WARNING: This story -- a fictional one -- contains sexually explicit parts involving sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.
Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.
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A small sermon. Nothing in life is free. Everything costs, and Nifty is no different, so please send them a couple of $'s/£'s to cover costs and stuff. They're very discreet, and you won't get your name in lights if you do.
My French Boy - Antoine.
Sunday morning. A persistent rapping noise (not the Eminem type) woke me from my slumbers. I hadn't got a clue where I was in the semi-darkness of the room. And then I remembered. I was on holiday, and very slowly, recollections of the day before began to gather in my mind. I looked at my watch: 10.30 am. I was still knackered from the journey and wine from the previous day, and my first thoughts when I heard the rapping was that it was somebody from the campsite wanting to sort something, which didn't please me. I sat up in bed, tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes, and then took a sip of water to try and clear away the combined effects of smoking and too much alcohol that was making my mouth feel like a sludge pond - yuk! There it was again... that bloody rapping! Somebody was insistent. Dressed only in boxers, I staggered out of the bedroom into the living room and peered through the patio window to see who it was. Nobody there. Then the rapping again. It was at the side door.
Oh... my... God! Shit! The one person I didn't want to see me looking like something that had been dragged through a hedge backwards was my beautiful Antoine, but those fantastic green eyes were grinning at me as I presented myself like the real Big Foot without the hair, but I did manage an apologetic, self-deprecating, Stan Laurel sort of smile (complete with head scratching) when I realised who it was. And then a half-laugh when I said, "Hello Antoine. Do you want to come in?" The moment I said that, I knew it was the wrong thing to do. Inviting the boy of your dreams into your lair when you look like shit should be the last thing you do. The correct thing to do would have been to delay him some way, shower and cover yourself with ponce lotion so you smelt like a male rose, and then invite him into your boudoir.
I think my Antoine understood the situation, because his grin became even wider, and he said, "Non. Sorry I disturb you." He pointed to the swimming pool. "We go to pool. I just want you to know where I am. If you want to join us, I see you later." And with a look in his eyes that said I'd better not let him down, he turned on his heels and disappeared.
I am! That's what he said. Not `we are'. Another unambiguous invitation if ever I head one. Time to put on the ponce lotion and go to where `I am' to chase my beautiful Antoine.
He was dressed in seductive, very short, dark green shorts. That's it. I recalled his lovely feet with perfectly formed ten-little-piggies; boyish legs and thighs; flat lower abdomen that revealed a good hint of his v-grooves; a curvaceous, boyish waist; superb chest with dark, penny sized areola and even darker nipples; butterfly collar bones leading to rounded shoulders, and arms covered with a hint of downy hair that led to his delicate hands and long fingers; a long, slim neck, and of course, his beautiful face, and I was kissing his full, rosy lips while he was underneath me with my cock buried deep inside him when I shot my spunk onto the shower glass. Job done. Now I could concentrate on reality, and with a towel wrapped around my waist, I poured a large glass of orange juice (not to open the bowels - shit and shave were already completed), spread the last two rolls of bread with butter, and sat at the table wondering what to wear.
Now you think that would have been easy, wouldn't you? You know where I was going; to meet my Antoine at the pool. But! Oh yes, there's always a `but'! Think about it! What does an Englishman look like when he first goes on holiday? You've got it... like all Northern Europeans who rarely see the sun: brown head; brown arms and hands, and the rest of our milky-white bodies just waiting to go a deep crimson when the sun catches us. So best to hide as much white as possible so as not to look like a hotch-potch of humanity. Sun cream - factor 20 - in my sports bag, along with a towel. Dark blue shorts type swimming trunks under white, knee length shorts, white trainers, no socks, and a thin cotton white t-shirt so that when I took it off, nobody would notice the difference.
The pool was packed with every shape and size of humanity. No sign of Antoine or Michelle or the girls, but Big Foot was lying on a deck chair at the far end of the pool. They'd been here a week, so I suppose they'd got used to putting towels on the table and deckchairs they wanted by going to the pool about 4.30 am - a habit everybody learned from the clever Germans who had the art of poolside politics off to a fine degree. I was in a giggling mood when I wandered along to BF, because I found it rather funny that he was trying to get a tan through the matt of hair covering his body. I was about halfway along the pool when a wet hand suddenly gripped mine. I turned and saw my beautiful boy beaming at me. Oh my God! He was stunning with the water running down each gorgeous curve of his delightful body, and I thanked my lucky stars that I'd had the sense to wear a tight pair of briefs under my swimming shorts, because, even though I'd wanked thinking about him less than an hour ago, my cock suddenly drained half the blood from my body again. Still holding my hand, Antoine said, "I save a place for you." Then those emerald eyes bored into mine when he continued, "I so glad you come."
