess, I'd emptied my balls to many a fantasy about Mary Miller, but she was out of my league and I knew it.

As she passed the brown house, the wolf-whistles and the cat-calls started.

"Hey, beautiful, do those legs go all the way up?"

"That skirt's so high I think I hear your pussy whistling!"

She dismissed them as scum and kept on walking with her head held high. I admired her, realizing she probably got this kind of attention from men all the time. She handled the situation without losing her poise or her dignity. When she walked past the house, I was just getting there. I spared the men a glare, intended as a look of disapproval, and I immediately regretted it.

A tall, handsome black man returned my gaze and grabbed his crotch, jutting it out at me obscenely.

"Want some of this, fairy-boy?"

An athletic, bearded white man with a baseball cap over his blond hair grinned at me lewdly as he channelled a hillbilly in Deliverance. "He sure do have a purdy mouth."

"Come on up here, darlin'. Let us put our hands on that tight ass of yours." This last man was tall and rangy. He was well-tanned from hours lounging in the sun. He had a five o'clock shadow and a full head of curly dark-brown hair.

I was shocked to be treated so and flushed scarlet. I could be witty when I needed to be, but I had no smart-ass answer for their unexpected solicitation. Still just ten paces ahead of me, Mary Miller looked over her shoulder and fixed me with a stare of contempt. I don't know if she was disgusted with me because I didn't speak up to defend her as she passed the house or because I didn't speak up to defend myself. I felt unmanned by both the men and Mary.

I just kept walking past the house, silent and probably a shade of purple, soon leaving the young men behind me. Their cat-calls and wolf-whistles could have been meant for Mary or for me, and they faded as I ate the distance between their house and my apartment. I rented the basement apartment in a house about four doors up from the jokers. As I got to my private entrance, I saw Mary reaching her family's house another two doors up and once more, as she entered her residence, she turned a withering glare on me. Then she was gone.

When I was within the privacy of my own apartment, I could relax. My colour and breathing resumed their normal parameters. Out of sight of the toughs, I could think like myself. Realistically, there was nothing I could have done to defend Mary's honour or my own without getting my ass handed to me by the three strong men up the street. I recalled their physiques and I knew mine didn't compare.

Standing at five-and-a-half feet, I was shorter than those six-foot do-nothings I had passed. My build was slight; I had narrow shoulders, a slightly sunken chest and a bony ass. I had some muscles from walking and swimming, but they were stringy bits of gristle next to the brawn of the big men in the house.

To my surprise, I realized that I was somehow feeling horny. I grabbed some paper towel out of the kitchen, exposed my cock, lubed up my hand, lay on my bed and began pulling at myself.

As I started to rub one out, I focused my mind on the beautiful ass of Mary Miller, as she had looked strutting ahead of me on the sidewalk earlier this afternoon.

I got far enough into my fantasy to bone up in my hands. Those legs of Mary's and the buttocks grinding above them were sexy indeed. Then, my fantasy turned a corner and we were in front of the brown house again. The cat-calls began and Mary somehow disappeared far ahead.

This time, I didn't just look at the men on the front porch with disapproval; I stared as they made lewd gestures toward me and shouted foul names at me in seeming good humour: to them I was "faggot", "cocksucker", "ass-eater" and "cumdump". In the strange way of dreams, my fantasy transitioned so that I was no longer standing on the sidewalk, but instead, I was sitting on the steps that led up to the brown house deck.

I was naked.

The other men were suddenly around me. The black man was even sitting under me on the steps; his erection sprouting up between my legs, contrasting with my own much smaller boner. His hands wrapped around my torso, massaging my abs and my pecs, pinching my nipples. I sighed as he manoeuvred my body with ease, lifting my ass over his eager cock. As he dropped me down on the spear of flesh, it penetrated me deeply and I gave out a great groan of pleasure and satisfaction as I started to ride him. With my mouth open, it was ripe for cock; as I inhaled this new dick, I felt lips closing on my own organ below. My holes were filled and my cock was stimulated by the last man's tongue. In this fantasy, I felt like I was in heaven. As I rode the black man's cock and sucked the bearded man's dick, a shadow passed across my face. I turned an eye to see what was blocking the light.

It was Mary Miller. She stood before the steps on which the men and I were having earthy, primal sex and she looked down at me with judgement. Suddenly, jarringly, I seemed to realize that I had somehow been involved deeply in a gay sex fantasy and I started to become self-conscious, even before she spoke.

"I always knew you were just a limp-wristed, shriveled-dick, ass-ogling, cock-drooling, butt-fucked little fairy-boy faggot."

My fantasy ended and I blasted load after load over the paper towels waiting on my lower abdomen. It was a powerful orgasm, which was all the more disturbing because a straight guy like myself should never have come so hard from a gay fantasy. I had to admit I had been aroused by gay porn on occasion (a former college roommate had watched it in the common room), but I had never imagined myself so personally in the part of a gay cumslut.

The concern that I might be gay recurred through the day, but business went on as usual. I got online and paid my bills and checked my work schedule for the next week. I streamed some shows before getting off again to some very conservatively-straight porn. I called it a night and enjoyed a dreamless sleep.

