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Little Birdy Boy


by:Bosie

1. Disaster and Mayhem

Two months after L.V. had come to him from the singed
rubble of her past life; Billy had tried to take her
in. He did his best to protect her, and keep her safe
reconizing her sensitivity  and vulenrability. He
thought he had been quite successful until one day he
found a note wired to the side of his pen of pigeons
telling him that she had to leave, and that she was
taking his advice to fly free. He knew not where she
planned to go, and never heard from her again.

Billy was alone in the world. His only joy being the
care of his pigeons watching them fly high against the
sober, gray sky of the town. He became dead bored with
his life. Apparently his favorite bird Duane had been
bored also leaving one day for Paris, France yet to
return.

His boring work was a boring hassle installing and
re-installing the phones of boring people boring him
to the point of insanity, which would have at least
been interesting.

The old record store where he had met L.V. was
demolished after the fire making the tiny town seem
emptier than it had before. Billy thought sorely that
he needed to get drunk quite soon.

2. One Hell of A Dingy Bar

He went down to Old Boo's, a seedy club with a strange
odor and stained walls bordering on the edge of
nowhere. He looked at the alcohol shyly behind the bar
tensing his face worrying what he would order when the
bartender asked him.

"What'll that be for you Billy?"

"A Coke."

Billy sighed inwardly at his own cowardice. He thought
perhaps, that if he drank enough soda pop, he might
get high off the sugar content.

Suddenly he heard the owner’s voice over the speakers,
“Hey there! Does everyone know who I am?” He waited
expectantly for the audience to reply. Scowling when
he received none, he yelled, “Well I’m your host, Mr.
Boo!” dragging out each syllable greatly exaggerating
his importance. He looked less than thrilled with the
audience who still remained silent as mimes despite
his desperate hamming. “Well, then, maybe this’ll get
you excited…Somehow, purely by accident, I assure you,
really, Curt Wild’s tour bus just happened to stall
here. What a funny coincidence folks, eh? He has
graciously, out of the goodness of his heart offered
to perform a song for us!”

A majority of the audience was too old to recognize
what a sensational treat this was. Even Billy, having
heard of him, had never seen him, or heard his music.

A sort of queue music played as a man stomped out onto
stage. He was clothed in nothing but s tight pair of
black leather pants, a large belt, and a pair of black
platforms that made his legs look miles long.
Shoulder-length blond hair skirted his beautiful
shoulders and deep black eyeliner traced large blue
eyes.

Mr. Boo congenially tried to throw an arm around
Curt’s shoulder only to have it rejected with a flick
of his arm and a ferocious expression. Billy couldn’t
help but laugh at the man’s obvious repulsion to Mr.
Boo. The last time he had laughed here was at a set of
poodles leaping through hoops, and he found this far
more amusing for some indefinable reason. Curt’s band
had followed him out, and he glowered at the greasy
owner telling him to get off the stage in fewer words
reducing the command to a gruff, “Fuck off!”

Curt looked around the room seeing the older crowd,
with only a few middle-aged people present. He
inwardly laughed deciding to tone down his act a bit
as to prevent any moral hysteria such an audience
might fling until his eyes settled on a sweet looking
youth at the back sipping a Coke. He grinned
devilishly deciding to go full force. He looked
directly at him signaling the music to start making
the boy look up into Curt’s eyes, deep blue and feral.

Curt’s voice rang out in the club, ragged, beaten, and
beautiful with pain. He stood very close to the
microphone grinding his pale, slender hips to the cold
silver of the stand gently running one hand up and
down it’s length with his nails varnished onyx. A high
chord of the melody seemed to shudder through his body
as he leapt kicking the stand over falling on his
knees to the floor.