I did my Stan Laurel grin, and then allowed him to pull me to the deckchair next to BF. It was one from the end of the seven, and when I sat in it, Antoine sat on the end one right next to me, and I was beginning to think the seating arrangements were not coincidental, especially because you couldn't get a fag paper between his and mine. My thoughts were interrupted by BF saying, "Ahhh... you were very tired this morning, James?"
I nodded, and grinned. "Yes. Too much travelling. Too much wine. Too many cigarettes."
"You like Papa, you smoke too much!"
I looked at Antoine, who had a frown on his face, chuckled, and said, "Is that my first telling off?"
Obviously, he didn't understand, so he threw a question at his `Papa' in rapid French. BF replied in equally rapid French, and when I looked at Antoine, I was surprised that he was slightly embarrassed, and he fluttered his eyes a few times whilst trying to stop himself smiling. The grin on BF's face alerted me that there was something going on that I didn't understand. But there was nothing I could do about it, so I got down to the matter at hand; taking off my t-shirt off and covering myself with sun-cream. Face, neck, arms, torso, legs, but when I got to the part I couldn't reach, Antoine came to the rescue. He took the cream from me and began to apply it to my back. Some things in life are ambiguous, but some just scream out a meaning, and my Antoine's hands and fingers applying the sun cream had nothing to do with protecting me from the sun. Fortunately, I had my back to BF (who was now completely ignoring us), and Antoine took full advantage as he stroked and manipulated my skin. He was feeling me up, and that was the first time I realised how much he adored my body when, using just the tips of his soft fingers, he sensuously explored my shoulders and every muscle on my back, even running his hands over the parts I'd already done. A quick slap on the back of my head was the signal that he'd devoured enough of me (for now), so I turned, and smiled at him and thanked him.
His eyes were shining when he replied, "It was my pleasure. Can I get you anything?"
BF to the rescue. He reached down into the bag by his side and took out a wallet, which he handed to Antoine. "Two beers for me and James." Then he spoke in French again, and when I heard the words `Mama' and Antoine's sister's names, I knew he was including them in the order.
The thought came to me that my boy would have difficulty carrying all the drinks, so I said to him, "I'll help you." He nodded enthusiastically, and so I got up and followed him out of the pool area to wherever we were to get the drinks from.
The moment we were out of sight of the pool, one of those wonderful hands slipped into mine again, and gripped it tightly. Then we came to a patio with a banister that ran the length of it. Antoine pulled me to it, and we both leaned over it, looking at some gold fish swimming in the pond beneath us. I was looking at the fish, but the reason my heart was pounding like a steam hammer was because Antoine still had hold of my hand, and his head was resting on my upper arm. Then I almost choked when Antoine said, "James, the friend who not come with you, is he your boyfriend?"
I let out a silly laugh. "No! No! He got a wife and children." (Note that I was having to adopt Pigeon English speak to communicate with Antoine, who was not fluent with my language, especially because I have a Northern colloquial accent.)
"Then why he come alone with you?"
How the Hell was I to explain this? I decided to be truthful. "You know what an untruth is, Antoine?" I felt his head nod. "It not true my friend ill. He was separated from his wife. Then he go back to her, so I go alone. You understand?"
Another nod of the head. "Oui, je comprehend. I understand. You not tell me untruth if I ask you a question?"
I squeezed Antoine's hand even tighter. "No. I tell you truth. What you want to ask me?"
"You have a boyfriend in Engleterre?"
"No. I never had a boyfriend."
Antoine's voice sounded disappointed when he said, "You like girls then."
His statement made me feel almost sick. How the Hell could I explain all my feelings to this boy? The only way was to continue the conversation and hope we arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, so I said, "No. I don't go with girls. I never had a boyfriend who loved me." (Corny I know, but what else could I say?)
