Date: Sun, 25 Apr 1999 09:52:57 -0700 (PDT) From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com Subject: Chronicles of St.Barnabas chapter12 12. At the Hideout The next day I met him again-same time, slightly dif- ferent place. He was very fetchingly garbed: navy blue knit shirt and sparkling white shorts which fitted him very nicely. They were shorter than the bermudas, and flared out at the hems, giving a bell effect, nice for games of peek-a-boo. Around his waist he wore a striped cloth belt with a buckle designed as two snakes entwined. On his feet were sandals. No socks. I asked him if his mother had questioned him about his day, but he said no, she never pried into his private life. She didn't really care what he did, as long as he got home on time. We went to Coney Island. It wasn't warm enough for swimming, but the rides were all going, and we did them all. The big roller-coaster scared us both, and he clung to me like a leech the whole time. We bought foot-long hot dogs, and I watched his lips close over the red shaft, thinking other thoughts. We played in the sand, building castles with moats. He lay back with his legs apart, and I could look right up his crotch. We left the beach about two o'clock and took the subway back to the hideout. He went right into the bedroom of his own accord and sat down on the bed. I spent a long time undressing him, cares- sing and kissing him everywhere. Then I laid him naked on the bed, undressed myself, and lay down beside him. I pulled him close against me, his warm body touching mine from lips to toes. I caressed his softly curved backside while kissing him. We were both hard, and for the first time I felt the boy was perhaps really asking for sex. I took his cock in my hand, and guided his hand to mine. He imitated my movements. Then I turned into the sixty-nine position. "How would you like another hot dog?" I asked. "I'll have one if you do," retorted the boy. I took his cock between my lips, and felt him do the same with mine. We sucked each other gently for several minutes. I played with his ass at the same time. Delicious as it was having my coc in his warm mouth, I wanted to put my cock in his behind even more. Releasing his cock, I said, "Now I'm going to have my hot dog in a bun." I scooped out somee Vaseline. "But first, a little mustard is in order," I said, driving my finger deep between the cleft in his buttocks. "Sir, you do have a sense of humor," said the boy as he rolled over onto his stomach and presented his lovely pink upturned bottom. Greasing up my hot dog, I gazed down at the submissive boy stretched out prone on the bed, his tender, innocent young body awaiting my assault. I slid a pillow under his hips to raise his buttocks, then spread apart the velvety cheeks of his boyish ass, at the same time driving my hot dog deep down between them until it reached the little pucker. "I think the hot dog is too big for the bun, sir," came the muffled voice of the boy. I drove down harder, trying to force the sphincter to relax and let me in, but the boy raised his head suddenly with a sharp intake of breath. "Sorry," I said, "I guess we need more mustard." Goug- ing some out of the Vaseline jar I drove my finger into his rectum as far as it would go and twisted it around. He protested a little under this rather rough prodding, but it had the desired effect, for when I once again placed my weiner against the buns, I was able with only a little effort to get past the pucker. After resting a bit, I drove on into the boy's hot canal. I reached underneath him with my greasy hand and found his stiff cock, which I massaged with Vaseline. This caused him to squirm his behind, and as he did so I forced my cock further into him. I began to fuck him. I wasn't as gentle as the day before. For one thing, I was greatly aroused by this time; for another, I had to get him used to taking my cock more easily with less fuss. I plunged in and out between the warm buns, pushing his bottom up against my cock with the hand that worked his cock. Being young and full of spunk, it wasn't long before the boy began shooting his pubescent load of sperm into my hand, and once again the contractions of his sphincter mus- cles caused me such exquisite delight that I began to come also. Driving into the boy's tender body as deeply as I could, I pumped stream after stream of hot slimy juice into his receptive bottom. I kept on sliding my slippery shaft in and out of the boy's rectum long after I had finished ejaculating, until, feeling my rod grow limp, I had to cease. Afterwards, I didn't let him put his clothes on, or even wipe off his bottom. I wanted him to feel the slippery mix- ture of Vaseline and sperm with every movement of his body, as a constant reminderof the fact that he hadjust been fucked. We went into the living room and I brought him a ginger ale and sat him on my lap, facing me, both of us nude. I toyed with his body while he drank his drink, my cock resting right at the entrance to his asshole. In the middle of a swallow of ginger ale I goosed him good and proper with my finger, and he spewed the drink all over his stomach. I laid him on the couch and lapped it all up, then, driving my middle finger unceremoniously up his ass, I took his cock in my mouth and sucked on that amazing little organ-I wish to god I could come twice in fifteen minutes!