Date: Mon, 25 Jan 2021 02:26:32 +0000
From: The Paternal Watcher <mfvb@protonmail.com>
Subject: Casual Encounter (adult-youth)

[dedicated to Carrot, who inspired me to write more]

My wife and I enjoy supporting kids in the community. We buy things that
they sell door to door. We volunteer with groups that support the
schools, or sports teams, or youth activities, like the skate park that
was built last year. We also attend concerts and plays at the local high
school, even though we don't have children there ourselves.

It was during the intermission at one of those plays -- Guys and Dolls,
to be exact -- that I had a casual encounter in the boys' room that
radically changed my life. I never thought I'd be nostalgic about
old-fashioned urinals, but that's exactly the hardware that made the
moment possible. Entering right ahead of me was a teen boy I could only
describe as my vision of beautiful: blond hair that has just a bit of a
wave and is cut short but not crew-cut short, pink lips lusciously full
but not quite pouty, a narrow waist, and hint of some pectoral
development under his shirt. I glanced discreetly at the tiny butt in
front of me as I entered, and he approached the only one of the three
urinals which was free, in the middle. The guy using the one on the right
was just flushing, and so I ended up standing next to this boy.

For those who haven't seen older school boys' rooms, the urinals go all
the way to the floor, there's no privacy barrier between them, and
consequently all that separates one from the next is maybe an inch of
tiled space. Moreover, the porcelain doesn't start to slope outwards
until about halfway down, which is different than newer urinals which
have side walls a few inches deep as well for the entire height, because
one was designed for how pee flows, and the other for privacy as well. In
short, there's nothing between you and your neighbor to prevent you from
satisfying your curiosity, if you have any. With this boy, I had plenty
of curiosity. What I saw wasn't in any way monstrous -- it's not like
people actually get hard when they take a leak, right? -- but it was in
every way just as pretty as the rest of him. Two or so inches poked out
from between his fingers as he let fly. I think I exhaled a bit too
forcefully as I saw it, because he turned his head toward me suddenly,
and I quickly refocused my gaze on the wall, where it properly belonged,
and tried to finish up without chubbing up.

He was right beside me again at the sinks, and made eye contact with me
in the mirror. "Hey," he said. "You like the show?" I reddened as I
reached for the soap dispenser.

"Excuse me?" I said.

He smiled then, just in one corner of his mouth. "I was talking about the
play, but maybe you were thinking about another show?" he asked, but he
didn't give me a chance to respond. "I hear if you're lucky, you can see
a show every day. Catch you later, man." With that, he left the restroom,
leaving me standing at the sink in a state of shock. What had just
happened?

I left the bathroom after a moment, not sure if that exchange was good,
terribly bad, or just a kid messing with my head. He was with a group of
his peers outside the auditorium doors, and his back was to me as I
walked past. Somehow he knew exactly where I was, because he turned to
walk across my path at just the right time to bump into me. "Sorry," he
mumbled as he continued on, but he pressed something into my hand as he
did so. A program for the play.

Without looking at it, I folded it over and shoved it in my pocket before
I reached my seat. I tried to concentrate on the play, but it was all a
blur after that. The crumpled program felt like it was burning a hole in
my pocket. Because it was dark, I wasn't able to sneak a glance during
the next act, and didn't actually risk taking a peek until we were home.
On it was scrawled a name with "IG" next to it. IG? What the hell did
that mean?

Ever the detective, I googled it. Instagram. He'd sent me his Instagram
address. I checked out his pics and then created an account, figuring he
wanted me to send him a message. I stressed about whether to put an
actual pic of me in the profile, but finally figured he wouldn't know who
I was otherwise. He was apparently a gymnast, because almost everything
he posted was a video of him or someone else doing something just a
little too fast for the camera to keep up. I couldn't figure out how to
send him a message, but finally discovered that you just couldn't do it
unless you use it from your phone. No wonder adults don't know what kids
are up to! Giving it some thought, I sent to him: "Hey man, guess I can
see a show every day after all. Cool vids."

If this kid was out to mess with me, I had given him ammo. I really,
really hoped that wasn't the case.

Within just a few minutes I got a response. "Thanks man. I've got a meet
Thursday in town. You should come."

Really? I thought. "Really?" I messaged.

"Really," he responded.

I was amazed. If Kody -- his Instagram revealed to me his name, finally
-- wanted to expose me, he would have probably tried to get me to meet
him somewhere. Same if he was actually looking for sex, which I very much
wanted to be the case, but it was still something I doubted. What hot
teen boy wants to do it with an adult? Inviting me to a public event to
cheer him on, though, puzzled me. What was this kid actually after?

