A Good Citizen
by Wrestlr
3.
Joe was in school, an eager, fast-maturing youth, a year and a half away from graduation, and like all pre-citizens he was assigned to live in a state-run crèche with twenty or so other youths until he graduated into adult citizenship. To delay his after-school returns to the crèche, Joe always hit the library for a couple of hours to study. He took his usual table, underneath the row of Civil Security posters. A few minutes later, also as usual, Ron settled in the opposite chair across the long table and slung his backpack into the adjoining seat.
They shared a physical education class, but Ron was a year older than Joe and so would graduate a year sooner, just a few months away. He had reddish-blond hair and wore the standard student uniform of a crisp white shirt and jeans. He slumped and opened a reference textbook on his screen. “What’s going on, Joe?”
“Studying.” He could not keep from checking Ron’s strong features, the easy grin, and masculine features, the glow of the tanned physique beneath his shirt, the outlined curves and hollows, Ron’s matured sureness. “Got something better to do in a damned library?”
Ron snickered. “Wiseass.”
The two youths concentrated on their textbooks, and from time to time, Joe found himself looking up to stare at Ron’s solid build, the fuzzy early chest hair at the open throat of his shirt, the hint of his masculine body beneath his clothing. Only a year separated them, but somehow Ron seemed so much more mature physically, almost as if he was an adult already to Joe. Then Ron slumped lower in his chair and, beneath the table, Joe felt Ron slide one heavy-soled shoe between Joe’s spread thighs, firmly against his crotch.
“Hey!” Joe quiet-yelped. “Cut it out!”
A too-innocent grin came in response. “Something wrong, buddy?”
“Yeah—somebody’ll see.” Joe felt Ron slightly increase the pressure against his hidden genitals, taunting him. “Plus, I’m not wearing a jock-strap today.”
“So?”
“My cock shows when I get a hard-on. That’s why I usually wear a jock, so it won’t show if it pops up in class.” He wet his lips, head-down. “You know what it’s like.”
“Hell, when I throw a rod, I don’t give a damn who sees,” Ron bragged, not only keeping his shoe firmly in place but also squirming it to the right, then to the left. “Getting one now?”
Each move of Ron’s shoe caused a jolt of pleasure to run through Joe’s cock. “Dammit, Ron—”
The e-librarian pinged for silence, and Joe tried to focus on the textbook on the screen in front of him. He felt Ron’s foot pressing against his balls and felt his cock swelling in response, and he wondered if Ron knew what he was doing to him. Yeah, of course he knew, Joe decided, the bastard! Joe’s dick was getting stiff as hell, and Ron’s grin said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Crap!” Ron muttered, grabbing for his backpack. “I’ve had it for today. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Uh—okay. Sure.” Joe, disappointed, felt the shoe pull away from his crotch and watched the young stud swing to his feet, and Joe saw Ron’s erect prick cleanly outlined inside his jeans. “Damn.” Joe stood up and covered his stiff-bulging crotch with his own backpack, and he felt kind of funny, tromping across the library with a damn hard-on!
“Want share a ride back to the crèche?” Ron asked as they went outside into the long, silent corridor. Ron’s crèche was a few blocks farther, Joe’s along the way, and they often shared a transport car after school.
“Sure. Thanks.” Joe’s cock still pulsed hungrily.
Ron pawed the front of his jeans openly. “I’m horny as hell. I should’ve whipped off a load after gym class.”
“You—uh—you jerk much?”
“All the time,” Ron admitted casually. “How about you?”
Joe blushed. “Once in a while, I guess.” Hell, he beat his meat whenever he got the chance, but he had never talked openly about it before, even though all the sex-ed video classes said masturbation was a perfectly normal thing to do. “It doesn’t hurt anything, right?”
“Fuck, no!” Ron changed direction, veering down a side hall. “C’mon.”
Ron led the way up the stairs to the top floor of the building, with Joe hurrying to catch up as his friend stalked down the narrow, shadowed hallway. Suddenly Ron was pushing into him, pushing Joe up against the wall and moving in close in front of him, groping Joe’s bulging crotch.
“Shit!” Joe gulped with surprise. “What the hell’re you doing?”