-until by his twisting and groaning I knew he was about to shoot again. I worked my finger in and out, pushing it hard against his prostate, as he spurted wildly into my mouth. That was the end of our orgy for the day. I took him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. Then I took him home. I got him back to his mother just under the wire. "Sir," he said as I dropped him off, "are you glad you came to New York?" What a silly question! But thinking about it, on my way back to the hideout, I wondered if he was glad I had come. Would he even have suggested it if he had known I was going to fuck him every day? There was no doubt that he enjoyed some of our sex: he loved being blown and he loved being rimmed. But it was equally clear that he didn't really enjoy being fucked. The most one could say was that he put up with it. Was I ruining his vacation by sending him home with an aching behind full of sperm every night? Did he dread the morrow, when he would be expected to roll over and present his delectable bottom to my cruel shaft? How did it feel when I drove my throbbing prick into his tender backside? Aside from the discomfort, did he feel abused? Hurniliated? Ashamed? I didn't know the answers to these questions, but I decided that the next day I would concentrate on showing him a good time, and forget about the sex. The best-laid plans... I pulled up to our meeting place in a yellow Mustang. I had to blow the horn several times before I got his attention. "Sir! Where'd you get the car?" "Stole it. You like it?" "That's why it says 'Avis' on the keychain? Yeah, it's cool. Where are we going? How fast does it go? What's this knob for?" And he turned on the radio, the heater, the defroster, the wipers and the emergency blinkers. He was a happy little kid, just the way a kid should be-and sitting beside him was a dirty old pederast whose sole idea was to get into the kid's ass. No, that's being unfair to myself. I really loved Ronnie. Could I help it if his behind drove me wild? Weren't, after all, the most meaningful human relationships grounded in sexual attraction? Wasn't fucking the way, the only way you could really show a person you loved him? Still, he was only a child-I had to try and remember that. "How about Jones Beach?" I said. "Sir! Wow! But isn't it too cold for swimming? And anyway, I don't have a bathing suit. Should I get one?" "Oh, you don't need a suit. A little kid like you can go bare. No one will object." Giving him a tickle, I slammed into first gear and dug out. I stopped at Alexander's and bought him a sexy little bathing suit, white with blue piping, and slit part way up the thighs. He changed into it as we were driving. I drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on his soft upper thighs. His little hard-on showed through the trunks very nicely. It was too cold for swimming, of course, and the beach was nearly deserted, except for a few fishermen and strollers. Still, it was warm enough in protected areas, and we headed for the dunes beyond Parking Lot Nine. We found a little sunken spot surrounded by bushes, and there we camped. We played boy games for a while, and then we ate the picnic lunch I had brought. I gave him some red wine. It trickled from the corners of his mouth as he swilled it from the bottle. When he became drowsy and dreamy, I stretched him out on the warm sand, covered us with a blanket, and inched his bathing suit down over his smooth white hips... The wind whistled in the rushes. Seagulls cried overhead. Waves pounded against the shore. And I pounded my cock in and out of Ronnie's rectum, as I fucked the precious boy. So much for my good intentions. He lay pinned beneath me, his legs raised up to permit maximum penetration of his bottom, his young ass stretched to the limits by my swollen organ, the tender membranes of his orifice expanding to receive me more deeply than ever before. As I drove down into the ultimate reaches of the boy's bowel, widening the walls of his rectal canal, I kissed him deeply, my tongue swirling and darting around in his mouth as I drove my penis ever deeper into the boy. Then my body tensed, and I began jerking hard and fast, pumping my sperm into the boy, bathing his hot insides with my fluid. I lay on him a long time, listening to his breathing, to the wind in the rushes, the cries of the gulls, the pounding of the waves. "I have sand in my behind, sir," said the boy after a while. I laid him across my knee and picked out each grain as lovingly as a mother monkey picks fleas out of the head of her mate. Rashly, we decided to swim. We gulped some