SCULPINHEAD ROCKS
by
BOBB B. TUCKER
Lucas Wickett, awaiting a public thrashing for stealing lobsters
CHAPTER ONE - CEDAR ISLAND
Ten miles off the coast of New Hampshire lie nine rocky islands that make up
the Isles of Shoals. In Colonial times, as many as six-hundred hardy souls,
known as "Shoalers," called the islands their home; for the most part, they
were lobstermen and cod fishermen. Nowadays, summer cottages on Appledore and
Lunging islands and the Flagstaff Hotel on Star Island are boarded up by Labor
Day. Even the lighthouse on White Island, once maintained year-around by the
Coast Guard is fully automated. By the second week in September, the Isles of
Shoals are as forbidding and deserted as the surface of the moon. They will
stay that way until the following year when spring will segue into summer and
summer people will trickle back for the ten-week-long season. Among them will
be perhaps three dozen New Hampshire and Maine lobstermen, who will move into
weatherbeaten fishing shanties in Gosport, on Star Island, the islands' lone
village.
I spent the summer of 1958 on the Isles of Shoals, putting the finishing
touches on my ornithology dissertation, which I was writing on the mating
habits of great black-backed gulls. I'd been in Gosport only a day or two
before I noticed Jason and Lucas Wickett, teenaged cousins there for the lobster
season. Jason was a slender, auburn-haired lad about fourteen; Lucas,
half-a-foot shorter and a year younger, had a full head of jonquil yellow hair
that curled in ringlets about a beautiful pale gold face. The boys arrived for
the summer in the care of their grandfather, Odgar Wickett, a septuagenarian
lobsterman, whose trawler, the Phoebe B. Beebe, out of Rye Harbor, was a
familiar sight in the coves and estuaries between the Hampton River to the
south, and the Piscataqua River. Odgar had a mate, known as The One-Eyed Riley
who was brown and wrinkled as a walnut from three decades of exposure to the
vagaries of New England weather. Old Odgar and his grandsons settled into an
unpainted clapboard shanty next to the Gosport General Store; The One-Eyed Riley
slept aboard the Phoebe riding at anchor in Gosport Harbor.
No sooner had I settled into a Spartan little room at the hotel than I set
out with my birdwatching binoculars in search of the elusive black-backed gull.
My travels took me across a breakwater to a rarely-visited, uninhabited rock in
the sea called Cedar Island because I'd heard it supported a gull rookery.
While I was reconnoitering from atop a ledge, I spied the water filled quarry
from which granite blocks used in constructing breakwaters had been blasted two
centuries earlier. Holding their nuts and jumping from the rim of the quarry
into the water, were the two young boys I'd noticed earlier, Jason and Lucas
Wickett. I'd learned that they had spent the previous summer on the Islands
with their grandpa and The One-Eyed Riley, and that they were regarded by
the members of the local lobstermen's association as undisciplined young
hellions. At any rate, they had little inclination to accompany their grandpa
when the Phoebe B. Beebe put out to sea each morning.
I raised my binoculars to study the boys, making no effort to conceal myself
or my interest; they were naked and cocky as plucked chickens. Lucas saw me
and waved. "Hey, birdman," he called in a warbling soprano, "whyn't'cha come
down for a swim? The water's great."
I waved back, and called, "I'd love to , guys, but I didn't bring a bathing
suit."
"That's okay," Jason hollered back, "You can skinny-dip if ya want. we've
seen cocks before, so you needn't be modest - unless you got a shorty."
I laughed and shook my head. "Nope," I retorted, "I have the biggest pecker
in New Hampshire. Are you guys sure you won't mind an old man joining you?" I
was twenty-three that summer.
"Heck, no," Lucas yelled. "Someday we'll be old, too."
In no time I'd clambered down the ledge, pulled off sneakers, pants,
Jockeys and T-shirt, and was poised, cock-naked, on the quarry rim. Twenty feet
below, the water looked as cool as an Eskimo on a stainless steel commode. The
boys were open about checking out my equipment to see if my penis was as large
as I'd claimed; their sun-bronzed faces registered disappointment when they
realized I'd exaggerated.
"Hold onto your balls and jump on in," the younger boy invited. His eyes
bugged when I executed a swan dive, breaking the surface with scarcely a ripple.
"Damn, where'd you learn to dive like that?" he asked.
"I was captain of the swimming team at the University of New Hampshire," I
replied.
"You gone to college, Birdie? Is that where you learned about birds and
shit?" The cousins and I swam for nearly an hour; when we tired, we pulled
ourselves onto a ledge and sat, naked in the sun, feet dangling in the water.
