This story contains graphic descriptions of activity of a sexual nature involving a man and a minor boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by minors, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.

This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.

For the most part I see my stories as fantasy, though especially with this story, I hope there are elements that ring true. For those of you expecting extended scenes of torrid sex, you may be disappointed, though you will find—I hope—sensuality and eroticism. This perhaps reflects my own journey and what I feel is important about this story. (And for those of you who do want more graphic encounters, you might visit some of my earlier tales.)



Coming to Terms

Will S

Chapter 2

It was a hot Sunday afternoon. I was chopping firewood. (I begin in June, and if I work at it throughout the warm months, by late September, I have enough for the winter.) I'd stripped down: no shirt, and just a pair of shorts (real shorts, trim and neat, not these knee-length, baggy things that everyone seems to like these days) and a pair of heavy work boots with gray socks. Sweat rolled down my back as my muscles strained to bring down the ax to split the wood I'd already cut.

I'd heard the car between cracks of the ax - heard it long before it got down the long dirt road to Mom's place.

After another 10 minutes, the car stopped and two doors opened, then slammed.

I thought about going over to "be neighborly," but I really wasn't anxious to start this "assignment."

I figured I had about another hour's worth of work, and then I'd be ready for a quick dip in the lake, and then, maybe, I'd wander on over to meet Dee and her son...what the hell was his name?

After another twenty minutes, I had littered the ground with split oak and maple. I seated the ax in the old stump, bent down and loaded up ten pieces of wood in my right arm. The bark cut into my glistening skin. I turned to head for the wood pile, and it was then, that I saw him. I knew who it was instantly, of course. Across the yard, some sixty feet, stood a sandy-haired, lanky boy. He was about five feet tall, maybe a bit more, and while not muscular, he wasn't skinny either. He could stand to put on some weight - muscle - but that would be easy if he set his mind to it. He wore a T-shirt emblazoned with the call letters from some radio station, and a pair of those damned baggy shorts. Those things are about as sexy as a pair of Dickey winter overalls, but what little leg I could see was well-proportioned and tan. It was his face that got to me, though. It was one of those androgynous faces. Soft, with touches of the feminine, but still somehow all boy. Unblemished. Smooth, perfectly-shaped. Tight, firm lips. A perfect button nose. Dark, thick brows and long, graceful lashes. And those eyes: piercing blue eyes - eyes that were riveted on my body.

How long he'd been there, I didn't know, and when I turned, I think I surprised him. He held a paper bag with both hands in front of him. A look flooded across his face, a look of fear or at least uncertainty, and he nervously stretched his hands, as if presenting an offering of some kind to an angry god, hoping I'd accept the sacrifice he offered instead of himself.

I nodded, then turned to the wood pile and started to stack the pieces. When I finished, I turned again.

"What can I do for you?"

"Um..." He held out his offering. "It's from your mother." With apparent difficulty, he looked away from me to the cabin, then down at his feet, then back up at me. He locked his eyes onto mine, forcing himself to avoid gazing on the rest of me. That simple act struck a chord with me as I remembered how I did the same thing with hot guys about whom I fantasized.

I'd have died if they had known what I was thinking as I snatched peeks at them...and most of them, had they realized my interest, probably would have killed me on the spot. I suddenly had no doubts about this boy. His leer gave him away. I knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling.

"You must be staying at my Mom's place, right?"

He nodded.

"Well," I beckoned to him, and he stepped closer. What a sweet boy. Right on the cusp of manhood. Puberty had struck, but he was still in that in-between point. He exuded a kind of raw energy that young adolescents can't control and probably aren't even aware of. It is the energy that propels them from childhood to adulthood, and in this boy, at this moment, I could almost taste it.

He held out the bag and I reached for it. As I did so, my sweaty bicep bulged, and his eyes flitted downward from my eyes to my arm. I took the bag in my hand and peeked inside.

"Pie." I said.

"Apple," he said, flashing just a hint of a timid smile. His teeth were as perfect as the rest of him, his red lips framing them to perfection.

"Thanks." I stepped to the door of the cabin and set the pie on the top step.

Then I returned to the task of stacking my afternoon's work. I stacked another armful of wood. He was still watching, studying, mesmerized. His gaze actually made me a bit uncomfortable. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but because I felt just a hint of stirrings that a thirteen-year-old shouldn't be eliciting in a healthy 25-year-old.

