Date: Fri, 3 Jun 2011 08:25:54 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Commercial Traveler #3

All the usual disclaimers apply:

+This story is a work of fiction.  If you think it is real, you have a very
active imagination.

+Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do
so.

+Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and a young boy are
represented.  Do not read further if this offends you.

+Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot
accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story.


If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

A tip of the hat to 'R M' whose Text-A-Boy stories were my inspiration for
this series.  Thanks 'R M'!  (Text-A-Boy Service - part 1 is in the
archive, 18 Nov 2008, and the whole series is a fun read!)

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________


THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER #3  ( Lance )
(copyright 2011, Joe Hunter)

Call me Jack.

I'm 37, look younger, keep myself fit - and I'm a boy lover.  I've heard
some say that it's hard to find willing boys, but I don't think so; not
when you travel as often as I do.  I fly around a lot on business - nothing
fancy, always coach or business class; midrange motels on the job.  But
when it comes to indulging my interest in boys I'm willing to spend money,
and I'm rarely at a loss for a companion.

My secret?  A spare cell phone - the modern-day equivalent of the little
black book.  Mine goes with me everywhere and all my boy contacts are on
it.  Only they have the number.  I buy each one a similar phone so they can
call or text me as often as they want, and when they get short on minutes I
text over a PIN for prepaid time.

The system works to keep us in touch and most of the time when I go
anywhere, I'm already hooked up...

----------------
| Destination: |
| San Diego    |
----------------

Sunshine flooded the cabin of the little commuter plane as we climbed above
the LA smog heading south along the coast toward the beaches of San Diego.
I checked the text message on my phone: "Skate Park, 3:30."  According to
my watch there was plenty of time.

The little turboprop descended into the airport ahead of schedule and,
donning sunglasses against the west coast glare, I picked up my rental car
for a drive across town to check in at my motel by the water.

Even with the huge influx of illegals, San Diego was still a Navy town and
I liked the 'here today, gone tomorrow' feel of the place as well as the
colorful surrounding coastal communities that gave it a quirky character.
Out on the beaches the surf was always up and nearby boulevards teemed with
bicycles, in-line skaters and skateboarders.  Skate and bike parks
abounded: official ones sitting in graffitied splendor amid city parks, and
dozens of other unsanctioned venues - empty lots, public concourses and
deserted strip malls - where the city's children played in the ruins like
survivors of some nuclear catastrophe.

I drove to one of the big official parks, found a place for the car and
strolled over to a spot near the fence to watch the action.  The park was
full of kids; mostly teens on stunt bikes or skateboards along with a few
in-line skaters and a sprinkling of youngsters on blades.  All were boys,
and nearly all were white except for a small knot of Hispanic kids taking
turns at BMX tricks over in one corner.  The concrete of the bowls, dips,
and rails blazed with colorful graffiti - a stark contrast to the dull
appearance of the kids, who seemed to be adhering to some unwritten dress
code that required ripped denim jeans or else baggy cargo shorts in
nondescript brown or gray.  There were a few loose white T-shirts, but the
majority went shirtless and I passed the time sorting the boys into
categories of good tan/bad tan, good body/bad body.

Equipment varied.  Some of the younger boys were fully decked out in
helmet, kneepads and elbow protection - the kind of thing a doting mother
would insist on before allowing her treasured offspring to leave the house.
Older kids had less, and in general there appeared to be another unwritten
rule, particularly among the skateboarders, that the more skill a rider
exhibited, the less equipment he should use.  The very best scraped the
rails or floated above the bowls in only tight fitting, ragged jeans pulled
low on the hips to display boxer shorts.

Amid this elite group of highly skilled riders was a young boy with smooth
tanned skin, a spill of sun bleached blond hair, and a taut, slender,
well-muscled body that he used with a dancer's grace.  The faded denims he
wore were skintight, displaying firm butt curves, and around his upper legs
the fabric had been ripped front and back to reveal glossy skin beneath.

The older boys made way for this youngster as he launched into a bowl.  He
pumped to gain speed and then flew up the opposite side to float over the
rim in a tumbling somersault, clutching his board.  As he descended he
brought the board back under his bare feet and shot downward, ascending the
other side into another tumbling somersault with a 360 that landed him at
his original launch spot.

It was a spectacular move, but except for a few palm slaps no one commented
or applauded.  One of the older boys took the next turn, pumping his board
back and forth in the bowl and grinding along the metal rim at the top.

