Date: Wed, 17 Jun 2015 11:22:32 +0100 From: tpickles Subject: Boy - Chapter 4 This is a gay, erotic fantasy novel focusing around a relationship between a gay adult man and a gay male youth. It's written for my own entertainment and it's purely fictional. I'm not endorsing or encouraging any of the activities that take place in this story. As the reader, please be responsible for your own thoughts, actions and activities. Please be patient: this is an evolving story. Not everything happens immediately, nor quite in the way you might expect. If descriptions of male-male sex or gay adult/youth relationships offend you, please leave now. .............. Continued from Chapter 3 ........ Boy moved a little. His uppermost arm was moving. Some part of him at least was awake. This arm moved down and slightly backwards. He rested it on the skin of my thigh. It was another electric current. There was another little movement – maybe a squeeze, or a stroke – and then he was still. I lay there unable to move. I was frozen in this spooned position, all my senses on full alert. I was wide awake and energised. Boy remained immobile too. But his body felt relaxed and soft. I felt the rise and fall of his chest cavity. I listened to his breathing. It became rhythmical and started to slow. After a few minutes, I realised he's fallen asleep. I held him, listening to the rain outside. The violence of the storm appeared to have passed over. I was not going to move. I wanted to savour the pleasure of this nocturnal moment. My erection subsided a little, but didn't go away completely. Perhaps I would sleep eventually. CHAPTER 4 When I awoke next morning, I was alone in the bed. There were some muffled noises from the living area. I lay on my back for a few moments, recalling the events of the night. Did it really happen like that? Who was leading who? How would Boy be feeling this morning? I swung my legs out of the bed and hunted for a pair of boxer shorts. After a quick visit to the en-suite bathroom, I decided to venture out into my apartment and face the morning. "Hello Boy. How are you today?" "I feel good Mr Tom. Not so scared in the daytime. I don't like the storm," he replied. And added, "Sorry for waking you, Mr Tom. Did I stop your sleep?" I didn't know how to answer this. `Yes' would be truthful. `No' is what he expected to hear. "It's no problem, Boy. I can catch up on sleep anytime," was a safer response. He brought me some freshly made coffee, with a little shy smile. "I'll get you some breakfast then". --- There was a greater ease between us now as we go about our lives in and around the apartment. He's more confident about my expectations of him and his role. I was getting used to having someone else around, and starting to enjoy the extra free time it gave me when someone else was doing the day-to-day chores. A few days later, I was reading the newspaper, and Boy was in the utility area loading the washing machine with some towels and sheets. He'd set up the ironing board to press a large pile of tee-shirts, shorts and jeans – both mine and his. He set about it in a methodical way. He'd certainly learned how to iron. "What about these?" he asked after several minutes, holding up a pair of cotton boxers. "Yes, you can give those a quick iron if they looked all creased. Then they feel more comfortable to put on. Ironed shorts look good also – at least whilst they stay creased." The laundry pile was getting smaller. "And what about these? Do they get ironed too?" he asked, giggling. I looked up and saw him holding my jockstrap in his hand for my inspection. I felt somewhat embarrassed. I'd tossed them into the laundry basket a couple of nights ago. Sometimes I just liked the feel of them on my body. "Oh ... no, they don't need ironing really. Just put them in the underwear drawer please." "Are they nice to wear?" he asked, somewhat cheekily, as he held them outstretched in front of himself. Of course, they were too big for him; but the picture stuck in my mind. "Yes, they can be, when you're in the right mood to wear that sort of thing." "Yes, I see, nice" he answered, and continued with the ironing. Thankfully, he didn't say any more. I wondered if I should ask him whether he liked them, but decided that was too intrusive. An idea had popped into my mind. --- A couple of evenings later, I'd walked in town. I'd been for a meal with some friends, and as I walked away, I realised that I was close to the Night Bazaar that sold all kinds of things. There was a fresh food market, and a street food area, but most of the bazaar was taken up with stalls selling stuff to the tourists in town – souvenirs, handicrafts, carvings, fabrics, shoes, jewellery, watches – mostly fake, cheap plastics, and more – but amongst the assorted jumble of stalls, I'd remembered there were a couple of stalls selling underwear. It was all brand-name stuff – AussieBum, Calvin Klein, Jockey, Paul Smith, GMW, and others – and all faked, made in some Asian sweatshop. It looked good, and sexy, though often the elastic would weaken or the fabric wear thin after six months of use. I remembered my idea to treat Boy to some different underwear. He was always modestly dressed in his shorts around the apartment, but I'd seen his selection of underwear when it was hanging up to dry. He seemed to possess several uniform pairs of simple briefs, in white or blue, as was common amongst most of the local boys and men. It was a bit of a risky gesture, but I could easily give him his own jockstrap to try the experience. I guessed that most of his clothes shopping was done for more standard items at local markets. I doubted he would have the courage to come here and shop for anything more eye-catching on his own. I wandered along the crowded street, threading my way amongst the visitors between the stalls. Yes, here was one of the underwear stalls. The counter area and the wire mesh side walls of the stand were covered in piles of colourful male underwear. All the `brands' were there, and in a huge range of styles and sizes. I started sorting through