Raised as one boy of eight by an opportunistic single mom with a long string of lightswitch boyfriends, “fate” was never something that little Jimmy Charleston ever believed in. His ma always told him that destiny was just a stupid man’s way of never taking responsibility for himself.
But looking back on it, there’s really no other word for that day he met Dell.
Growing up without a father figure was hard for Jim, and always made him wary about the trustworthiness of grown men- since the majority of the adult men in his life were breezing through because his ma had a reputation for sleeping with anyone in her award-winning life goal to wait for one to stick.
So he’d been a little hesitant when Dell had approached him out of the wild blue shortly after his thirteenth birthday. Runny-nosed, sitting on a swing in a park crying so hard he couldn’t breathe right, clutching his brand-new work papers after a long and exhausting day of fighting with so many people for a job that their faces started to blur together after the first six hours- that’s the first time Dell saw him.
Tearfully, he admitted to the sympathetic young man that all he wanted was a job. All his brothers had jobs, even 14-year-old Paulie had a job delivering mail.
“Leecher!” they’d call him.
“Drag on the family!”
“Ain’t got no purpose!”
All he wanted was a job, but everywhere he turned claimed he was too young. Too young to work, too young to be responsible, too small to be of any real use. He was afraid to go home and tell his family that nobody else wanted him, either.
Dell’s heart must have broken for him, because he offered him a job in his mechanic shop on the spot. It was menial work, mostly janitorial, but Jim was over the moon. Returning home every day sore and oil-stained from four hours of cleaning made him feel like he was actually accomplishing something, and contributing his ninety dollars at the end of every week to the family made his brothers stop calling him names.
He always promised Dell he’d save some of the money he earned for himself for pocket money. He never did.
Dell had always suspected that there’d been very little of the money left for Jim to have any for himself after what little he made went to help his family stay afloat. Over the years, he’d gotten to know the boy’s family. The thought had crossed his mind, on occasion, to court Jim’s mother, but there was a line there that he thought better than to step over.
From the age of thirteen on, Jim worked in Dell’s shop as often as his school days would allow, which was most afternoons; and when work was slow, the two had plenty of time to talk. It had taken Jim a while to warm to him, but when he did, his passions for sports, particularly baseball, were a point of much conversation between the two.
As time wore on, Dell had become protective of the boy. Taking a keen interest in his studies, he would help him with his homework whenever he was called upon, lending a hand especially in mathematics and science. Desperate to see Jim succeed, he encouraged him in every avenue, be it sport or academia, or even love. In all these matters, Dell remained his steadfast advocate.
So it was when Jim got accepted into the university, on a scholarship no less, that Dell had been ecstatic. He’d baked him a cake, bought him new clothes and supplies for the venture and had even offered him a place to stay. In spite of his success in securing a place at the college, the funds fueling the undertaking had only paid for the classes and books necessary for his courses. Student housing had been out of the question, but Dell’s spare bedroom hadn’t had a body to lie in it since his estrangement from his family.
Of course, Jim had offered to take a job to help Dell pay his bills. At first, he’d been against the idea, worried that a job would distract him from his studies, but his debt and Jim’s determination had ended his protest, and made his debts a little lighter, in the end.
Jim was thrust into an exhausting rhythm of going to class, going to work at the supermarket; balancing that with volunteering hours in Dell’s shop when he really needs an extra pair of hands - after all, Dell taught him his way around a car over the years - as well as homework, baseball practice and track practice.
His scholarship was a full ride for his “excellence in track and field” which, sure, he’s pretty great at- anyone with eyes can tell. “Olympic material” folks say when they look at his run times. But he’s never wanted to be a runner; speed was his talent, not his dream. Dell knows how much he loves baseball, but even he was worried when Jim joined the baseball team at his school- as if the track alone wouldn’t be enough to wear him out, now he has to juggle practices.
Jim tells him that he’s way too fit to ever get sore no matter how much he works out (and lord knows it could be true, given how well Jim has shaped up over the years with his rangy bat-swinging arms and iron legs) but Dell sees him hissing as he rubs cramps out of his legs some nights. If Jim ever catches him looking he’ll just laugh it off. He’d sooner run himself to death than give up baseball, and Dell knows better than to suggest it, even if he doesn’t like to see him bone-tired so often.
The days and nights drag on, Dell working in the shop and watching Jim speed through college. He reminds him now and again that it’s good to slow down and take it easy, when he’s able, but Jim seems as though he’s hellbent on running himself ragged. Of course, Dell can remember being that young and full of energy, always needing to be in motion, perhaps out of some fear that if he had stopped he might have missed the world turning.
