Wednesday, July 7, 2010


The phone rang at Bobby’s, waking him out of bed early for a Saturday. “H-h-hello.”

“Drop your cock and pick up your socks. Let’s go. It’s piano day today. I took Mrs. Birch to breakfast. We’re on the way to get you.”


“Are you jerking off?”


“Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

“OK, OK. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.”

Click. Bobby got out of bed and stood before his full length mirror. He reached down into his boxers and took his balls in his hand, thinking, Poor babies…I wonder what’s going to happen to you today.

He said this reminiscing about taking piano lessons from Jimmy when he was a bit younger. They were about 15. Bobby saw Jimmy playing Uncle Phil on the piano. He showed Bobby the chords and let him play. A fight broke out when he screwed up the chord leading to the worst ballbreaking kick he ever received. He thought, Great, I am Pianist number 2. I hate the goddamn thing. I feel like pissing on the fucking ivory keys. Turn them fucking yellow and then set the whole shittin’ thing on fire. That’s it. Bobby looked himself in the eye. You fucking pyro.

He went back to lay down. He knew Jimmy asked Sandy to sing. He couldn’t get Sandy or her red hair or her short skirt with yellow-green panties out of his head. The tent grew as he thought of putting his hands under skirt. He reached in his shorts and took hold of his growing boner and --

The door flew open. Bobby, startled, rolled off his bed.

“I said, ‘Drop your cock and pick up your socks.’ Let’s go. I have Mrs. Birch in the car.”

From the floor, Bobby said, indignantly, “Knock first, damn you.”

Throwing him a tee-shirt and jeans, he said, “We have no time. Just put on some deoderant and go.”

Getting up, Bobby said, “Alright, man.”

Putting on his socks, he thought, Now who the hell is Mrs. Birch? Ah…now I remember, ‘Jimmy is the best piano player in all of Buffalo because he’s such a good student’…shit, he probably ate her pussy too. He raced to get dressed the rest of the way, stopping in the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth.

Beep! Beep! Bobby thought, Alright…fuck.

Meanwhile, in the car, Jimmy turned to Mrs. Birch. “Frig, he always has to be late. He’d be late for his own funeral.”

“You were tardy, too.”

“Now, wait a --"

“Just let the music play, OK? I like this song.”

“But --" Mrs. Birch cleared her throat. And that was that.

Bobby slumped in the back seat and yawned.

“It’s about fucking time. We could have been here another twenty years.”

“Fuck you.”

She turned to Jimmy and Bobby, “Hey, language! How many times do I have to tell you two?” Looking at Jimmy, she continued, “If I have to tell you one more time, you can play your own piano for nothing.” She turned to Bobby, “And you better hope he doesn’t swear again because, without me there, he’ll break your balls again like he did last time.”

Jimmy said, “Gee, talk about me breaking balls…” Mrs. Birch glared at him. The car ride was quiet going back to her house.

Upon arriving, she said, “James, have Robert memorize the C, G and D scales today. I’ll be listening from the kitchen.”

Bobby looked at Jimmy. “I can play the C scale. Once black keys get into it, I am sometimes confused.”

“Well, let’s see about that. At the most, you’ll need to worry about two keys in the scales.”

With Mrs. Birch in the kitchen preparing lunch, Bobby played the G scale for Jimmy the first time.

“F sharp, Robert! F sharp.”


“Dude,” Jimmy whispered, “please just remember the F sharp. If she come in here, we’ll have hell over one teenie-weenie sharp.”

“I told you, black keys confuse me.”

Bobby tried again. “That was an A sharp, Bobby.”

Bobby tried again. “That was a C sharp, Bobby.”

From the kitchen, “Enough! Let’s break for lunch. I’m getting a headache from all the mistakes and starting over and all that. I thought you’d be ready for chords by now, Robert; and you can’t even get the sharps right.”

Walking in the kitchen, Jimmy said, “Gee, cut the kid a break. You know the black keys confuse him.”

“One black key in an entire scale confuses him? Now, James, give me a break. Maybe in the E scale, but not one stinkin’ sharp. But, even then, he can read the key signature.”

“Maybe he’s not cut out to be a pianist.”

Seizing on that statement, Bobby jumped in. “I don’t really feel like a pianist. I hate the damn thing. Maybe, I could be percussion.”

“Oh, yeah, percussion,” she answered sarcastically. “As I recall, Joseph drums. So, where do you fit in? Tambourine accents? Maraca? You always take the easy route; and, instead of some discipline and applying yourself to play a respectable instrument, you apply that to pussy and being ‘cool’ and --"

Interjecting, Jimmy said, “Well, we do need maracas and tambourines for compositions that I am working on.”