(Corny worked!) Antoine suddenly let go of my hand, and wrapped his arm around my bicep before leaning his head firmly against it, and his voice was a hoarse whisper when he said, "Antoine is happy. Antoine love you. Can I be your boyfriend?"
I was oblivious to everything around us when I said, "Yes. But I'm worried about your mother and father. They not like it."
Antoine giggled, and then looked up into my face. "Mama and Papa know I love you. We talk about it last night when you gone to bed. Deax heures. Two hours? They know I homosexuel. They know for long time. I tell them I not had boyfriend before. They say you have many? They errr... worry about me? I tell them I ask you. Now you say you not loved another boyfriend, I tell them. They let me love you then. You want I should do that, James?"
Did I want that? Hell, yes, more than anything in the world, but the world I lived in must have been different from the world they lived in, because no way would any parent in England have allowed their thirteen-year-old son to go with a bloke aged twenty eight. All this shit, and more, including how embarrassed I was going to be was going through my mind when I looked into the gorgeous green eyes of the boy I'd fallen in love with, and said, "If you want to. But I don't want to get you in trouble."
Antoine's face changed into a massive grin. "Cela ne me dérange pas. No trouble. We get drinks?"
Right then, I wanted to crush this boy into my arms and kiss his delectable lips. Instead, I grinned at him, and said, "We get drinks."
I think that day was one of the longest in my life. It was certainly the most embarrassing. When we got back to the pool carrying all the drinks in plastic glasses on trays and I saw all the family sitting in their deckchairs, I was shaking with nerves. Why? Because every eye was on us, and the girls were giggling. When Antoine said he'd discussed the situation about us, I thought he meant just with his parents, but apparently, they were all in on it! Their little gay son/brother had got a boyfriend, and I was He! Antoine didn't help. I was his boyfriend, and he didn't give a damn for anybody. His hands were all over me (not on my cock, of course!) except when we were in the water. Oh yes, he sneaked quite a few good feels of what he wanted (badly!) when we were in the water, and I lost count of the number of times he rubbed his cute butt crack against it, and by the time it was time to go because I said I needed to get something from the site shop, my cock must have oozed so much precum that I fully expected to see it floating like an oil slick on the surface of the pool.
I went directly to the shop from the pool, and I was not alone. Antoine was by my side; we shopped together, and we were both sweating as we carried the four bags of groceries and wine and beer up the steep hill to my chalet at the top of the site. When we got there, there was no sign of his family. I thought it strange, because Big Foot had said they were going into Lagos for the rest of the afternoon, and then have dinner there. (We'd had a light lunch by the pool.) When I looked puzzled and asked Antoine where they were, he grinned when he said, "I stay with my boyfriend."
The crafty sods! Now I understood what the discussions in French had been while we were eating lunch. I should have known, because the girls couldn't stop giggling while we were eating, and I didn't miss the grin on Michelle's face when she scolded them, and BF had had difficulty keeping a straight face. They'd been setting me up! What for though? I soon found out the moment I'd dumped the bags on the table, put the beers and stuff in the fridge that needed to go in there, and was about to light up a cigarette. Antoine took the cigarette and the lighter from me, placed them on the work surface, pushed me against it, and came into my arms. Just like that, and before I could draw breath, his arms were round my neck and we were kissing. Tongues. "Je t'aime." Tongues. "Je t'aime." Tongues. "Je t'aime." And he never stopped saying he loved me as his tongue and lips settled on my neck; on each of my nipples; on my midriff, and he didn't stop talking when he tore down my shorts and briefs and went on his knees to suck my cock. "Je t'aime." He was talking to my swollen cock as he rolled my foreskin back and kissed the purple head. My legs went weak when he grabbed my balls and sucked each one and told them "Je t'aime." Then, when he ran his tongue along the length of the shaft to my knob again, it was, "Je t'aime." And he only stopped saying it when my spunk filled his sweet boy mouth to overflowing, and then, when he pulled my cock out of his hot mouth and continued wanking me, it splattered his gorgeous face with all the spunk that a day of longing for this wonderful boy had created in me. And never have I seen a sexier sight than that when it was over and he lifted his head to stare at me past the cum that had spattered his eyelids and nose, and the slimy stuff ran in rivulets from his face and onto his delicate boy body, and there was deep contentment in his beautiful emerald eyes when he said, "Je t'aime, James."