wine for fortification and ran down the dunes and into the icy water. After the first shock we merely felt numb. I pulled down Ronnie's bathing suit and flung it ashore. "Little boys have to go skinny," I said, "it's the law." We romped around in the water, my hand straying all over his slippery body, washing the sand from his tail and holding him close to my body. So warm he felt in the cold water! No one was around, so we stretched out naked in our dune and let the sun warm our bodies. We lay there side by side for a long time, until his skin was hot to the touch as my hand strayed down his back and over his behind. The parking lot was deserted when we returned to the car, and I let him drive around the vast area, holding him tight on my lap, feeling his sun-warmed bottom pressing against my cock. There was no time for the hideout that day. The days passed swiftly. Too swiftly. When the weather was bad, we went to the movies, and I always insisted that we sit in a secluded section so that I could grope and feel him all the way through. I don't remember those movies much; all I remember is having my hand inside Ronnie's pants all the way through them. No boy of his age can fail to get excited if someone is feeling his prick and balls, and Ronnie was no exception, but at the same time he had a boy's ability to concentrate on several things at once, so that as I massaged his sex organs he sat there like any kid, his eyes glued to the screen, his jaws working up and down as he munched his gum. I was careful not to let him come in his pants, partly because I didn't want his mother to discover any tell-tale stains on his briefs, and partly because I wanted to save his boy-juice for my mouth, when we got back to the hideout. I took him swimming at the St. George Hotel, and we played little underwater games that no one noticed. We rode bikes, and I delighted in watching his bottom squirm from side to side as he tried to reach the pedals of a bike that was just a little too big for him. We did just about everything that's fun for a kid to do in New York, and if it's true that he got my cock up his bottom every day it's also true that no boy ever had such a whirl of activity, except from another pederast. Then, suddenly, it was our last day together. We went to the park, riding the merry-go-round just like two little children, Ronnie on the horse in front of me, so I could watch him going up and down, up and down, as the big greased pole pushed up and down from the platform, making the boy and horse rise and fall in time to the music. He was wearing the white shorts again. I guess he knew I liked them on him. He turned around and laughed at me. He leaned way out, and the cloth of his pants stretched tight over his behind. After that we decided to ride real horses. Neither of us was dressed for it, but there wasn't time to go back and change. Our nags were not the best, but it was great fun, and they went very nicely when they realized they were headed for home. Ronnie surprised me by being quite a good rider, posting to the trot in the English manner. Perhaps he had learned it at one of his camps. We both felt sweaty afterwards, so when we got to the hideout we took a shower. As I watched Ronnie soaping his smooth flanks I had horses on my mind-up and down, horse and rider, the merry-go-round, Ronnie's bottom ris- ing and falling as he posted to the trot. The boy complained that his thighs were sore, and on inspecting them I saw that the insides of his thighs were quite red, having become chafed from rubbing against the saddle. I found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a dry towel, and took them into the bedroom. When the boy came in, rubbing his hair with a towel, I had him lie down on the bed and spread his legs. I annointed his inner thighs with the cooling fluid, making him wince from the tingling, prickling sensation. I worked the alcohol into his hot flesh, right up to his crotch. He was aroused already. "That feels good, sir," he said, twisting about on the sheet. "Good. Then flop over and I'll do the other side." My obedient little catamite flopped over and presented his rosy bottom to my lecherous gaze. I splashed alcohol all over the boy's round globes, then worked it into the crack between his buttocks, not neglecting the soft flesh of his inner thighs. I planted five or six kisses on his naked buttocks, then, leaning on one elbow, commenced stroking them gently, thoughtfully, teasingly. "Riding was fun, wasn't it?" "Hmm. Yes, sir." "I'd like to ride you." "Hmm?" "You know. Play horsey." "Play horsey?" "When you were a little kid, didn't you have an uncle or someone who took you on his knee and bounced you up and down?" I patted his bottom. "I suppose so. Is that what you want to do now?" "Yes." "Sir," he said, raising up on one elbow and looking at me, ,.are you feeling alright? I mean, you didn't get too much sun, did you, sit?" "You're pretty fresh," I said. "I guess you could do with a spanking." "Oh, no, Sir! I