Zack Attack
by Fergie Boy
Copyright Fergie Boy, 2010
Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords
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I live in Brighton, and Brighton’s by the sea. So cruising is a way of life for people like me.
Brighton really is a fabulous place to live when you’re young and queer. There are the bars and the clubs with the drink and the drugs, and the beach in the summer where the gay boys all go nude. Kemp Town is our ‘village’ just off the pier and by day it’s a carnival where we flaunt ourselves with pride. Drag queens and trannies and the odd leather clone – everyone is out there and happy to be seen. And of course there’s the ‘Bushes’ down by the prom, where in the darkness of night a little mystery goes on - and being seen isn’t always desired!
I’ve been to the Bushes!
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m some horror story that can only pull in the dark. I’m a pretty tasty lad even if I say so myself. Eighteen and fit with a bubble butt ass! I don’t need the dark to get fucked!
But I had to try the Bushes. Call it a ‘Rights of Passage’ thing. Call it curiosity. Call it whatever the heck you like – I went there one night.
Okay. Enough of the cocky bravado thing!
That’s another feature of Gay Brighton – there’s so much bloody front! That’s a joke by the way – or a pun some might say. From the Marina at one end to Hove Lagoon at the other, Brighton’s got about five miles of ‘front’. And everywhere in Kemp Town where the boys are so loud, ‘front’ is all you’ll ever get. I’m learning the game – how to play at being gay – how to put on a front and act cock of the hoop, but deep down I’m not at all that way. I went to the Bushes because I was still in the closet. I was randy as fuck and needed some sex, but I was crapping myself with nerves as well.
It had taken me weeks to pluck up the courage to do it. I might be eighteen with a bubble butt ass, but I wasn’t exactly experienced in the ways of the world, especially when it came to sex. I had only just left school where I’d been a bit of a swat – so those bars and those clubs, the drink and the drugs were still alien territory to me. I lived with mum and dad who had no idea that I was bent – only our ex-gardener Zack knew that.
Zack!
Yes! I know!
Who the fuck in Britain gives a kid a name like Zack?
His parents certainly didn’t – they called him Harry. And despite his reinvention when he decided to leave home, they still do as far as I know.
But I call him Zack, even though I’ll always think of him as Harry. He gave me a slap the first time I didn’t after he decided to give himself a new edgy name to go with the new edgy persona he had decided to create. A good hard smack around the chops is what I got and that put an end to ‘Harry’.
Bastard!
Okay, so I can guess you’re a bit confused by now. Why would the gardener take it upon himself to smack me around the chops? Well let me explain.
My parents are quite wealthy and we’ve got a big house - nothing too grand, but a reasonable size. We also have got a big garden and it needs a lot of looking after, and as mum and dad both work, they needed help to keep on top of it. That’s where Zack first came into my life.
It was actually Zack’s dad who took on the gardening role, but he could only spare a few hours and it wasn’t enough. So he brought his son with him one weekend and introduced him to my mum.
God that boy could charm the knickers off a nun!
Mum took an immediate liking to him and gave him free reign to help his dad in the garden and pop round unaccompanied to do straight forward things like cutting the grass. He was only fifteen at the time – five years older than me; so to be honest I didn’t take too much notice of him at first.
But that situation didn’t last long. Harry (yes sod it - he was Harry in those days) was a hell of a charmer – but he was also a bit of a bully and he soon zoomed in on me. I’m told that bullies can smell your fear. Harry certainly sussed me out pretty quickly and started to pick on me. He didn’t do anything too horrendous, he never bullied me in a really nasty sort of way, but he did like to make sure I knew who was top dog around the house whenever he was about and my parents were out the way. A nip of the skin, a flick at my ear, the odd punch and occasional kick; putting me down and forever taking the piss. Yes, our young gardener Harry was a bit of a cunt in those formative years of my life! I tried to keep out of his way.
It’s so stupid looking back. I should have told my parents what was going on, but I was too afraid of what Harry would do. Mum seemed to think the world of him, the charmer that he was. I was worried that she would think I was making it up because I was jealous of him. I thought she would keep Harry on despite my tales of bullying and that he would then make my life hell; so I just accepted the situation.