them, initially attracted to the styles that I liked for myself. Then I remembered that on this occasion I was buying for Boy and not for my own pleasure. It was my jockstrap that had caught his attention, so I found the selection on offer. I thumbed through them, feeling the quality of the fabrics and the colours on offer. There were several styles, each with the customary elastic straps from the front panel, over the exposed backside, to the waist belt. A thong-style was too risky, as were those styles with only a tiny front pouch. I settled on a pair with a more generous front covering, but still with the cut-away back side. Now for the size. There was no point in holding them up against me. Medium, Small or Extra Small? I knew that Asian sizes tended to be smaller than European sizes. Small seemed the best compromise to choose. I selected a pair, and then quickly added a second pair in a different colour, one white, one blue, the colours he seemed to normally choose for his underwear. As I handed them over to be wrapped, I noticed the sign: `Buy 5, 1 Free'. What the hell. I could afford to treat him. I looked around the stall to see what else he might like to experiment with. What caught my eye were some brightly coloured briefs with various styles. OK, I would get him some briefs in very different strong colours. I picked a low-rise pair in red with white trimming that had a `pocket' arrangement inside for holding and showing off the wearer's cock. And I took another pair in a yellow pattern that was largely cutaway at the side to reveal an expanse of thigh between the front and back panels. Finally, I looked at some of the boxers. I didn't think he had anything like these in his wardrobe. Again, there was a big choice. I let myself be influenced by what I liked, and settled on a hipster style (hoping that perhaps I might get to see him wearing them one day!), one with cut-away hips and the other made with an open mesh fabric. Hopefully, they would be a snug fit on him. Again, I picked some bold colours: these would stand out against his skin colour. Six pairs – two hipsters, two briefs, two jocks. I paid and walked away happy with my purchase and the imaginary image of Boy wearing them. He was out when I got home. He'd said he might meet a friend if I was going out for dinner. I opened the door to his bedroom. I resisted the temptation to look around at his possessions; perhaps I wanted him to be similarly respectful towards my stuff. I put what I hoped would be received as a nice surprise gift on his bed, and closed the door. Tomorrow, I'd know his reaction. --- Next morning, and I'd woken early and made myself a cup of coffee. I sat at the table glancing at the TV news. Boy's bedroom door opened and I heard him walking along the corridor. When I looked up, he was not exactly `walking' – more treating it as a catwalk, gesturing and posing. He was wearing a new pair of hipster briefs with a bright-coloured pattern. They looked fantastic on him. He made a `grand entrance', paraded around the table, and finally did a couple of turns right in front of me. "You like them then?" I asked, laughing at his posing. "Wow, they're great. I've never had anything like this. Thank you so much, Mr Tom." "Do they fit me?" he added. "Yes! I looked at different sizes and reckoned a Small was best for your build and height." He filled them well – the hipster style both modestly hid and teasingly revealed his physique. "Turn around again." His bottom was pleasingly rounded in the stretch fabric. The bulge of his genitals was clear but covered. "Very good, Boy. I'm pleased that you like them. You can wear them whenever you like." I wondered whether he was going to distract me by wearing them on view all morning. He wandered around the kitchen in his new hipsters, putting things away, cleaning up and retrieving some laundry. Half-an-hour later he announced that he was going to the market to buy some food for dinner, and disappeared back to his bedroom to put on some more clothes. As he prepared to leave I told him that I had plans to visit some friends at the weekend, and that I was likely to be away for a couple of nights. He asked me where I was going and I told him about the beach resort a couple of hour's drive away. "Rather than being here on your own, I thought you might like to go back home and see your mother and family." He looked a little crestfallen. "Mmmm ... well ... I could, if you want me to", he said quietly. "Well, it's up to you, Boy. These are your days off and you can do what you like. I just don't want you to be here on your own and bored." He looked downcast. "I've not been to the beach for a couple of years." "Well, I didn't think you'd want to spend your time hanging around with all my friends." He brightened. "I wouldn't get in the way. I know how to behave properly, don't I?" "Yes, of course you do. It's just that I'd planned to take the car and enjoy a couple of days relaxing on the beach." "I could take myself off and explore the beach and the town," he offered, "I have been there before with school-friends. I won't get lost!" I thought about it, unsure what to do, and wondered about the implications of such a potential change in our contact with each other. "Are you really sure? I've only booked one room, and as it's the weekend it's likely to be busy and I won't be able to get another room for you." He smiled at me. "That's OK with me, if you don't mind. Normally my friends share bungalows at the beach and share the cost. I'm used to sleeping on the floor. I won't get in your way, honestly. You won't even know I'm there." Somehow I doubted that. "Well OK then, if that's what you most like to do this weekend. Let's think how it might work today, and talk about it again this evening." ............ to be continued in Chapter 5 Enjoy the story. I love to hear your feedback, and suggestions for future storylines. You can contact me by email at tpickles2@gmail.com. If you want to see this kind of publishing continued, please support Nifty financially with a donation to http://donate.nifty.org/.