didn't mean it!" protested the boy, grinning and holding his bottom with both hands, Nevertheless, I pulled him over my knee, removed his hands, and gave his behind ten or twelve good spanks, 'ust enough to heighten their pinkness and to cause a warm tingling glow to suffuse his sensitive areas. I pulled him onto my lap and kissed him. "I love to gpqnk you.'' "So it seems," he replied. "And now it's time to play horsey," I said, unscrewing the cap of the tube of KY. "You need that to play horsey"" he asked, watching me squeeze out a glob onto my finger. "Definitely," I answered, bringing my finger around behind him and pushing it into his asshole and working it around. "I don't think it's the same game uncles play with little kids, is it, Sir?" "Not quite," I said, applying some more KY to his bot- tom. "I've made a few refinements of my own. Now, I think if you'll be so good as to face the other way, with your back to me, I think it will work better. That's it." I pulled him back so that his soft behind was pressing against my prick. "Now, are you ready to mount your steed?" I asked. "I guess so, but I really don't think it's going to work." It was true I had never fucked a boy in this position before, but I had heard about it being done, and I had always wanted to try it. "Oh, I daresay it will work alright, once you're mounted and in the saddle securely, so that you won't fall off no matter how wild the ride gets..." The boy gave a low chuckle. I think he was in rather a perverse mood, and was amused at being tucked in this manner. "Now," I said, "raise your bottom and bring it down on the saddlehorn." I helped him raise his hips and position them so that my upright tool was pointing right at his hole. Then, very gently, I lowered him onto it. There was some resistance, or else I was not quite on target. I tried again. This time my aim was perfect, and I held him firmly in position, my rod pressed right against his hole, until I felt him begin to sink slowly onto my shaft. I could feel his membranes give way as my rod entered him. Slowly he sank down onto my shaft until it was deeply embedded in his bottom. He was impaled. The most furious ride would not dislodge my rider. The sensation of having the boy sitting on my cock, engulfing it with his behind, was tremendous. It seemed to me that I was deeper inside him even than I had been in the sand dunes. I tried to imagine the point on his spine opposite the tip of my cock. It excited me to think that if I had X-ray eyes I could actually see my cock embedded in his bowels. "How do you like your horse so far?" I asked, reaching around and fondling his dick until it became hard. "That saddlehorn is really in me," he said. God, it excited me to hear him say that. I wanted him to talk about how it felt, how my prick stretched the walls of his rectum, how it hurt but felt good at the same time, how he felt a little humiliated to be used like a girl, but at the same time how he loved the feel of my cock up his ass, how empty it felt when I took it out. But I knew that I could elicit none of this sort of talk from him. He wasn't a very talkative lover. "Well, now you can start riding," I said. "First a walk, then a trot, and finally, as the horse sees the stable ahead of him, a mad, full-tilt gallop!" Taking the boy by the waist I showed him how to twist from side to side in the saddle. Then I showed him how to rise up very gently-then how to combine the two motions, rising and falling and twisting at the same time. By the time the lesson was over I was nearly ready to gallop home, and I had to hold myself back. I gazed at his lovely soft round buttocks which held my cock imprisoned within their walls as he slowly twisted them from side to side and raised them up and down. When he came down on my saddlehom, my shaft explored depths of the child's bottom previously uncharted. His soft round buttocks sank onto my thighs like water-filled balloons. I was in heaven. I coaxed him to increase his gait from a walk to a trot, hugging him tightly as he rose and fell on my cock. I fondled the hard little nipples of my young rider as he rose and fell, driving my cock in and out of his tight little bottom. "Let's go faster now," I said, and soon we were cantering, my cock slipping in and out of the boy like the greased pole at the merry-go-round. I longed for the ride to last forever, but just as merry-go-round rides come to an end for every little girl and boy, so did mine. As I felt my juices rise I whispered to the boy, "I can see the stables! Gallop full- tilt!" My rider plunged up and down, driving my cock in ever deeper into his hot behind, until, unable to withold my foam any longer, like a crazed stallion I bucked against my rider, shooting my stallion juice straight up the bottom of the impaled boy with such force that I half-expected to see it spew forth from his mouth! I held my small rider tight as my shaft sent fountains of froth ever higher and higher into the tender