As I watched, the young boy practiced his trick several more times and then
engaged in what appeared to be a contest with some of the others, all of
them trying extended runs that combined a half dozen or so stunts.
Occasionally, while waiting his turn, the boy would check his watch and at
exactly 3:30 he launched once more into the bowl, raced up the opposite
side into a 540 with a half twist and landed on the rim.  With a jaunty
kick he snapped the board up into his hand and walked toward the exit near
where I was watching.

After he had passed by I followed, got the car and caught up with him half
a block away.  When I pulled over to the curb he took a cautious glance
around before opening the passenger side and sliding into the seat, holding
the skateboard on his lap.

"What's up, Lance?"  I asked, putting the car back into motion.

"The usual."  With a cool, speculative look he held out a palm and I slid
mine over it.

"Every time I see you it's like you've grown another inch.  You're coming
up like a weed!"

The boy smirked and extended his legs into the foot well, admiring himself.
"I'm like growin' outta' all my clothes."

Lance had been eleven at the time of our first meeting, an occasion where I
had saved him from an arrest for skateboarding at a mall.  Since then he
had turned thirteen and was now showing all the signs of entering his
growth spurt.

"I'll take you shopping tomorrow.  You pick out what you need.  Is that the
board I got you or a new one?"

He glanced at me with what might have been a hurt expression.  "It's
yours."

"You must be taking good care of it.  It looks new."

The boy shrugged.  "It's a nice board."

"How's your mom?"

He shrugged again.  "She's always the same."

Lance's mother was a semi-invalid who supported herself and her son with a
Social Security pension and, according to Lance, had once held some kind of
teaching position at a university.  The Social Security thing I knew was
true, but as for the other there was no telling.

"How about school?"  I asked.  "Is the plan still USC?"

"Sure."  He turned to smile at the grimace I was making.

"Why USC?"  I grumbled.  "It's such a goddamned factory!  And I can't stand
their football team!"

"You just don't like that they win so much."

Lance had two ruling passions in his life: skateboarding and getting the
money and grades he needed to be accepted at USC and escape from the kind
of life his mother led.

I shook my head.  "If you like their team so much, why not play football
and get a scholarship?"

Lance made a dismissive gesture.  "I'm not big enough.  And anyway,
football's for suckers.  It's too easy to get messed up."

"Oh, and like skate boarding's completely safe, I suppose?"

The boy shrugged.  "Football's like all colored kids."

He was right about that - and right about not being big enough.  Lance was
a natural athlete who could excel at any sport, but his compact slender
form was not well suited to football - nor was his independent nature
suited to team play.

"How 'bout baseball?  USC has a great baseball program."

Lance made a face.  "Baseball's boring."

The boy was a risk taker and that was all there was to it.  Skateboarding
satisfied some deep inner need.  As I wove the car through traffic I stole
glances at him from the corner of my eye.  He sat in graceful repose on the
seat, afternoon sun glinting on his bare upper body, the taut smooth skin
stretched tight over young developing muscle.  With his blond hair, blue
eyes and exquisite features he was the perfect dream child of the West
Coast; a glorious being, fit to be clad only in sunshine or starlight.
There was an air about him that I had noticed the very first day, an aura
of controlled power and total confidence.  I wanted to touch him, but we
were in the open surrounded by other cars and I knew he would not like it.

When we turned into the motel parking lot he looked around and said, "Same
place as always."

"Yeah, it's convenient.  Want to go swimming after?"

"Uh-huh."

Like any boy growing up in the beach towns Lance could swim and surf.  In
our past meetings he had made it clear that he enjoyed going to the beach
with me, so I knew he liked my asking.

I had the last room at the far end and before we went in I held up my
digital camera.  "Let me get a few pictures."

Lance grimaced and then shrugged.  He hated having his picture taken but
would pose reluctantly when I asked him, never smiling and always with one
or both of his middle fingers extended to exhibit his disdain for the whole
thing.  My entire collection showed him giving the world the finger.

After taking a few shots of him standing, sitting and crouching on his
board, we went inside.  The room seemed dark after the bright sunlight and
the air-conditioning unnaturally cool.  Lance propped his skateboard
against the wall out of the way and then came over to stand in front of me.

"You're lookin' really good, kid," I said, stroking the rounded point of
his shoulder.  My hand slid down the smooth warm skin of his arm.

Lance nodded and began to unbutton my shirt.  He never let me take off my
own clothes but always insisted on doing it himself.  Once my shirt had
been removed and tossed aside the boy ran his hands over my chest, rubbing
and then licking my nipples until the points were hard.  Swirling his
tongue he worked his way down onto my stomach where his tongue tip explored
my belly button.

