Copyright, 2006 by Stephen Scott. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to Nifty Archives, to archive and display this work. All other uses are expressly forbidden unless explicit arrangement has been made with the author. This work may not be reproduced, posted, stored electronically, or archived, except for personal, non-public use, without the express written permission of the author.

I have a number of stories posted in the Nifty Archive

Encounters--The Bellhop and the Movie Star and Straight Boy Cody for Cash

Adult Youth--Fourth of July Fireworks and The Pool Cleaner's New Gig

Young Friends--After the Fireworks

Authoritarian--Number Twelve, His Private Stockade, Hustling a Hustler, All I Want for Christmas and Bicycle Butt

Beginnings--The Boy in the Alley and Playground Games

Incest--Stress Relief and Brother's Bad Report Card

Science Fiction or Fantasy--Lije Bailey's Perfect Love (Parts 1 and 2)

If you'd like to keep up with my stories as I post them, go to:

If you enjoy this story or any of my other stories, please drop me a line at (And a no-prize if you recognize that name!)

You can also read some true encounters on my blog:

Also some remembrances of boys I loved when I was young on my personal site:

(Look under "Biography")

Note: This is the sequel to The Chicken Run.

The Chicken Run Part Two:

Patrick's True Deflowering

By Stephen Scott

Dedicated to Patrick, my virtual-son, who inspires me, and who excites me beyond my experience...

The day after I met The Book Man was a Saturday. As quickly as I could, I logged on and checked my email, my heart racing. Would he answer? What would he say? Would he leave open the door to another meeting?

And there he was.

My fingers trembled on the mouse-pad. What if he said, "Thanks, kid, but we can't do that again"? Pussy! I cursed myself. Open the damn thing!

I read, with rising breath, the following:

"Dear sweet Patrick--

"I am somewhat at a loss for words this morning as I read your note, recall yesterday and contemplate the future. The uncertainties I expressed to you still hold. Having said that, however, you are welcome anytime. Here's my address and `phone number [Deleted here out of respect].

"Call me. I'm home almost every night and most of the weekends... such a busy social-life..."

"Your Scott"

I sighed deeply, my body finally relaxing, a potent reminder of just how tense I had been, waiting for his verdict. This was followed, naturally enough, by the appearance of a massive woody. I thought about shucking my pants and relieving the problem, but it occurred to me that I ought to wait until I found out whether he was home and available for the evening.

I logged off and dialed his number, my heart thudding steadily as I counted the rings.

One. Two. Come on, pick up! Three. Four. God damn it! Be home! The ringing stopped and his answering machine message kicked in. I waited for it to end and began my spiel, my voice shaking.

"Hi. It's Patrick." Sigh. "I was hoping you'd be in, but I guess I'll just have to leave--"


"--a mess--oh, hi! You're there!"

"Yeah. Sorry--I screen my calls."

"Oh. Cool." Christ, how lame!

"What are you up to, Patrick?"

"Nothin'. Just hoping you might be home this evening."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Pause: pregnant with meaning, as I read in a book once.

"Can I--um... Would it be okay if I came over? Like 7.00 or so?"

"I--uh--I would love that."

My sigh of relief could probably be heard down the block.

"Let me give you directions."

I wrote them down. I had a general idea where his house was.

"Ok. Um--I, uh, I'll s-see you then, then." You're a straight-A English student, and that's the best you can do? Idiot!

"See you then, babe."

I don't know why that little term of endearment struck me so hard, but I guess it had to be with feeling wanted, sensing his affection. My eyes got a little misty. I swallowed.

"See you at seven 'Bye!"


Oh boy.

It was eleven a.m. How the hell was I going to stand it for eight more hours??


Like I said before, when I'm running there is no past, no present, no thoughts except those involving the run itself.

I ran.

I ran to the park near my house. I ran over all the trails. I ran back home. I got in my car and drove to the high school. I ran the track. I came home. I was tired, but calmer. I was also very, very sweaty. It briefly occurred to me that Scott might like that, but my personal sense of hygiene took over and I showered. Thoroughly. Paying attention to every one of my 1,000 parts, as the stupid deodorant soap ad said.

When I was clean and dry again, I lay on my bed, picked up a Stephen King novel, started to read, and woke up four hours later. My eyes closed, I stretched, enjoying the slight burn and ache of my freshly stretched legs and thighs.

Then my eyes flew open. What the fuck time is it?? Oh my god! I grabbed the alarm clock, stared at the luminous dial, my heart thudding wildly. Phew! Five o'clock and all is well.

Oh, damn. I had to use the john. Oh, well. Two showers in one day wouldn't kill me, as Mom would say. Well, maybe I could wait `til after dinner.

Mom made stroganoff, one of my favorite dishes and one of her specialties. Her noodles were perfect, never under-or-overcooked, the steak so tender it melted into the delicious sauce. What a great way to start my evening!

