Up in the Sky
by Golden West
Once upon a time — back when my brain still thought it was invincible — I was in a gang. Not a cool gang with matching jackets and a theme song. More like a chaotic after-school club where everybody had beef with everybody and nobody had a job.
So I get into it with this dude — loud, angry, built like a refrigerator with feelings — and next thing I know his fat-ass cousin is roaming the neighborhood like he’s on safari and I’m the endangered species. Fast-forward to after school: I’m walking home and my black ass was happy as a runaway slave who found a shortcut, when suddenly somebody decides to host a drive-by without sending invitations.
My friend gets hit six times. Six. I’m standing four feet away and don’t even get grazed. Not a scratch. Not even a dramatic slow-motion bullet whizzing past my ear. A week later I find out the bullets were meant for me. Let me tell you, nothing makes you reconsider your life choices faster than learning you were supposed to be the entrée at a murder buffet.
I won’t say it was a “wake-up call,” but it was definitely a “wake-the-hell-up-before-you-end-up-a-mural” moment.
So I started studying. Yeah, I know — corny as hell. “Studying saved my life.” Sounds like something they’d print on a poster with a smiling kid holding a book he didn’t read. But it’s true. The library was close, the librarians were patient, and books didn’t shoot at me. That was a plus.
Instead of being in the streets, my black ass was in the stacks, trying not to punch the well-meaning college boys who talked to me like I was their community service project. But hey — it kept me alive. I got in less trouble. Not no trouble. Just… less.
Because I still ended up doing time.
See, I had a retail fraud charge and a possession charge thanks to a “friend” who ran off during a shoplifting incident and left his drug paraphernalia in my pocket like a party favor. Then I went home and got into a fight with my stepfather. I threatened him from across the room with a knife — which I never pointed at him — but apparently the law doesn’t care about my impeccable aim. Boom: felonious assault.
Then I broke a window with a lock (don’t ask), so they added malicious destruction of property. Turns out all the little things I thought I was getting away with that summer were actually charges I was collecting like Pokémon.
By the end of August, I got arrested again. Me and some friends were cruising around Ventura, stopped at some college kid’s house, and asked to use the bathroom. This dude called the cops — I won’t get into why, but trust me, it was stupid — and we all got hauled in.
All my friends’ parents picked them up. Mine didn’t. My mom and stepfather left me sitting there like a forgotten Amazon package. Since I had all those charges, the powers that be shipped me off to a youth correctional facility in Alameda. I never forgave my mom and stepfather for that. I could’ve gone home. Instead, I got sentenced to a year in that shithole.
But that’s where I met Skylar Hadley of Brentwood.
Skylar looked like the poster child for “privileged youth who plays tennis.” Fair almost copper-colored hair cut into Young Republican neatness, tan skin, blue eyes, flawless everything. He looked like he’d been raised in a bubble where the air was filtered and the water was imported.
So how did Skylar end up in The Facility? Well, according to him, he poured lighter fluid on a bunch of band uniforms, lit them on fire outside the dean’s office, then dragged them inside a hallway full of classrooms. And nothing happened to him. No punishment. No suspension. Not even a sternly worded email.
Skylar thought this meant he was too smart to get in trouble. What it actually meant was that white miscreants get treated like they’re auditioning for a quirky teen comedy, while kids with color get treated like they’re auditioning for a prison documentary.
But Skylar didn’t know that. So he kept doing dumb stuff until he finally got caught.
“The school police got me ’cause I was wearing flip-flops,” he told me, laughing. “Couldn’t get over the fence. Normally I don’t wear flip-flops, but it was so friggin’ HOT, and I like to be as close to barefoot as possible.”
That line made me glance down at his feet. He was wearing shoes and socks — which annoyed me. I liked guys’ feet. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know where the fetish came from, and I don’t care. I’m not into self-analysis. I just know what I know.
And what I knew was: Skylar Hadley should’ve been barefoot.