“Checking your signal levels,” Ron snickered, and he probed the hidden genitals with sureness. “Man, that’s some lever you’ve got!”
“Dammit, Ron—”
“Shit, you’re not a kid anymore, right? Shit, feels like you’re getting the signal loud and clear.” He pinned Joe back against the wall. “We’d better get your rod out and give it room to grow!”
Dazed, his heart pounding with excitement, Joe felt Ron press flat against him, holding him in place, felt the fingers opening his fly, slipping inside, rubbing across his lower belly, sliding downward, beneath the elastic waistband of the boxer shorts he had worn instead of a jock-strap that day, through the tangle of pubic hair at his groin, gripping his inflamed prick, hauling it out. “Ron ...?” Joe had never had another guy touch his cock in this bare-and-hard state before. His breath caught, and he shivered from the sensations churning inside him. “Aww—”
“Yeah, you’re getting the signal loud and clear,” Ron repeated with sureness, and he jerked open his own metal-buttoned jeans. “Go ahead, buddy.”
Joe looked down at the fingers locked about his throbbing dick, and then he brought one hand up and thrust it into Ron’s jeans. He tensed as he discovered his friend’s bare flesh and the crisply trimmed pubes adjoining his cock-base. “You don’t wear underwear, huh?”
“Told you I don’t. I don’t like getting tangled up when I throw a rod,” Ron murmured, stroking Joe’s hard-on gently. “With all the meat you’ve got, you ought to skip wearing shorts under your jeans too. No harm in showing off what you got, right?”
“Yeah, uh, I guess so.”
Joe moved his fingers downward, and for the first time in his life, he was touching another guy’s prick, swollen and sex-hot. Slowly, he grasped the powerful column and worked it free from the open clothing, and then he was matching Ron’s stroking motions.
Joe had jerked off often, thousands of times, but he had never done this before with another guy. Ron was older, almost ready to graduate into citizenship, and he was treating Joe like an adult too, so Joe did not want to embarrass himself by letting Ron know he had no experience. And it felt so damn good! And then—“Crap!"—Joe heard noise from the stairway at the end of the hall behind him, and he wrenched away and covered himself, facing the wall as he jammed his dick back into his pants and fastened up. “Someone’s coming.”
“No sweat,” Ron laughed, peering around the corner. “It’s just the damn sweeper.” He waited until the device glided by into one of the classrooms, and then he turned away in the opposite direction. “C’mon. We can finish off down here.”
Joe sensed what Ron meant, that they were both horny and needed to get their rocks off, and he followed the handsome young blond.
Ron sauntered to a storage room at the opposite end of the hall, a shadowed area Joe had never noticed before, then past a partial barrier of ancient pre-technology desks and chairs, all covered in layers of dust, and behind the barrier was an open space large enough for a bunch of guys to mess around in. “Hey!” Joe exclaimed, following Ron into the shadows. “I didn’t know there was anything back here.”
“Hell, there’re a zillion places around school where guys can jerk off.” He turned back to face Joe, grinning, and his heavy-headed erection still speared outward from his open fly. “I’ll have to show you.”
“Jesus!” Joe muttered, staring at Ron’s exposed rod. “What if someone’d seen you going down the hall like that!”
“You worry too damn much,” he chuckled, coming up in front of Joe. “Shit, if I had as much meat as you do, I’d let it hang out all the time. And I bet ninety percent of the guys would be lined up to latch onto it!” He brought both palms up to rub over Joe’s wide chest, then began picking at the buttons on his shirt. “Let’s get this off, buddy.”
Joe gulped for breath as his shirt was opened and spread wide, and then Ron’s fingers were wandering over his exposed skin. He was not sure what to do—hell, he had never done this before—but he needed to keep Ron from guessing that. Tense with excitement, Joe unbuttoned Ron’s shirt, matching the older youth’s movements; touching the revealed masculine chest; the light-colored fuzz covering the solid pectoral arcs; the small, pinked nipples; the solid torso.
Ron reopened Joe’s pants, shoved them and his boxers down, let his already-hard dick swing free. And Joe popped the single button still holding Ron’s jeans on his hips and let them drop. They were both half-naked and facing each other, aroused and cock-stiff. Joe understood what to do now and gripped Ron’s rod without thought and began pumping it aggressively.