Eating over I excused myself, went to the toilet and took my second shower. If I had thought about it I would have gone into my Mom's bath and borrowed her old enema kit. Oh, well. I was as clean as I could manage without major hygienic procedures.

I rolled on some of the Tai deodorant I liked--the kind that's a crystal and doesn't carry a chemical scent (or taste, I thought with a smile). I put on a T-shirt, a clean jockstrap and a pair of tight shorts that accentuated my shapely butt. Then I brushed my teeth until my gums tingled.

It was 6.45.

I bounded downstairs and told Mom I was going out to meet some friends and go to a 9.00 movie.

"Be back by midnight," she reminded me firmly.

"I will," I answered, kissing Mom on the cheek.

"Hey," she said, smiling, as I was heading for the door.

I stopped.

"Come here a sec."

I went to her. She was smiling gently. She took my face in her hands.

"I love you, you know."

I blushed a little.

"I know. I love you too."

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of soft, loving concern. Ever since Dad left for another woman, Mom had been just a little more protective of me. Not overbearing at all, and my heart filled with love for this nice woman who had been treated so badly by the man she'd pledged her life to.

"Just be happy, Patrick. That's all I want for you."

I tried not to raise an eyebrow. Sometimes I thought she knew a lot more than she let on, or than I ever told her.

"Thanks, Mom. I'll try my best!"

A minute later I was behind the wheel and on my way. I couldn't tell which was throbbing faster, my heart or my cock, which filled my jock, expanding as far as the medium-sized cup would allow. It was a little uncomfortable, but I knew it wouldn't be on me that much longer.

I found his house easily and pulled into the drive. I parked in the backyard, turned off the engine and sat for a moment, trying to make my breathing normal. I wiped my damp palms on a clean rag and willed my hands to stop shaking. Then I got out and went to the side door and knocked.

There was a storm door, a small utility area with a washer and dryer and a kitchen door on the right. It opened and Scott was in the doorway, smiling. He unlocked the storm door and I went into the kitchen with him. When the door was closed he wrapped his arms around me gently and held me to him. My hands gripped him and we stayed in that position for a long time. My head was pressed against his chest and I could feel his hard-on against my jock. I felt warm, and not just from erotic heat. I felt wanted and accepted, and it was comforting and sweet. I just held onto him, bathed in unaccustomed waters.

He let go and stepped back to look at me.

"I'm so glad you're here," he said, smiling tenderly.

"I'm so glad you want me here," I replied, my voice catching just a little.

He took my hand.

"Do you want anything? Water, or juice? I can make some coffee."

"No, I'm cool. Thank you."

We stood looking at each other shyly. I felt as uncertain as a virgin on his wedding night. Which was silly; he'd already seen me more or less naked. Seen me, touched me, and so much more.

"Do you want to talk a little bit? Or..."

"Or," I said brightly.

He laughed.

"God, Patrick. You're so beautiful."

I blushed.

"You're not so bad yourself, sir."

"You're sweet."

"You ought to know--you tasted me!"

I was giddy. Blurting out things to this man, things I couldn't quite believe I was even saying.

"And I want to taste you again."

I smiled slyly at him.

"Show me your house. Start with the bedroom."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"I'm 16. I'm impatient. It's built-in."

"Yeah. I remember what it was like. Okay, come on."

I followed him down the hall and into his bedroom. There were some bookcases and good-sized double bed.

He automatically turned the light-switch on, then turned it back off.

"No," I said. "Leave it on. I want to see... everything."

Without warning he pressed me against the door and kissed me, hard. I gripped him tightly and pulled him close. My left thigh was straddling his right leg, and I could feel his hardness against me. I reached down and placed the palm of my hand on his crotch. He moaned softly, thrusting his tongue into my mouth.

He gripped me tightly and pulled me away from the door to the bed. He fell slowly onto the mattress and I followed, our lips never breaking their seal. I lay atop him and caressed his arms and thighs as he cupped my butt with both hands. I moaned and squirmed under his assured touch, my hips rising to push against his.

I broke our kiss and sat up on his lap. His hard-on was pressed between my butt-cheeks. It felt right.

I knelt on the bed and he knelt in front of me. I pulled my T off over my head, then pushed him down onto his back. I was determined that, whatever happened and whatever else he did to and for me, I was going do for him what he'd done for me the day before, before he had a chance to do anything more for me. I licked, sucked and nibbled on him from his ears to his tits. His eyes were clamped tight and he moaned softly as he ran his fingers through my hair.

When my lips reached his jeans I undid the button and pulled down the zipper.

"Lift up," I whispered.

He raised his hips to allow me to pull his pants down to his ankles. When I placed my hand on the big bulge in his briefs he let out a gasp. There was a damp spot where his cock-head had nestled. I noticed that he listed to the left.

I lay on top of him again and searched his mouth with my tongue, grooving on the feel of our hard-ons rubbing together. He slipped his hands under the waistband of my shorts and felt for my butt.

"Mmmm," he murmured. "Jock-straps are so sexy."

"I think so," I smiled.

