Cruising - Part I
by Mr Malaprop
I don't usually post things in pieces but I decided that because I haven't previously doesn't mean I can't. So here is Part 1 of Cruising, if you enjoy it please let me know - I will be away for a few weeks so forgive me if I do not reply until late May. I will press on with Part II when I get back if I get enough comments to justify it.
This is a piece of fiction, the characters and events depicted are purely the products of my imagination and no similarity is intended to any real events or persons. Any such similarity is completely coincidental.
Thanks to my friends HCFU (Freedom, Nick and Thorns) for their constant encouragement.
None of the above is responsible in any way for any imperfections in this story, that responsibility rests solely with me.
And finally: If you shouldn't, don't. If you don't like it, stop. If you want to flame me, you're wasting your time.
Comments and constructive criticism are welcome at:
Please do not send any attachments as I delete any such posts without opening them.
The whole story is copyright © Malaka/Mr Malaprop 2006
Cruising - Part I
by Mr Malaprop
I had seen him out cruising several times, I'd even blown him a couple of times in the bushes in the park. Nothing serious, just a friendly suck and a smile and that was it. We spoke different languages and hardly understood a word the other said, a contract worker from Yorkshire and a local junior clerk. In the brief conversations we had attempted I knew he was married and that he had kids but that was all.
It was a surprise to see him out of context down by the shops. I don't know why it should have been, I knew he had to live fairly locally. There he was walking past the bakers as I came out. We smiled and shook hands but of course couldn't say much. Then I noticed he had a hanger on, a boy of 10 or 12 I'd guess. Father spoke to son and son said to me in halting English: “My father sorry he speaks not English . . . he says you are his friend. I am son of him and I go to English medium school but I not speak well, I think.”
“You are doing fine. My name is Chris.”
“I am Rasik and my father is Irfan.” I shook hands with the boy then his dad shot another load of words at the son who smiled at them then stood for a moment trying to get the ideas sorted to be translated.
“My father says he has in the park met you and likes you. He says he thinks you are good man. He says it would be good to be friends with you for me for improving English mine.”
I wasn't at all sure where this was leading but I was sort of mesmerised by the sight of this boy struggling so prettily with the language.
“Yes, Rasik, that sounds like fun.”
Dad then rattled off a few more sentences. The boy blushed a bit and looked at his shoes. The dad said a bit more. The boy was clearly embarrassed but did as he was told.
“My father thinks like me you do. He says we should meet in the park . . . tomorrow night to talk, the three of us together. He says it will be fun to do it.”
Okay, so I've got a dirty mind but then if you're reading this story on this site then you've probably got a dirty mind, too. Let's just say that I thought doing it in the park with this boy and his father was not exactly uninteresting.
“That sounds good, Rasik. What time?” He translated to his father who replied - I followed that well enough and knew he said 7 p.m. before Rasik told me. So we were set. I shook hands with Rasik then with his father, who smiled and tickled my palm, cheeky swine, and was on my way with intriguing thoughts in my head and a hard-on in my trousers.
I won't regale you with the fantasies I enjoyed that night - they were really good ones, Fantasies in Glorious Technicolor, but you can make up your own - and being your very own I'm sure you'll find them particularly satisfying - but I promise you almost certainly not as lurid as mine!
Next day there was a crisis at work - well, there was a crisis most days but that day's was a mega crisis. It's strange but I can't remember what triggered it now, all I remember is the CEO of the company telephoning me personally all the way from Paris to scream invective at me in French and then beg me to try and pull them out of the hole they were in. As I was still employed at the year's end I presume I must have done okay at it.
I remember very clearly that I was a little late at the office and had to rush to get home, grab a shower and a quick glass of something before dashing out again. I got to the park gates at five past seven but knew that allowances are made here and that I would hardly be expected to be on the dot of the hour. But they were there waiting for me, both of them. And Rasik was in shorts tonight, not the jeans he was wearing the night before. My heart skipped a beat or several as we shook hands. Father and son, hand in hand as is the custom here, led me over to a bench under a tree - being evening and being tropical it was quite dark in the park and under the tree was pretty shaded from the lamps as well. As we walked along Rasik put his other hand out and took mine so that he was holding on to both of us. I must say it felt great to me.