“Ow! Slow down,” Ron scolded. “Don’t rush, damn it!”
“Sorry,” Joe whispered, breathless.
Once again, they let their hands examine the other’s bared body and aroused organs, and Joe felt enthralled by the sensations. His palms explored the muscled curves and hollows of Ron’s masculine physique and into his crotch, and he eagerly copied the way Ron was toying with Joe’s large, tight-sacked testicles.
“Damn, you’ve got big nuts!” Ron muttered. “They must work overtime, huh?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
“Mine, too. Seems like I can’t never get enough.” Still holding his balls with one hand, Ron began stroking Joe’s rigid dick with the other. “Ready to pop your load?”
Joe hissed a quiet, “Yeah.” He looked down at the fist tugging on his arousal-swollen cock and at Ron’s counterpart in his grasp, and he felt a flush of youthful pride as he noted his hard-on was longer and thicker than his buddy’s. Then Ron was moving closer, pumping steadily, and Joe matched him, stroke-for stroke.
“I’m close—nearly there!” Ron exclaimed suddenly. “Catch it in your hand!”
Joe released Ron’s churning testicles and cupped his palm under the slick cock-head; and an instant later, the first spurt of juice shot from it. Ron gave a hoarse, throat-tight groan of ecstasy. And then his cum was pouring out in a long, almost steady flow, into Joe’s hand.
Joe had never felt another male cream before, and his own prick quivered with surging excitement.
“Damn, that was great!” Ron murmured at last, gasping for air, and then he was jerking Joe again eagerly. “Your turn, buddy!”
“Yeah!” Joe knew he was too hot to hold off, and he rocked forward to press his face against Ron’s shoulder, muffling his unstoppable gasps of pleasure. “Ah! Ah!” The first spasm of climax shook him, and then his spunk was belching loose in massive, distinct bursts. ”Awh!” He felt as though he were climaxing harder than ever before, earthshaking explosions following in a slow, wrenching cadence as Ron’s pumping fingers continued to coax more and more sperm from his nuts.
For the first time in his life, Joe had traded hand-jobs with another stud, and he decided it had been the greatest experience ever. He settled lazily from the totally masculine peak he had reached, and he found himself slumped against Ron, each of them still holding the other’s cum-sticky rod.
“Man!” Ron exclaimed at last. “You shot harder than any guy I know!”
“You, too.” Joe had no clue how hard most guys creamed, but he refused to admit that to Ron. “Kinda messy, huh?”
“Caught yours in my hand, like you caught mine.” He stayed for a long moment, then shrugged himself back. “We’d better clean up.”
Still numb from the overwhelming sensations he had just experienced, Joe watched as Ron pulled away and reached for a stained cloth on a shelf behind them. Ron was wiping Joe’s sperm from his fingers like it was nothing at all, like he had maybe wiped off plenty of other guys’ cum before—other times, other jerk-offs.
“You drop a load here often, Ron?”
“Only when I’m in a hurry.” He tossed the cloth, partially stiff with dried spunk, to Joe. “Lots of guys use the restroom in the basement where it’s pretty dark, but the best action’s down at the gym after school.” He wet his lips, watching Joe, half-naked, towel Ron’s load off his hand, then wipe the end of his slackening prick. “Know the old shower room next to the swimming pool?”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes it’s dead, but usually there’ll be some of the guys around, showering, wrestling around bare-ass, maybe jerking off and trading loads.” Ron reached for his jeans and hauled them up abruptly. “Jonesy’ll shit when he sees you pop.”
“Jonesy?” Only one guy at their school was named Jonesy, and Joe pictured the burly young football hero. Joe tossed the towel back on the shelf and buttoned up quickly. “What about him?”
“He holds the record for shooting the farthest and the most.” He moved past Joe toward the hallway. “I bet you’ll beat his record real easy.”
Joe felt odd, stuffing his shirttail into his pants as he followed Ron from the alcove. Minutes before, they had been half-stripped and pumping each other off, and Joe had shared his climax with another stud for the first time—and now they were strolling down the hallway and down the stairs as if nothing special had happened.