I sat back on his legs and placed my fingers under the elastic band of his shorts.

"Lift up again, `k?"

He raised his hips once more, and I slid his underpants down, freeing his hard man-cock. I stared at it in fixation. It was the first erection I'd ever seen up close that wasn't an accidental locker-room teen-cock boner or something in a photograph. The first I could stop and examine, touch, stroke, and love.

It was average-sized--I figured maybe 6 inches--with a nice, flared, helmet-shaped head and a nicely proportioned shaft. Not too wide, not too slim.

It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

It was thumping against his belly and I lifted it gently. At the touch of my fingers, Scott sucked in his breath. I smiled to myself. Thanks to him I now knew exactly what he was feeling.

I held the shaft in one hand, running my fingers up and down, from the head with its droplets of pre-cum at the tip to the base above his tight, fat balls. It felt hot in my fingers.

I scooted down a bit so I could lie on my belly. Then I placed my mouth on the head and kissed it. Scott squirmed and sighed. I breathed in the strong man-musk of his pubic area. It was a clean but heady scent, like sex distilled in aromatic form. It made me dizzy.

My tongue flicked at his piss-slit, tasting my first bit of pre-cum. It was unlike anything I'd ever had on my tongue. Slightly bitter, slightly sweet, like smoked almonds. I liked it. But then, I liked everything about the new erotic world I'd stumbled into.

I aped Scott's movements on me from yesterday, licking all over the head, under it, and up and down the shaft. I had him moaning and squirming his butt all over the bed and it thrilled me to know I could give this much pleasure to another guy with so little effort.

Not really knowing how to do it but figuring it was now or never, I took hold of the shaft and brought the head to my lips. I licked it until it was nice and wet and then slipped my mouth over it.

Scott yelped as my lips closed over his man-dick.

"Oh, Patrick..."

I couldn't quite get over the idea that I finally had a cock in my mouth. I knew my technique was fumbling and uncertain, but I hoped my enthusiasm would make up for the defects. I grazed his shaft gently with my lower front teeth and his body shuddered. With no chance to perfect my gag-reflex I doubted I'd be able to deep-throat him the way he'd done me, but I took it in as far as I could without choking. I bobbed up and down, taking it in and slowly releasing it again. With touching concern for my inexperience, Scott refrained from bucking his hips to fuck my face, so I gave him as good a blowjob as my virgin mouth could accomplish.

After a bit he withdrew his wet man-dick from my lips, pulled me on top of him, and kissed me deeply.

"I don't want to cum yet," he said between kisses.

"Will you cum up my ass if I can take it?"

He seemed astonished that I would ask such a thing.

"Are you--are you sure about this, Patrick?"

"Yeah, I am. I mean it. I want you to fuck me. Take the rest of my virginity, Scotty."

"Well, if we go slowly..."

"As slow as you want. As long as it takes. I don't have to be home `til midnight," I said, kissing his lips. "But first," I smiled, moving off his body, "I want to see your butt."

He rolled over onto his belly and I straddled his thighs, staring down at his hot masculine ass. It was round and lightly hairy. I leaned down to kiss his shoulders and back, sliding my tongue down to the base of his spine.

"Hey," he said suddenly. His body was tense under my tongue.


"Look--you might want to... you know..."

"Lick your asshole? Yeah, I do."

"Don't. Okay? I have chronic hemorrhoids. It wouldn't be pleasant for you."

I sighed.

"I mean it. Don't. Please?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I promise."

I was damned, though, if I wasn't going to do everything short of rimming him!

I let my tongue trace the contours of his cute ass, pausing now and then to kiss and playfully nip his buns. My tongue traversed both cheeks and the cleft between them. I spread them with my hands and flicked the tip inside the warm crevice before reluctantly leaving off.

I lay on his back, nestling my crotch between those sweet cheeks and we rocked gently together. Occasionally he flexed his glutes, squeezing my trapped stiffy between his cheeks.

"Mmmmmmmmm..." I purred.

"Why don't you take that jockstrap off and stay awhile?" he laughed.

"'Cause I want you to watch while I do it."

"Anytime, anyplace."

I rolled over and sat up. He moved me slightly, so that my back was against the headboard. Then he scooted back and sat below my feet, waiting.

I felt a delicious thrill. When he stripped me the day before, I loved the feeling of being slowly stripped by a man with experience who unwrapped me like a Christmas present. Now I was in control, and it was intoxicating. I was suddenly a stripper, ready to unveil my body little by little, working to turn my on my audience of one. I could tell it excited him too, and that was the last delicious little kick.

I started with my T-shirt, lifting it slowly up my flat, hairless belly, then revealing my chest before slipping it over my head and tossing it aside. Emboldened, I ran my hands along my exposed flesh, gyrating my hips slightly, in time to music only I could hear. When I got to my chest I began to play with my nipples, twisting them slightly as they grew rigid beneath my fingertips.