And to be honest, there was this other reason why I didn’t report his bullying. You see puberty was fast approaching, and when my tiny balls dropped and my cock did odd things, I no longer wanted to avoid Harry. Quite the opposite in fact - my interest in this bully grew by the day!
But I tried not to show it. I still kept my distance even though I wanted to get close. I wished that instead of being a bully boy tormentor, Harry would see me in some different way and despite our age difference, become a friend - a platonic friend of course, because I was still battling with what I was.
I don’t know if all kids go through they same thing when they realise they might be gay. I tried to force it away. I tried to think of girls. I tried to think of nothing and block it all out; but my mind just wouldn’t obey. Nor would my developing cock! More and more I thought about men. Young men, older men, all bloody sorts! And right there in the garden was a blossoming stud – Harry, soon to be Zack.
More and more Harry dominated my thoughts. I started to spend more time in the garden, and even offered to help him in his chores. Of course he let me – Harry was a manipulative bastard and if he could have got away with it he would have had me do everything whilst he lazed about. He showed me no friendliness in return for this help – he just bossed me around and bullied me more. God what an idiot I was! But I couldn’t help myself. I was smitten and I was too young to understand the reasons why.
But that didn’t last long either. When the hormones struck it became clear to me what was up. I felt bad about it; I felt sort of guilty and dirty – but whenever Harry was around, I couldn’t resist making furtive looks at his crotch and his ass. And then lying in bed at night, I started jerking myself off; and when I did – I usually was thinking of Harry doing all sorts of things to me.
Of course I thought it was wrong. Despite living in Brighton where being gay is no big deal; as a kid, I thought these homosexual lusting were unnatural. But the sexual drive is such a strong thing – I couldn’t fight it off and pretend it wasn’t there. I lusted after men, and Harry was blossoming into a fine specimen of one, so it was inevitable that I lusted after him, despite him being such a bully boy cunt. But I seriously questioned that Harry would be too happy if he knew this. I was sure he would beat the shit out of me if he ever found out that I jerked off at night thinking about him. Thank God Harry buggered off when he turned eighteen and high-tailed it to Scotland to supposedly study.
Harry was gone! Out of sight and out of mind – that’s what people say, and for most of the year it worked out that way.
But not all the time! He still came back for the summer holidays; and naturally he resumed his gardening job which was a source of easy cash. He would potter about doing not very much; and whenever he could, he would get me to do most of the work, and stupidly I agreed. To be honest I was delighted to help, because in the summer heat he spent most of the time wandering around the garden without a shirt on, flashing his developing pecs.
Vain bastard! Who the hell did he think he was trying to impress?
Me?
If that was the case, which I very much doubted, it certainly worked. I could barely take my eyes off him as he strutted around bare-chested; wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts that he wore so low they showed off the top of his ass! It was pure and utter torture trying not to stare. But by God, I absolutely loved it!
It was obvious during that first summer home from Edinburgh that Zack (he was now officially Zack) was doing more than just studying in Edinburgh. Fit and lean the year before, Zack was now packing some muscle. I got a horn every time I looked at him. I reckon I spent most of that summer in the garden lusting, and in the toilet jerking on my cock.
By the following summer he had packed on even more flesh and all of it was beautifully proportioned. It was sickening! But deliciously so! As he entered his twenties, bully boy Zack had acquired the build of an Adonis, and made darn well sure everybody knew it by flashing it liberally around!
On that second summer away from Edinburgh, Zack decided that to finish off the perfect body - he needed to get himself the perfect tan. The Bermuda shorts were forsaken, except when my parents were around, and instead he wore a pair of very skimpy trunks as he pottered around in the garden, or as he lazed sunning himself whilst I did his job. The black Lycra trunks clung to his ass like a dream and contoured very clearly his impressive front package. I thought I’d end up crazy – that big horny stud was driving me up the wall. There could be no more denying it, at least not to myself – I was as bent as a fish hook, and I seriously fancied that big horny bastard, Zack!
And then the worst thing happened – Zack made it clear that he knew!
It was the most excruciating moment of my life. I seriously considered topping myself for weeks afterwards. Death seemed like the only way out.