When he crouched to take off my shoes the movement pulled down his tight
pants, exposing the top of his butt crease.  I watched the play of muscle
there and in his back as he unlaced my Nikes, removing them along with my
socks.  Then he straightened up and began to unfasten the waistband of my
pants while I stroked his silky shoulders.  When my pants had been slid
down I stepped out of them leaving only my boxer shorts, now tented out by
my stiff erection.

Lance felt me through the cloth of the boxers, rubbing a few times before
sliding his hands around my waist to push the underwear down.  While he
held the shorts I pulled my legs free and then stood up naked, watching as
he knelt in front of me to take my hard rod into his mouth.

Leaning back against the wall with my eyes closed I let sensation overwhelm
me.  Moist warmth enveloped my jutting rod when Lance slid me in, tongue
curling around my shaft, and I gasped as he took my whole length, opening
his throat to hold the blunt tip in his gullet.  The boy was skilled in the
arts of oral manipulations having, as he had confessed to me, worked the
malls since he was nine, giving blow jobs in restroom stalls to the
ever-changing military population of the area.  Now he applied what he had
learned; tonguing, bobbing, sucking to coax me toward the edge - then
backing off just as I was there, holding me in prolonged, delicious
urgency.

The tension radiating from my loins made me shudder and I circled my palms
over the boy's silky arms and shoulders.  Just as I reached the point of
wanting to grab his head and lock it against me while I erupted the boy
slid me out of his mouth and looked up.

"Not yet."

"Yeah," I gasped, squeezing to hold back.  He kept looking up at me,
occasionally licking the oozing pre-cum off my tip while I waited for the
pressure to ease; and then I pulled him to his feet, picked him up and
carried him to the bed.  When I laid him on the soft coverlet the boy
stretched his arms back behind his head and gazed up at me, eyes glistening
in the dim light.

Before our first meeting, no one had ever shown Lance that he could receive
as much pleasure as he gave, and even now he still valued the experiences I
brought as rare and precious gifts.  As he had done for me, I licked his
tiny nipples and then swirled my tongue over the taut sheath of his stomach
poking the tip into his belly button.  Then I gently unbuttoned the waist
of his pants and pulled down the zipper.  His denims were so tight and
rotten I had to peel the fabric off with great care.  Lance wore nothing
underneath.  He never did on the days we met, having learned that it
excited me.  Once the faded jeans were out of the way he lay naked on the
bed, displayed in all his beauty and glory.

Lance's body was flawless, the swells and hollows of immature muscle etched
into sculpted definition beneath taut, glossy-smooth skin.  At eleven he
had been a little Apollo, every line of his form in perfect symmetry.  Now,
just turned thirteen he was starting to grow, his legs slightly ahead of
the rest of him, and yet somehow the disproportion made him even more
appealing - a new perfection of potential and change.

I laid hands on that perfection, stroking rounded firm thigh, glossy curve
of hip, the hollow of taut little waist, warm silkiness of flank, velvety
armpits and the sheeny satin of chest and stomach.

When I stretched out on the bed next to him Lance came into my arms,
hugging and pressing the whole length of his warm young body to mine, his
hair and tanned skin smelling of sunlight and clean boy sweat.  I kissed
the delicate hollows of his neck, his closed eyelids, and then let my lips
touch his, tasting their sweetness before sliding my tongue deep into his
waiting mouth.

"I never thought I'd like kissing so much," he had told me that first time,
and with a smile I had stroked his cheek.

"All boys think that until they try it."

Now he could not get enough and he tugged at me, wanting my tongue in as
deep as I could push it and writhing to rub his hard boner against my side.

When he had gotten his fill I licked down his body once more until I
reached his smooth groin where the rigid shaft of his male member jutted
outward, rampant and quivering.  Lance had begun to develop, but his tight
little sac was as yet undescended.  Even so, his boystick was longer and
thicker than most thirteen-year-olds and I loved the feel of it between my
thumb and first two fingers as I slid them on the slick stretched skin,
rubbing up over the tiny slit and circumcised head.  The boy lifted
slightly, squeezing to tighten his butt and I pumped faster getting the
reward of a small throb in the shaft along with a jerk of his hips.  I
rubbed even harder, fingers sliding on the full length of the rigid member
as Lance arched up, every quivering muscle in tension.  Another throb shook
him and then he was writhing and gasping, lean young body jerking on the
bed in multiple dry spasms.

I shifted position, leaning over the panting boy to take his straining
hardness into my mouth, sliding it between my lips and swirling my tongue
over the blunt tip.  Lance moaned as he pulled his legs up, opening his
thighs, and moments later warmth engulfed the head of my own stiff rod when
the boy took me once again into his mouth.