warm passageway of the sweet boy's bottom. I lay back, exhausted from the ride, my cock still inside the boy. He turned in the saddle and said, "Sir, I think I'll have to go to the bathroom." Such tender post-amour words from my little lover's lips! But there was nothing to be done. I allowed him to dismount, and as he bounced into the bathroom, his bottom red and slimy, I lay back and lit a cigarette, wondering if my geyser of sperm had acted like one of Miss E.'s clysters in sending the child's poo poo cascading down his well-lubricated colon, egress being pre- vented only by the presence of my thick tool blocking the passageway. He stayed in the bathroom a long time, and when he finally returned to the living room, he seemed curiously withdrawn. He sat down naked on the sofa and drew his legs up, encircling his knees with his arms. I sat down beside him and toyed with the little tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. "What's troubling my boy?" I asked tenderly. "Your boy. That's what I am, aren't I?" "What do you mean? What's up?" "What's up?" The boy gave a kind of cynical chuckle. "Your dick! That's what's up." "Hey, hey, what's the matter. What's gotten into you?" "You have!" he said with a snort. "Twelve times in ten days. I've kept track." "Look," I said, really puzzled by his sudden change of mood, "No one's forcing you. I mean, if you want I won't do it any more, ever again." "That's just it, you see." And he turned and looked straight at me. "I think I'm beginning to get hooked on it." "So that's it," I said, drawing him against my body. "I understand all about it. As long as you didn't enjoy it, you could just lie there and pretend it was something that was being done to you, but when you found out that you were beginning to like it, you had to admit that you were involved in it yourself. And you were afraid of this feeling, and afterwards you felt ashamed of yourself." "That's right, sir, that's exactly right. It reminds me of once when a doctor was examining me and he put his finger into my behind." "Tell me about that." "Well, you know, he made me kneel on this table and he put on a rubber glove and all, and he said it wasn't going to hurt, but it did." "Is that all?" "Nope. He kept on shoving his finger up there and feeling around, and I felt very embarrassed." "Because in spite of the pain there was also a pleasant sensation mixed in with it." "How did you know?" "And not only did you like it, but it showed, didn't it?" "Yes, sir! And the worst of it was when the doctor finally took his finger out and told me to get up I couldn't hide it, and he looked at it and kind of smiled in a nasty sort of way, and patted me on the ass and all." "It was as if he was saying,'Boy, I made you like it in spite of yourself."' "Yeah! How'd you guess all that?" "Well, it's not hard. Boys are sensitive in their behinds, and the doctor knew just how to use his finger to get you all excited, even against your will." "He did it on purpose, didn't he?" "It certainly sounds that way." "I really hated that doctor!" "Of course you did. He humiliated you in the worst way. And so you have the same feeling of shame when we're together, is that it?" "Not really, sir. I mean you're not trying to embarrass me or anything, like that doctor was. It's just that afterwards I have the feeling like I shouldn't be liking it." I pulled him closer into my arms and filled his ear with talk about how young boys are often passive sex partners before they reach puberty, but that when the reach adoles- cence they want to play the active role, and that he was in the in-between stage, and that he was afraid of losing his bud- ding masculinity by being used like a girl. I assured him that these fears were normal, that there was a bit of the woman in every man and vice versa-that he was a perfectly normal boy and would grow up to be a great fucker of women-that he needn't worry about "getting hooked" because he just wasn't the type-that he shouldn't feel ashamed of liking it, because when it came to sex, anything you liked was good- so that if he liked being fucked, then why not enjoy it while he could, because pretty soon he would be on the other end, dishing it out-and that letting a man fuck you was good practice for fucking women, because it gave you some idea of what a woman feels when she's being fucked, and so forth and so on. My words apparently quieted his fears, for he snuggled up closer as we talked. "You see," I continued, "the difference between me and that doctor is that he was having fun at your expense, while I love you. Not just your body. I love that, of course, and without the physical attraction there wouldn't be any love- making. But I love your body not only because it's such a great body but because it's your body, and I love you, Ronnie Riley. And I want to possess you entirely. I want to be part of you, to make our bodies one. I want to feel my body inside yours, and so when I put my cock into you, and shoot into