I was really nervous, but in the end I decided to go to the meet. Having
never really been into the Olympics, I didn't realize just how amazing
gymnastics can be. After watching some girls on uneven bars and boys with
the rings, I got to see Kody compete with a tumbling floor routine. In
his singlet he was even more beautiful than I had realized, and he was
also incredibly agile and strong. When he was done he milled about with
team members waiting for the scores, and was clearly stoked when he won
first prize by just a small margin. That's when I approached him.

He saw me, smiled, and accepted my offered hand. "Nice job," I said.
"You're really good."

"Thanks," he said. "I didn't see that you were here. It's nice to have
someone cheering for me."

I looked around. "There's no one else?" I asked.

"Kids on the team, sure, but we're competing against each other too. My
dad's out of the picture, and my mom is usually working or doing
something with my little brother." He paused, then added, "You seemed
interested, which is why I asked. It's just nice to have someone
encourage me."

Dammit, I thought to myself. After being completely smitten by his hot
body, Kody had made a genuine connection which made me feel like a bit of
a turd. I smiled, and told him, "Any way I can help, I'd be glad to."

"My mom thinks I could use a man in my life," he said bluntly. "You want
to be that man?"

I looked at him a bit suspiciously. "What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"I don't know," he sighed, but clearly he did. "Come to meets, help me
shop for clothes, hang out."

"Your mom fine with this?" I asked.

"She doesn't care as long as I don't get into drugs."

"That's not going to happen with me," I said. We were quiet for a moment,
and then I asked, "Shop for clothes?"

He sighed. "Let's just say that I have some questions about the fit that
I don't want to ask my mom."

"Say no more," I replied. "I'm at your service."

Unexpectedly, he hugged me, and then just as quickly stopped. The echo of
his singlet-covered chest against me did not fade as quickly as the
actual contact. I smiled. "We can set up a shopping trip whenever you're
available," I told him.

That was apparently enough, because Kody messaged me later that evening
to schedule a trip to the mall together. His mother was happy to pay for
the clothes, but was apparently also just as happy not to make it awkward
by accompanying her teen son on the trip. I just hoped he wasn't looking
for fashion advice, because my closet made it clear I hadn't a clue
what's stylish at any age.

What he really wanted, it seemed, was an honest appraisal. He never
actually asked, "Do these jeans make me look fat?" but that was the sense
I got. Mind you, NOTHING could make this boy look fat. Kody was just a
supple package of teen boy athleticism wrapped in an eye-candy wrapper. I
complimented him freely once I realized how much he appreciated it, but I
stopped short of telling him he was sexy. In the back of my mind was the
fact that he'd caught me looking; the fact that he'd not mentioned it
simply left me unsure what he thought about it.

My confusion was only heightened by how he acted during that trip:
turning around to ask me about the fit in back, popping out wearing just
the jeans and no shirt to ask me if the waist was too high, and seeking
really specific advice about underpants styles. "I don't wear a jock when
I compete," he explained, because his routines didn't risk impact
injuries to the crotch. That said, Kody wanted underwear that didn't
either crush his privates or give them too much leeway to move around.

"What about when you're not competing?" I asked. "What are you wearing
right now, for instance?"

Flipping open the button on his jeans, he pulled out the waistband to a
pair of boxers with Tweetie on them. "Mom buys me stuff like this because
she thinks it's funny," he explained. "I actually like the cartoon
characters, but these get kinda uncomfortable, especially on hot days,
you know?"

I did, and I led him to the boxer-brief section. "I think these might
feel better," I said, handing him a package containing three striped
pairs, "and you might like the look more, too. Are these your size?" I'd
guessed a 29 waist, but he instead grabbed the same brand in a 26. "Wow,
I could probably fit my hands around your waist!" I told him with a
smile.

"You could try," he said, his tone of voice not giving me a hint if that
was a threat, a challenge, or a dare. Rather than think about it too
much, I led the way to the cashier.

Once we were in the car, I asked him if he had another stop in mind.
"Would it be cool to go to your place?" he asked. "I want a chance to try
out some of these outfits." It sounded reasonable, and as my wife was out
shopping with friends with plans to have dinner with them, I knew we
wouldn't be a nuisance.

"Want a drink?" I asked as I opened the front door.

"Sure, but first, where's the bathroom?" Kody replied. I pointed the way,
and off he went. I went to the kitchen and poured two lemonades.

Kody came up behind me and said, "Okay, first things first." I turned
around and almost dropped the drinks, because he was standing there
wearing only one of the new pairs of boxer briefs. He'd chosen the
purple-striped ones from the set, white with thin, horizontal stripes
that accentuated his genitals. "Do I look fat in these?" he asked,
turning around to allow me to see his ass. The purple lines hugged his
tight buns just as delightfully.