The most beautiful cock I'd ever seen: twelve centimetres of rigid muscle, and a further two and a half centimetres of hard, but pliable pink knob standing proud over a walnut-like crinkled ballsac, and under a tiny tuft of blond pubic hair. I was shaking with lust as I knelt on the bed between Antoine's spread legs, looking at his boy gems whilst stroking my hands firmly over the rest of his utterly splendid body. Perfection. He was not circumcised, but his foreskin was so pliable it had rolled off his knob completely, and that's the part I went for first. He moaned softly as, for the first time in my life, I took the head of a boy penis into my mouth. I'd dreamed and fantasised of this moment, but nothing could have prepared me for the beautiful feeling of having that smoothness; that almost amorphous flesh as it kneaded to my lips and tongue. I wanted to put my hands under him and take hold of his gorgeous buttocks to pull him in and out of my mouth, but Antoine was too worked up for that; too filled with the intensity that only lust can generate, and with tears streaming from his eyes while he wailed, he grabbed my head and pushed his gorgeous cock deep into me. Only my fingers around the base stopped him from pushing it into my throat, but I felt the spurts of his hot spunk hitting the back of it as he writhed and cried his way to a tremendous climax.
The taste was unique. Not sweet as others had described it, but ever so slightly salted, with a texture like the medical suspension one would use to administer to children for headaches and coughs and colds, and because Antoine had produced about 10 millilitres of it, once I'd pulled my mouth off his cock, I was able to roll it around in my mouth to savour the essence of what my boy had produced for me. I swallowed every bit of it, and then squeezed his semi erect cock to get any remaining out of his tube. Just a small amount emerged from the slit, and I eagerly sucked that off and swallowed it. But the high, lustful passions were over for now, and just like me, I knew Antoine would need time to recover.
Naked, we lay in each other's arms: quiet; deep in our own thoughts, yet not wanting to be apart. We had shared something this day; something that comes only once in a lifetime: our first time. By the way Antoine was stroking my body I knew he was feeling as I was, because I was also stroking his in exactly the same way. I wanted to feel at the softness and wonder of my lover; the gentle curves; the softness of his hair; the beauty of a boy that I desired so much. No doubt he was thinking the same about the muscles of my older body; the firmness; the hair on my chest and around my pubic region. I wanted a boy, and he wanted a man. We had given to each other that we desired, and nothing could have been more beautiful than that we had just had, and inside us was the produce of each other's body, taken orally with the taste and texture of each other.
But there was something else we desired to make us complete, and that was a spiritual love. That came when Antoine lifted his head, and through his teary eyes, he smiled at me and said in a whisper, "Je t'aime, James. Je t'aime."
It was beautiful moment, and I looked into his eyes and stroked his face, and then I kissed him softly on the lips and whispered, "Je t'aime, Antoine. Je t'aime."
But spiritual love only lasts so long when you're naked with somebody who you desire sexually, and it wasn't long before I was exploring my Antoine's body again. My cock grew to its full length again, and so did Antoine's, especially when I was on my back and he was on top of me and we were in the sixty-nine position. What a simply gorgeous bum he had; and I was staring at it. In fact, because I'd prised his bum cheeks apart with my thumbs, I was staring at the sweetest, cleanest rosebud I'd ever seen. Not a trace of brown around the pink, puckered entrance to heaven (how the Hell he kept it in such perfect condition wasn't revealed to me until much later when I saw how scrupulous he was down there), and as soon as I saw it I was drawn to it. I pushed him down my body slightly, raised my head and licked at the entrance. He shuddered and waggled his bum to tell me how he was feeling. I pulled harder with my thumbs, and it opened to reveal a deeper pink tunnel, which was soon revelling in the delights my tongue were creating as I probed and sucked at it.
The same thoughts going through my head must have been echoed in Antoine's, because he suddenly rolled off me and lay on his back with his knees pulled onto his chest: an invitaion to fuck him that was completely unambiguous. But how do you get a swollen cock like mine into that sweet, small Nirvana?
Ambre Solaire After Sun Skin Soother with Active Moisturisers and Aloe Vera was the answer. Unlike some of you experienced pederasts, I hadn't come prepared with KY Gel or Vaseline. It was a make-do-and-mend moment, and we were both glad of it when, together, we managed to soak my cock and his ass with it.