When we sat it was only logical that Rasik, as interpreter, should sit in the middle with his dad and I turned across him to face one another.
It was the usual banal opening conversation: where did he work? Where did I work? Where did Rasik go to school? How old was he? Were there any brothers and sisters? Where did they live? Where did I live? Was I married? Why not? I'd been through the same litany a hundred times before.
Dad was a clerk with an insurance company, unlike me working for a large French MNC, a major player in the region and major employer in the town. Rasik went to an English Medium Middle School not far from my office, it was one I walked past on the way to work. He was 11 but would be 12 in less than two weeks. He had two sisters and one brother - the sisters were older, one was married but only recently, the other was at college. There had been a long gap before the parents had Rasik and then, just over a year later, Massoud, his younger brother. It turned out that they lived quite close to my office as well - and not that far from my home. They knew the block I lived in as soon as I mentioned the name, Irfan's boss was a neighbour of mine - in fact I knew him fairly well. It really is a small world.
Rasik was fascinated by my not being married - but why? I was sure that Irfan knew exactly why but he wasn't helping me out at all. I tried him with the line “I can't afford it” and he countered with “You must earn more than my father and he has a wife and four children!” I tried “I'm too busy” and I got a lecture on “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”, quoting the proverb learnt recently in a lesson. I went back to finances and told him that having a wife and children costs a lot of money, but being single all my money was mine - he translated this for his father who laughed and agreed. Rasik still wasn't satisfied and kept probing. Eventually Irfan came to the rescue a little by using diversionary tactics:
“It's warm tonight,” he said, as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. Rasik agreed and pulled off his t-shirt to sit there in just his shorts. I think I must have been staring a bit, I couldn't help it. There wasn't much light but the honey coloured flesh on a nearly 12 year old just sort of glows on its own at times, or perhaps it is just that my eyes were especially hungry.
Rasik saw me looking at him and smiled up at me, to cover my embarrassment I felt compelled to say something, anything!
“You look very tickleable like that.”
“I not understand.”
Well, that was all I needed - what a temptation! Too great for me, I'm afraid.
“I'll show you then.”
And I did. Once I started his dad joined in and we had him screaming with laughter (well, I think it was laughter) and begging for mercy in moments. When we gave in, I think we both feared he would wet himself, he dashed off to the side and proceeded to whizz a giant whizz so I at least was right on that score. In the dark I didn't get much of a glimpse of the jewels but he wasn't hiding anything - he wasn't ashamed at all, but then folks here aren't. Discreet but not furtive. He zipped up again and came back this time sitting on his father's knee with an arm around his neck. He stuck his tongue out and at me and smiled. We chatted a little more then they had to be going - an hour had passed remarkably quickly. We walked out of the park and part of the way home together, Rasik resuming his place between us, holding hands with us both. We stopped on the corner to chat a minute and Rasik was pulling at my hand and insisting we meet again the next night and the same place. I looked up to his dad who smiled broadly and shrugged his shoulders a little. Rasik then took both my hands.
“Okay,” I said, “seven o'clock it is.”
“Thank you!” And he flung his arms round my waist and hugged me.
I can't remember anything about the next day at work - who can, even a few days later? I'm pretty sure the CEO didn't call me and personally thank me for saving the reputation of the company - that I would have remembered! Or perhaps I would just have died from shock.
What I do know is that the next night I left work a little early so I could have a more leisurely shower getting ready for my “date” - bizarre that a 40-something man should be so excited meeting a eleven year old, particularly with the boy's father present.