I stared directly in his eyes, which were fixed on mine, urging me on. It electrified me, having this man as a captive audience to my showy little strip tease. It spurred me to make an even bigger show.

I've never seen a stripper, but some weird sort of instinct told me what to do. Still moving my hips around, I spread my thighs and ran my hands up and down my trim, hair-dusted legs. Then I moved them up to my crotch, stroking myself and moaning.

His eyes were shining brightly as he stared at me.

I cupped my balls, ran my palms along my crotch and concentrated both hands on my cock. My head was thrown back, my eyes shut, and long, low moans issued from my wet, open lips.

I didn't know who was more turned-on, him or me.

I turned my back to him, shoving my butt out. I cupped my ass and moved my hands, making the pliant butt-cheeks roll under my palms. Then I put my hands under the elastic band of my shorts and moved it down a bit, then back up. I continued this teasing procedure repeatedly, exposing just a little bit more flesh and jockstrap each time.

Finally, when I had my pants about halfway down, exposing the upper cheeks, I turned around again to face him. Despite the role-playing nature of the whole thing, his eyes were wide, as though in amazement and pure lust. I'm not sure about the first, but the second was definitely part of his stare. His cock was standing straight up from his crotch, and throbbing.

I rolled the band of my shorts down, down, down in front, revealing more and more of the white cup beneath. One of the things I find sexy about a jock is the way your thick pubic bush spreads out from the cup. It's like a small taste of what's underneath.

When the band was past the cup I tucked it under my balls, continuing to grind my hips. Then I turned my back again and slid my shorts down past my cheeks. Thrusting my hips back, I shoved my shorts down to my knees and displayed my butt, naked except for the straps of my jock. I continued to sway and gyrate, spreading my cheeks apart with my hands and pushing them back together. Then I stopped, bent over and spread them wide, exposing my moist, sweaty little teen-hole.

"Like what you see, mister?" I teased.

"Y--yes," he rasped.

I turned into a right-sided profile. Then I brought my right hand away from my butt and toward my mouth. I licked it, slowly and lasciviously, then sucked it into my mouth, getting it slick with spit. Then I turned back, shoved out my butt and drew my wet index finger toward the center. I glanced it against my hairless hole, pushing it up and down the pucker until it was slick with saliva.

While I was doing this, I had stopped swallowing so that I could collect as much spit as possible. I turned my head in silhouette, raised my finger to my mouth again and re-inserted it, lubed it up, slid it against my glistening asshole and began working it inside my boy-pussy, relaxing my butt-lips, pushing them out and taking my fingertip inside.

For several months I had been playing with my hole, trying to get used to penetration against the hope that one day I'd have something up there more substantial than my fingers. So this wasn't the first time I'd inserted a digit or two, and my index finger slid it easily. I started moving it in and out, slowly at first, then faster, moaning loudly the entire time, like a whore pretending to be in heat.

"Christ, Patrick," Scott breathed raspily.

"Turning you on, mister?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

I removed my finger, enjoying the sensual feel of my boy-cunt closing and my sphincter snapping shut again. I turned profile once more, this time licking and sucking two fingers, which I immediately stuck up my ass.

It wasn't long before both fingers were moving in and out rapidly. I pushed them in as deep as my restrictive position would allow.

Scott gasped.

My moans were no longer play-acting; I had never been so turned-on in my young life.

Before long my arm ached and my back was getting a cramp, so I stood up, shoved my shorts over my ankles and stepped out of them. Then I turned around to face him. He was stroking his dick slowly but intensely. I could tell he never expected this little show, probably couldn't have even imagined it.

My boy-cock was straining under the jock, and it was now very uncomfortable, especially as the cup was pulling at my pubic hair. I slowly pushed it down and my aching teen-dick popped out, the head slick with pre-cum. I gripped the shaft and slowly stroked it from base to tip with one hand, caressing and pulling on my balls with the other. My eyes were closed, my breath rapid and elongated.


My eyes flew open and my hands froze.

"Stop, baby. Please."

I stared at him, wondering what the problem was. His eyes were pleading.

"No more teasing. I want you in my arms."

I kicked the jock away and practically flew to the bed. Our bodies rubbed together, our hands reached for swaths of flesh to caress, and our lips met in the most passionate kiss yet.

When the kiss broke and smiled and ran his hands through my hair.

"With a technique like that, you could make a lot of money as a stripper. You'd drive every man in the joint crazy."

"You really liked that?"

He grinned a sloppy, crooked smile.

"As much as you enjoyed doing it."

I blushed.

"It must be you. I've never even thought about doing anything like that before!"

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.


His hands were cupping my butt-cheeks and one finger slipped between them. My hole was still slick with my own saliva, and he tickled it with his fingertip.

I moved my ass in rhythm to his finger's gentle movements, completely gone.

"I really do want you to fuck me."

"I know."

"Fuck me. Please. Fuck me, Scotty."

I half expected an argument. Instead, his fingertip slipped inside me.

I gasped and he stopped, his eyes searching my face with concern.