"If you're going to stick around, make yourself useful," I said, nodding to the wood, strewn around the old stump.

I resumed my work, and in a moment, heard him moving closer. I'd moved to the pile, stacked my load, and turned. The boy had picked up four pieces and was moving toward me. I watched as he dumped the wood on the pile.

"Do it this way," I said, showing him how to stack it to make a tight pile. "That helps keep it dry when it rains."

He nodded, and with his next load, he proved he understood. He was a bright kid. As I thought about it, I figured his mother must be pretty bright, too. She'd sent the kid over with the pie - a clever way to make "first contact."

In half an hour, we'd finished. The boy, when he first appeared, looked like he'd just come from the mall. After 30 minutes of hard, physical labor, the heat had caught up with him. His shirt stuck to his body, outlining it nicely. Sweat matted his corn-silk hair, and darker rivulets of hair led down to his forehead and neck where sweat streamed beneath his shirt. Those ugly shorts even clung to his thighs, and I'd already noticed his butt outlined nicely under the clinging cloth.

"Thanks," I offered.

"No problem," he said.

"You ready for some pie?"

He nodded.

Then I wrinkled my nose and sniffed the air, finally lifting my arm and doing a quick sniff-check. "We smell like a couple of wet goats," I announced, which made the boy grin. He had a great, toothy smile. "Before the pie, I think I'll take a dip in the lake." I started off toward the dock, then paused. I looked back. The boy hadn't moved. "You swim?"

"Umm...I don't have my suit."

It was the perfect moment. Well, I could have said, I don't usually use a suit - which was true. I could have said that and seen how he reacted to the invitation. And truthfully, I would have liked to have seen more of that handsome young body. But if my years of tracking in the woods had taught me one thing, it was to be patient.

"Sure," I said. "Can't help you there. I don't think I've got anything to fit you...except maybe a breech-clout."

"A what?"

"A breech-clout. breech-cloth. Loincloth. What Indians used to wear."

The boy thought about that for a moment. I could see a spark in his eyes.

"D'you think it would be okay?" he asked tentatively. Okay!

"It's hanging up on a peg in there." I gestured to the shed down by the water. He stepped toward the door. "It's sort'a one size fits all," I called. "Just cinch up the leather thong if you need to."

I stepped down to the dock, took off my boots and socks and dropped my shorts and jockstrap on the dock. By the time the boy stepped out of the shed, I was in the water with a bar of Irish Spring. I felt a presence behind me and turned. The boy held his clothes in a bundle in front of him. I could see just how self-conscious he was.

"Water's great!" I called, ignoring his discomfort. "Come on in."

His eyes flitted from me to the dock and my clothes. (I was in deep enough to cover my navel, though if he was at the right angle, he might have gotten a glimpse of what was covered by the water.) Gingerly, he set his clothes on one of the Adirondack chairs and stepped onto the patch of beach next to the dock. What a vision. His chest was hairless and without blemish. His two nips rose up like b-b's circled by tight, dark rosy-rust bands. His torso tapered nicely to his waist. There was no fat on this boy. His pecs were firm, as was his abdomen. Though he was actually a little young yet, he showed just the slightest hint of his abs. But someday they would be as defined as my own, I was certain of that.

Soft downy hair, seemingly white, covered his tanned arms and legs. He held his hands in front of the breech-clout. I couldn't see the back just then, but the front of the breech-clout hung down to about just above his knees. His belly button was exposed and the weight of the supple deer skin covering pulled at the leather thong around his waist, making a gentle arc from hip bone to hip bone. It exposed a tan line, and somehow his pure white skin next to the tanned skin higher up got me feeling strange again. I spoke, hoping to drive out those feelings. By now he had waded up to his knees.

"So. What d'you think?" He looked confused. "Everything fit OK?"

The boy snatched a look downward. He colored slightly, then looked back up at me and smiled self-consciously.

"I...um..." He swallowed."

"Well, spit it out," I grinned.

"I've been to the pow-wows down in Salem. They always have some kind of like Speedo-things under them."