Then I was on top of him, he holding my cock while I pushed. But it was to no avail. The head just wouldn't go in, so I squatted by his bum, lifted it from the bed, pulled his hole open with my thumbs, and then pushed. Am I a voyeur? Not normally, but the sight of seeing my swollen knob slip into him was the most exciting thing I'd ever seen. Certainly better than studying the Mona Lisa in The Louvre; even better than feasting one's eyes on Michelangelo's Pietà in St. Peter's Basilica. This was pure sex, and I very nearly unloaded again into my beautiful boy. That's why, when I saw his anal skin retract to trap my swollen knob inside him, I put my hands on him, shook my head, and said, "Don't move!"
Tears were slipping from Antoine's eyes when he looked into mine, and said, "It nice?"
I smiled at him and nodded. "It too nice! Is it painful?"
Through his tears, he smiled. "Non. C'est beaux."
I understood that, and leaned over and stroked the tears from his cheeks, and then stroked his hair. I desperately wanted to kiss him, but I knew if I leaned forward, most probably my cock would slip out, so I just smiled at him. But what to do now? I didn't want to hurt him, and I was pretty sure he was a virgin like me. But I wanted to fuck him, and the only way was for it to be mutual, so I asked him, "You want I go in more?"
Antoine smiled, and then put his thumb and finger about two centimeters apart to indicate just how far I should go in. So I pushed gently. Antoine stiffened his tummy muscles to make himself rigid, as if he was taking a crap, and I slid in two centimeters. He made the sign again, and again I pushed in. And then again, but this time, Antoine's lower jaw shuddered and he nodded violently. Eureka! All my Nifty training was not for nothing. I'd read about it, but now I was experiencing what the experienced boyfuckers knew: my cock was on Antoine's prostate, and he was in Seventh Heaven. How absolutely wonderful! And the added bonus was that I was now so deep into him that I could change my position and go over him to kiss those sweet, full lips that filled me with desire.
His arms were around my neck, our tongues playing games, and he was rolling his ass on my cock to get the feelings. It didn't last long. It couldn't possibly last long, and when Antoine shuddered and his eyes rolled up his head as he climaxed, I shot my own load deep inside him.
Some things are beyond description, and I won't even go there, but I can tell you that it was our best moment ever (for Antoine, too, as he confirmed later) when we reached that simultaneous peak of fantastic, consensual, sexual loving between a thirteen-year-old boy and a twenty-eight-year-old man. I gave Antoine that he desired most, and he gave me what I desired most, and it was truly, truly beautiful.
What happened next? Well, I think I've provided you all with the beginnings of a beautiful love story, and I'm not going to spoil it by going on and on about our special loving. There are plenty of Nifty stories to provide further sexual stimulation, but this story is for those amongst you who desire the love of a beautiful boy more than anything, and that's the important parts I've told you about. All I will tell you is that Antoine and I were never apart during that holiday, and we spent each day and night together, discovering what made our partner tick; and we did it with fun and loving, so use your imagination, and I'll bet most of you would still come up short about what we got up to. *wink* Oh yes, we had lots of fun and lots of loving. Enough to fill ten volumes over the years. Over the years? Oh yes! After the holiday, I sold up in England and moved to France to be with my beloved. Are we still together? All I will tell you is that I can still say, Je t'aime, Antoine. Je t'aime. And Antoine can still say, Je t'aime, James. Je t'aime. *Another wink*
Finally, I want to point you to the real heroes in this story: Big Foot and Michelle. It takes very special parents to gift their child the freedom to be itself; to accept their children's sexuality without question; to love them enough that all that matters to them is their child's happiness. Unlike religion and politics, sexuality is not a choice. We are who we are, and providing we don't use or abuse those who are unable to make informed choices either through a lack of nous or through subservience to anything or anyone, then let it be. BF & Michelle chose that route, and their son, Antoine, is now one of the happiest people alive. Me too I might add. *wink*
Ps. The Boy Scout motto is: Be Prepared. So I suggest you all keep a bottle of Ambre Solaire After Sun Skin Soother with Active Moisturisers and Aloe Vera handy. LOL.
You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to firstname.lastname@example.org Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.