Hell, all they had done was jerk each other, and he sure as hell did not want Ron to know that had been his first time! Yeah, Ron must have jerked with plenty of the other guys, prick-hot studs like Jonesy and more—and maybe done more with them than just jerk off?
They reached the ground floor of the building and went outside, heading for the parking lot, and Joe tugged at his crotch, wondering what wearing jeans without a underwear underneath the way Ron did would feel like, throwing a hard-on and not giving a damn who saw, no more wearing a jock-strap to keep his dick pressed down when it suddenly swelled up. Joe followed to a waiting transit-car and got in, and the auto-driver steered the vehicle from the lot and down the twilight-shadowed streets toward the crèche zone where they both lived.
“You weren’t bullshitting me, Ron? About Jonesy and the other guys, I mean.”
“Hell, no,” Ron chuckled, and he dropped one hand to cup Joe’s mounded crotch, fingers probing. “Wait ’til I get you into a circle-jerk in the shower room, buddy. I’m betting on you to set a new world’s record!”
“Take it easy,” Joe muttered, squirming on the seat. “You’re getting me hard again.”
“Ready to pop another load?”
“I’m always ready, dammit!”
“Good!” Ron told the car to turn down a dark side street near the warehouse district, quiet this time of day, and Ron turned to grope Joe with both hand, peeling his jeans open. “Gimme your meat! Yeah, I’m going to make you shoot all the way into next week!”
Now, years later, his head clearing and the memory-images fading, Joe found himself back in the interrogation room, under arrest for an unknown crime, stripped, and strapped into a mind-probe chair, and being questioned by a cop named Parker while Whit and the others looked on; and for the first time in years, he remembered those first experiences with Ron. Really remembered them. Remembered how intense they had been, an intensity he had forgotten, thanks to his Attitude Adjustments. The memory seemed almost too overwhelming to deal with, and Joe wished he could ask for an Adjustment to make it fade to a manageable distance again. “Fuck ’em and forget ’em,” Joe muttered to himself.
“What happened to Ron?” Parker asked in his usual cool tone.
“I don’t know. We got together nearly every day after that ... But a couple of weeks later, he—he just disappeared. No one at school or at his crèche would tell me what happened to him.”
The room was silent except for the steady click of Lefty’s typing.
Joe looked up and found Whit still slouched back against the far wall, arms folded over barreled chest, impassive squinted eyes fixed on him. He wondered what the hell Whit was thinking. The rugged, horse-hung son of a bitch stared like he knew something. The Police Are Your Pals? Bullshit!
“Finished?” Parker asked the farm-boy at the keyboard. “Got it all down, Lefty?”
“I reckon so.” Lefty slouched back in his chair and pawed the front of his work pants. “Shee-yit, I can think of a heap of things I’d rather be doin’.”
“Horny bastard,” Parker snickered at the youth. “We all know there’s only one thing you’d rather be doing, and that’s getting your fuckin’ rocks off, huh?”
“Yup, I reckon so.” Lefty sighed. “I do believe listenin’ to Joe’s story got me riled up more’n usual.”
“How’d you like to have him suck you off?”
“That’d be mighty pleasin’!” Lefty hopped to his feet, lean and open-faced, a broad smile lighting his features as he strode toward Joe. “Yup, I reckon this feller could do a fine job on my pecker.”
“Give it to him, kid!”
As the helmet retracted, Joe watched the young redheaded worker hustle toward him, watched him unbutton his shirt as he came, spreading it to reveal his youthful physique, unfastening his fly quickly, jerking his stiff cock free. Lefty offered his erection to Joe eagerly, a long ivory column topped with a glistening, arrowhead crown. Joe grinned at Lefty’s undisguised sex-hunger—hell, he often felt the same way, and sex meant nothing more than getting off, a way to satisfy that horny feeling, and Joe bent over the edge of the chair to nuzzle Lefty’s super-heated dick with his lips.
Someone unlocked the restraints holding his wrists, and Joe felt as though he had relinquished all resistance to the flood of horniness that the machine made him feel; he sank off the chair, falling to his knees before the youth, pulling his work pants, gripping his sinewy-muscled thighs, and taking his sharp-tipped cock-head into his mouth. Yeah, Joe wanted to make this horny, drawling guy feel all of the strong sensations of getting his rocks off!