"I'm fine. That was pleasure. Keep going."

His finger moved in deeper, and he used the tip to swab my rectum, relaxing the tight ring of muscle. I sighed, pushing back with my hips, urging him on and moaning softly.

"Kiss my hole, Scotty," I sighed. "Lick it. Shove your tongue up there. Get me ready."

He kissed me deeply.

"Okay. Get off me a second."

I did as I was told. Fuck--I was putty in his hands and he knew it.

He moved down on the bed, removing his head from the pillow.

"Turn around, with your back to me. Great. Now, straddle me. Good. Get on your knees. Okay. Now lower your butt over my face."

I complied, and felt his hands spreading my cheeks apart as my ass came closer to his face. He moved a bit, so that his nose was out of the way, and pulled my butt over his mouth. My balls rested on his chin. My cock was harder than it had ever been.

He kissed the soft, sensitive area around my anus, making me moan. Then he licked at it, and my body shuddered. His tongue lapped gently and without pause, his saliva slicking-up the soft ribbony flesh. My eyes were clamped tight and I luxuriated in the incredibly sensual rush of feelings coursing through my butt. This was my second rimming in as many days, and I was definitely an addict.

Then, without warning or preamble, his tongue shot straight up my ass.

I nearly screamed from the sudden pleasure.

As my brain settled into something like normalcy, I understood the advantage of this position: it allowed him complete access to my boy-cunt, without my cheeks getting in the way of his tongue.

He pushed in hard, his tongue reaching previously untouched depths, then slid out, moving into a rapid rhythm. Tongue-fucking my cherry ass and driving me wild with sexual joy. I began to hump my butt back at him, desperate to get more of his expert tongue up my wet, quivering hole.

After several minutes of this exquisitely pleasurable activity, he pulled his mouth away, pausing to kiss my butthole and my cheeks.

"Move down just a bit, okay?"

I tried to say yes but all that came out of me was a heated-up moan.

When I was in position he slid his finger back up my twitching pucker, finger-fucking me without mercy. I was humping back and moaning, my breath coming in jagged rasps.

"Ready for another, Patrick?"


Now there were two manly fingers sliding in and out of my slick boy-twat. My hole was pleasantly stretched, the dozens of nerves in my anus sending jolts of carnal ecstasy through my body and out the head of my now seriously leaking cock.

"I can't... I can't... take much more, Scotty! I'll... I'll cum... soon... if you don't... Oh!"

He had hit my prostate.

The electric shock of it made my asshole spasm and clench, clamping down on his fingers.

"Oh--oh, god! Oh! Unnnnnnnnn!" When I finally caught my breath I all but shouted. "Stop, stop, don't, no more or I'll shoot!"

He laughed.

"Okay, baby. Okay."

He slowly withdrew and my sphincter clamped and released, clamped and released on his fingers until they were completely out. My entire body was wracked with a shuddering sigh.

He waited until I had recovered, then gently rolled me off him and onto my back, my head resting against the pillows below the headboard. He spread my thighs and reached for a small cloth overnight kit on his side-table. It was already unzipped, and he quickly withdrew a condom packet and a small bottle of K-Y.

I stared up at him, eyes wet, mouth open, cock hard, asshole twitching.

I wanted this soooooo bad.

He tore open the foil wrapper and swiftly sheathed his rigid dick, then squirted a healthy glob of K-Y on his fingers and moved them toward my dilated asshole.

The goo felt cool as it made contact, and I sucked in my breath. But it warmed quickly as he pushed it inside me, using two fingers.

I lay my head back, my eyes closed in bliss. This. Was. Fan. Tast-ic.

When he felt I was greasy enough he pulled out again and I could hear him squirt more goo. The sound that came next was unmistakable: the squishsquish of his fist spreading the lubricant over his condom-clad dick.

I opened my eyes to see him wiping his hands with a small towel, gazing down on my thoroughly aroused body with a mix of lust and genuine sentiment.

He took hold of my legs and lifted them up, moving in and resting my feet on his shoulders.

"Are you ready, baby?"

His look was so full of concern and sweet emotion I could only smile as my heart filled with something I could only think of as love for this kind, gentle man about to take my hand and propel me into complete sexual maturity.

I gazed deeply into his eyes.

"Fuck me," was all I said.

He moved forward and I felt the first kiss of his gooey dick-head against my teen-hole. He pressed forward slightly, just enough to allow the tip of to penetrate. It was hard, and unfamiliar, this object pressing against my virgin hole.

My ass-lips parted wide, urging him on.

His forward press was slow, easy, and heartbreakingly tender. He fed me the bullet-head of his glans gradually, without hurry or thought for his own mounting excitement. It felt weird at first--not uncomfortable, just foreign. Something that large, and solid (even if it is fleshy and flexible) going into your hole for the first time isn't like any other sensation you've ever had. But the slick, sexy feel of it against my wet anal muscles was intensely erotic. With each millimeter of hard cock-flesh my asshole became more relaxed, and I concentrated on the amazing array of sensual feelings emanating from my anal region, all of which seemed to end in the tip of my wet, oozing dick.

