> Coming to Terms - Chapter 4 Disclaimer:

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 4

We got to the midpoint in our trek in another hour or so.

"Well, Eric, we walk from here on." We'd reached an old cabin, and this is where I intended to leave Stag and Daisy, the mule.

The corral would hold them, and the open shed would provide some shelter if the sun got too hot.

"Does anyone live here?" Eric asked. I was getting to know him well enough to recognize a look of concern.

"Not any more. Why?"

The boy looked uncertain. "Nuthin' really." But there was a clear look of relief, followed by a grin. "I was just thinkin'...maybe they wouldn't like...Indians." He looked from his breech-clout to mine, and I understood what his concern was. It was okay for me to see this shy boy almost naked, but not anyone else.

"It's okay, Eric. And besides, if anyone has a problem with the way we're dressed--or not dressed..." I grinned, and raised my eyebrows. "...that's their problem, not ours."

That seemed to satisfy. Now a different look seemed to flood across his face. "Problem?" I asked.

"A little...I've...you know...gotta' go."

"Well, if you're lookin' for a PortaPotty, you're shit out'a luck - so to speak. Just pick a spot. You need T-P?"

Eric shook his head, then wandered a little way into the brush. In a few seconds, I heard a spattering of his golden stream on the leaves. A moment later, he reappeared.

"Kind'a nice not to have to mess with zippers, isn't it?"

He grinned.

"Now then, your mom was pretty clear about the sunblock...and the sun's coming out - finally.

"Yeah, I guess."

Eric dug out his knapsack, and the sunblock. He sparingly covered his exposed skin. I watched as I unpacked the mule and the animals inside the coral.

"Want me to do your back?" I asked as casually as I could.

Eric thought about that. "Okay."

I squeezed some goo onto my hand and began to apply it around his shoulder blades. Slowly I worked my way down. At first he was quite stiff, but then he seemed to relax some. Then as I neared his nether regions, he seemed to tense once again. I put some more sunblock in my hand, and resumed, working my way to the small of his back.

"I can see where your shorts usually cover, so d'you think I should put a little extra down there...for extra protection?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

I smiled, and let my hand drift down. It almost covered the narrow stretch of skin just above his hips, and as I drew my hand downward even more, I let my fingers find their way just under the leather thong holding his loincloth. What exquisite smoothness. Firm, yet soft, warm, inviting. He actually seemed to stretch slightly, almost as an invitation to go further, but I'd done what I said, and I was afraid of going any further. Now I let my hands trace down the sides of his hips. He stood rigid. My fingers tucked under the front flap, and I savored the tactile ecstasy of his skin just where his leg meets his trunk. I must have been within centimeters of his genitals. Again I resisted, but I got the impression that had I gone farther, the boy wouldn't have objected. I let my hands trace back and explore the taut sides of those magnificent boy globes that framed his unseen crack. My heart pounded, and with effort, I withdrew my fingers from under his back flap, and wiped the remains of the lotion on my own legs.

"All done."

"Yeah," he answered with a detectable note (it seemed) of disappointment.

I started to move toward the gear, when he spoke again. "Umm...you want me to do you?"

This was more than I bargained for. "Sure," I said, "if you want to."

Eric looked into my eyes. "I...I...don't mind." There was almost a look of guilt that spread across his face.

"Okay, then."

Quickly he had squeezed a handful of the stuff out, and was reaching up on my shoulders. His touch was so delicate, almost like a butterfly's wings. He seemed to be exploring every inch of my back. He traced down my spine, then when he got near my back flap, he stopped and spread his hands out toward my sides. Then he drifted back toward my ass.

"You don't really have a tan line," he said.

"But you should probably do it all, just to be on the safe side, don't ya' think?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, the word catching in his throat. Ever so tentatively, his fingers poked downward. Eventually, hesitantly, he slipped them along the flap, then traced to the sides, and down my hips.

"Cover me good," I urged softly. He understood, and as I twisted back to watch, saw him with the utmost concentration, push under my flap and coat my butt. He more massaged it, going deeper than I had dared with him. His eyes were riveted on his work, and utterly focused, I saw him shudder and mouth the words, "Oh God." I suppressed a smile. Now, his fingers traced back and, putting more goo in his hand, continued.

