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--Playground Games and The Boy in the Alley

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 (Parts 1 and 2)

The Chicken Run Part Three

The Next Plateau

By Stephen Scott

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

I slept more soundly and easily than I thought I would. Gee, I guess I was worn out or something...

When I woke Sunday morning, however, I was immediately smacked in the face by a rush of memory and emotion from the night before. I saw Scott's face in my mind's eye and my heart beat faster. I'd never been in love before--lust, yeah, a lot, and some puppy-love-type crushes. This was different. It was dizzying. My body felt hot and uncomfortable. There was a smile on my lips I had to remember to keep hidden from my mother. My morning shower became a test of my will; I wanted to jack off to my memories but I also wanted to wait, to give everything to him. I still stroked myself, paying a lot of attention to soaping up my cock, my balls, my ass...

I bolted breakfast, making my mother smile.

"You've certainly had an appetite since you joined the team."

I nodded in agreement.

"I'm a growin' boy, Mom!"

She touched my cheek fondly.

"I know. And part of me hates it."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll be grown and off to college before I have time to enjoy your company enough. Then... You don't know how it feels. You can't. I don't know whether fathers feel the same thing..." She snorted in derision. "Good fathers, I mean. I doubt it. I think it's something only a mother understands. Maybe if men carried their children for nine months inside their bodies they could appreciate what a mother feels. You look at your son in his crib, and when you look at him again he's running around the neighborhood on his bicycle. You turn around and he's 12. Then 16. Then he's away from home for the first time. And the next time you look he's a man, and he's gone, and he's not coming back."

She got up from the table, looking sheepish.

"Oh, I'm a fool," she sighed.

"No, you're not."

She turned and leaned against the sink, sipping a cup of coffee.

"It's hard for me, you know. When your father was still around, it didn't bother me as much, because I always thought he'd be here, even when you weren't. Now..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"No. Not yet. But you will."

"Gosh, Mom--I'm going to school right here in town. I'll probably be living here the whole time I'm in college, right?"

"Right. But time... It passes more quickly when you're older. You'll find that out someday." She walked back to the table and ruffled my hair affectionately. "But not too soon, I hope." She took up the Sunday paper and went toward the living room. "You going out this afternoon?"

"Yeah. Gonna run a little, maybe see some friends after."

"Okay. Home for dinner?"

"Mmmm--not sure. Can I call you?"

"That'll be fine."

She settled onto the sofa with her coffee and her paper and I looked at my watch. Only eleven. Well, he said I could call.

I brushed my teeth, said goodbye to Mom, and sped off. I drove to the high school, partly to give myself a good alibi in case anyone was there and could say they say me and partly to have a spot to sit and talk to him on my cell.

It rang four times before the answering machine clicked on. I waited for the message.

"Hi, Daddy. It's me. You awake yet?"

There was a click, and he was there.

My heart raced and my mouth suddenly felt dry.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice sexy in its sleepiness.

"You been awake long?"

"A little. Just having some coffee. Where are you?"

"At the school. I was thinking I might run a few laps. Would that give you enough time to get ready?"

"Yeah, I think so." There was a pause. "Is there, uh... do you have access to a shower there after you run?"

"Yeah. I'll take one before I leave here."

"Don't. I want you to smell the way you smell after you run." Another pause. "I want to smell you like that."

My face flushed. My cock stirred.

"That's hot, Daddy," I whispered. "That's so... sexy."

"I think so."

"Okay. I'm going to run now. See you in a little while."

"I'll be watching the clock." He paused again. "Patrick, I... you make me happy." He cleared his throat. His voice sounded a little teary. "I haven't been happy in a long time. I haven't looked forward to anything in a long time. I think of you every waking minute. I went to sleep thinking of you, and I woke up the same way." Seconds ticked by. "I'm not used to this. It's nice, though. I think I... Oh, hell. I'm being an idiot."

The second time today an adult disparaged feelings of love and emotion.