"People can call your ass many things, Kody, but fat is not one of them,"
I said.

He laughed as he turned back, allowing me to appreciate the V of muscle
leading down under the tight cotton. Setting down the glasses, I reached
out and traced a finger over his abs, which were well defined, down past
the flat expanse which housed his navel and stopping at the waistband.
Not a single hair interrupted its journey, nor any sign of razor stubble.

"I know one part that's gonna get fat if you leave your finger there," he
said.

"Do you want that?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Do you want another show, Justin?" I knew what he meant, and rather than
answer I just continued to trace my finger downward, hooking the elastic
and pulling it along the journey. What it revealed was a neatly-trimmed
bush of blond which sprouted about half an inch down. I picked up speed
as my knuckle traced through the hairs, both excited about what was to
come and afraid I'd lose my nerve if I didn't.

There was no smack against his taut belly, but as I whipped down his
underpants to his knees his penis was pulsing upward, rising with each
beat of his strong young heart, then relaxing a bit before filling with
still more blood. As Kody wriggled his only piece of clothing past his
knees and off his feet, it achieved full mast and stopped pulsing.

"Go ahead, look," he said, barely above a whisper. "Do whatever." He
wasn't looking me in the eye, so I lifted his face to mine.

"Whatever?" I asked.

"Whatever," he said, taking my hand and resting it on his hip.

If I'd had a chance to practice for this moment, I would have planned a
slow, sensual, teasing exploration of this boy's preternaturally
beautiful body. Instead, my hand latched onto his penis like a barnacle
to the hull of a ship. His sigh told me I didn't need to get fancier than
that, but his being naked did open up some possibilities. Giving his cock
a stroke, I leaned in and kissed his neck. Based on his response, this
was an erogenous zone with which he was unfamiliar.

Running my fingers up his body, I explored Kody's lean frame from the
triangle cut of muscle by his waist, up over the individual abdominals
which flexed and relaxed to my touch, and to the small, hard pectoral
muscles that framed nipples that seemed like they yearned to be kissed.
With but a gentle finger, I confirmed that they at least wanted to be
touched.

"I need to sit down," he said.

I led him by his penis, unwilling to let go of my prize, and sat him down
on the couch. Kody spread his legs and a I sank to my knees between them,
marveling as I caressed his silky inner thighs with my free hand. My
mouth watered at the contact with both his muscular legs and that
oh-so-important non-muscle between them. I could feel the pulsing warmth
of his manhood upon my lips as I touched them to its underside, kissing
towards the tip but ceasing my progress just as I reached the nether
portion of his spongy head. I waited there, lips slightly parted, until
our eyes met; at that moment I moistened lips and boy-flesh alike with my
tongue and slid my mouth over the end.

"Yes," he hissed.

Taking his balls gently in hand, I felt that some few hairs grew from the
scrotum as I caressed the warm skin. At the same time, I rolled his
frenulum across my lips and slowly explored it with my tongue. I began to
take him slowly into my mouth, just a lip's-width at a time before again
retreating; I wished to draw out this experience for both of us, and
based on the noises in Kody's throat he welcomed that.

Despite that plan, my mouth was lubricating his shaft and it was
consequently sliding into me with greater ease. At the same time, my
throat all but quivered with a desire to be filled by him. Before long,
my nose was nuzzling his soft thatch as I worked more and more feverishly
toward my goal. I wanted this boy's cock like a plant craves sun.

It was clear that the boy and I were on the same page.

Kody grunted and moaned, tossing his head from side to side as I worked.
He opened his legs wider; he clenched and unclenched his peerless abs. I
could swear his subtle musk intensified as I led him unerringly, albeit
slowly, to the climax he desperately sought. All the while he was a
perfect gentleman; either he'd never seen the many abusive blowjob videos
online, or he didn't think being a douchebag was sexy. In that, we also
were on the same page.

Finally, his sounds increased in pitch and intensity. Kody was not afraid
to express himself, which I adored. I took a deep breath, relaxed my
throat, and let his head slip that much farther into me. There wasn't
enough to exactly deep-throat, but the extra stimulation quickly led to a
feeling of warm fullness that I swallowed down as he pumped it out, again
and again.

As I pulled off I watched carefully to see how he'd react post-nut. I
continued to touch his body, and finally he took my hand to still it and
said, "I'm not actually into guys, but the way you look at me makes to
horny for some reason."

"It's all good, man. Dicks have their own ideas and care less about who
and more about what it feels like."

He laughed, then asked, "You think you could look at me again tomorrow?"

[the end]

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