The older man has a lot of pride in Jim. Every day, he’s pushing himself to his limits, and it’s absolutely astonishing how determined he is. He’s a force of nature, like a lightning bolt in motion. Transient, always on the move; but beyond Dell’s admiration there are feelings mounting that he’d rather not think about. Emotions that are stirred in him when his eyes linger too long on the young man’s sleek form or his reddened face after a day of tough practice.
He’s grown into a fine young man. It’s hard to believe he had ever been a sniffling thirteen year old. The years have flown by in what seems like a blink, and it amazes Dell daily that here before him stands a man, a man who he’s nurtured and watched, and so these feelings that stir in him when he looks at Jim are unsettling. It’s wrong, he tells himself, but in the small hours of the morning, when there is naught but his hand to keep him company, he finds his thoughts straying to Jim’s lithe body, to his gently pouting lips and sinuous thighs. And afterwards, he lies in his shame until sleep takes him, sometimes wondering in vain if the younger man feels similarly for him.
It doesn’t help when sometimes, Jim is so beat down exhausted after a shift at work on those rare nights his practices overlap both in one day, and he’s too sore to fight with the stairs to his spare bedroom, and he’ll crash in Dell’s bed. Sometimes Dell wonders if it’s a bad thing, how much the boy’s come to trust him.
There are some lines that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Jim’s comfort with being seen naked is probably one of them. But Jim can’t help it - not only does he know he’s got a rocking body (ten years of track and field combined with baseball will do that to a guy) but he maybe sorta wants Dell to see him naked.
Not that he’s gay. He’s bi, thank you very much. It’s just that Dell’s the only guy who he’s ever really trusted, not to mention that it was learning about Dell’s bisexuality that made him consider his own. It’s not that he was ever jealous of the few people Dell has dated in the ten years they’ve known each other, he just didn’t approve of them. All six of them. None of them were right for Dell, that’s all. And when they inevitably broke up every time, it only proved he was right.
Maybe it was some kind of alpha male posturing that had him strutting in nothing but a towel sometimes. Maybe he just wanted Dell’s approval, since he was the only queer man he knew- maybe he just wanted to know he could be Dell’s type. It was probably just looking for affirmation as a queer man himself - even if he’s not out to Dell. He probably should be, there’s no reason for him not to be,especially since Dell was disowned by his father for being queer (a story he learned a few years back) so he knows there’s no way Dell would disapprove of his bisexuality or think of him any less.
The only real problem is he’s afraid of being kicked out because he might make Dell uncomfortable. Dell might think Jim is into him if he learns he’s into guys... and maybe he sort of is.
It’s not like he was always into Dell. He just sorta looked like a dad when he was a kid. But as he aged and started to explore his bisexuality - and Dell started to grow into a beard and a beergut, both of which have remained scorchingly hot - he found himself projecting his attraction on the only man he ever really trusted. At first it was probably just a lack of having any other male figures in his life to relate to - but even when he went to college and started meeting guys his own age, he found himself attracted more to the professors than the students.
So maybe he’s a grave robber, so what. There’s no way he could lie about how sexy Dell looks bent over a car with no shirt on. He’d never admit that when he purchased his first dildo, the first time he used it in the shower, he imagined being pushed up against the wall and fucked stupid. In fact, the more toys he buys and tries out, the more he craves the real thing. After blossoming over the last seven years, there’s no use denying it - he has a crush on Dell.
Dell finds he feels younger when he’s around Jim. The kid’s enlivening, full of youthful ideas and hopes, things Dell remembers in foggy passing. They spend the nights together after work and school are over, eating at the small kitchen table and sometimes watching movies on the couch, close enough to edge into inappropriate.
Then the nights when Jim has crept into Dell’s bed, nude, the older man wonders if he’s aware of the things his body does to Dell. The remote sense of wrong lingers in the back of his mind as, at five o’clock in the morning, he comes in a blistering and quiet heat, his back to Jim as he stifles his voice so as not to wake the boy. It’s wrong, whatever this is, but he just can’t help himself. He fantasizes about rubbing the knots out of Jim’s sore body, only to make him stiff in the legs by fucking him over the kitchen table.
He wonders if Jim is even into men. Of course, he has his suspicions that he’s at least bisexual, but he can’t be certain. It isn’t something that they’ve talked at length about. If he is interested in men, Dell can only assume he’d be more into the sinewy jocks at track practice than in a paunchy old linebacker with a case of scoliosis.