For the second time that day, Joe was sucking a stud’s prick, and he knew Whit and the others were watching him. He wondered what Whit was thinking, if he remembered how easily and how willingly Joe had gone down on him. Hell, giving a stud a blow-job did not mean anything, especially after an Attitude Adjustment sent any emotional connections away so they could go on being good citizens.
“Man,” Lefty whispered, shivering, “That surely is mighty good suckin’, Joe!”
Joe swallowed the male rod hungrily, tip to base and back, stroked the youth’s strong legs, played with his loose-swinging balls, reached higher to examine his taut, sleek torso. Shit, Joe told himself, he did not give a damn about who was watching or what they thought.
One of the men stepped up behind Lefty, embracing him tightly, like a special bond between then. “How’s it feel, friend?” Chet. “Good blow-job?”
“Dang good! Almost as good as you and—” Lefty gulped for breath. “Joe’s got my balls about to bust!”
“Go ahead, Lefty. Give him your load.”
“Fuck!”
Joe clamped himself onto Lefty’s cock, pressed his face all the way to the farm-boy’s groin on the down-strokes, and now Lefty’s cum poured into his mouth and throat: thick and hot and male-tasting. Joe drank it down, like he had swallowed so many others’, like they had swallowed his, all those sex partners he had forgotten. Fuck ’Em and Forget ’Em.
The spurts of Lefty’s cum ended, and Joe sank back on his heels, keeping the cock-head in his mouth and looking up at the half-naked stud. The youth was slumped back against Chet’s bare chest, eyes closed and happy-smiling, satisfied; and Chet was holding him close in a special way; and Joe was the outsider; the cock-sucker mouth who had taken the kid’s load, nothing more, damn it.
“Fuck,” Lefty whispered again, appreciatively, and reached down to pat Joe on the head, then pulled back, freeing his softening rod from the kneeling man’s mouth. “That sure was mighty pleasin’, Joe.”
The youth hauled up his work pants, fastened them, and returned to his keyboard as if nothing had happened. Fuck ’Em and Forget ’Em.
Joe stayed where he was, expecting Parker or one of the others to step up and face-fuck him, but they ignored him.
“That’s enough for now,” Parker said at last. “Whit, get Joe out of here.”
Joe stumbled to his feet, clumsy from the mind-daze of the cooperation collar, and Whit reattached the handcuffs on his wrists. Then Whit’s grip on Joe’s shoulder led him out of the office and into the hallway. Joe was still naked, but thanks to the foggy effect of the collar, hell, he found he did not care who saw.
“Lefty sure enjoyed that blow-job,” Whit said casually, sauntering beside Joe down the dull-lit corridor. “He’s a horny young buck.”
“That was kind of strange, the way Chet held on to him.”
“They room together. They’re partners.”
Joe blinked in surprise. “Oh.” He had heard about that, the way some guys roomed together and sexed together, sometimes exclusively, but Joe had never gone that route. The state kept a close eye on men who decided to become roommates, lovers, partners, made sure they kept up their scheduled Attitude Adjustments so the arrangement was more like friendly convenience, without any dangerous superheated passion. The state made damn sure guys who partnered never became sex-rebels. A Calm Citizen is a Good Citizen. Attitude Adjustments kept strong emotions—and strong emotional bonds—at bay. Thanks to the Adjustments, crimes of passion, violence, and most types of mental illness had become rare, almost unknown, in their enlightened society; and Joe acknowledged that the people in charge of the state must surely know what they were doing. A Calm Citizen is a Good Citizen, indeed.
But the way Chet had held on to Lefty seemed like more than just friendship. Joe frowned for a moment, then pushed the thought away.
Joe glanced at the burly officer, still fascinated by his almost brutal masculinity. “What about you, Whit? You got a roommate? Or a partner?”
“Hell, no. Fuck ’em and forget ’em, remember?”
“Yeah.” Joe drew a fast breath. “How come Parker wanted to know about Ron? I haven’t thought about him in years. Has he got something to do with my being arrested?’
“I dunno.” Whit shrugged his massive shoulders. “You said he disappeared, so I checked the records. He was arrested.”
“Is that what happens to guys who’re arrested? They just disappear?”
