Sketch #7: Generational Warfare
He sat on the park bench, pipe seeping smoke. He seemed to have forgotten that it was there in his mouth, because he was more focused on the ground in front of him, lost in the act of remembering, perhaps, or maybe forgetting. A young man he recognizes, dressed in bleached jeans and a grubby shirt with braces, and big muddy boots sits across from him, and he looks up. The man leers, then stands back up and breaks off the path into the thicket. The older man hefts himself up with his cane and bumbles after the young man at a much slower pace. He can’t quite move too fast, that old break in his leg has been acting up something fierce–why didn’t he go get it checked out when he was younger?
The young man is already waiting for him in the woods, his cock out, hard and leaking. “Take ‘em out, you know I hate teeth.”
The older man takes out his dentures and sets them in a pocket, before gingerly getting down on his knees and gumming the young man’s cock for a few minutes. While he can’t see the path, he can hear conversation amidst the spring birds, the young man moaning loud enough that he could possibly be heard. The sex is still new enough to him, and rebellious enough that the thought of being caught with some old man’s gums around his cock helps excite him.
Not enough though, and he shoves the man onto his hands and knees, yanks down his trousers and fucks the man’s unlubed, but very loose hole for a few minutes until he cums deep, and then he gets up and leaves, leaving a ten in the old man’s pant pocket. They meet here every day–unless the young man finds something he’d rather fuck, so they don’t waste words anymore.
The older man finds his pipe where he discarded in amongst the leaves–it’s gone out. He relights it with a tremble and takes a deep breath, feels a rare stir in his cock, and jacks off into the undergrowth before retrieving his cane and stumbling out of the woods to return to his bench.
“Go on then, suck it.”
“Yes fucking here, I ain’t got all day bitch.”
The other man, obviously married, looked at the cock sticking out of the man’s jeans, pierced through the head, not sure this is really what he wanted. The man gave a growl of impatience.
“Fine, go find some other cock to suck then.”
“No, no, I mean, you’re…you’re really hot, but I mean, can’t we just go into the woods?”
He didn’t want to go into the woods. He didn’t want to go into the woods because he was hard here, and he was hard now, and he might not be hard by the time they got to the woods. In fact, his cock was already starting to retreat and soften, so that by the time the man got down next to the open door of the truck and started sucking his cock, it wouldn’t get hard–or cum–for anyone.
“You need a viagra?”
“No I don’t need a fucking pill, you just can’t suck dick to save your life!” the man said, and shoved the man hard enough that he nearly fell backwards.
“Fuck, forget this,” the cocksucker said, got up and left back to his own car and drove off. He kept smoking his cigar, watching him leave, massaging his still soft cock, more frustrated than ever. Another car drove up and a younger guy smoking a cigarette got out, went in the bathroom. His phone rang.
“Hello?” he answered around his cigar.
“Get in here if you wanna fuck,” the voice said, and then hung up.
His cock wasn’t up to it, he could tell, but he was horny enough to try. Getting down from the driver’s seat was more of a challenge than he would have liked–that old break, still haunting him. He went inside the momentarily empty bathroom and let himself into the larger handicapped stall. Before he could do much of anything about it, the younger man had him against the wall, the metal bar shover into his gut, his leg bearing too much weight and aching, his pants down and his rock hard cock buried in his ass. Neither of them said anything. It was the first time he’d ever been fucked, and sitting on the toilet, feeling the man’s cum leak out of him while he jack off, something told him that it wouldn’t be the last time, either.
It was a small space, sure, but who cared? It was his, and he could do whatever he wanted in it. No, more than that; he could do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted in it. He took a drag off his unfiltered red and blew it into the older man’s face. He’d been watching him in the bar all night, and they knew what they wanted. “Lick my boot and you can suck my cock, faggot.”
The older man didn’t enjoy the humiliation, but he understood that it was part and parcel of the deal. If he wanted a taste of youth, he would be required to give up that dignity, that prestige that he carried inside of himself when he walked around the world in his business suit, nose up at the young men climbing the ladder, the worthless generation below.
So he licked the red leather boot. He licked it, and pretended to them both that he didn’t secretly like it, that he was only licking it because that was part of the deal, and the young thug, feeling confident enough now, let out his rock hard cock and let the older man suck him off.
He came almost immediately, with no real sense of control, and to avoid feeling embarrassed he shoved the older man over and pissed all over him before kicking him out of the flat, letting him reek in the hallway without his wallet. The thug dug through, took the cash and tossed it out the window, knowing an older man like him wouldn’t dare risk reputation for fifty bucks. He was invincible, for the moment, a sensation that would be shattered in him when a drunk driver would slam into him on his motorcycle and fracture his femur. But for now, invincible youth. He will try to store up as much as possible, but it will never last him to his death, but let him think he can escape that fate. Let him think that, or he will be crushed and never survive the truth of it all.