"No. No, you're not."

"I'll see you soon. Don't change anything about yourself. Don't shower or comb your hair or wipe down your sweat. I want you the way you are, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy. See you soon."

I close my phone and put it in the glove-box.

Then I ran.

I ran like someone possessed. And for the first time in my experience, the physical act of running didn't block things out. Also for the first time, I didn't want it to. I wanted to feel exactly what I was feeling. I wanted to see his face, his body, his sex before me. I wanted to play the film in my head called Saturday Night Virgin, to re-experience every exquisite sexual pleasure he'd given me.

I ran for 30 or 40 minutes. I didn't see anyone on campus. When I'd had enough I walked to the car, acutely aware of the sweat pouring off me and the growing smell of it. Not unpleasant at all--I didn't stink. And it would please him. It would turn him on. And that would turn me on.

Ten minutes later I was on his back doorstep. I went into the utility area and knocked. He was there in an instant, opening the door, pulling me in by my hand and wrapping his arms around me.

"I'm so happy to see you, son."

We stood there, holding each other, feeling our cocks growing and pressing against each other's flesh. I could stand here like this forever, I thought.

"I missed you, Daddy."

"I missed you too. God!"

We kissed. Hard. Passionately.

He put his face against me and breathed deeply.

"You smell good." He looked at me. "Clean boy-sweat. It's hot. It smells like... hmm... youth. Exertion. Sex."


He looked puzzled.

"Sex. Yes. Now, please."

He laughed.

"I've created an addict."

"Yeah, you have. So let's get our fix."

He smacked my butt.

"You know where it is, baby."

I practically ran to the bedroom, dragging him along by the hand.

We stood together, kissing and running our hands across each other's bodies. Arms, shoulders, waists, thighs... crotches. My shorts would have tented if I hadn't been wearing my jock. His jeans had a definite bulge.

"I want you," I whispered. "I want you so bad, Daddy."

"I want you too, son. You don't know how much."

He pressed his face against my shirt, breathing deeply. He lifted it up and off my head and buried his nose in my right armpit.

"God, that's sexy. You smell soooooo nice."

He licked my underarm. I don't have much hair there, which I was glad of. I didn't want his tongue covered with it.

It felt incredibly hot, this man worshipping my sweat-scented body.

He nuzzled my left pit, smelling it, licking it.

"I could smell you all day..."

He kissed my nipples. They were already hard, but under his touch they became really stiff.

He knelt in front of me and palmed my cock. It jumped in its cup and I moaned softly. He pressed his face against my crotch and breathed deeply again.

"This is where it gets really funky," he said, smiling up at me. "Hot crotch-scent!"

I giggled.

He put his hands under the elastic band, one in front and one behind, and yanked down my shorts. Immediately, his warm breath was on my cup and his hands were on my ass.

"Mmmmmm. You make me so hot, baby."

His mouth opened around the cup and he sucked me through the cloth, making my legs go weak.


His fingers moved under the waistband of the jockstrap and pulled it down in back. His fingers pressed into the crack between my butt-cheeks. His hot breath continued to stir my cock. My balls had drawn up tight.

Finally he freed my dick from its cotton prison.

He breathed in the smell of my sweaty sex organs.

"Christ, Patrick! If you only knew how good you smell..."

He moved around behind me and pushed me forward so I was leaning with my palms flat on his mattress. He spread my buns and pushed his nose between them.

"Everything smells so good. Clean but funky at the same time."

His tongue flicked out and lapped my hole. Then he rose and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His dick was hard against my butt.

"I don't know why that's such a turn-on, but it is."

"I don't care why, I just want to please you."

He nuzzled my neck.

"You please me. You have no idea how much you please me."

We lay on the bed, him fully clothed, me naked except for my sneakers and sox.

"This isn't fair, you know," I teased him. "You get to see me, but all I see are your clothes."

"I can fix that."