“Yeah.” He clapped Joe on the shoulder and urged him into a side passageway, and Joe heard distant cursing, a groan of pain, a heavy door slamming. “Maybe your friends and neighbors in your apartment building will wonder what happened to you, but some other stud will move into your place. Maybe he’s already moved in. Anyway, they’ll all forget about you, like you forgot about Ron.”
Joe felt numb, confused. He had woken up that morning, his prick at full-mast as usual, and then the two policemen had come to his door. The Police Are Your Pals. And Joe gone down on Whit, trying to bargain his way out of being arrested, and the blow-job had been damn good, sucking off the rugged, horse-hung stud cop. And Joe had been arrested anyway, brought to headquarters, gotten stripped and jerked off and plugged into the machine that drilled into his memories, been questioned about things he had forgotten, and sucked Lefty’s eager dick, and he still did not know why he had been arrested or what crime he was charged with committing.
The hallway was lined with heavy cell doors. One slid open as they approached, and Whit guided Joe through it, into a narrow, windowless room, a lightbulb glowing overhead, a single iron cot hung against one wall, a recessed latrine at the rear.
“Make yourself at home,” Whit said, unfastening the cuffs from Joe’s wrists. “They’ll pass your chow through that panel next to the door. Lights-out in about an hour.”
“Okay.” Joe gazed at the rugged officer, at the powerful physique outlined beneath the tailored uniform, at the unmistakable cock-bulge at the crotch, and he shivered, remembering the unexpected excitement of going down on Whit. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Yeah.” Whit spun toward the open doorway. “Confess and get it over with!”
Joe watched Whit stomp out and slam the heavy door, and he could not help chuckling to himself. That damn Whit had been getting a hard-on!
Joe strolled into the latrine section of the room to wash up, and his smile faded as he saw his familiar shaving gear neatly placed on the shelf over the sink. He remembered what Whit had said about how a prisoner disappeared when he was arrested. The police must have already cleaned out his apartment. As far as the outside world was concerned, Joe no longer existed.
He cleaned up, and when he returned to the main part of the cell, a tray of food was waiting. He ate hungrily. He had just finished, returned the tray to the panel, and sat down on his cot when the overhead light went out, and the windowless cell was dark, not even a crack of light from around the door.
Joe stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes, and he ran his palms over his virile nakedness, once more recalling his experience with Whit that morning. Yeah, that had been an intense experience, kneeling in front of the burly, horse-hung cop, sucking his huge rigid cock, drinking down his heavy-flowing cum, and—
Joe woke with a start as the light came on again, and he needed a moment to regain his bearings and remember that he really was in jail, that it had not all been a bad dream. Then he stumbled to his feet and headed for the latrine area to shower and shave. When he finished, his breakfast was waiting on a tray at the door panel, and he ate automatically, sitting naked on the cot.
The door opened, and Whit came in, crisply uniformed and expressionless. “Back to interrogation, friend.” He cuffed Joe’s wrists together again. “Let’s go.”
They walked down the maze of hallways side by side, the rugged, boot-heeled officer and his nude, athletic prisoner, and Parker was waiting in the interrogation office with Chet and the two other bare-chested guards, Lefty already hammering at his keyboard.
“Howdy, Joe,” Lefty drawled, flashing his wide-faced grin. “It’s mighty pleasin’ to see you again.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Joe was efficiently uncuffed and pushed down into the interrogation chair, and the moment the machine helmet slid back into place over Joe’s head, the helmet hummed and made Joe’s scalp tingle—a not unpleasant sensation—and Parker began his questioning: name, age, birthdate, crèche number, childhood memories, growing up, learning about sex, jerking-off with his buddies in school—the same questions Joe believed he had already answered, over and over. Joe knew he had not committed any crime, and he tried to answer truthfully, dragging up memories he never thought were worth remembering. He never wanted to remember anything more than getting his rocks off, but Parker was making him go over these events again and again. And Whit was standing there, watching as though he did not give a damn.
“When did you get into sucking cock?” Parker asked quietly. “Was it with Ron, the guy you jerked with in school?”
“No. It was ...” The helmet hummed as Joe thought and remembered and the memory started to overwhelm reality again. “Jonesy ... Yeah, it was Jonesy.”