Once again they were there ready, waiting for me at the gate to the park, and I was five minutes before time. I walked up and was hit with a whirlwind of boy hugging me - I liked it immensely! I just hoped that the degree of my liking wasn't too obvious against his chest. Using his son to translate, and embarrassing him hugely in the process, the father explained that Rasik had been ready and waiting when Irfan arrived in from work and hurried the poor man through his ablutions and out again.
“Our” space was occupied by some other folks so we walked further into the park and Irfan found another dark, tree-shaded bench for us to sit at. It was another close and sticky tropical evening, Irfan unbuttoned his shirt and Rasik stripped off his top, as he had the night before. We chatted a little about Rasik's day at school, with him responding in both languages as he was cuddled between us. I was getting uncomfortably warm and longed to take off my shirt but was a little anxious about it. I decided to go halfway like Irfan and unbutton it, but keep it not too open. My attempt was a complete waste of time - boys have eagle eyes!
“Why have you got rings in your nipples?” As he said it he was pulling my shirt more open so he could have a good look. With another adult I don't think I'd have been fazed but with a boy of this age I was flummoxed.
“Because I have, okay?” Yup, no reason at all there! As a way of talking to a bright, inquisitive nearly 12 year old it was a complete failure.
“Because I like the way it looks.”
His hand reached up tentatively to the one nearest him. Then it stopped as he looked across at Irfan who looked across at me. I shrugged. Rasik, watching the silent exchange, took this as permission and felt the ring and my nipple, which was by this time getting hard. He was fascinated by it. We were quiet as he played with it and turned me on at the same time. Then he tweaked it a little bit and, as I have the most sensitive tits in the entire universe, I groaned. He withdrew his hand at the speed of light.
“Sorry, did that hurt?” He looked terrified and about to burst into tears. Automatically I put my arm round his naked shoulder
“No, it just felt . . . strange - strange but good.”
He was still looking worried so I hugged him to me.
“It didn't hurt me, honestly. If it did I would tell you, I promise.”
I got a smile and sort of snuggle. I looked over Rasik's head at Irfan to see if I was exceeding limits and just got a smile from him too, so I reckoned I was doing okay. Then the boy leapt up, stood beside me facing into the bushes, but right by my side, unzipped, unclipped and dropped his shorts to his ankles, revealing he was wearing nothing beneath, and proceeded to take a whizz as he had the night before. This time I could see it in all its glory. Not very big, no apparent hair yet but beautifully proportioned, or am I being silly just because I found the boy so delightful? Having whizzed, he pulled up his shorts, clipped them and plonked himself down on my lap this time. I put my arm round him to steady him whilst we chatted on about nothing. He pulled my shirt open and was examining both tit-rings carefully and rotating them through the flesh even as he acted as interpreter for his father and me - and as I desperately tried to keep my dick from throbbing too hard against his wriggling buns! Particularly when, looking down, I saw that he had only clipped and not zipped his shorts and the fly was gaping open! I couldn't see anything in the gloom but the imagining was enough!
“Did it hurt when you had them put in?” It was an interruption but an unignorable one. The only problem was I didn't know how to answer. I wasn't going to tell him the truth about the S/M scene when it happened, when I was chained to the X frame in a cellar in London - how it had hurt gloriously at the time, how proud I was of them afterwards.
“Yes, it did a bit.”
“Why did you have it done if it hurt?”
I was saved from answering by a huge bolt of lightning that flashed across the sky. We all knew that it probably signalled a downpour in minutes. As he got off my lap the little blighter put a hand under him and gave my hard cock a squeeze. This boy was no innocent! We dashed out of the park, as everyone else was doing, but being a foreigner, and therefore good for a better price than a local, we managed to get a tuktuk without much problem. Once again Rasik was in the middle but his hands were everywhere, or the one on my side was!
As we were nearing their home Rasik just said “Tomorrow?”
I was powerless, I was under a spell, how could I possibly say no? I gave in gracefully.
“Sure, but why don't you two come to my place and we can sit on the balcony, that way, if it rains we stay dry.”