I felt the widest part of the head moving inside and knew this would be the moment of truth. If I couldn't take this, if it hurt, the game was, if not over, at least called on account of rain.

Suddenly, it popped past the tight anal ring and was inside.

"Oh, god, Scotty..."

"No pain?" he asked with real concern.

"None. You... you're so... good."

"That was the hard part, honey. The rest is a breeze."

"Do it. Please."

He pushed forward and the shaft began to follow, sliding slowly inside and upward, as easily as if it had been cast from a mold of my anal canal.

I sighed. It was wonderful. My rectum felt full, deliciously sensitive to every twitch and slight movement pf the hard cock inside it. It felt like my butt was on fire--not painful, not at all--more like it was sending electric sparks through my ass, around my balls and out the head of my excited cock.

All of my feeling was concentrated in my anus, my cock, and my roiling balls, which were tight against my skin.

He leaned his head in to mine and kissed me. My mouth opened and I responded.

"You feel so sweet, Patrick. You feel... right. Somehow."

His thick bush was nestled against my hole, and I could feel his fat balls on my butt-cheeks.

I felt faint. I had a cock in my butt. The head was deep up inside me. It was the fulfillment of every erotic fantasy I'd ever had.

My eyes were closed in bliss. I breathed deeply, let it out, opened my eyes and stared directly into his.

"Fuck me, Scotty. Fuck me now."

He kissed me softly, arched his back, and pulled away. I could feel his shaft sliding out of my clenching hole, a sensual experience unlike any I'd imagined. Then he pushed forward again, and the feeling redoubled.

I'd wanted this for so long. Dreamed of it. Hoped. Now, here, it was happening, and it exceeded every shred of anticipation I had conjured.

My head rolled from side to side and my voice repeated the same phrase, over and over.

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, yeah, Scotty--fuck me."

His rhythm was slow at first, but began to gain momentum. I pushed to meet his forward thrusts, and moved my ass back as he withdrew. My dick tingled.

He stunned me by pulling almost all the way out, leaving only the head inside me. He held it there for an endless moment. Teasing me. Making ne shiver. Then plunged back inside, going deep, glancing off my prostate. Making me moan with pure erotic contentment.

He repeated this once more, and when his cock speared me deep again, his rhythm altered and his thrusts became faster, gradually increasing in speed, depth and urgency.

He was building to his climax, and from the way my prostate was buzzing and my dick was twitching, I knew I was going to get there ahead of him.

He planted his mouth on mine and he stabbed upward.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I came.

My teen-hole spasmed on his shaft as my cock spurted, over and over, sending squirt after squirt of hot boy-cream sailing up my belly, onto my chest, and onto my chin.

I don't think I screamed, but I might have.

I felt his body tense and he jabbed into me, hard, one last time. He arced his back, gasped and groaned, and came for what seemed like hours.

Spent, he lowered my legs and fell on me, still connected, kissing my face, my eyes, my brows, my ears, my chin, my nose, my lips, and moaning, "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick..."

I reached for his had and held it in both hands, breathlessly intoning his name.

"Scott. Oh, god, Scott. Oh! Scotty..."

We lay still for some time, his softening cock still comfortably inside me.

I wanted it to stay there forever.

Finally, running my fingers along his sweat-soaked spine, I murmured, "Do you know what you've just done for me?"

He smiled.

"I think I just deflowered you, love-bug."

I stared him straight in the eyes, my voice as solemn as my face must have been.

"No. You gave me... everything. You made me feel something I've never felt before. Not the fucking, although, yeah, I guess that too. But mostly... you made me feel wanted." I looked away. "Look. My dad left me and Mom last year. Found some younger woman and moved out. She has kids--younger kids. And now she's pregnant." I looked back into his eyes. "Do you understand? He's made a new family. He doesn't need his old one. I'm... I'm the fifth-wheel, Scotty. Oh, yeah, I know he cares. But not enough. Not nearly a-god-damned-nough. You... with you, it's different. You like me for me. I think maybe more than like?"

He nodded, silent and solemn.

"You give me something no one else has ever given me. I don't... I... I'm making a mess of this."

"No. No, you're not."

His eyes looked moist.

Mine were welling up. I was stunned by my outburst. I had thought about my situation, and my Mom's, over the last year, but I don't think I realized until that moment how angry I was at my dad and how much his defection from the family had hurt. It all came pouring out of me in a way I couldn't have begun to express to a friend, or my mother, or even a shrink if I'd had one.

"I don't need another friend," I said. "I've got friends. None too close, but I want it that way. What I need is... shit. I can't... seem to be able to express it."

"You mean a dad?"

He wasn't smiling. There was no sense of humoring the stupid high-school kid. I thought he understood.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

He moved his hips a bit, and slid out. I sighed, missing him.

"Would it make you feel old if... I mean, could I... could I call you Daddy?"