I grinned. "Oh...right. That's sort of just for the public. In the old days, Indians never wore those things. Just what you've got on - at least in the warm weather. That's the real thing, right there. But if they didn't wear something more at those pow-wows, some old bitty would get a glimpse of something and go straight into orbit." I smiled, and after a moment, so did the boy. "So...what d'you think?"

He looked down kind of sideways. The white skin of his hips was framed by the front and back pieces, but I knew what he was looking at. He wanted to be sure the front cloth was protecting him and no one could sneak a peak. He shrugged. "Not bad. It's different."

"Yeah, it is," I said.

"Well, here's the soap," I said, and flipped him the bar. He lathered up, and I reached for a bottle of Johnson's and Johnson's baby shampoo. As I washed my hair, I caught occasional glimpses my young friend - just as he was doing with me. Despite his uncertainty, he had hungry eyes.

I finished my scrubbing and lowered myself into the water to rinse my hair. From where I was, I could see his legs underwater, and the shimmering image of the breech-clout and his upper body. I smiled, then swam out into deeper water. When I surfaced, he was finishing up and stepping further into the lake. As the deer skin hit the water, it began to float, though he didn't realize it. It wasn't until he was up to his waist that he recognized the deer skin protection was no protection at all from prying underwater eyes. Quickly, he thrust his hands downward to cover himself. As the breech-clout became water-logged, it more or less stayed down.

Once he reached the shampoo, he turned back to face the shore, hoping, I suppose, for a bit of "frontal privacy." Instead, it only revealed his bottom, and what a bottom it was. Strong, and slim, two perfectly outlined globes. Again I sunk below the water. Two cheeks clamped together, legs slightly parted, with the hint of his ball sac and cock, a dim shadow. My cock began to respond, so I surfaced and began to swim. This was troubling. This boy - the boy I wasn't even anxious to meet - was arousing me in some strange and surprising way. Maybe it was being the focus of all his attention - despite his efforts to hide it; maybe it was that sensual, hormonal energy that was only enhanced by his innocence.

By the time I'd swum out a dozen yards and returned, the boy was finishing up.

"You swim?"

"Yeah," he answered tentatively.

"Well, feel free, rinse off, anyway, then we'll dry off, and get some of that pie.

He slowly dipped into the water and propelled himself in a heading parallel to the shore. It was more of a dog paddle than anything else, so I quickly swam up beside him. "Try relaxing a little, and stretch out your stroke," I offered. "And twist back with your head to catch a breath. Like this." I demonstrated. "Try it." He trod water and watched, then tried. The kid was a fast learner. "That's the ticket!" I encouraged. "Feel the difference?"

"Yeah!" he offered breathlessly.

"Race you back to the dock?"

"You'll beat me."

"Maybe. I'll give ya' a five count."

The boy grinned. "Okay." And he was off.

"Here I come," I called, then began stroking.

I might have been able to beat him, but I would have had to work pretty hard. It was close as it was.

"It should have been a three count," I complained. The boy grinned. I ducked under and came up shaking my head to drive off the water. Then I reached up and lifted my self out of the water, and stretched out on the dock.

"No towels," I explained. "Sorry." I glanced over at him, and he was gazing at my butt. I figured he'd seen what was hanging between my legs, but by the time I turned, I was stretched out on the dock. "But the sun and breeze will dry us fast enough." I grinned, and he darted his eyes toward mine.

Slowly he reached up and mimicked my actions. As he stood up on the dock, his hands again came down in front of him, but not soon enough to fully hide a clear tenting of the breech-clout.

He moved a way off, and lay down. After a few minutes, my back was dry, and I rolled over. Now, if he wanted, he could see everything there was to see. He heard me move, and I saw him lift his head, then quickly turn away. In a few more minutes, I was dry. I stood and slipped on my jock strap and shorts. The boy seemed frozen. I knew what was going on. He wanted more than anything to look, to study me like a Michelangelo statue, but he was too afraid. So instead of being relaxed and snatching a healthy, normal glance, he shyly and studiously avoided even a hint of interest. And that was fine. My assignment was to make him more, not less comfortable.

"Ready for that pie?" I asked and with my big toe gently drew a line along his armpit. He giggled in spite of himself. "Yeah," he said, relaxing some. "Well, come on," I said and offered him a hand.