He got up and removed his jeans and briefs and kicked off the flip-flops he had on his feet. He still kept his shirt on.

"I wish you'd let me see you completely naked."

He sighed.

"I'm just not ready yet." He paused. "Will you help me? Walk with me, make me eat better, exercise?"

"Sure I will. I'd do anything with you. Or for you." He lay down on top of me. "Only... you know my being here is more than just physical, don't you? Your chest isn't going to make me go away, no matter what you think."

He kissed my forehead.

"Yeah. I know. Just indulge my vanity, okay? For now."

We kissed. It was slow, sensual, unhurried. Comforting and comfortable. Our cocks were pressed together, hard and full of yearning.

"What shall we do today, Daddy?" I said, breaking the kiss.

"We don't have to do anything. Just lying here feeling your sweet young body against me is enough." He grinned lewdly. "For the moment."

He moved me slightly so he could lie next to me. Our limbs entwined, my hairless legs rubbing against his hairier thighs. I loved the contrast, and I knew he did too.

I lay my head on his chest, and sighed on contentment. He put his arm around my shoulder and held me close to him.

"So what did you want to do, son?"


"Well, we've certainly got enough time. Well, let's just let nature take its course for now..." he murmured, rolling me over onto my back.

He nibbled on my earlobe, which drove me insane. It's a sensation that's unlike anything else. My lobe felt as sensitive as my dick, and when he pulled it gently with his teeth it shot a bolt of erotic lightning into my crotch. I moaned.

His tongue slid into my ear. That was almost as good.

"God, Daddy, you know how to turn me on!"

He kissed my lips briefly.

"Good. That's what I wanted to do..."

My cock was pressed high up between his thighs, close to his ass.



"Do you ever get fucked?"

He sighed.

"I'd like to. Remember what I said last night about hemorrhoids?"


"Why? Do you want to fuck Daddy?"

"I'd love to fuck you, Daddy. But I understand. Besides, right now I'm more interested in you fucking me."

"Do you... do you ever put things inside you, Patrick?"

"Just my fingers. I don't have anything else."

"I have a couple of butt-plugs I can't use anymore. You want them?"

"Sure! Can I see?"

He got up and rummage through his little overnight kit, withdrawing two plus. One was small, the other larger and wider.

"You can already handle the little one. The big one we'd better work up to."

He sat down on the bed and handed it to me. I ran my fingers over its contours. At its widest it wasn't any bigger than twp fingers side by side. My butthole twitched.

"Cool." I had a great desire to slip it inside me. "You want to use it on me now?"

"Not `til I've eaten."

"What? Oh."

I blushed. My butt was on the menu.

I know I'm not speaking from a vast well of experience, but I'll say this: It doesn't matter how many times you have it done to you, analingous is beyond description. What else on earth is like a tongue? What else is so pliable and yet so strong? So warm and wet? What else could slip inside your asshole so silkily, conforming to the contours of your butt-lips, stretching the tender muscle so gently? I read where there are more nerves concentrated in your anus than anywhere else in the body. I believe it. When Scott tongued my boy-cunt every fiber in my body lit up and sent waves of pleasure through my cock, my balls, my butt.

From talking to him about it, I know it did something similar for him. He said he hadn't licked a guy's hole until just a couple of years ago, and that when he did he was more aroused by it than by anything he'd ever done. He said the way the flesh feels on his tongue is incredible--how the softness of the area around the anus changes as the tongue moves closer to the hole; how the ribbony, puckered flesh is like some kind of moist satin; how when the tongue finally enters the mucous membranes are like butter; how the taste of a clean butthole is sweet and musky at the same time, and lingers on the taste buds for hours. (He also told me it's best to gargle with hydrogen peroxide after rimming, since however exciting it is you never know what kind of microbes you might be exposing your mouth to.)