There was a long silence. I closed my eyes, sure I'd fucked it up. Gone too far. Fucking ruined it.

"Patrick," he said at last, touching my face with tenderness. "I would be so proud."

I opened my eyes and stared at him.

"You mean it?"

"I mean it. I would be so fucking proud for you to think of me like that. I would be so proud to have a son like you."

I grabbed his hand and kissed the palm.

He held me.

And then, oh boy did I cry.

He let me. Never said a word, just held me tightly as I poured out a year's worth of agony, rage, frustration and thwarted love. And when it was over and I calmed down again, my chest no longer heaving with those wracking sobs, he kissed the tears from my cheeks and my eyes, and when he was done and moved to mouth, I could taste the salt on his lips and tongue.

We talked softly for a long time. About everything. Ourselves, each other. He lay on his back and I snuggled against him, my cheek on his chest, my body warmed by his. We were both aroused, and my cock thumpthumped against his thigh, but we didn't do anything more that night. Being 16 I probably could have come at least a couple more times, but I was absolutely spent, emotionally and physically. I think he was too.

"Can I tell you something silly?" he asked, stroking my chest.


"Have you ever heard the term `chicken'?"

"Only for poultry."

"Chicken is under-age tail, to be vulgar about it."

"Like mine, which you just deflowered."

He pinched my left tit.


"Be polite, son."

"Well, when your track team runs by I call it The Chicken Run."

I laughed.

"I like that."

"Yeah, well--just don't repeat it!"

I asked him why he left his shirt on while we made love. I could see he had a belly, but it didn't bother me. It bugged him, though. He was sensitive about it.

"Up to the time I was 25 or so, I was thin like you. When my metabolism changed, I got into the bad habit of not paying attention. Now instead of no chest, I've got sagging tits. So I don't show my upper body."

"Well, yeah, you could lose some weight. We can work on that if you want to. But you don't have to cover up with me."

He took my hand in his and kissed my palm.

"You're sweet."

He glanced at the clock by his bedside, kissed me and said, "It's 10.30, Patrick. You need to get a shower and get home."

I got up. We went into the hallway and Scott opened the airing cupboard to find me a clean towel, which he handed to me.

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

He put his hand on my shoulder. I turned toward him and he grabbed me, holding me tight against him.

His head was against my shoulder, and he whispered: "Patrick, if I don't see you again soon it'll kill me."

I leaned back a bit and looked into his eyes.

"Do you think you could ever learn to love a kid like me?"

He looked a little shaken. Was this a question it was too soon to ask?

"Loving you would be all too easy, Patrick. It's everything else that's going to be hard."

I wasn't sure what he meant.

"Take your shower and we'll talk about it."

His bathroom smelled like him, and I breathed the lingering scent deeply as I regulated the water to the right temperature. I luxuriated in the warm water from the showerhead; it was like a benediction, a final blessing on the union we had just created.

Using his soap was another way of connecting myself to him. He used sandalwood, a smell I love, and I suddenly recognized it as the scent of his body. Now I would smell like him too. It made me hard all over again, a situation that only got worse when I began to gently scrub the lubricant out of my boy-hole. I stopped washing and pushed my index finger in, fucked myself for a minute and stroked my hard-on, then remembered what time it was and reluctantly withdrew to finish cleaning.

I dried my hair and toweled off. Wrapping the big fluffy towel around my waist I came out and went into the living room. Scott had gotten dressed again and was sitting on the sofa, doing a crossword puzzle.

He looked up and smiled.

"Take off your towel, Patrick."

"But we don't have time--"

He smiled, shaking his head.

"You'll dry faster."

"Oh." I grinned and let it drop to the floor. I was fully erect.

He looked me up and down, met my eyes, and raised an eyebrow.

"Trying to make me crazy?"

"If I can."

"You don't have to try."

He patted the cushion next to his. I sat down and leaned my body against his. He put his arms around me and I laid my head on his chest. He looked at his watch.

"It's 11.00. You're going to have to beat it soon. So to speak."

I giggled and he laughed with me. I loved the way his laughter shook his chest, making a slightly muffled sound in my ear.

"What did you mean before? About everything being hard?"

He sighed, his chest rising and falling against my cheek. I snuggled in closer. I loved this feeling. This... intimacy.

It didn't last, though.

He took his arms away and turned my head to face his.

"If you were just two little years older, Patrick, it would be so much easier. As it is... well, you're going to have to do a lot of sneaking around. Lie to your mother. And I'm going to risk jail every time I touch you. If this is the start of what I think it might be, we're both going to have to bear the burden of being in love and not being able to tell a living soul about it. We won't be able to go out to a movie, or to eat, or take a walk together. I'm okay, but you can't risk being seen with me. If you are, people will ask questions. Your friends, anyone you know at school... So we have to ask ourselves: are we ready for this? Can we keep this secret? Do we trust each other? If you get angry, or tire of me, or start to hate me--"

"I wouldn't--"

"You don't know that, Patrick. If it goes wrong... if I hurt you... will you still keep quiet? You could do me a lot of harm, you know."