He had a strong grip, yet his skin was soft and smooth, and cool. His touch was electric, and I reveled in this first contact.

We walked together up to the cabin.

"You want to change first?"

The boy looked down, seeming to have forgotten he was still wearing the breech-clout. Coloring slightly he shook his head no. "I'll wait..." he said softly. "...if it's okay?"

"Fine with me."

As the breeze dried his front, the cooling made his little nipples rise up like the tip of a ten-penny nail; his skin was covered with goose bumps. I wanted to reach out and warm him up, but again, I thought that would only have made him more uncomfortable at a time when he seemed finally to be relaxing.

I gestured to a box, and he sat. I chose a stump, and together we ate a great apple pie.

"Nothing like good, hard work, to build up an appetite," I said.

"I'll probably be sore tomorrow," the boy offered.

"You? Naw...you look like you're in pretty buff. I'm Jason, by the way. Jas. Guess I forgot my manners. My mom wouldn't like that!"

The boy grinned. "I'm Eric. With a 'C'."

"Well, Eric with a 'C', nice to meet you. Again I reached out and grasped his hand. It felt every bit as good as before. Eric broke out in a big smile, then, as he thought about something, it faded.

"I'm not in very good shape...not really." He thought for a moment, then added, "I don't really like sports that much."

"Well, you look better than I did when I was your age. How old are you?"

"Thirteen. Really?"

"You should have seen me...skin-ny!"

Eric looked out over the lake.

"Well," he murmured, "I bet the kids didn't let you know it."

"Don't be so sure." I studied the boy as he grew darker. "Kids call you names?"

He nodded. "Whimp," he mumbled, the word catching in his throat..."and..."

I waited. "And?"

"Nuthin'," he said, and I saw his eyes growing moist.

"Well, Eric, with a 'C'," I said, with a quick poke in the ribs, "you can do something about that. Get yourself some weights. "You look pretty jacked already, but with a little training, you'd be a real stud." He grinned, then his face grew red, and he grinned some more.

"I'm serious," I pressed. "Stand up." I gestured for him to come closer. I reached out and felt his biceps. "See. They're not huge, but they're like rocks." I turned him around, and felt down along the sides of his back. Firm muscle. Lean, but strong. I gazed on his butt covered by deer skin. Perfectly shaped. I let my fingers lightly trail down along the bare skin of his hips to his thighs. More muscle. I hoped he was enjoying this as much as I was. His shaky breathing suggested he was - or at least he was experiencing something new, something exciting.

"Nice," I murmured, then slowly, I turned him around to face me. His hands were already in the position to cover himself. I looked into his eyes. His face showed uncertainty. "You're no whimp," I said. "And that's no bullshit." That seemed like the perfect punctuation at this moment, and his eyes widened.

Slowly I reached out and drew his hands to his sides. He blushed and red spread across his face. Without even looking down, I knew why, but he had his eyes riveted on mine, and I deliberately took my time as my fingers traced down his chest and belly. I gazed into his eyes a moment longer, trying to let him know it was okay. Only then did I let my eyes drift down across his firm pecs and taut abdomen. A glance further down showed a tent pole hidden by deer skin. But maybe I'd gone far enough. It was, after all, our first meeting.

"You've got a good-looking body, Eric with a 'C'. Believe me." He seemed confused when I looked back up at him, but I smiled, trying to tell him it was okay. "And I'm serious. A little work-out now and then, and you'd be a match for anyone in your class."

"You don't understand," he said.

"Well...maybe not, but if you're interested, I'll help you get started on a work-out regime."

He seemed to think about that some. "Hey," I said, abruptly changing the subject. "I bet your family's wondering where you are. How long's it take to deliver a pie." He grinned. I loved seeing that smile.

"Yeah, well, it's just me an' my mom," he said shyly. He stood and started to leave.

"Ahem..." I coughed. "Maybe you better change back into your own duds." I gestured to the breech-clout. "That might be a little hard to explain." I raised my eyebrows, rolled my eyes, and grinned.

"I guess," he said, as he predictably reddened, but he did at least manage a chuckle.

When he emerged out of the shed in his clothes, I called to him once more: "Glad to meet you, Eric. With a "C". Come back anytime."

He offered a self-conscious wave, and then in a flash, he had disappeared in the woods.