Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2017 21:16:02 -0400 (EDT) From: Five Hole Punch Subject: No Plot, Just Filth Part Three Please give a few bucks to Nifty. No Plot, Just Filth Part Three Boys: Carter, Lou and Melvin --------------- It was one of those long, late May evenings when the sun sets after 8 PM. There was a gentle knock around 7:30. I got up from my reading and opened the door. There stood a boy, not unsurprisingly. Blonde hair askew and pale blue eyes, he looked up. "Hi." A gentle demeanor. "Are you Mr. ****?" "Yes." "I'm Carter, may I come in?" Polite. "Please do." I had parents that taught their kids manners even though we weren't of a station expected to exhibit them regularly. My visitor entered, I closed the door. The boy looked around the room. "What can I do for you, Carter?" He turned to me and said, "I want you to ...," he corrected himself, "I want to do what you did with Lou." "Alright." "He said he did it in the brown chair." "Yes," I confirmed. The boy went there directly. "Should I sit down?" he asked uncertainly. "That would be fine." He took a seat and looked to me. "What should I do now?" "Show me how you masturbate." The boy was only too glad to oblige. He undid his pants, lifting his hips enough to slide them down to his knees. He quickly slid his cotton briefs down exposing his boyish assets; perfectly pink against the pale white of his thighs. He immediately began agitating his spongy three inches with practiced, dirty-nailed fingers much to the delight of us both. Is there any more iconic an image of boyhood than dirty fingers sliding skin to and fro soon to be wetted with a fresh ejaculatory discharge? Carter's penis stiffened rapidly. His balls jiggled in his sack. The lad licked his finger and transferred the saliva to his obscenely red cockhead that peeked from his foreskin, the slipperiness allowing more hurried strokes. Focused with an intense gaze on his masturbatory ministrations, Carter paused now and again to look up; I gave smiling approval and the boy returned my smile. I could've watched this display of self-pleasure for quite a while but I didn't want Carter to bring himself off, I wanted my chance to excite the boy. "May I?" I requested. Carter surrendered his weapon with an impious half smile. He held his elastic-topped shorts down with both hands to expose his small but rounded testes. I espied no more than a few, just-lengthening hairs on the blushing orbs. I gave the slightest touch to the sparse growth with immediate effect. Carter gave a surprised, reflexive exclamation. "Oh, my!" His legs involuntarily twitched at the delightful sensation. "Are you a ticklish boy?" I asked teasingly. I reached under the hem of Carter's shirt and gave his oblique a few pokes. He wiggled and giggled while denying it. "No!" "I think you might be fibbin' a little," I said as I continued with my tickle attack on the boy's mid-section. "I'm not!" but Carter was betrayed by his laughter. The boy flopped around in the chair, his erect penis bobbing about with the contractions of his tummy. A couple more happy pokes and I couldn't resist any longer, I took the prominent arrow of flesh in my fingers. "Oh!" Abruptly catching his breath, Carter's thrashing stilled. I gently caressed the boy's pride. "Do you like it?" "Uh huh." "It's fun isn't it?" "Yeah," came the distracted affirmation. I moved the boy's thin foreskin tenderly around the underlying arrowhead, eliciting gentle whimpers as I crossed the ridges and valleys that are landmarks on the Globe of Eros. I gave pause to languidly run my fingernails lightly over the super soft skin of the schoolboy's lower torso, curves worthy of being immortalized by Praxiteles. This caressing contemplation of human form didn't suit Carter's burgeoning desire at all; he pushed my hand back to immediately serve the ever-demanding God of Youth. I venerated with timeless rites. Carter's rapid breathing betrayed his excitement; it wouldn't be long now. A small grunt as the boy slumped back confirmed this observation. "Uhh!" Bit by bit, hips elevated, elbows pressed against the chair cushion, fingers grasped. Shortly came a one word imperative. "Faster." I obeyed. Carter tensed. My frantic fingering brought the expected result; a quick watery spurt, a dribble or two more, followed by a relaxing sigh. "Good?" I asked. A giggle and an honest affirmation. "Yeah!" I gave a quick wipe up with my fingers and smeared Carter's youthful gift on my t-shirt. As I lifted the boy's shorts from his ankles, Carter stood and I tucked his drooping boyhood away. "Thank you, Mr. ****," came the courteous and unnecessary gratitude. "You're welcome, Carter and please come by any time." "Okay." With that I showed my beatific visitor to the door. As some boys do, Carter never did come back; once was enough, just one of the many singular adventures of boyhood. And the few times I saw him in the neighborhood he shyly