Truth is, Jim doesn’t even have enough time to consider the guys at his school. He barely knows the names of the guys on his own baseball team, he’s so split between track, his school work and two jobs. They say all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but Jim had no idea how true that was until after six months of working 80 hours a week between his jobs, practice and school, it finally piled up into too much.
Something had to give. Turns out, that something was his job. Jim probably should have been grateful that it wasn’t his body that gave out first, but honestly he’d prefer a broken leg and a few-month lay up from practice over losing the source of his income, and the only thing helping Dell out with the rent on his mechanic shop, which is already getting close to being higher than the money he even brings in from the shop.
He can’t bear to tell Dell. The first few days, he just kicks around school looking for a new job, and comes home the usual time so Dell doesn’t suspect. He applies for at least twenty jobs and interviews for six, but after two weeks, it’s pretty clear nobody is going to hire a guy with such a heavy school load.
He’s desperate. He starts looking into work study, which would be less pay than a normal job, but some money is better than no money. He starts looking into alternate sources of income and comes across sperm donation, but after finding out about the blood tests, genetic research and prying into his family - all for a measly fifty bucks - he declined to pursue it.
But it opened up other avenues. He wound up looking into ameteur porn, and found out if he jerked off on camera and posted previews, and people liked him, he could charge money for people to buy the full versions. It sounded like a dream come true- not only would he finally get recognition for how hard he’s worked to sculpt his body into a twink-lover’s fantasy, he’d also get to experiment with different masturbation techniques. With an audience, nobody’s looking for the fastest jerk off, so he’d get to explore his own body.
He decides to try it. He signs up on xtube under the user name Hey_Batter_Batter and sets right into filming himself jerking off. He wears a bandana over his face so nobody had a chance of recognizing him, and took a static shot from his webcam as he fucked himself with his favorite dildo - a girthy pink number. With fifteen minutes of video shot before he can’t take the edge of orgasm anymore and comes, he posts a three-minute preview and waits.
At first he only gains a few followers. It isn’t as instant as he would have hoped. He charges $10 for the full video at first, and within the first couple weeks of posting slightly fuzzy webcam videos, he makes only $100 bucks. That month he has to pull money out of his personal savings to give to Dell for mortgage, to keep him from getting suspicious. He also splurges on a nicer camera, and a standing poseable lamp.
With better video and audio equipment and better lighting, he starts to shoot videos from multiple angles, and even takes a video elective at school to learn how to edit his videos into something very nice. He learns how to blur his face so he doesn’t have to hide it with clumsy scarves or weird angles, and starts posting more and more videos.
By the end of the next month, he has over 2,000 faithful followers, most of which pay for his videos. He’s considered upping his price, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. And since putting out one video usually grosses him anywhere from $6,000 to $10,000 he doesn’t really need to. It’s hilariously more than he was ever making as a cashier, and he’s happy to give Dell more money. Lord knows he deserves it.
At first the money is great. Dell starts to feel like there’s a chance that he won’t drown under the weight of his debts, but he begins to wonder where on earth the money is coming from. When he asks, Jim informs him that he’s got a promotion at the grocer’s, and while Dell is skeptical, he’s got no reason to go prying any further than that. Jim’s always been honest with him before, why would he lie about this? Besides which, the money is really helping them stay afloat, so Dell isn’t inclined to look this horse in the mouth.
The money flows in for months, easing the strangulation of their financial situation. Dell notices that Jim’s a lot more tired, but he seems happier when he comes home, though he is spending an inordinate amount of time in his bedroom. The older man just assumes he craves some time to himself after being split between a work, school, and two grueling practice sessions. The distance it puts between them is welcome, as it gives Dell some time to think about all of these strange feelings he’s got for Jim. Maybe he’ll get over them soon enough.
At least, that’s what he tells himself, but then why do his nights include browsing porn sites for young twinks that look, with their faces obscured, enough like Jim that he’s able to exercise some control over these fantasies that plague his mind.
It’s one such evening that he’s browsing through the plethora of videos that Xtube has to offer when something catches his eye. A thumbnail of a young man, wiry and toned, wearing his sports gear, but that isn’t what entices him most to click on the still. Across the young man’s left thigh there is a vicious looking scar, unmistakably similar to the one he knows to be on the very same leg of his young charge.
It had happened years and years ago. An accident with the chop saw had torn a gash right through Jim’s left thigh; and if Dell had not leapt into action he’d suspected he might have lost the leg completely. It had been an ordeal. Dell had stayed with him in that night in the hospital, never leaving his side, as his mother had been away at work. He’d taken the week off to see to him, to be there for him when he was needed.