A few days went by and I passed the little, brown house a number of times on the way to and from my bus to the hardware store where I worked. By chance, there was no one out on the deck of the house any of the times I passed by on the way back and forth from work. A part of me had anticipated each passing of the house, but whether it was with anticipation or dread... that was not clear to me.

One day the following week, I was returning from work when I stopped in front of the brown house as Mary Miller stormed out, down the porch steps and the few steps to the sidewalk. She was dishevelled and she carried both her jacket and her purse awkwardly as if there was no time to do more than pick them up on the way out. Her fishnets were torn in two places and her t-shirt was inside-out. She looked at me briefly with an expression that suggested I was something that should be scraped from her shoe.

"What the fuck are you looking at, fag-boy?"

My cock twitched involuntarily at her words, but Mary didn't notice. She turned her back on me and bee-lined it for her house. I was still stunned that the men had managed to talk her into their house; even more amazed that they had talked her out of her clothes. What other intentions toward her had they fulfilled that day?

"Hey," the black man said as he emerged through the front door onto the deck. He had a beer in his hand; he once again squeezed his crotch in my direction. "Come on up, Honey. We saved some spunk for you."

The other two came out after the black man.

"Sharp, bony ass like that. The hole might break a man off at the root," the bearded blond man said.

The curly-haired fellow laughed. "A real man might be worried about breaking him up the middle."

"I like them skinny," the black man declared. "The walls are tighter."

I felt a number of things at once: anger that they had seduced the girl that I so coveted, irritation that I was considered a sexual object by these men, and panic because I found my cock stiffening in my pants at their invitation. I turned and tried to adjust myself so my erection would not be noticed, but these were men after all; they knew exactly what I was doing.

"Ah, he's into it," the curly-haired man said.

"Yeah, you can see his little pee-pee doing push-ups in those pants."

"He wants it alright."

I tried to disprove what they were saying, even if only to myself, but I had a boner and an urge to walk up there...

"Say," the black man said. "Just come up for a beer."

I seriously thought about it. I didn't want to walk after Mary with a heat-seeker pushing out the front of my pants, but then again, I didn't want to encourage these guys either. Did I? I chose what seemed the lesser of two evils. I awkwardly turned to walk home. They made no effort to stop me.

"Well, come on back anytime," the black man said. "We're open twenty-four hours."

"I'd like to tap me that ass," said the bearded man. I heard him plain as day. There was no subtlety to their conversation, which continued in the same vein. I felt my penis tighten and I guessed my underwear would be wet with pre-cum.

I got home and locked the door. It occurred to me that they might have been able to see where I lived. I reasoned that if they had force in mind, I'd have had a sense of it from Mary's condition but she'd looked like a woman seduced, not abused. If they did have force in mind, I'd never be able to defend myself against them.

I started running a hot shower before I shed my clothes. Sure enough, there was a damp spot in the crotch of my underwear where my pre-cum had soaked it. I closed a fist around my dick and squeezed out a few more drops, letting them collect in my hand. I spat into my palm and mixed the pre-seminal fluid with my saliva, creating a sudsy lube, and stepped into the shower, with my back to the spray. I jerked off as I remembered what these men, just a few years older than me, had said they would do with me. I remembered my fantasy with the three of them on me, though this time as I fantasized, Mary Miller stood by and cheered me on by calling me a queer and a homo. I came in a minute flat.

Early the next morning, I set out for work. I didn't have a car to drive; my only choice was to catch public transit down at the far end of the street. My residential road ended in a cul-de-sac, so there was no way I could go to work without passing the old, brown house.

I was nervous as I walked down the street, using the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I watched the house out of the corner of my eye. Music was drifting out of the windows as always, but nothing stirred on the deck or in the windows. I counted myself lucky and pressed on to catch my bus.

Eight-and-a-half hours later, I reluctantly got off the bus, tired from a demanding work day, but still worried about the possibility of confronting the men in the old house.

In truth, I had been thinking about them all day as I tried to think of ways I could bypass that part of the street on my way home, but fences, hedges and shrubs would block me from using the backyards on the other side of the street to sneak my way home. These failed plans were not all that preoccupied me. Images occurred to me of the three men using me in the salacious ways they had suggested and I was constantly readjusting unwelcome wood in my pants at work. To make matters worse, I think the owner of the shop, old Mr. Wyresdale, saw my erection difficulties; he gave me a knowing and suggestive look I just didn't need to see right then.

Presently, I proceeded up my street, again using the opposite sidewalk. My luck could be called into question here, for as I neared the brown house, I heard more than music playing. The men were enjoying their deck. Soon, I was close enough to see them. I lowered my head and started power-walking my way forward; I wasn't even in front of their house yet when one way or another, I drew their attention.

"Hey! How about that beer, Little Man?" It was the black man shouting.

I kept walking, scarcely looking in the direction of the house.

The other men joined in.

"Yeah, come on, bro," the bearded man said.

"Haul it up here and take a load off, my friend," said the curly-haired man.