The look I gave him must have been like a green light to sky because he, quite suddenly, clung to my neck and kissed me. It was like some sensation had overwhelmed him and he just had to act on it. He shoved me back into the bottom bunk as if he’d been possessed. And when he got over what must have been a feeling of lightheadedness, he lay back down and allowed me to explore his body. The trust fund kid's form was fair and well-toned. As I ran my hands over his body it was surprisingly soft and hard all at once. I caressed Sky's chest. It was so sleek and smooth that I was hard-pressed to stop touching it. I placed my mouth over his left man-nipple and suckled on it. At the same time I tweaked and tugged at his right nipple. Skylar's body smelled so sweet. I loved his natural perfume.
But I noticed that Skylar was still both relaxed and tense all at once. He still wasn't totally comfortable with giving into the feelings he had for another guy, so he couldn't completely surrender to the pleasure I was giving him. I had to do something to mellow him out.
I pulled off his shoes, slid off his socks and began to rub his bare feet—massaging the long muscular arches. My hands squeezed the toes, gently digging into the tense muscles. Clearly the feeling of pleasurable waves were flowing from his feet to his head. When I saw the effects my massage had on him, I lifted one of Sky's feet to my lips. I kissed the toes, taking time to nibble at them. I then took my efforts higher--fondling his thighs and showering his groin and inner thighs with kisses.
I nuzzled his semi-hard tool. The nineteen-year-old groaned. I moved up to kiss the trust fund kid's lips. Sky took my exploring tongue, moaning blissfully as his tongue caressed mine. Then I retuned to his genitals and lapped at the now rock-hard dick, nipping the throbbing head. My hands held Skylar Hadley's hips. He pushed into my mouth. And I let him do it, swallowing as much of the meat as I could. It felt wonderful ... like a combo of leather and silk. I sucked while swirling my tongue around the smooth pumping veins that lay under the delicate skin.
" WHOOOOAAAAAAAAA!!!!"
Sky shot his load down my throat. And after I swallowed the last drop, I turned my attention back to his balls. I licked and sucked them until the trust fund kid was ready to shoot his load again. I thoroughly licked his shaft and balls. When he shot his load a second time, it fell onto his stomach and chest because I’d pulled my mouth away from it before the explosion. Still, I was more than glad to lick him clean. Skylar himself was almost in a state of total collapse from a combination of pleasure and, yes, a bit of fear. He leaped from the bunk, looking dazed and confused and horrified at what he had done.
I stepped up to him and tried to soothe him with gentle words of reassurance. But once he was face to face with me, he actually fainted! I quickly caught him and lifted him in my arms and carried him back to bed. While he was out I took hold of his right bare foot and began to lick and suck his sweet toes again. Alternating between that foot and his left, I slowly licked the soles of both his feet and sucked on each of his toes for about ten minutes.
"Okay, this fainting shit has got to stop." I later snorted with a half-smile as I idly caressed the unconscious trust fund kid's bare feet and toes with my hand. "Wake up, Richie Rich—I can’t be the only one having fun here!”
Seeing that he wasn’t about to wake up soon, I force the passed-out Sky’s legs apart and brutally enter him. And I just savagely rode him... in probably the most un-gentle way possible. I had grown hard again, and I wasn’t about to waste this new wave of energy. I fucked Sky like fucking was going out of style. His unconscious body flopped limply around like a ragdoll as I pumped in and out of him. Though still out cold, the trust fund kid moans and groans. When I was close to shooting my load, I pull out.
When Sky groggily begins to come to his senses, I pull his handsome, semi-unconscious face close as I finally shoot my wad ... showering streams of white sticky cum all over the trust fund kid’s face and chest. This revived him to the point where his own penis sprang to life all over again! He was ready for the THIRD round! Could we survive a third round?
Not really caring at that moment, I grabbed my cock and pumped it manually to make sure every last drop found its mark on Skylar Hadley’s face and upper body. I then took hold of the tgrudst fund kid’s cock and dutifully pulls the tool back and forth; it only takes a moment for Sky to shoot his own load and nearly pass put again in the process!
To be continued..,