Billy couldn’t help himself but to go nearer to the
low stage until he stood directly in front of the
writhing body. Curt jut his hips into the air singing,
“Berate me, hate me, make me raw for you.” As he ran
one hand over his chest teasing his nipples into
erect, pink buds, and over his taut stomach muscles
past the waist of his pants thrusting his hips into
the air. “Chain me, Lay me, make me raw for you.” He
drew his nails suddenly, sharply against his hip
harshly drawing a single line of crimson blood that
beaded seductively over the wound slowly winding its
way down inside his pants. He fell onto one hand, and
on his knees begging, “Make me raw for you up inside-
so deep inside- you fucked me up inside- now fuck me
deep inside- fuck me- I’ll take what I can- What I can
get from you-Screw me-lay me- make me raw or you.”

With a nearly indiscernible sigh he rolled onto his
stomach looking up at Billy through smoky eyes.

Billy didn’t know what to do. He felt something he
didn’t quite understand, and the growing discomfort in
his pants made him a bit wary. He only knew the sudden
urge to grab a math book hiding the source of his
discomfort from view.

The audience was dead silent without heir mouths
gaping open gasping in puritanical horror. Curt pulled
himself off the floor winking at Billy and leaving the
stage.

Mr. Boo was frantically running his hands through his
greasy unkempt hair. Most of the audience was now
staring at Billy who had wandered so near to the stage
alone, now seeming to be in an odd trance.

3. Stirrings

Billy had returned to his shack on the hill checking
to see if Duane had returned from his travels in
France. His roost was still empty, and the tag that
bore his name was peeling off the white wood at the
corner rustling in the cold wind; and there was
complete silent save the soft cooing of the other
pigeons. H e sighed and sat in the ground pulling his
knees up to his chest looking at the night sky.

He thought over the night again, about Curt Wild, and
that thin, crimson trickle of blood from the
self-inflicted wound. It was so strange he thought to
himself. But so singularly beautiful. The long blonde
hair, and the firm muscles of his body, his legs and
hips plastered by the black leather writhing and
begging.

He felt himself go hard again his eyes widening at the
sensation. As he thought more about it his hand
subconsciously traveled to the crotch of his pants and
began to work against the insistent length through the
heated brown cloth. His eyes fluttered open as he
realized what he as doing. Then he thought of the
touch of Curt’s skin to his own unzipping his pants
biting the cloth in the neck of his blue coat to drown
the sound of his gasps. He began to work faster
spreading his legs moaning into the coat pushing his
hand further back thrusting into the palm of his hand
feeling the heat between his thighs grow until he felt
himself climax, and the hot liquid gush over his hand.
He moaned letting his head fall back against the wall
slowly getting his breath back.

Billy’s mother came to mind quite suddenly yelling at
him, “Do that again, and you’ll go blind! Father
Jefferson says you will!” He felt a slight twinge of
fear biting his upper lip.

4. Judy Garland

Suddenly he heard the sound of an engine pulling up
the hill. Billy dashed back into his shack washing his
hands zipping his pants, and tried very hard to look
innocent as George knocked on the frame of his open
door.
           “Hello there Billy.”

Billy despite himself could not help but stammer.
“O-oh, hi George.”

“Guess what? I saw your bird on stage!”

Billy jerked his head up, “L.V.!?

George scrunched his eyebrows in confusion for a
minute, “No. I meant Duane.”

Billy scrunched up his face, “What’s Duane doing on
stage?”

“Jude Garland impersonations, what else?”

Billy felt the horror of such a scenario sink in.
Duane, his pigeon, with a wig, dress and high heels on
singing, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. Perhaps, he
would even wear lipstick on his little yellow beak.
Duane was a terrible singer. He would be utterly
humiliated. Billy knew such a small town would not be
ready for a transvestite pigeon. The ridicule he would
have to endure! He was so young, how could he ever
deal with that alone? He had to save Duane.

“Billy. I was joking.”

Billy blinked, laughed nervously, “Oh yeah. Of
course.” He twitched his nose in embarrassment and bit
his upper lip sheepishly, “Well, I’ll go get him. Can
I have a ride?”

“Sure Billy.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

            To Be Continued...Billy loses his virginity to....Curt?
George?
Mr. Boo?
Duane?
Who knows!

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