Sometimes I think Scott would almost rather rim me than fuck me. He loves the male ass, especially a young, hairless one like mine--all of it. For me, part of the ecstasy of his eating my butt out is the offering up for him of the most intimate place in my body--the vulnerability of opening my ass to his kisses, licks and probes--the feeling of being worshipped--the thrilling knowledge that he is loving an area of my body that our culture teaches us is filthy but which he finds desirable and beautiful.

So I sat on his face for long minutes, moving my hips and ass in response to his passionate tongue-fucking. Stroking my achingly hard cock, rubbing the steady dribbles of pre-cum around and under the head. His strong hands spreading my butt-cheeks and his lips and tongue making love to my boy-hole, sparking off continuous bursts of pleasure in all my erogenous zones. Shouting that I was coming, clamping my eyes shut, feeling his tongue clenched and released repeatedly as my sphincter went into spasm, feeling the rapid pumping of my prostate against his chin. Spewing my teen-seed all over my hand and belly and his sheets and thighs. Rolling over and crumbling into a boneless heap when it was over. Closing my eyes when he leaned in and kissed me, his hard-on thumping silently against my thigh. Tasting myself on his lips and tongue. Loving the knowledge, which made my spent cock tingle and my balls draw up tight, that that tongue, those lips, had until a few moments earlier been kissing and lapping my boy-pussy.

"I'm glad you like that as much as I do," he smiled, stroking my sweaty hair in the afterglow of my climax.

"Oh, my god..." I murmured. "It's becoming one of my favorite things."

He laughed and held me.

"But you didn't come."

"I'm waiting. I can't do it as often as a 16-year old, you know. I have to make it count." He rolled off me and looked at the clock.

"We have a lot of time. You want to nap a bit before Round Two?"

"Yeah," I smiled. I suddenly felt very sleepy.

He set the alarm for 40 minutes, then lay down with his head on the pillows. I clambered in beside him, sliding under his comforting arm.

"I want to know what it's like to wake up with you next to me," he murmured, kissing my cheek.

I sighed, snuggling against him.

"Me too, Daddy."

Before I knew it, the alarm was ringing. My eyes opened, and I was momentarily disoriented. Then, as I acclimated, I pressed my body against his, sighing contentedly.

"Hi, sweet boy."

"Hi, Daddy."

"Patrick, you don't know how exciting it is to hear you call me that." He stretched. "It's funny. Until very recently I tried everything to ignore my age. I tried not to admit how attracted I am to young guys. Gradually it dawned on me that, instead of resisting my age I should embrace it. I know there are a lot of younger guys with daddy fantasies. And what's even better is, with you, I didn't even have to ask. I would have been too embarrassed to ask you. You're much braver than I am."

I climbed on top of him and stared directly into his eyes.

"You're more Daddy to me than my real father ever was. If he really cared about me he wouldn't ignore me."


I want to say that I never felt the slightest sexual desire for my own father. Not that he isn't handsome. He is. Actually he's pretty hot, now that I think about it. But that's not what this is about. I never wanted my dad to fuck me. I frankly didn't want to even see the bastard again if I could avoid it. But he's definitely a part of this. I never got anything like the kind of affection and warmth children need from their fathers. Whatever it was my own dad couldn't--or maybe wouldn't--give me, Scott could, and would. And wanted to. Not the sex, but the emotion. Well, at least I hoped that was the case. From what he had told me already, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to fuck with a teenager. I don't mean literally. I mean play with his feelings.

"We were never close. I think he tolerated me. Maybe he wanted me to be more like him. Maybe he thought I was too much of a pussy. I don't know. And right now, I don't care. You may not want to hear this, Scotty, but I love you. I know you think we haven't known each other long enough. Okay, I respect that. And I respect you wanting to wait a while to see how you feel about me. But how could I not love a man who does for me what you do? How could I not love you, when you treat me like a real person, something with thoughts and feelings and desires and doesn't think of me as some dumb kid with a cute body and no brain? You don't know what you do for me. I love you. Period. Whether you like it or not."