For a while, I forgot our age difference and that I was finishing a doctoral
program, while Jason and Lucas would be lucky to graduate from jr. High school.
Lucas stared down ruefully at his shriveled penis. "Shit-a-goddamn," he said, "a
kid's peenie-weenie sure shrinks in cold water, don't it?"
I gave his silken hair a companionable tousle, put an arm about his
shoulder, and hugged his sopping naked body to me. His eyes were limpid, blue,
and ringed with curly black lashes. He smiled up at me and snuggled against
my side. His soft golden boyskin felt wonderfully warm against me. "Birdie," he
asked, "when you was my age, did you uster get hard-ons?"
Taken aback, I stammered, "I sure did. And I'll tell you a secret - I still
do, two or three times a day."
"No shit?" the boy marveled, "I thought only kids get boners. Do you still
--- you know - play with yourself?"
I could feel my face flush. "I'm no different than you," I parried.
"Don't you boys have fathers you can talk to about masturbation?"
The boys shook their heads. "Heck, no," Jason said. "My old man's doing
life at Maine State Prison, and Lucas's dad drowned when a noreaster flipped
over his lobster boat about ten years ago."
"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry."
"Our grandpa takes care of us during the summer season, but him and his
helper are out in the boat all day, so we don't see much of him," Lucas added.
"Sometimes we go lobstering with him, but since Grandpa's got a helper, there
ain't much for us to do on the boat."
"That's okay," Jason said, "we like Star Island lots better than home. Here
we fish for flounder from the breakwaters and swim in the quarry. We sell the
fish we catch to people who own cottages on Appledore Island. Both our mothers
live with boyfriends who hate our guts, so we stay away from home as much as we
can. I'll prob'ly drop outta school when I turn fifteen next year. Maybe I'll
go to Boston and find a good job."
Yeah, I thought, and maybe, if a bullfrog could fly, he wouldn't fall on his
ass every time he takes a hop.
"Bull shit," Lucas scoffed. "Folks in the city work in banks and office
buildings. They're smart people with good educations like Birdie, here."
"Then, I'll join the Army, or something," Jason sulked.
The younger boy changed the subject. "Hey, Birdie," he piped up, "you didn't
tell us if guys your age jerk off like teenaged boys do." After swimming naked
for an hour with the cousins, normal inhibitions against discussing my sexual
fantasies relaxed. I found a soft mossy spot in the shade of a boulder, lay
contentedly on my back, and enjoyed a cool breeze blowing off the ocean over my
priapic penis. The boys stretched out, one on either side of me. Lucas pointed
gleefully to my erect organ. "look, Jason" he chirruped, "Birdie's got a
boner."
"I figured if you guys haven't seen one before you wouldn't know what it
is," I retorted with a smirk.
the blond boy snickered. "Everybody knows what a boner looks like," he
said. "Are you fixing to whack off or somethin', Birdie?"
I grinned lecherously and said, "It seems a shame to let a perfectly good
hard-on go to waste."
Jason's sun-bronzed face broke into a Jack-o'-lantern
grin. "Birdie's right," he chirruped. "Since we're already nekkid and horny, we
might's well do some guy stuff while we're shipwrecked on a desert island."
Erections sprouted from our pubes like asparagus stalks wafting in a summer
breeze.
"We ain't shipwrecked, asshole," Lucas insisted. "If we hop from
rock-to-rock across the breakwater, we'll be safe-and-sound on Star Island in no
time."
"We might's well be shipwrecked," the redhead retorted. "Only a kid would
try to cross the breakwater; since there's no place for a boat to tie up, we
got the place to ourselves. That means no matter what we do on Cedar Island, no
grownup will know about it unless somebody tells. It'll be like the old days
when salvagers uster live on the islands and plunder shipwrecks, knowing they
were safe from interference by the law." "Don't forget Birdie," Lucas
said. "He's a grownup."
"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Maybe we could make him swear a blood oath not
to tell what he sees here; or we could initiate him like when a kid joins the
Boy Scouts." The towhead stuck out his lower lip obstinately. "When
my Scout Troop initiated me, they depantsed me right in front of the Scout
Master," he grumbled. "It was embarrassing."
"Maybe if you'd had a bigger cock you wouldn't have been embarrassed," the
older cousin suggested.
"Fuck you, Jason. I got the biggest dick of any kid in my gym class," Lucas
parried. "Anyway, we can't depants Birdie 'cause he's already naked."
"I was depantsed once when I was eleven," I offered. "It was part of my
initiation into a secret club of
pre-teen perverts who specialized in shoplifting cigarettes and Playboy
Magazines from the 7-Eleven. My criminal career ended when my dad found a pack
of Marlboros in my jacket pocket and took a strap to my butt."
