The First Time

BROKEN BOYS PART ONE: THE FIRST TIME By Zane Menzy Copyright © Zane Menzy 2023 All Rights Reserved This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 A Note From Zane About the Author Chapter 1 I could tell Jockey was wasted the moment he opened the door. He stood there barefoot, wearing cheap satin boxers and a black singlet. A blue lava lamp bubbled away beside his bed, the dull light adding to the stoner atmosphere. Rap music was playing on his laptop. “Dude! Get inside,” he said. “You’re letting the second-hand smoke out.” As soon as I entered the sleepout, he quickly closed the door behind me. We shook hands loosely and Jockey pulled me in for a bro-hug—the whiff of his pits telling me he could do with a shower. Two years older than I was, Jockey was tall and skinny, standing about six-foot. Despite his height, people sometimes mistook us for being the same age. I think it was the baby face of his, those innocent brow eyes beneath inquisitive eyebrows, and his small ears sticking out beneath brown hair buzzed close to the scalp. Other things, mature details, gave away his real age of twenty; like the badly-drawn tattoos around his lanky arms and shoulders, and the hair on his lightly muscled chest and lean belly. I stepped back and inhaled deeply, getting a hit of the pot smoke clogging the bedroom of his sleepout. It made a nice change from the usual stench of rancid socks and dirty undies that usually infested Jockey’s living space. Although he earned enough money working as a labourer to afford to move out of home, he’d chosen to stay living with his aunt and uncle who’d raised him and his two older brothers. If you ignored the fact his uncle was a total cock, Jockey had a pretty good setup. The sleepout was more like his own one-bedroom apartment with its own private access onto the street. It also had a small kitchenette and bathroom which meant he rarely had to go inside the main house; unless he was raiding food from his aunt and uncle’s pantry. “How was work?” he asked lazily, playing with the pale little chin beard he had grown during the week. He hopped onto his bed and sat cross legged, and I spotted the sly droop of Jockey’s uncut buddy. “Work was quiet. Same as usual.” He eyed the shopping bag in my hand. “Did you bring the munchies?” I passed him the snacks he’d asked me to pick up after I’d finished work. He wasted no time rifling through the selection of chips and candy I’d bought on the way over. “Thanks, man.” He pulled out a bag of Doritos and ripped into it. “With his mouth full, he asked, “Has Brian left for uni yet?” “He left two days ago.” “You must be gutted. I know how much you’ll miss them.” “I’m sure I’ll survive,” I said nonchalantly, playing down how much I was already missing my best friend. “He said he will be back for a visit at the end of the semester.” Jockey didn’t respond, opting instead to hoover up another Dorito. While he was distracted with filling his face, I glanced over at the wall above the couch where a wonky-looking bookshelf he’d made housed a row of military books. I’m not sure if he’d ever read them or just had them there for show. The dude loved anything to do with war and explosions, whether it be in books, movies or video games. He would often talk about wanting to join the army or even the police force; any organisation that would supply him with a gun and a uniform. The problem was he was too lazy and unorganised to get off his ass and do anything about it. That was probably a good thing though. The thought of a reckless dipshit like Jockey wielding any sort of weapon was a terrifying prospect. Still, his love of the military came out in other ways like his book collection, his wardrobe filled with camo gear and his military-style haircut. “You have good taste in chips, Michael,” Jockey said, licking a finger covered in Dorito dust. “These are fucking tasty.” The reason for me picking the Doritos had less to do with taste and more to do with them being on special. When your only income came from working part-time in hospitality there wasn’t much wriggle room to be fussy. Jockey was just lucky that I was willing to blow twenty bucks on junk food for him if it meant I got paid back in other ways. Ways that had me sneaking another glance at the pale droop of his dick resting against the dark hairs of his thighs. “You can help yourself,” he said, pointing to the bong beside his bed. “The bowl’s packed.” I went over and fetched the bong and a lighter from the bedside table and sparked it up. I wonder when he will start playing the porn? I thought as I inhaled and held the smoke. Squinting into Jockey’s boxers I saw that he was getting a chubby, hanging a little longer, a little fatter, taking a late afternoon stroll down to the ragged hem of his boxers. Putting the Doritos down, Jockey uncrossed his legs, stretching them out, flexing his feet and cracking his toes. His growing erection was trapped and obvious under the silk boxers. He put a hand near it and gave me a look. “You wanna bust a nut?” he asked. I choked on the smoke. “That’s why you usually swing by here on Friday nights isn’t it, dog?” Jockey said. “I mean, it ain’t just the dope