He was silent for a long time, and I could see moisture in his eyes.

His finger traced the cleft between my breasts and he stared into my eyes.

"Patrick. I love your body, yes, and your beautiful face. I love making love to you. I love showing you how much pleasure your body can give you. I love knowing I was your first. I love your youth and your fearlessness."

Here it comes, I thought. The big kiss-off.

"You... you are everything I want. Fuck what the world thinks I should do or you should do." He reached for my hands and held them with his. "I love you, Patrick."

I closed my eyes in relief. My hands clenched his tightly. When I opened my eyes I looked down at him.

"You just rocked my world, Daddy." I brought our clasped hands to my lips and kissed his fingers. "I would die for you."

The moisture in his eyes welled over.

"Don't. Don't die. It would kill me too."

I fell on him and we kissed, crying softly and holding each other.

When we both got our emotions under control, I nudged him playfully.

"Love is great--but let's have sex! I'm ready to get fucked!"

So, guess what? We fucked.

He fucked me on the bed. He fucked me on the sofa. He fucked me against his kitchen counter.

I came on the couch.

He finally reached his climax sitting in his easy chair with me bouncing up and down on his lap, squeezing him with my boy-hole until he couldn't stand it any longer and shot off, bucking like a wild bull, stabbing his dick deep inside me and crying out in release.

I came again.

He held me, our bodies bathed in sweat, my teen-cum all over his chest, his cock embedded inside me, and we kissed deeply, soulfully.

The rest of the afternoon was spent lying together, naked and completely satisfied, talking. About everything--him, me, us. He told me he loved me. I said I loved him. I bathed in his warmth and affection, feeling really loved for the first time in my life. Beyond my mother's live for me, beyond my most cherished dreams of what it would be like to love and be loved, without reservation.

It still scared him a little, and I understood that. I couldn't know what it would be like for him, falling in love with a kid more than half his age--an illegal love that could get him jail-time if we weren't very, very careful.

I hated the idea of hiding my adoration of him and my new status as someone worthy of being valued in return. But I knew it was the only way we could make this work. And after I turned 18, I could shout it from the rooftops if I wanted to! I was expecting to attend school here in town, and he wasn't planning on going anywhere. Somehow, we'd just have to get through it.

I wondered what Mom would think, or say, when she found out. She said she wanted me to be happy--would that include my being happy with a man closer to her age than to mine? Well, we'd have to see. Eventually. If we lasted.

The thought that something might come between us gave me a sudden pang, and I gripped him tightly.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, kissing my shoulder.

"Oh. Nothing. Just... the future. It's scary."

"You have no idea, kidlet."

I loved his little terms of endearment. I suppose you could consider them condescending, if you weren't me and you didn't feel the way I felt. When he called me something that reduced me to a sexy child, it thrilled me. It was a kind of fantasy, I guess. Emotions aside, we were playing out a fantasy--his of loving a son in every conceivable way, mine of giving my body to a father who would instruct me, the way the Greeks did with their boy lovers, in the ways and means of sex.

It also gave me intense pride to consider how much an equal he considered me. I know a 16-year old is essentially immature, and the fact that he accepted me as someone he could talk to out of the bedroom filled my center with warmth. I wanted to read his books, watch his movies, talk and talk and talk about music and literature and philosophy and life with this sweet, kind, generous, loving man.

I nuzzled his neck.

"I'm not as scared, with you."

He kissed my forehead.

"I feel exactly the same, Patrick."

We decided--well, he decided, and I had to agree--that it would be best if we limited our time together to weekends. I had the team, my schoolwork and my mom to consider, and Scott was firm that these things could not be ignored or left to suffer.

"Or I'll have to spank you," he grinned.

My cock stirred.

"Mmmm. How about if I do all those things and you spank me anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow. I had come to recognize that little gesture, and look forward to seeing it.

"You dirty child."

"Yes. I am. Getting' dirtier all the time. Thanks to you."