you, it makes me part of you, and you part of me, and that's the greatest expression of love. And if you love me too, then you'll let me put my cock into you because you will like having part of me in you, and because you will know how much pleasure you are giving me by giving your body to me. "Hmm. I guess I understand better now," Then he looked into my eyes and said, "I wonder what it would feel like being on the other end. Maybe if I knew, I wouldn't feel funny about always being on the receiving end." "Are you hinting at something?" "Well, sir, tumabout's fair play, isn't it?" "Boys don't fuck men, Ronnie." "Why not? It's not fair. If I were a man and you were a boy, would you let me fuck you?" "Yes, and I'd probably love it." "Have you ever been fucked, sir?" "Sure. When I was your age, and younger." "When- did it stop?" "When I was sixteen or so. I don't remember. It wasn't a sudden thing." "And you've been doing it to boys ever since?" "Whenever I got a chance, which wasn't as often as I'd like." "But sir, isn't it wrong for men to do it to boys? They should be doing it to girls!" "Not if they prefer boys. Live and let live." "But nature didn't intend it that way." "Whereld you read that? How do you know what nature intended?" "Oh, come on, sir, you know it's true." "Not for me." "Well, you're a-" "I'm what? A queer? A faggot? Poor, twisted, warped sick old Colin Murchison. Dangerous deviate! Sexual psycho- path! Degenerate fiend! Threat to every red-blooded Boy Scout! Lock him up! Cut off his balls! He's part of a commie plot!" Ronnie held his sides and giggled. Soon we were wrestling around on the sofa, and I was getting horny. All my pretty words had excited me. "And now," I said, pinning him down on the sofa, "what do you say we go at it again." "Nope. Not until you let me do it to you." Ordinarily I don't tolerate this sort of thing. I don't like being fucked any more, and especially by a boy. However, under the circumstances I felt it would be diplomatic, and so I acquiesced. I hadn't had a cock in me for many years, and small though it was, it hurt when Ronnie jabbed his into me with very little ceremony. He was in a big hurry, and didn't waste time on preliminaries. I winced as he jabbed into me, but once inside his little thing tickled rather nicely, and I rather enjoyed the idea of having my own boy in me. He pumped away furiously, issuing little squeals of delight, and in a very short time he shot his load into me. It excited me very much. "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed as he pumped his youthful seed into me. "Sir, that was great!" "I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, "but as a lover you leave something to be desired. Never mind, though, you have a long time to practice." I got us some Cokes and we sat around naked, drinking them. "Sir," asked the boy at one point, "have you ever fucked a girl?" "Sure. Lots of times." "Do girls like to be fucked?" "Like it! They go wild over it." "Did you like it?" "Sure. Girls are great for fucking." "Then why do you go after boys?" "Because I like them better. Why do you think I teach at St. Barnabas?" "I thought maybe you liked teaching. I was thinking maybe of being a teacher when I grow up." "It's an admirable ambition. You could teach in a girls' school. No, seriously, I like teaching; it's just that I'd rather teach boys than girls or grown-ups because I like them better as people. I mean, let's say you're a photographer. If you like the ocean, you photograph the ocean. If you like boys, you photograph boys." "With no clothes on." "Of course. Because their bodies are very beautiful. But I also like boys faces. I take lots of portraits of boys." "Which do you like better, my face or my body?" "Your face is part of your body. I can't separate them, anymore than I can separate your body from your personality." "You sure do have a cool line, sir. How many kids at school do you seduce this way?" "You're the first. And if you weren't I'd lie and say you were. I'm very discreet." "You must be lying now, then, because there are lots of boys at school with better physiques than mine." "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't like physiques, I like boys." "But you said you like my body. What exactly do you like about it?" "Let me count the ways," I said, touching him everywhere as I spoke. "I like the way your hair hangs down over your right eye. I like your right eye. I like your left eye. I like your hair because it's so silky. I like the shape of your head, how it goes out here and then curves inward. I like this little point of hair at the nape of your neck. I like your nose and your slightly flared nostrils, and your mouth-the way it curves- and your long neck, and how this vein stands out. And I like your chest, and specially your proud little nipples that get hard when I rub them like this. "I love your belly, because it's so nice and flat, and your belly-button, because it's yours. And I love to feel these