“Is Carol playing guitar?”


“Maybe, vibraphones…,” Bobby said looking at Jimmy.

Laughing, she responded, “Boy, if you can’t get F sharp in the key of G on piano, how, then, do you expect to play vibes the right way?”

“Jimmy will teach me.”

“Again, James can’t even get you to remember an F sharp in the key of G on piano.” Looking at Jimmy, she continued, “Anyway, a man has to know his limitations. You are awesome on piano, but you’re no teacher. You have neither the patience nor the temperament.”

“I’m not fifteen anymore.”

Bobby, having his full, said, “You’re a bitch!”

Everyone paused.

Looking indignant, she said, “Robert!”

“I don’t care what you think! I’ll play maracas, tambourine, flute even…but fuck the goddamn fucking piano!” Getting up, looking at Jimmy, he continued, “And yes, Jimmy, you are a good teacher. I just hate the asshole thing. Holding out his hand for the keys, “I’ll be in the car for when you’re done with lunch.”

Taking the keys, Bobby shot out the door. Scowling, she turned to Jimmy, “What the hell do you call that? I was being honest; and I am a bitch.”

“Well, you were judgemental on percussionists. You did cut him down.”

“God, I can’t talk to you kids today!”

“When we were fifteen, we needed a boot in our ass. But, now, we’re adults.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Bobby couldn’t get Sandy out of his head. In the quiet, he imagined. Her soft fingertips on my cock…her breath…her heartbeat…her lips…her mouth… By now, his pants were undone. Those eyes looking up into mine as she licks around the tip… He reached in and took hold of his dick with one hand as he played with his nipples with the other. Suck it, baby…she slowly takes his head his her mouth…her head bobbing up and down…spit lubed… As he imagined the spit coming down his cock and going around the base to his balls, he pulled out his meat and began to stroke slowly. She gets up and smiles…down come her panties --

Slam! He jumped. Can’t I get off?! Jimmy had an angry look on his face. He tried vainly to stuff his nine-and-a-half incher back in his shorts before Jimmy got in the car.

Getting in, Jimmy said, “God, she could castrate with words.” Seeing him trying to put away his cock, he said, “Shit, are you jerking off again? To what, now?”


“Oh God, she’s dating some suburban kid. You better not have gotten precum on my car.”

Laughing, he said, “I didn’t.”

“I’m in the mood to crack some nads.”

“Let’s go visit Sally.”

“OK,” Jimmy said, backing out of the driveway, “to Sally’s we go.”

Driving down the road, Bobby never lost his boner as he closed his eyes thinking of Sandy riding him hard. Sitting there, he forgot to do up his pants.

“You may want to close up your pants. I am sure Sally’s Dad and Mom are not interested to see your boxers or the multiple precum spots.”

“I know. It has to go down. You know, I think you and I got the big dick genes from the gene pool.”


“Our dicks have seen more pussy than all the guys on that baseball team of yours.”

“Well, many had six inchers…and shorter. One guy, I shit you not, I watched his jockstrap going by. He had not a lump, no bump, no indication whatsoever of male genitalia. I looked at him and thought, ‘Can this guy fuck if he wanted to?’ I mean, it looked like a girl in a jock.”

Laughing, Bobby said, “Another one genitally challenged.”

They laughed.

Pulling into Sally’s driveway, Jimmy said, “Close your pants.”

Closing his pants, Bobby said, “I’ll only be undoing them again in a little while.”

“Well, no boxers and precum for Mr. or Mrs. Mallone.” Reaching in the back seat, “I brought that record I told Sally about.”

“You know, I bet that could be fetish porn…you fucking and all the Phil Spector records in the background.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, you’re the only guy I know that dries women out fucking their pussies for two or three hours.”


“No, but--"

Appearing at the front door in his pink briefs was Sally. “Hey guys!”

Bobby looked at Jimmy with an evil little smile, “He doesn’t know what I have in store for him.”

“Us both.”

Calling from the door, “Did you bring that record?”

Getting out of the car, Jimmy responded, “Yeah, dude. Get off my balls about it.”

“Cool. Tell Bobby, let’s go. It’s hot.”

“Then get back in the air conditioning; and we’ll be right there.” Sally closed the door. Looking at Bobby as he stood, “Pink?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Well, he is bisexual. He must be expressing his feminine side today. All the better for us!” Bobby winked.