"Me, and your over-active hormones."

"Rrrrrrrwwwwwwwrrrrrr," I purred, turning over and deliberately pushing my tight young butt against him.

He smacked it playfully.

"You need to get home, kiddo. Take a shower first, though. And it might be a good idea for you to bring your own brand of soap over here. You keep going home smelling like sandalwood and your mom's going to start asking questions."

"Yes, Daddy," I murmured, trying to sound like a little boy who's just been given a lecture.

He laughed and I got up to go into the bathroom. He followed, standing the doorway as I regulated his shower water.

"While I'm thinking about it, son... bring a toothbrush, too. And deodorant. And whatever else you think you might need."

"Okay." I turned on the shower and pulled the curtain. "You wanna join me, big boy?" I batted my eyes, making him laugh again.

"Not this time, baby. Next time, maybe."

"You really have got to get over this self-consciousness about your belly. I'm going to see it some day, you know."

"I know. Next weekend. Promise."

"I'm holding you to that, Daddy."

I showered slowly, enjoying the feel of the warm water on my tingling, still sexually sensitive skin. I toweled off and went in search of my clothes. I brought them into the living room where he was sitting in the well-used easy chair reading.

"Want to see a reverse strip-tease?"

"Son, I love your body in clothing or out of it."

I slipped my T-shirt over my head and reached for my jock.

"Damn," I said, looking down at my erection. "I don't want to go."

"No, you want to come."

I stuck out my tongue at him and pulled my jock up and on.

"Turn around," he said.


"Turn around!"


"I just wanted to look at your hot little butt again. I'm not going to see it for another five days."

I shook it at him.

"Get your eyes full, Daddy."

"I really am going to enjoy spanking you."

I turned around and stuck my thumb in my mouth.

"I need discipline." I dropped the little-boy pose. "Hey! Do you have a digital camera?"


"Take some pix of me. Pleeeeeeeeeease..."

"Next time."

"Okaaaaaaay," I sing-songed. "Kill-joy."

I put my shorts back on and started in on my sox and shoes. When I finished he stood up and held out his arms. I melted into them. He stroked my wet hair and nuzzled my neck.

"I really don't want to leave," I murmured into his chest.

"I know. I want you to stay. I want you to stay and never leave." He broke the embrace. "But. It has to be. For now, anyway." He cupped my right butt-cheek with his palm. "No get out of here and go home before I rape your ass."

"Mmmmm. That's supposed to make me leave?"

"Get out of here, snip!"

He smacked my ass again and I opened the kitchen door.

"Well?" he asked, growling comically.

"Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"

He sighed.

"Oh, if you have to."

He took my face between his hands and kissed my lips, very gently and sweetly.

"It's going to be all I can do to get through this next week."

"I know. Me, too. But," I said, brightening. "You can look for me in the afternoons--and all my cute little friends you like to look at. The Chicken Run"

"True. Just run by, though, and don't look at me."


"Just making sure you understand the ground rules. Oh--and if any of your pretty friends says something derogatory, like `Who is that old fag watchin' us?' you agree with him. Okay? Don't draw attention to yourself."

"I won't. I'll hate it, but I won't."

"I know. I don't like suggesting it. I want you to be proud of yourself and who you are. But you've got a long time before you graduate. You don't want to get labeled now. You see?"

"Yeah, I see."

He suddenly remembered something.

"Hey. Wait a sec."

He went back down the hall and came back with a small, tissue-wrapped package. The he rummage through a batch of grocery bags in his recycling area and came up with one from a drug store and put the package inside before handing it to me.

"You butt-plug, sir."

"Oh! I'd forgotten about that."

I went to the screen door and he touched my shoulder. I turned around.

"Kiss me," he said.

I did.

"Now go home, dopey."

I grinned at him and went out the door, knowing I would be coming through it again in five days.

It was going to be hell, but a hell with heaven at the end of it...