bones-your hipbones-and I like these two lines leading to your thing, making a V, as if pointing the way; and I love your thing-which seems to be getting hard again, so soon after its recent workout. And I love these two things in their sac, and how they jump around when I squeeze them like two peas in a pod. And I love your thighs, so smooth and fine, and your knees, and specially this hollow behind them. And I love your sturdy legs, so finely shaped, and your feet, like Picasso's circus boy's. And then I love to run my hand down your straight spine like this, counting the vertebrae. And I love these two dimples on either side, right above your behind. I love this little vestige of a tail-which, by the way, is getting to look more and more faun-like-and then, finally, I love this part-these two round perfectly shaped hemispheres, your buttocks, your nates, your posterior, your backside, rear end, popo, bottom, bum. Oh, yes! I love, how I love the sight and feel of your soft, warm, round, smooth, velvety lovely behind!" "In other words," came the response, "you like my body okay, but what you really dig is my ass!" "You have a way of destroying all my poetry. I thought I had made a very pretty speech, and you just tear it down, reducing it to the carnal." "Well, sir, I'm just trying to sort through some of the bullshit! The fact is, if I didn't have a cute ass, you never would have looked at me twice. Right?" "O Cynical youth! But if you insist on being so vulgar, you might as well roll over and let me have a final go at the subject and object of my poetry, because my words have made me very worked up." "Okay," he said in a tone of mock resignation, as a woman might say, 'you're all the same, you men, only one thing on your mind,' unable to admit they enjoy it just as much as the men." Once flopped over on his belly he became very passive, even spreading his thighs wide apart so I could toy with his hole more easily. Having fucked me he had proved his own masculinity; now he could relax and play the boy again. He lay stretched out on his belly, his arms under his chin, as I toyed with his behind. Then, lying down between his silky thighs, I kissed and licked their inner surfaces, making him squirm with pleasure as I licked my way up between them to his buttocks. Spreading apart his buttocks, I put my face right down between the warm cheeks and started licking his hole. When I darted my tongue inside it, he groaned with pleasure. I stroked his hips as I tongued his asshole for several minutes. Then, putting a folded pillow under him to raise his bottom, I lovingly greased him up with KY and slowly sank my shaft down between his velvety cheeks, entering again the lovely behind I had fucked no more than an hour before. I sank my cock in all the way, feeling the hot flesh close around it, then pulled him up close against me and began a long, last, slow fuck. As I drove slowly in and out of his delicious behind, never had the boy seemed so pliant and willing. Since it was our last time together at the hideout, I was determined to make it a memorable fuck. For his part, having shot his load, he was now intent on being a good lover, and wriggled his bottom to heighten my pleasure. I bit into his neck, sniffing his hair and muttering words of love as my hand fondled his prick and my own cock drove ever deeper into his hot, supple behind. Tears came to my eyes as my passion mounted, and, perhaps because it was our last time together in New York, I felt transported into another dimension as my inflamed cock slid up and down the hot canal of the youngster. The heat of his bowel caused my juice to rise, and whenever this hap- pened I would slow down my fucking until my juices receded; then I would begin fucking him again. At first, when I stopped, the boy thought something was wrong, and thrust his bottom out toward me in an effort to please, but I assured him that everything was just fine, that I was only prolonging the ecstasy. I must have been on the point of orgasm four or five times as I savored this final fuck. I wished it could continue for ever, but finally my rising juice could not be persuaded to recede, and there was nothing to do but drive deeply into the hottest recesses of the child's bottom. Clutching him tight and whimpering words of passion, I shot load after load of milky sperm into his receptive behind, which he continued to wriggle in his desire to please me. I held the boy in my arms, my cock still buried deep in his bottom, while he milked me with his sphincter muscles. We lay in this embrace until the angle of the sun told me it was time for us to go. We dressed without showering-the thought of his bottom all gummy with sperm and KY excited me as we rode back in the cab. I held my arm around him all the way. And when I let him off, and said good-bye, a few blocks away from his house, I took him in my arms and kissed him long and passionately right in front of the whole world, not giving a damn what anybody thought.