The young man in the story is 19 years old.
This story begins in a bathroom at Washington Park in 1973...
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Chapter One: Roaming eyes.
I was minding my own affairs, just taking a leak in the men's room in the park, when it came to my attention that I had an audience down at the other end of the long through urinal. I glanced over, and saw that it was a guy that had been sitting on the side of the hill watching us work.
The guy was staring at me while I relieved myself, so I gave him a thrill by putting my hands on my hips and letting my cock swing freely. I saw his eyes bug out at that, and when my eyes happened to go downward, it was obvious what he was doing.
Shaking my head, I exhaled while he jerked himself off. His fingers were moving like a blur while he masturbated, and although this kind of thing didn't turn me on, the guy looked so pitiful that I let him look while he finished himself off, reaching a climax just after I stretched and wiggled my cock and prepared to zip up.
I went over to the sink and washed my hands before exiting the bathroom to go back to work on the road resurfacing we had been working on all day. For some reason, after I left the building I stepped around the corner of the building and waited for the guy to emerge.
When he did, my initial reaction was guilt, because the guy looked really young - only about 5'7' and maybe 120 pounds - with long blonde hair and blue eyes. He darted out of the bathroom right after I did and looked around, his head almost spinning as he tried to see where I had gone.
As he came around the corner of the building, I stepped from my hiding place, and he jumped when I suddenly appeared before him, almost a foot taller and probably twice his weight. He cried out in shock, and tried to act like nothing was going on, but I didn't let him.
"How was it?" I asked, stepping in front of him as he tried to dance around me.
"Huh?"
"I asked you how it was for you. You think I didn't see what you were doing in there? What are you, the park pecker checker?" I asked, knowing the reputation that the park had. "Does your Mommy and Daddy know what you spend the day doing? This place is nowhere a kid like you should be hanging out!"
"I ain't no kid," the guy said defiantly.
"You sure as hell aren't 18."
"I'm 19," I said, sticking his chin out and trying to act tough.
"Never know it by what I saw in there," I sneered, enjoying his face turn red.
"Well, I am," he said. "Never had no complaints either."
I could understand that, because he was definitely nice looking, but still and all hanging around a public bathroom was asking for trouble, especially for somebody as weak and innocent looking as him.
"If you want to live to see 20 you won't do reckless stuff," I warned him. "If I was a sicko you could be dead right now."
"Couldn't help it. I was watching you work all morning and you turned me on," he said. "Wanted to check you out."
"I guess you liked what you saw."
"Hell yeah."
"Then you should have just introduced yourself," I said, my attitude softening the more I hung around the kid. "Maybe we could go out or something."
"Oh yeah?"
"Why not?" I said, and started to feel self-conscious about how I looked, clad in a blue denim shirt with the sleeves ripped off and jeans filthy from working all day. "I look better when I'm clean."
"No," the guy said. "I like you as you are now. I like it dirty and nasty and rough."
"Oh yeah?" I laughed. "I think I'd break you in two if I got rough."
"I've had big men before," he said. "I bend but don't break, but if you want to give it a try, we can go back in there."
"No thanks," I said. "Toilet stalls don't make it with me. If you want to, I get off at 5."
"I'll wait."
"What's your name, anyway? I'm Howard."
"Tim," he said, and stuck out his hand, which disappeared into mine.
True to his word, Tim waited, watching me work from his vantage point on the hill for the next hour and a half, and when we locked up our equipment, he followed me from a safe distance until my co-workers had taken off.
"Should I ride with you?" I asked, nodding at the skateboard he had in his hand. "You have a place?"
"I live with my folks," he said, and I stopped dead in my tracks, looking over at him from across the hood of my truck.
"Here," Tim said, skidding his wallet across the hood. "You old guys are so paranoid."
"You might be 19 but I think you lied about the height," I chuckled after glancing at the pertinent information. "You would have to stand on a box to be 5'9" like it says."
"And for the record, I'm not that old. I'm 47, and that's only old compared to you," I informed him. "Just don't want to end up in jail. No offense. I like young, but legal young."
"That's cool," Tim said. "I like older. Old and rough. Is it a long way to your place?"
"Ten minutes."
...
Chapter Two: Flying home.