"I ain't never had a whuppin'," Lucas divulged. "Did it hurt?"
"You're goddamn right it hurt."
"Did'jer have to take your pants off?"
"I hadda pull 'em down so my weenie showed," I recalled. "To make matters
worse, I had a monster erection that wouldn't go away."
"That must've been humiliating," Lucas sympathized. "I wouldn't want a
grownup to see my boner - not even my dad - especially not my dad."
"Birdie's a grownup," Jason pointed out. "He can see your woodie plain as
day."
"Birdie don't count," Lucas insisted, snuggling up and resting a
sun-bronzed cheek on my shoulder. "He does the same stuff you and I do when he
knows nobody's around to see him, I bet." I felt his warm hand slide
tentatively across my belly, and stop momentarily while his fingers explored my
bellybutton. Then he grasped my cockshank as inexpertly as an unwilling boy
forced to practice the piccolo.
"Hey," I protested, "what's that about, kid?" Lucas smirked like a
malicious little pixie and said, "I wanted to test you and find out what you'd
do if I grabbed your dick." For emphasis he tweaked my erection hard enough
that I yelped. "There - did that hurt?" he asked impudently.
"Hell, yes, it hurt," I said. "Knock it off, Lucas - guys are sensitive down
there."
"Bear farts," said Lucas. "I gave your thing a friendly tug; it wasn't hard
enough to hurt."
"Oh, no?" I said, eyeing his little donnagher surreptitiously. Lucas
Wickett was on the cusp of puberty, although he still spoke in the chirpy tones
of boyhood. A wispy patch of peach fuzz, down where penis and testicles attach
to abdomen, hinted that he'd soon be having his spermarche - a young boy's first
ejaculation of seminal fluid - if he hadn't already done so. Lucas's
uncircumsised penis stood at attention, like a manful little Boy Scout standing
inspection with a platoon of Marines. I winked and shot him a disarmingly
friendly smile, which lulled him into dropping his defenses long enough for me
to counterattack and grab a handful of junior-sized testicles.
I didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, of course; on the other hand, I had
Lucas by the nuts; he wasn't going anywhere 'til I'd extracted revenge for a
tweaked peter. He giggled like a junior highschool girl at a co-ed pajama
party. "Let go of my balls, Birdie!" he shrieked in a boyish falsetto.
Keeping my grip on the boy's scrotum, I squeezed just enough to get his
attention. "Now, you'll pay for giving my cock a noogie," I threatened.
"Everything you did to me is about to be returned tenfold."
"No, Birdie! No - not that!" the boy giggled. "I'll be good! I swear to
Jesus!"
"It's too late for promises," I said. "Lie on your back across my lap -
boner-side up - and don't struggle. If you wiggle your balls will be squoze
'til you'll be appointed lifetime soprano with the Vienna Boys' Choir." Lucas
flipped onto his back and held stock-still while I set about masturbating him as
if milking a cow. Judging by the grin on his choirboy face, he was no stranger
to pubescent sex play. "Stop it, Birdman!" he squealed excitedly, "I'm gonna
cum!"
Not to be left out, Jason joined in with a whoop; we had a writhing gaggle
of arms, legs, erections, freckly bottoms and spatulate ears. Quicker than
Ex-Lax through a schoolboy, my body came in contact with areas of the naked
cousins' anatomies that I rarely touched on myself. Something long and pliant,
like a giant-sized TOOTSIE-ROLL, intruded between my buttocks and thrust firmly
against my anus. I tried to squirm away, but Lucas held firmly to my nuts.
Suddenly i realized I was helpless.
"I give up, guys, I give," I screamed. As I turned to holler again, my face
got in the way as Lucas finished the jerk-off job I'd undertaken on his cock.
His seminal vesicles contracted, impelling a stream of ejaculate to spurt from
his urethra, splatter the side of my face, run down my cheek, and hang on the
point of my chin. At the same time, his cousin's glans, the pink,
mushroom-shaped, tip of his penis, pushed through my anus, into my lower colon,
and commenced short, violent, in-and-out thrusts that hurt like blazes. I was
being fucked and there was nothing I could do about it! Unable to turn onto my
side or even squirm, I offered no resistance as the act neared its completion.
Then it was over; I sat naked on the grass using my Jockey shorts to wipe
cum from my face and the insides of my thighs. Jason and Lucas acted as if
nothing unusual had happened; to them, my rape had been lighthearted sex play.
I dressed hurriedly, not bothering to tie my sneakers. The Wickett boys
wanted me to join them fishing for flounder; i made a halfhearted excuse and
dashed across the breakwater to the safety of my hotel room.
TO BE CONTINUED