They continued to call out and repeat their shouts and I wished someone in this part of the neighbourhood would start running a lawnmower to drown out their shouts, but there was no such luck. There were, in fact, quite a few people out on their lawns. The Morrisseys were enjoying their front porch as much as the young men in the brown house, though much more quietly; Mrs. Dempster was planting in her front garden; The Goldsmiths were painting their fence; Mr. Temple was seeding his lawn. There were many witnesses to my humiliation.

"Come on, beer's on us," the bearded man added and his friends seconded loudly.

"For Christ's sake," Mr. Temple, a fat, balding man who used the sunny weather as an excuse to go topless to absolutely no one's delight. "Why don't you go have a beer with them if it will shut them the fuck up."

Mr. Temple was plainly not happy with his neighbours, but the black man gave him a thumbs up anyway in gratitude for his support.

I couldn't pretend I wasn't the object of the fuss anymore. The neighbours all recognized me as part of the noise problem at the moment. I felt singled out and pressured on all sides. I was blushing furiously and by now I was directly across the street from the house.

"Go on, kid," Mr. Temple said. "Go talk to them over a beer. Maybe they'll shut that goddamn music off for a while."

"Uh..."

"Come on!" The men in the brown house noticed that my resolution had wavered and they were pressing their advantage with encouragement and more noise to catch the attention of the neighbours... attention I didn't want. Even the Millards three doors down were coming out to their deck and looking up the street to see what all the noise was about.

"Um, alright."

The men on the deck couldn't have heard my squeaky voice at that distance and over their music, but they let up a cry of triumph. Perhaps they read my lips.

I looked both ways as I made to cross the street, not because I expected traffic, but because I was looking for any last way out of doing this. I went over the road on knocking knees, my heart hammering against my ribcage, and yes, with blood swelling my betraying, twitching cock. I hoped no one would notice that I was following the head of my erect dick right for the three men I strangely loathed and lusted for. There was no way out but forward.

I stepped onto the sidewalk on their side of the street and walked through the gate of the white picket fence Mr. Ferguson had built when he lived there and followed the short walk to the porch steps. The men had seated themselves on the beaten-up couch sitting against the wall under the front picture window. I padded slowly up those stairs and joined the men on the deck.

"Pull up a pew," the black man said, pointing to two cases of empties that could be used for a primitive chair. "I'm Carlo."

I reflexively told them all my name as I sat on the empties, trying to hide any evidence of my erection.

The blond, bearded man identified as Mick while the curly-haired man said he was Marty.

"This man deserves a beer," Carlo said. "Go get yourself a beer."

There was a cooler right beside the couch and Carlo pointed down at it. He could easily have reached down and passed me the drink, but he wanted me to get up and get it. I didn't even think about it; I rose to my feet and bent over, reaching into the cooler for a beer. I felt like I needed a drink to take the edge off and sooth my jangled nerves. I was leaning slightly off-balance toward the cooler when a lightning-fast hand reached up and grabbed me by the genitals right through my work pants.

"Ooohhh!" I groaned in wide-eyed surprise and undesired pleasure.

"Yeah, you're hard alright. Not big, but definitely hard. Before the night's done, that thing's gonna spurt."

I was paralyzed by sensation. I just stood there awkwardly, letting him feel me up. He let go of my genitals and reached around to squeeze my ass like he was a surgeon looking for a lump.

"Hmmm... not much cushion for the pushin', but that just means we can sink in deeper."

I somehow managed to fish a beer out of the melting ice in the cooler. Carlo let me go and I fell back on the cases I was using as a chair, barely managing not to slide off onto the planks of the deck. I hadn't started to drink yet; instead, I felt intoxicated by Carlo's rough handling of me, as if I was a toy to be played with and used.

"Look at the expression on his dirty little face," said Mick. "The bitch liked that."

I felt flushed and blown and I unconsciously bit my lip.

"I only needed to look at the front of his pants to see that," said Marty.

I looked down, and sure enough, my pocket rocket was pointing like a compass at the three men on the couch.

"So, you see," Carlo said. "We know you're into this. You're as queer as any other homo and you won't be the first to get slivers in his knees on these deck boards while blowing us and taking us up the ass."

I felt the heat in my face as they talked frankly of how they would use me. I was beyond aroused. I felt faint and remembered that romance novels often mentioned heroines "swooning" before their romantic heroes. At that point, I wasn't sure I wouldn't do anything they asked of me.

"Drink your beer," Carlo said. "You need to wet your whistle. You'll be needing your spit in a few minutes."

My dick visibly throbbed in anticipation of being used by these men. I wondered what was wrong with me. I wasn't gay, so why was I having this reaction to these dirty suggestions? How were these men so confident that I would submit to their sexual dominance? I thought of Mary Miller coming out of the house looking well-used after slighting the men and I realized that these bachelors had an animal charisma that worked on women and men alike. They gloried in the thrill of the hunt, or so it seemed.

It was also as if they could read my mind. I barely so much as thought of Mary and her name was in their mouths.

"I think he's got a nicer ass than Mary," Carlo said. "She really is too thin."

"She has nice curves, though," Mick said.

"Not as nice as our boy here," Marty said. "He may have a man's plumbing, but he's all pussy."