I don't even think he realized what he was doing. It was like he was entranced. His fingers covered my arms, then moved down my chest. I was tempted to stop him, to tell him I could handle the rest, but he was oblivious. I turned now to face him, and he barely seemed to notice. His hands covered my nipples, then moved downward, exploring everywhere, utterly focused. When he got to the front flap, he started to look up. I quickly closed my eyes, hoping he hadn't seen that. Instead, I stretched some, leaned my head back, sighed, "mmmmmm," and waited. With trembling fingers, he slowly traced along the leather thong, and then drifted down along my hips. His fingers poked under my front flap. To try to describe those small, soft, gentle fingers tracing up and down my upper thighs is impossible. And try as I might, my penis began - understandably - to strengthen. Still his trembling fingers did their work, moving inward even more. Only when he touched the tight curls of my pubic hair did he stop. I had raised my head back up, and through narrow slits of eyelids watched as he suddenly stopped. He looked up, and seeing no reaction, quickly pulled his fingers away. Now he crouched, unmoving, watching the flap raise in quick pulses. Then with the understandable uncertainly of a novice, he quickly resumed his ministrations, spreading the lotion down my legs, front and back.

"There." he said quickly, sounding relieved that he was finished. I suppose at some level he realized it was his touches that had awakened me, that had caused my partial erection. For a young boy, that can cause a sense of power and accomplishment, and wonder, but at the same time, fear and guilt. I didn't want to make a big deal of this, but I wanted him to know it was okay, and that I had enjoyed every minute of his touching. I opened my eyes fully and looked down as he stood. His face flushed. And he looked as if he half expected me to be angry. He was a little boy in that moment, desperately needing to know what he'd done was okay.

"Ohmygod...man, Eric, that was awesome!"

He beamed. "Really?"

"Oh, God, I haven't felt like that in a long time. Thanks. All that an' no sunburn, to boot!"

He blushed, then grinned.

The conversation had stopped my dick from growing any larger, but I figured if he really wanted to sneak a peek, my seven inches was probably lifting the flap away from my leg. But the spell was broken, and he now was about like any other kid, ready for something else. He turned away, apparently anxious to move on. Maybe we'd get a chance to do this again. I could only hope.

As we loaded up and trudged along, I thought about this remarkable boy, and how he'd seemed to have gotten more comfortable with himself in just the few hours we'd been together. I shook my head in amazement.

By noontime, we were approaching the summit. The trees were much sparser here. I was in the lead.

"Umm, Jason...d'you really think I could build up my muscles?"

"Absolutely," I answered without slowing my pace.

"You said you'd help."

"I did...and I will."

"I can't believe your muscles."

"Well, like I said, I didn't always look like this. It took some work. And I've gotta' say, doin' this kind of work, keeps me in pretty good shape."

"I guess," came the breathless reply. Without turning around, I'd never know for sure, but I was certain he was studying me with a scientist's gaze.

Once on the mountaintop, I located a marker from a previous survey. Directly above it, I set up a small transmitter. "Federal property," a sign warned. "Do not remove, reposition or obstruct under penalty of law."

I explained to Eric that I could now go to another location and by using a special receiver, determine with precision exactly how far from the marker we were.

"Like radar," he summed up.


Soon we'd finished the task and I pulled out some sandwiches.

We moved to a ledge and the mountain seemed to drop off beneath us. Truthfully, it wasn't that high a mountain, but it offered breath-taking views - especially on this day which was turning out to be unusually clear.

"What's in the knapsack...if I may ask?"

Eric looked suddenly self-conscious.

"Just some drawing pads."

"You draw?"

Eric dropped his head and shrugged. "A little. I try anyway."

"No kidding. Can I see?"

Again he shrugged. "They're not very good."

"Well, if you'd rather not..."

"No..." he interrupted, and pulled out a couple of pads. One he kept, and handed the other to me.

I flipped back the cover and was stunned. There, on the first page, were a series of sketches from my cabin. The stairs, the woodpile, a chipmunk, the ax in the stump. They were incredible: detailed drawings, perfect, to my eye anyway. I studied them for some time, and then flipped to the next page. This was an even more detailed drawing of the ax in the stump. The detail, the feel, was unbelievable.

Now I looked up, to find Eric had pulled out a pencil and was busy at work. I couldn't see what he was working on, but I watched, drawn in completely by his concentration. It was as if he was totally alone, oblivious to my presence. His hand flew across the page.

"What'cha doin'," I asked after a few minutes.

Now his trance was broken, and he gazed at his work, and winced, wrinkling his nose. In one move, he tore the page out of the sketchpad. "It's not right," he said in an almost angry tone.

I took the page from him. In the upper left corner, was a magnificent stag - 12 points. I knew exactly what I was looking at. It was the deer we'd seen earlier. And in the lower right corner, a massive black bear stood on his hind legs, head back, mouth caught in full roar. I could almost hear it.