This was translated rapidly for Irfan who nodded in agreement.
I let them off at their place, getting a quick hug from Rasik and a cock-squeeze for good measure, a handshake from Irfan and just one word - an English word.
He grinned and shrugged as he said it.
The tuktuk driver took me home, I tipped him far too much and scurried inside worrying about what I'd let myself in for. I alternately worried about and gloried in my thoughts of Rasik as I cooked a meal, ate it and washed up. No, I can't remember what I ate - possibly sawdust curry with turnip ice cream. All I remember is the feel of a little hand squeezing my cock through my trousers.
I'm not a boylover, not as such. I find
boys fascinating creatures, many gay men do, but I am really a mature
gay man who likes gay men, self aware guys, possibly a bit younger
than me, but that's not essential. I've dabbled in all sorts of
scenes - I've already mentioned having been on the S/M scene for a
while, it's not an exclusive but it's part of my repertoire. Sure
I've jerked off over some of the young boy stories on the internet
but I've never seriously thought about doing something with a real
live boy - well, not since that cute redhead in the third year at
school just before I left to go to college! Roger Holbert - what a
little sweetie he was! Five feet nothing, freckles, no pubic hair
(as a prefect I found it my
onerous pleasant duty
one day to go and see the gym teacher at the end of Roger's form's
gym class and just happened to see him naked in the shower) and a
Back to the night in question; after I'd soaked another washcloth in bed so that I'd be able to stand it up on end in the morning when it was dry, I decided to stop being so silly. The boy was coming around with his father. Nothing was going to happen. I wouldn't let it happen. I was going to be strong. I was going to sit on my own on a dining chair - I was not going to sit on the couch where I would be vulnerable to cuddles and other boy wiles!
Yeah, and pigs might fly!
The next evening I was at the security gate at 6.50 waiting for them. I'd told security that they would be arriving but knew that for a first visit they'd like me there to collect them rather than security having to escort them up to my place. They were there at 6.55, I signed them in and made sure the security guy knew them in case they should call again. I'm sure that having been treated to a Rasik smile he would remember them. As we walked to my block he took my hand again as he did the interpreting, interspersed with lots of questions of his own.
We took the lift up to the top floor and they marvelled at the view. I have to say that it was one of the glories of living there. I looked out, across the river in one direction and across the city in the other. It was not the tallest building in town but it was getting there, not far off. I think the place screamed luxury to these two.
“Is all this room just for you?” asked Rasik.
“Well, yes,” I said, vaguely embarrassed.
“You have more room than we have for six of us, well, five of us now.”
“Yes, but if I was married I would have my family here with me and it would be more crowded.”
“But married you are not. You are too selfish with your money to marry.” Then he looked shocked. “I am sorry, I have said a rude thing. I did not mean it.” I thought he looked likely to burst into tears and, of course, his father could too but didn't know the cause as he hadn't been able to follow the conversation.
I pulled the boy into a hug. “It's okay, Rasik, I know you didn't mean it like that.” I looked across at his dad who seemed okay with things, then leant down and kissed the top of the boy's head. “It's not a problem, okay?”
He looked up at me and tried to smile. “Okay, but I am sorry.”
I got a real smile this time, and one from Irfan too so I reckoned our little crisis had passed. I offered them soft drinks and we sat on the balcony sipping lemonade and chatting. In the end I did sit on a chair on my own whilst they shared the two-seater, with a shirtless Rasik curled up next to his also shirtless dad and almost pushing him into the corner. This was one very physical boy.
This time they wanted to know more of my past. How had I got to where I was today, what paths I had followed. I told them a little of my schooling and my university career, how in those days the British government believed education was for all and made it easier for less wealthy kids to go to university. I told them of my abortive teaching career - I liked the kids but hated the system and couldn't hack it so I got out when an opportunity arose and it led, by wayward paths, to managing half of the facility here in town. It seems a short tale now that I write it down but I put more flesh on those bare bones as we sat in the gloom of the balcony, and I had to stop after every sentence or two for Rasik to translate for his father. Sometimes Rasik would stop me and ask me to explain a word or a phrase as I was by now talking colloquial rather than textbook English. He seemed to be doing very well for a not quite twelve year old.