It’s not a common sort of scar like an appendectomy or a cholecystectomy. Excited, thrilled, and more than a tad worried, Dell clicks on the video to confirm his suspicions. Yes, of course that’s why he clicks on it.
What greets him is a quality high enough that he’s inclined to assume it’s less amateur and more independently produced. The lighting is good, and the angles tasteful, but those are minor details compared to the rush of conflicting emotions brought on by the sight of the boy. His face is almost professionally blurred with editing software, and his scar isn’t visible yet- he’s wearing pants in the beginning of the video.
But that scar from the preview still is distinctive and recognizable. Dell spent a lot of time with that injury, checking Jim’s stitches and changing his bandages, cleaning it and keeping it from getting infected. He knows that scar.
What he really wants is to be proven wrong. He wants someone else to have that scar. He wants it to be someone else. Because if it’s Jim... then it’s Jim. Dell stares wide-eyed and slack jawed as his young roommate crawls across his bed towards the camera, baseball pants tented, white tank top clinging to his ropey body, he can’t breathe. It’s like the young man is going to climb right out of the screen and into Dell’s lap - the young man he knows is probably sleeping upstairs right now- unless he’s not.
As he watches Jim slowly pop the buttons on his baseball pants, the thought grips Dell that Jim could be upstairs right now filming one of these videos. He could get up and possibly catch him in the act, but he can’t tear his eyes away for one second. He watches, dry-mouthed, heart pounding as Jim draws out his hard prick, and while it’s not remarkably long or thick, it would certainly be more than a mouthful. Jim languidly strokes himself, and Dell finally glances down to his username, Hey_Batter_Batter, over a section for him to post comments, saying that he was filling a request for user tinydancer to fuck himself in his baseball pants.
As if he wasn’t sure enough it was Jim by the scar, the angle of the video suddenly switches to Jim bent over on his bed, reaching behind himself and pumping a thick dildo into himself, his baseball pants pushed down to his knees (exposing that scar close enough to the camera that it’s impossible to mistake it for anyone else’s scar) and on the wall behind him he can see a cluster of posters he knows for a fact is on Jim’s wall.
There’s no denying it. Hey_Batter_Batter is Jim. Jim is doing porn.
Dell sits back in his chair as the video plays, his face going through a range of emotions before he finally covers his mouth with his hand and just stares. He feels as though he’s been dunked in boiled water. All at once he’s aroused and disgusted. Staring, he cannot pull his eyes away from the sight before him, not even for an instant, and even as the video ends his hand is moving to click on the next video.
He’s so hard now that he’s in pain, but he refuses to touch his cock. In denial, he waits for the next video to load, biting his lip as he scrolls down briefly to read the comments that people have left him. There are tons of them, most lewd though others are encouraging and complimentary of his body. Dell finds himself agreeing with them, and for a moment he hesitates as he’s tempted to leave a comment of his own, but then the video starts.
To his surprise, the video seems to start right in the middle, with Jim straddling a sybian with a dildo attachment, grinding his hips in steady circles, and making a fair bit of noise. He glances down at the comments section and reads Jim’s upload comments, “My roommate was out today so I whipped out this baby, I wish I could use it more.”
Dell feels his face go redder as he listens to Jim moan openly and loudly, his voice unmistakeable. When he moans “Aw, god!” his cock reacts with a hard throb. Jim is riding the sybian with all the strength in his thighs, rocking the whole bed under him as he pumps his hips over the vibrating and wiggling dildo.
Just as it’s getting good, the video ends, just a three-minute preview. Dell sees that all of the full versions are available for purchase for only ten bucks each. He hates himself for even considering buying a full version.
But damn if he doesn’t want to buy it. He’s sorely tempted--watching Jim ride the machine has him so close to purchasing that he’s forced to minimize the window and give himself a moment to breathe. Minutes pass by. This is wrong. There aren’t words enough to describe how wrong this is. It was one thing to look for folks who looked like Jim, but an entirely different thing to be watching these videos. Jim’s like a son to him. He feels sick to his stomach, and worried.
The videos he feels are innocuous enough. His face is hidden, and if he can make a bit of money, good on him--but, Dell has noted that these videos have been requested, and it worries him how far Jim might go to please his fans and turn a buck. A fear that he might hurt himself to please clings to Dell’s mind. He would hope Jim would never turn to bloodier things, like knife play, but he cannot be sure.
He’s considering closing the browser, but his need to watch, to see drives him back to the page and, sweating, he clicks on the next video. As it loads, his hand wanders down to grip his cock, giving it a firm squeeze to allay the needy flesh.