lowered his eyes and gave a gentle, barely audible hello as we passed. ------------ As a footnote to the reader of this diary I should mention the "Lou" that brought Carter to my door. I fairly sure they went to the Catholic secondary school a number of blocks away and could very well have been choir or altar boys, they certainly had that appearance; innocent, devilish, angelic. Lou was a slightly chubby boy with dark eyes and curly black hair. His defining characteristic: round cheeks that made you think of a cute cartoon chipmunk. They should have been sucking a cock, they were that perfect. They never sucked mine and likely never sucked another's. Lou came to my door with what he wanted firmly in mind - he wanted me to masturbate him. To Lou sex was masturbation. He had the absolute certainty of the route to pleasure and wouldn't consider any other path; you had to masturbate him to an orgasm by hand, he wouldn't consider anything but. He came to my door one day, asked for it, came in and sat in my living room chair, pulled his pants down and, after settling in, told me how I should give a hand job. Between giving curt directions on what he wanted done, Lou would writhe slightly, squeezing his plump, smooth thighs together as I stroked his boyish erection. He resisted his orgasm for as long as possible, which, for a boy of twelve or thirteen, is not very long needless to say. As he neared his peak, Lou's belly would quiver and he would throw his head back. At orgasm, Lou's body tensed, his head shot forward to watch his small watery spurt or three erupt from his circumcised head. He'd let out a deep sigh and, after seven or eight spasms, Lou would shout out "Stop!" He was done. Period. He'd declare it. "I'm done!" No more touching. Lou would wipe his scant discharge into his undies, slip his pants up and head for the door with little more than a quick goodbye. Lou found I was good for a quick wank now and then and used me accordingly. He stopped by irregularly over a period of maybe two months. His visits were, at most, ten minutes. --------- Did I have sex with every boy that knocked on my door during those eight months? The answer is no. There were a few times when I heard a knock and when I got to the door there was no one there. A prank or a "goof" as it was called in this city's slang? Probably. I did hear footsteps running down the stairs and out the back accompanied by nervous laughter a couple of times. There was one occasion that was quite amusing to me, not to the boy I am sure, but definitely for me. I was sitting around doing nothing when I thought I heard a light tapping. Now, the appliances weren't the best in my rented apartment and the fridge had been making some intermittent noises so I thought, at first, that the noise must be coming from the kitchen. I heard it again but this time I knew it wasn't from the kitchen, it was from out in the hall. I got up, went to the door, and waited for the sound again. Tap. Tap. I opened the door. A wide-eyed boy jumped back in shock and stuttered out, "A-a-ah, are, umm ... are you, ah Al ... umm ... Al- Alex?" He was so nervous, looking about like he was expecting to be apprehended by the FBI at any second, I thought he might run off in a panic. "Yes." "A-a-ah, my-my friends told me to come up and ... and ... ask for you." When he finished speaking his teeth chattered audibly. It was 80 degrees that afternoon. "Okay ..." The boy looked at me like he was facing a firing squad, his pupils wide. He was at a complete loss for words. "What's your name?" "Muh, muh ... Melvin," he choked out. "Melvin, may I ask you a question?" "Y-y-yeah ..." "Melvin did your friends dare you to come up here?" "Y-y-yeah ..." The boy's bony knees, on two sticks for legs, knocked together. I thought that Melvin might wet his pants. "You didn't really want to come up here, did you?" "N-n-no." I knelt down on one knee. "Melvin, you don't have to do anything you don't want to to prove yourself to anybody, okay?" "I don't?" he asked innocently. "No, you don't," I told him with certainty. The relief that swept across the boy's face was so apparent that I had to stifle a laugh. I had a gut feeling about something else. "Are your friend's waiting outside?" "Yeah," Melvin said with unease. "Okay, here's what you do. Go down and tell them that you knocked and you talked to me but I said "no, you couldn't, not now." Say to them that I told you to come back in a few months, okay?" The boy nodded. "Believe me, in a few months, if your friends even bring it up, just tell them you don't really feel like it and they'll leave you alone, I promise." "Okay." "Just tell them like I told you and you'll be fine, Melvin." "Alright." "Don't let them push you around. Just play it cool like I told you." "Alright." I got up and sent the boy on his way. I think I made Melvin happier that day than many of the boys that came by for sex. Copyright 2017. All Rights Reserved.