At one point I needed to pee so I excused myself. On the way back I decided to ask if they wanted more drinks so was heading to the balcony when, through the sliding glass doors, I was shocked (silly I guess, but that's how it was) to see father and son kissing passionately and it looked to me as if Rasik was stroking Irfan through the material of his trousers. I watched a moment then went back a few steps and deliberately barged into a table which set things a-clatter to warn them of my approach - they stopped instantly. When I got on to the balcony they were a little apart but erections were still evident in both laps. I asked about the drinks and tried to carry on as if nothing had happened.
When I was in the kitchen getting the bottle of lemonade out of the fridge Rasik appeared and asked to use the bathroom. I showed him to the guest bathroom and switched on the light. He looked around at all the fittings, he looked terrified. I knew that at home he would almost certainly have an Asian style squat toilet and a simple bucket shower so I tried to explain the fitments. I lifted the lid on the toilet and told him to pee in there - he dropped his shorts in front of me revealing his still hard dick, a sight I found quite enthralling. I put the toilet seat down and told him to sit, pushing his dick down whilst doing so and then he could pee safely. He smiled at me and I retreated as fast as possible. I loved seeing what I had seen, it wasn't very large but it was very pretty, but was now anxious about whatever agenda, other than my own, might be going on here. I feared I was getting into waters too deep for me - fantasies are one thing but handling the reality might be a bit different. I went and finished getting the drinks. Rasik, coming out of the bathroom, came and helped me carry them to the balcony. Irfan then excused himself to go to the bathroom - I pointed him in the right direction then retreated to my chair.
I wasn't safe there, Rasik came and plonked himself on my knee. I already had a semi but this brought me to full hardness. Or harder! That was because his fly was open again and his erection was clearly visible - inasmuch as it was poking out! He put his arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.
“I like you,” he said, then he kissed me again. “can I kiss you properly?”
He didn't wait for permission, just leant in and brought his lips up to mine. What could I do? What would you do if he'd done it to you?
I chose to give in gracefully. Okay, the cowards way out but it was so good. His lips were soft, his tongue was educated and he took one hand from round my neck to place it under his buns squeezing my cock. One of my hands ended up in his lap stroking his little boy tool that felt just as hard as my own.
My eyes were closed whilst we kissed and I was a bit oblivious to the rest of the world and it was a bit of a shock when I opened them to see Irfan sitting on the couch, flies open, stroking his own cock. He just smiled across at me. I closed my eyes again and resumed the kiss letting my hand unclip the waistband of Rasik's shorts and slipping them off him so he was sitting naked on my lap. He then leapt up and got me to stand whilst he pulled down my own trousers and knelt between my legs then took my cock in his mouth. This boy had sucked cock before - he was good! Perhaps he lacked a little finesse but he was still good. As he knelt there his dad stood up and shucked the rest of his own clothes then came up to the side of my chair and put his own dick in my mouth, I sucked it eagerly. When it was nice and wet Irfan withdrew and knelt behind his son and gently eased his cock into the boy's arse. The boy just groaned with delight but didn't break stride on the blow job he was giving me. The sight of him getting fucked was so erotic I didn't last long and soon exploded into his mouth. He swallowed the lot then got his father to withdraw momentarily whilst he draped himself across my lap so dad could screw him more easily - I got a hand under him and was wanking him as he was screwed. It wasn't long before he started moaning as his orgasm hit, a dry one, but the clamping of his sphincter against his father's penis took Irfan over the brink as well - as he came he leant forward and kissed me deeply whilst his cum was filling the boy's rectum.
Wow, that had been better than my wildest fantasies of a few nights ago. Amazing!
End of Part I
© Malaka/Mr Malaprop 2006