Opening the door, Sally was in the foyer stretching. Bobby snuck up behind him, pulled his leg back and slammed his sneaker-clad foot into Sally’s babymakers pushing them up into his pelvis. Sally let out a shriek that resounded through the whole house and hit his knees. He shouted, “W-w-why?”

Jimmy responded, “You owe us some balls.”

“F-f-for w-what?”

“For starters, Bobby asked you to call him yesterday about today. Did you? No.”

“B-but I-I--"

“No, no. No excuses. Then, pink briefs…who are you, Richard Simmons?”

“Bob-Bobby has pink b-boxers.”

“They also have turquoise pinstripes and a design along with it. Yours are straight pink and flyless. They look like girls’ panties. And, for a third, it’s just fun.”

Recovered a bit, Sally got up, still bent over somewhat. “Y-you two are sick.”

Jimmy walked over to the couch and sat down. “Now, Salvatore, come over here; and sit on my lap.”

Sally looked over at Bobby.

“Hey, I would do as he says.” Pointing at the swollen balls encased in pink, he continued, “Want more?”

Sally wearily walked over to the couch. Jimmy pointed to his crotch. “Put your ass right there; and face the TV.” Sally sat in his lap. “That’s a good boy.”

”Fuck you, Jimmy.”

“What? What was that? Bobby, show him what happens when he swears at me when I did nothing to him.”

Bobby walked up to Sally. “Oh, no…God, not my balls…please…I’ll do anything…please, Bob…man…”

Taking a hold of his balls and his underwear, he pulled up mercilessly. Sally yelled and pleaded and swore and screamed. Finally, as if God heard him, Bobby dropped his nuggets.

When Sally calmed down enough, Jimmy said, “Got that?”

“Y-y-yes. I do, I d-d-do. I-I-I lo-love you guys. Y-y-you know I-I le-let you d-do w-what you w-want w-w-with me. J-just s-sp-spare my balls…p-please.”

“Salvatore, what instrument do you play?”


“Like a Church organ.”


Looking up at Bobby, Jimmy said, “We have an organist.”

“Good. Can he also be Pianist number 2? Does he know Mrs. Birch?”

“No, I’ll play piano if I have to. At the rate Salvatore here is a wise ass, it wouldn’t surprise me if he ended up castrated with the piano wire. She’s pretty tough and stands for no bullshit.” Poking Sally in the back, Jimmy continued, “Get up. You owe more balls. You only had one kick; and we came up with three reasons for kicks.” Sally whimpered, but got up. “Lose your panties.”

Taking off his briefs, Sally pleaded, “Please, man, no more after this.”

“You have my word. After the next two ball kicks, your nuts are safe for the rest of our visit.” Sally stood back up, kicking his briefs off to the side. “Put your hands behind your head; and interlock your fingers.” Sally did. “Good, now spread those legs nice and wide.” As Sally spread them to where he wanted them, Jimmy prodded, “More…more…more…that’s good. Hold it there.”

Sally closed his eyes. Bobby came up behind him. He rubbed his ass, then spread his cheeks. “A tight little hole on this boy.”

Making a kicking motion, Jimmy said, “Later.”

Bobby pulled his leg back, and said, “One for the foot, two for the balls, three to get ready…” His foot slammed directly into Sally’s already swollen and sensitive sack. Sally screamed and fell over. Watching him clutch his balls and roll around, Bobby said, “Bulls eye.”

Letting him roll around, Jimmy thought of how to kick him. Not from behind…I want to see his eyes…

“Get up and face me,” Jimmy ordered. Sally whimpered, but complied. “Again, assume the position.” Sally tried to shield his nuts by keeping his legs closed in a bit more than previously. “Spread those legs,” came the indifferent command. He complied.

Jimmy’s foot slammed his nads into his pelvis. A look of simultaneous pain and shock come over his face as he lifted off the floor. His eyes crossed almost completely and he screamed so loud that the neighbors probably heard him. He landed sprawled out on his back spread-eagled. His red swollen upside down apple-like nutsack hit against his perineum bringing out a yelp of pain from the boy.

Regaining his breath and reduced to tears, Sally began in a broken voice,
“H-h-help me --"

“Save it,” came the quick reply from Jimmy. “I love you, man. But you got to hold up your end of shit. If you want to play in the band, you better not fuck me over. Or this will be held as mild. Do you dig?”

Whining, he replied, “Y-yes.”

“Good.” He looked at Bobby, saying, “Help him up.”

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