He did not suck on me, he rarely did while I was doing him, but simply held
me between his lips as if comforting himself with my fullness.  When
another little throb pulsed at the base of his rigid shaft he squeezed his
butt, arching upward.  Then as more contractions followed he pulled me deep
into his throat, wrapping arms around my hips to hold me in place while his
body jerked and heaved.  This time a slippery sweetness emerged from his
slit and I licked at it, running my tongue back and forth to prolong him.
The boy writhed, shuddering in arched tension for a few more seconds and
then gradually relaxed, sliding the head of my stiff rod to the front of
his mouth so he could breathe.

I came off the boy long enough to coat the fingers of my right hand with
saliva and then pushed them into Lance's butt crease.  He drew his legs up
further so I could reach his tight little opening and as my tongue curled
once more around his rigid boner I pushed a forefinger through his ring,
penetrating to the moist heat beyond.  Beneath me Lance bore down to open
himself and as the ring loosened I slid a second and then a third finger
into his hot cavity, wiggling my fingertips back and forth over his little
nub.  The boy writhed and then pulled me into his throat again, taut body
arching and bucking as more throbbing contractions pulsed in his shaft.

When the spasms eased I let my fingers slide out and took my mouth off his
quivering boyhood.  Lance released my own hard rod as well and lay with his
eyes closed, arms stretched back behind his head.  I reached for the tube
of KY ready on the nightstand and after uncapping it to squirt a glob onto
my fingers I pulled the boy's knees back and lubed him, smearing the
slippery stuff around his dimpled opening and pushing more up inside.

Lance remained motionless, only squirming a few times when my oily
fingertips massaged his nub, and then when my fingers slid out he turned
onto his side waiting while I slicked more KY onto my throbbing member.  I
stretched out behind him, positioning myself so the blunt tip of my rod
pushed into his butt crease and Lance drew up his top leg, placing his
ankle on my knee.  He lifted his thigh to open himself while I slid one arm
beneath and around his taut little waist, using my other hand to guide my
jutting pole into his ring.  As soon as he felt it there the boy stained
down, loosening his opening, and I felt the sheet of muscle in his stomach
harden as he pushed.

Despite his efforts the boy was tight and I let my tip ease in, maintaining
a steady pressure, resisting the urge to thrust.  Bit by bit the head
slipped through, the boy quivering as he was stretched.  There was a
popping sensation when I entered him, the head of my shaft suddenly
engulfed by the heat of his body, and Lance caught his breath in a tiny
cry, "Ah..."  Then he relaxed and I held him as he squirmed a little,
accommodating himself to the fullness penetrating him.  With slow steady
pressure I began to thrust and felt the boy strain down again as my full
length slid up into his body.

Once my groin was locked against the firm glossy mounds of Lance's butt I
paused while Lance writhed giving little gasps of pleasure,
"Oh... Uh... Uh..."  Then, while I ground my hips, he pushed back trying to
bring me in even deeper and I began to move within him, withdrawing slowly
to half-length before sliding in once more.  Lance drew his head back to
arch his lean body, moving his leg to make it easy for me to reach over his
hip and stroke my fingers on his rigid quivering boner.  As I began to rub,
pumping the straining shaft in fast steady rhythm, a throb pulsed deep in
the boy's loins, its contractions rippling through the tight muscular walls
sheathing my hard rod.  I rubbed faster and Lance went rigid, his slender
body straining in tension.  Then his hips bucked as throbbing contractions
jerked his rigid boy pole sending droplets of clear slippery liquid running
down over my pumping fingers.

Again and again I brought the boy into his little immature orgasms,
prolonging him by rubbing his slick straining shaft and sliding my own
jutting hardness up in him with steady thrusting of my hips.  Lance
writhed, squirming and bucking until at last he began to pant, his breaths
coming in little gasps, "Uh...  Uh...  Uh...  Uh..."  He arched his body,
feet twisting, and then pleaded, "Jack...  Uh... Jack..."

It was a signal that he wanted me to change position.  I eased out of him
and the boy squirmed onto his back, shuddering with passion as he pulled up
his knees, hugging them to his chest.

For the space of a few heartbeats I took in the sight of this beautiful boy
panting in eagerness before me, tight little ass stretched and gaping.
Then I leaned over him, slid the tip of my rod into his opening and with a
smooth steady thrust drove my full length into his hot sweetness.

Lance's head went back, taut body arching up in quivering ecstasy.  He
wrapped arms and legs around me to draw me in as deep as possible and then
with squirms and thrusts of his hips urged me to begin moving inside him.
I pumped slowly, grinding against the boy's stretched butt at the
completion of each thrust and then gradually speeded up until my hard rod
was sliding through the slick gaping opening like a piston.  Lance stroked
his hands over my back and sides, crossed his ankles on my back and tugged
in a frenzy to pull me in deeper.  Then I felt him tense and heave up, lean
body arched and quivering, his head drawn back and mouth open.  Then his
hips were bucking in release and I felt his rigid boy stick jerking against
my stomach.