I had just got home after playing tennis in the park. It was around lunchtime and I went into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. Zack was there raiding the fridge, which mum told him he could do whenever he felt hungry. His back was to me, so I had the chance to look. And fuck – did he look gorgeous! I just gawped at him, not able to move or tear my eyes away from the glory of what I was seeing. I gawped at the bulging muscles under his tight bronzed skin that formed his V-shaped back; and the Maori inspired tattoo that now adorned most of his right arm with biceps proudly flexed. I gawped at his ass which looked like a couple of pumped up balloons barely contained by his sexy Lycra trunks.
And then he turned round!
I should have known better and looked away, but my eyes refused to budge. With my gaze firmly fixed to the swell of Zack’s ass, he turned around and presented me another swell. My jaw dropped even further as I gawped at his frontage, because the horny big bastard had a full on erection! It was beautifully contoured by the black Lycra trunks save for the end which had forced its way out above the waistband, such was his impressive length. His glans stood free – a lovely pink tapered head glistening in the light and oozing a little silvery fluid from the eye that was clear to see.
I gasped!
I froze!
My eyes were fixed to the wonder before me. I forgot myself totally in the timeless moment as I wallowed in the sight of Zack’s cock – partially hidden and partially shown – vibrant and potent, sexy as all hell.
Then the moment came crashing down around me.
“Like what you see, Danny Boy?”
Zack let out a laugh and slugged back some orange juice whilst with his free hand he rubbed his palm over his crotch, stroking his cock up and down. Any bloke with an ounce of decency in him would have then covered himself up after this shameless display. But not Zack! No, he ended his fondling with his trunks further down so that his big cock was left half way out.
Still holding the carton he walked in my direction, his erection proudly on display – a beast of a prick standing in salute with the head almost touching his navel. When Zack reached me he gave me a couple of light smacks on my left cheek. It was already scarlet – harder blows could not have reddened it more.
“Yeah, I reckon you do! Well, well! A poof! Your mum and dad will be pleased.”
Then he walked off chuckling away to himself.
The bastard!
“I’m not!” I cried after him. “Don’t you dare say that I am!”
“Yeah, right!” he cried back still walking away.
Then to top it all off he reached round with his free hand and pulled down his trunks to flash me his ass. I gawped at the glory of it – two beautiful round globes of firm young flesh that were covered by flawless white skin. The tone was so in contrast to the bronze of his back and legs – it accentuated his ass, making it a focus of attention. Not that any gay eye could fail to be drawn there – it was stunning beyond belief.
Finally, my tears blurred this splendid vision and at last I regained the power of speech.
“I’m not! I’m not!” I screamed again.
But we both knew this was a lie.
After that Zack openly tormented me. But the game that he played was one he kept between ourselves. Thankfully he never said a word to my parents, or anyone else as far as I knew. But he toyed with me for the rest of the summer - like coming up behind me and brushing his bare muscular chest against my back, or ‘accidentally’ backing into me so I rubbed against his ass. My mum and dad were oblivious to his wicked teasing antics; and I certainly wasn’t going to tell them what Zack was about, so the bastard had freedom to torment me at will.
I found it excruciating torture.
It made me hate him a vengeance.
But boy oh boy, it also made me incredibly randy. I was like a dog surrounded by a pack of bitches in heat. My dreams were tormented by visions of Zack’s body – his sculpted muscles and his Lycra clad ass; those lovely mounds being teasingly flashed, and his whopping big dick so potent and hard. My own cock hardly ever went flaccid, and the skin was raw, I jerked on it so much.
That was the last summer of heavenly hell. Zack graduated the following year and stayed in Edinburgh for a while. Electronics is his thing. He’s supposedly very good. He now earns shit loads of money from what I can tell. He moved back down to Brighton a year ago and bought himself a flat. I was gob smacked when I went visiting with my mum – a very flashy shag pad and no mistake. All part of the image he has carefully nurtured.
Flash Zack!
Bastard!
Anyway, I digress! I was telling you about the Bushes and my visit to Brighton’s premier cruising spot for anonymous gay sex. At the time I was still firmly entrenched in the closet, so it seemed like a good place to go.