"Not right? Eric, this is incredible! What's wrong with it?"

"His eyes, I didn't get his eyes, right." And again, he lapsed into his trance-like drawing state. While he worked I reached for his knapsack, and started to take out the other pads.

"NO!" he shouted, his voice cracking and turning into a high-pitched squeal. He grabbed the books from my hand. There was desperation in his shout, and he looked wild and hurt and guilty all at once. When he realized how he'd sounded, he softened immediately. "I...I'm...sorry."

"No, Eric," I said gently, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I had no business doing that. It's just that I was wanting to see more. You're an incredible artist. I really mean that. You're awesome!"

"No one else thinks so."

"I can't believe that. You're mom must be so proud...and what about your art teacher at school?"

"They don't count...and my mom doesn't like what I draw sometimes."

Though he couldn't know what I knew, I thought back to my mother's phone call. He had pictures of naked boys in those pads. That's why he didn't want me to see them.

"Well," I said carefully. "Any picture you want to draw...of any subject...would excite me, Eric. And I mean that."

He reddened now, then nodded, and put the pads back in his knapsack, and looked out into the distance.

"I think you're one incredible kid," I said finally. I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. "I'm not kiddin' around, either."

He didn't move, and neither did I. It was as if neither of us wanted that special moment to end. During the long silence, he seemed to be thinking about something, and then at one point, he seemed to have come to a decision; he turned and reached back into his knapsack, pulled out a different pad, and handed it to me.

I opened it as he sat expectantly. Again, there was almost a look of fear in his eyes. There on the first page, was a picture of me swinging the ax, about to lay into a log. My muscles rippled, and you could almost feel the sweat running down my back. It was awesome to think that this boy had captured that moment.

"There's more," he said. I turned the page. Another sketch, this one of me pulling myself up out of the water. One knee was on the dock, and my arms supported my upper body. It could have been a snapshot of that instant yesterday after our swim, except for the fact that he had drawn me with my shorts on. Other than that, everything was perfect: my dripping hair, the muscles in my arms and legs, even the scar on my lower left arm. I flipped the page, there I was laying stretched out on the dock, again perfectly recording the moment yesterday, except for the fact that in the sketch I wore shorts, slightly bulging, but only someone looking for that would have noticed. I reddened, somehow flattered yet almost embarrassed that someone had studied me enough to capture me to perfection.

I looked up. Eric was again looking off into the distance.

"Eric." He turned, but kept his eyes averted, fearing, I suppose my reaction. "Look at me, Eric." He did. "You are magnificent. I am so...so...moved... so...honored that you would draw me. I'm so glad you're my friend."

This seemed to surprise the boy, and now he blushed. "I...I...wanted to get it right."

"Well, they're perfect. Absolutely perfect. I don't know what to say. Thank you."

He beamed now; I could almost see the energy that comes from feeling good about yourself trying to explode inside him. He actually trembled in my relentless gaze.

We sat for a time in total silence, then slowly rose and started back down the slope.

"Yessir, you should be really proud," I said after we'd been walking for a while. "You got it almost exact." I was watching closely to see his reaction. He stopped dead and looked suddenly very uncertain.

"What was wrong?"

"Well..." I rolled my eyes to the side, raised my eyebrows, and pretended to look around to be sure no one was listening. "I don't remember wearing any clothes, do you?"

It took him a second to realize I was putting him on. He reddened as much as I'd even seen him. "I...ah..." Then he reddened even more, if that was possible.

"Hey," I said, "I'm proud of that butt...and here you've got it all covered up!" I grabbed him in a kind of headlock, and pulled him to me, and tickled him. Now he knew I was kidding, and he laughed the kind of laugh only young boys can laugh. It was great to hear him and feel him. As we giggled together, I felt his arms reach around me, and we both held each other tightly.

I had an impulse in that moment to kiss him, but I feared that might be too much.

We got back home late in the afternoon. After another cooling swim, and a time to dry off, Eric stepped into the shed and changed back into his regular clothes.

"Thanks, Jason," he said simply.

"Thank you, Eric. I'm so glad you could come with me."

"Me, too." He backed off, and was gone in a flash.

I watched him go, and suddenly felt an emptiness. That's stupid, I told myself. He's just a kid. But even as I was thinking that, I was realizing how much I enjoyed having him around. And yet, for the next three days, I'd be gone, and when I got back, he might be gone, too. I wished there was a way to change my schedule, but I had an assistant coming and the work had to get done. I'd miss that little guy. I'd miss him a lot.