A second and third time I sent the boy into writhing, shuddering spasm
while squeezing to hold myself back, but then Lance's passionate responses
took me beyond the point of restraint.  I drove into him a few more times,
pounding his stretched ass to thrust up as far as I could and then locked
my groin against him, shuddering while he held me on his taut quivering
body.  For an instant of time we hung there, clinging together, poised on
the brink, and then with jerk after throbbing jerk I sent my full load
spurting into him.

Lance felt the deep pulsing of my shaft and bucked with me, the two of us
heaving together until we were both expended and had collapsed, panting,
onto the bed.  Gradually the hold of the boy's arms and legs relaxed and he
lay on his back staring sightlessly upward while I softened and slid out.
Rolling off him I stretched out by his side where I could stroke his
perfect young body with my palm and when his breathing slowed he turned
toward me offering a kiss.

"I only do that with you," he whispered when our lips parted.

I knew he meant both the kissing and what we had just finished - and I knew
he was telling the truth, because Lance was still as tight now as he had
been the first time I had taken him.

"I know," I whispered back, kissing him again.

I kept stroking the boy and after a while he closed his eyes once more.
"Tomorrow," I said, "I'll take you to The Gap or Tommy's - wherever you'd
like.  I want you to pick out everything you need.  I want you to look
good."

Lance shrugged.  "Just give me the money.  I don't need nothin' fancy."

It was what he always said.  If I gave him money to buy cool looking stuff
he bought whatever was on sale at Wal-Mart and put the difference into his
savings.

"What are you doing with all that money?  You still banking it?"

He nodded.

"You want any help with that?  I mean, you've got it in a savings account,
don't you?  It's earning interest, right?"

Lance shook his head.  "Interest on savings accounts like sucks right now.
I got some in a mutual fund and the rest in like CD's and gold."

"Geez!" I shook my head.  How many thirteen-year-olds knew about interest
rates, CD's and metals?  This one did.

"Listen," I told him.  "I know those damn skate parks are crawling with
drugs.  You haven't had anybody approach you, have you?  I mean, you're not
getting mixed up in anything like that, right?"

Lance opened his eyes, turning to look at me.  "You think I'm that stupid?"

"No!  No, of course not.  It's just..."  I waved a hand, embarrassed at
having asked the question.  "It's just... I don't want to see you get
messed up is all..."

Lance stared at me for a moment with an expression on his face that was
difficult to interpret.  Then he reached out a hand to touch me.

"Look," I stammered.  "I just want to be sure, is all..."

He rolled toward me and I took him into my arms.

"It's OK," he said.

I caressed the smooth taper of his back, sliding my palm down to massage
the firm jutting mounds of his perfect butt.

"Take me swimming," he said after a while, and with a little pat of his hip
I released him.

"Definitely.  Let's go..."

I always enjoyed taking Lance to the beach, if for no other reason than to
show him off.  "I'll buy you a nice new pair of board shorts!"

But he shook his head.  "Just give me the money."  With my help he tore the
legs off his ripped denims, turning them into cutoffs that he could use in
the surf.

Outside, as we waited to cross the boulevard onto the beach, Lance touched
my hand again.  I looked down at him, dazzled by the beauty of his golden
hair and lithe tanned young body, glowing in the late afternoon sun.

"It's OK," he told me once more, his gaze holding mine as if I were the
child and he the reassuring adult.

"Yeah..."  I nodded in solemn reply.  "I know.  If it wasn't, you'd tell
me.  I know that.  It's just..."

He smiled up at me tugging at my arm.  "Take me swimming."

Beyond, out on the water, brilliant west coast sunshine glinted off rolling
waves.  From the beach came the piping voices of children playing in the
surf.  I smiled back at the boy.  "Ok.  Let's go swimming."

The light changed and together we walked across the road onto the sand.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Hope you enjoyed it!  This story is the third of a twenty-four part series
that features the same central character.  There will be something for
everyone - single hook ups, doubles, twins, first times and hand offs.
Drop me a line if you have a favorite chapter (I do, but won't reveal it).
Look for a new chapter or two each month.

----------------------------------------------------
Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment,
my e-mail address is:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I will try to answer all serious mailings.  My on-line access is very
limited.  Rants and ravings will not get consideration.

To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with
contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
ways to make contributions.  Without this Archive those of us who write for
you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out.

You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe
Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list.  I
hope you will read and enjoy!

All the Best.  Joe