He watches as Jim films himself from the mouth down as he fellates a dildo, purposefully gagging on it, forcing it deep into his throat. The camera angle switches and Dell watches his throat open up and swell to make room for the thick toy as he loudly swallows and gags around it. Saliva runs down his chin and he makes a grand show of licking and sucking the tip of the replica penis.
The poster comments section boasts how much he’d love a real cock to suck, and details how he’d love to be grabbed by the head and face-fucked. Dell almost moans out loud when Jim pushes the toy into his throat right up to the fake testicles base. He chokes loudly and pulls it out panting and moaning, and abruptly the video ends.
The full version includes ten minutes of shameless fellating, and then fucking himself with the dildo he wetted in his own mouth, and god if Dell doesn’t want it.He could easily come ten times watching any one of these videos.
Rewatching the video, Dell’s fingers fly over his shaft, eager to come. A few things have been confirmed tonight. Jim’s amazing at giving head, he is most assuredly bisexual, and Dell is on a swift road to hell. He’s too horny to stop, and watches the video several more times, and each time he’s imagining those lips wrapped around his cock.
He imagines himself in place of the dildo, whispering sweet encouragements to Jim, running his fingers through his short hair until he’s hard; then bending him over the bed and preparing Jim with his mouth, and fucking him slow and steady from behind.
Dell is greedy to see more. He clicks on Jim the next video in his suggested viewing and waits impatiently, the five seconds it takes for the page to load has him holding his breath, he’s so eager to see what lies in store for him.
It’s shot from behind, Jim’s head thrown back, his arms tied up behind him with less-than-fancy knotwork (probably because he had to tie them himself behind his own back) and he’s giving off the sweetest strangled sounds, fighting to stay quiet. It occurs to him that this must have been filmed when he was in the house. He imagines Jim upstairs, fucking himself desperately with toys while he’s been downstairs cluelessly all along.
Jim is riding that sybian again, but it’s off this time, with a larger attachment. His thighs tremble as he lifts himself up and drops down over the rigid toy, stuffing himself as fast as he can get his legs to work for him, bouncing on the thick shaft with strangled gasps and groans.
He whispers, “Oh, fuck,” and suddenly stops, and Dell realizes that he had to stop himself because he was too close to coming. With nothing but a toy in his ass. Apparently he really gets off on ass play.
Watching again and again, Dell’s mouth goes dry as he pants right along with Jim. His whole body is shaking: he wishes he could have been there to take care of him, to make sure he got off and rub him down and make him comfortable and happy afterward. He’s so close now that he can feel his pulse right up to his eyeballs, shaking him apart.
Dell comes watching Jim ride the sybian, and he cannot recall the last time he’s had an orgasm so intense. His legs feel like concrete after he’s come down from it, and his shirt is sticking to him with the heat of his perspiration. The older man sits back in his chair and gives himself a minute to calm down. When he’s finally caught his breath, he cleans himself up and tucks his limp cock back into his boxers, and frustrated and confused, he closes the page for the time being and takes himself to bed.
He lays there, drenched in sweat and frustrated with himself. He knows he should have stopped after he’d found out it was Jim. He knows too that he should not have chosen to add himself to the huge collection of followers that Jim already has. Lying in the darkness, he considers unfollowing him, but the part of him that he’s furiously trying to fight is holding him back. He’s not wanted someone this badly since his college days, and even now the feeling is more intense than he can ever remember it being before.
Dell imagines climbing the stairs to Jim’s room and getting into bed with him. Wrapping him up tight in his arms and whispering to him that he knows what he’s up to-- hands roving over his body, he’d trace that scar to let Jim know that he knows every inch of him too well to be fooled by some fancy photoshop techniques.
His cock gives a feeble twitch as his vision progresses. Kissing Jim passionately, the shimmer of the streetlight illuminating the young man’s body in the half-darkness. He’d make love to him, slow and easy, filling him again and again; but he wouldn’t stop there. He’d sit on the bed and coax Jim down onto his knees, giving him a little spank on the way down, and he’d order him to suck him hard again so he could fuck him one more time, hard and fast. If he likes, Dell would tie him to the bedposts and treat him like he likes. Shame fills his heart up with butterflies as he envisions himself saying, “Do what Daddy tells you.”
Swathes of red would color Jim’s backside from where Dell’s hand has left its mark. His weight crashes hard into Jim with each forward thrust, and as he continues to fantasize Dell finds his cock has gotten hard once more. Eventually, he comes again and lies spent, hoarse and shaking. He hates himself, but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it before sleep crashes over him.