I was definitely not hard any longer.

"Well, what about me?"

"I'm getting to that. I could fuck you up for the rest of your life, you know. If this goes wrong... Look. When I was your age, I was madly in love with my best friend. He was gay, too, but that didn't mean he was in love with me. And that didn't stop him from having sex with me. Patrick, it took me years to get over that. First love, teen-aged love... it may be the most passionate experience of your entire life, just because it happens when it happens. At your age... teenagers can be more emotionally involved with someone... it can be so strong... love, I mean. You stop thinking right. You become obsessed. Your emotions are as your hormones. If I harmed you, emotionally, or if you even thought I did--it could scar you. Scar you badly. And I don't want to be responsible for that. Forget the legal ramifications. The guilt would kill me."

I looked at the floor. My lower lip trembled. Was he ending this... this heaven... before it could even begin?

He put his hand under my chin, lifting my face toward his and holding my eyes with his.

"It's up to you, Patrick. It's your choice. You know the possible dangers. I can't make this decision for you. If you walk out of here tonight and I never see you again, it's going to hurt like hell. But if you come back, if you really want what's starting to happen between us to grow, it's going to be very, very hard."

He smiled, a little sadly.

"We're fucked either way, baby. I am, anyway. Because the longer you stay here, the more I want you. Not just with your body, but you."

I nodded.

"Do you want to give it some time? Think about it for a few days?"

I shook my head.

"I don't have to think about it. I know what I want. What I need. It's you. And the rest of it... well, we'll just have to face whatever happens if it happens."

He looked both relieved, and troubled.

"Was that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yeah," he said wistfully. "It was. But it wasn't, at the same time. Do you know what I mean by that?"

"I think so. It would be easier for you if I never came back. Right?"

He nodded.

"Easier--but not better."

He kissed my lips softly.

"Now get your cute little butt back in that jockstrap and get out of here."

I scooted off to the bedroom and dressed quickly. I was scared, but happy.

"When do you want me to come by tomorrow?" I asked as I came back into the living room.

"I don't know. When's good for you?"

"Anytime, really. Noon?"

"Give me `til two, okay? I may sleep in a bit. Or call me. You have your own `phone?"

"Yeah. I'll call."

He looked at me oddly, excused himself, and went into his office. When he came back he was carrying a small porcelain figure.

"I want you to have this. I have two of them, for some reason. It's something that I've always loved."

He held it out. It was a little figure of Jiminy Cricket. I took it. I held it up, fingered it, looked at it from all angles.

"It's cute. Thanks."

"Pinocchio is one of my favorite movies."

"Yeah--I noticed."

There was a large poster of the movie hanging on the wall beside his entertainment center.

"Jiminy Cricket... he represents something important to me. Truth, and hope, and the need for conscientiousness. Doing the right thing. He's kind of a... a talisman for me."

"I understand. I do. Thank you. I'll treasure it." Damn it, my eyes were welling up again. I cleared my throat. "I mean that, too."

"I know you do."

We walked to the kitchen door and stopped, facing each other.

"No more hugging, or I'll get excited and you'll never get home on time."

I kissed his quickly, touched his face, and opened the door. When I was in the utility area, I stopped and looked back.

"See you tomorrow..." My face burned and I smiled, shyly. "Daddy."

"Tomorrow... son."

He closed the door.

I held Jiminy in my hands and caressed him. I'd have to figure out some way to attach him to my dashboard.

The drive home was like being on autopilot. My mind replayed every sight, every sound and smell, every touch we made and every word we spoke. By the time I drove up to the house I had to sit in my car for a minute, to collect my emotions... and to will my hard-on to go away.

Mom wasn't waiting up, exactly. She didn't do that. But she was a night owl, and whenever I got in late, she was always there. Working on something for her business, writing in her journal, clacking away at her keyboard.

She looked up as I came in, and called out a greeting.

"Have a nice night?"

I looked at her. There was so much I couldn't tell her. I felt a slight pang, and understood that this was the beginning of the difficulties--the pain--Scott had warned me about.

I love my mother. I hate lying to her. She's had enough deceit in her life.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"That's good."

"Are you going up to bed soon?"

"Oh," she gestured absent-mindedly at the papers around her. "Probably not. Why?"

"Just wondering." I kissed her cheek. "'night, Mom."

"Goodnight, Patrick."

I went up to my room, shucked my shoes and socks, removed my shorts and T-shirt, and fell into bed. The jock felt incredibly sexy, and my hard-on returned. I pulled it off and started stroking my cock. The fingers of my free hand slipped between my butt-cheeks. I felt Scott's cock there, pressing against my boy-cunt. My index finger started to push in, and I stopped.

Why should I bother? I thought. If I wait `til tomorrow, I can have the real thing in there.

But I jacked off anyway.

What can you expect? After all... I'm only 16!