This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a young 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 underage boys, 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.
Normally at the beginnings of my stories I note that they are pure fantasy. In this case, this is not quite true.
Those who wish to comment may email me at email@example.com.
Electric or Manual
Yes, dear reader, it is true: I was in a hurry, as I too often am. But, I hasten to say, I was not in such a hurry that I wasn't able to follow my usual "checkout procedure" at the supermarket. I was not in such a hurry that I failed to take a second to glance up and down the checkout lines. I wasn't looking for the shortest line; instead, I was looking for the checkout with the cutest boy cashier. I was in luck. The closest was also the cutest-and luck was indeed with me that night, for, as it turned out, it was the shortest line, too! I grinned. The cashier was 15 or perhaps a young 16. Oh, and did I say he was cute as a bottom-er, button? (Oops, Freudian slip.)
He was busy with the guy in front of me, and as I placed my products on the conveyor belt, I overheard part of their conversation. They were talking about shaving. I flashed for a moment to the kind of shaving stories I'd read in Nifty, but then I quickly heard enough to realize the boy was simply talking about the male ritual all boys begin in their teen years: dealing with facial hair. I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't just the subject, it was the boy's enthusiasm, and not just his enthusiasm for the topic at hand, but I got the impression he was that rare human being who brings a special kind of energy to everything he does and says. He possessed, in short, an extraordinary and intoxicating joie de vivre.
I glanced over at the guy's pile groceries and figured out how the conversation had begun. There was a can of shaving cream and a package of razor cartridges in with all his other purchases. The girl bagger was taking it all in with a slightly put-out expression.
In no time the boy had scanned the last item, the girl had dumped the last bag into the cart, and it was my turn.
"Paper or plastic?" The girl's simple question seemed like an intrusion.
The boy was all mine for as long as I could milk the situation, and I wanted no further distractions. I stood there regretting that I hadn't loaded my cart down with one of everything in the store.
"Hi," my young god said. "How are you tonight?" His voice, while full of an intensity that made everything he said seem important, was actually breathy and quite soft. As a long-time customer, I was sure the supermarket chain had coached these squeaky-clean kids to be pleasant and greet every single customer before getting down to the business of ringing up their purchases and taking their money. But so often the teens at those registers seemed self-conscience about the required pleasantries, so much so that they often averted their eyes, offering only the most cursory of glances at their customer-just enough to satisfy the instruction in the "Associate's Manual". Not this boy, oh no, sir (or ma'm)! Not for a second! This boy had taken those simple instructions to a whole new level-his very own art form! He held me in his gaze, which meant (be still my heart) I was holding him in mine.
In some ways, he reminded me of myself forty-plus years ago. At his age, my hair was about the color of his-maybe a bit darker-and about the same length (longer than what we used to call a "crew cut" but shorter than a "boy's regular"). But where my teen hair had been wetted, flattened, and combed, his was dry, except perhaps for the front which was standing up nicely-erect, you might say-but it seemed to be all 100% natural (organic as the signs proclaimed in the produce section). There was nothing artificial about this fresh, succulent young man. And those eyes: clear, pure, sparkling blue; again, I reflected, not unlike mine at least at age 15. He had none of the puffiness and dark rings that years of too little sleep and too much work (and maybe too much play as well) had left around my baby blues.
As we looked at each other, I'm sure my smile stretched from ear to ear. Even at my age, I knew he was seeing dimples in my cheeks, again, not unlike the boy himself. Now that I was standing across from him, I could see he was maybe two or three inches shorter than I - making him perhaps 5'-9" or 5'-10". I probably had been about that height at his age, but where I had been as skinny as a rail at 15 (barely tipping the scale at 115), he seemed to be the perfect build-not too thin, not too heavy. He wore a dark green polo shirt with the store's logo. His forearms were firm, sporting just a hint of the lightest hair, and his biceps gave a lovely bulge to his sleeves.
And speaking of bulges, I hear some of you wondering what about that other bulge that figures so prominently in Nifty stories? Truth to tell, I don't even remember looking. It was his sweet face that held me in its thrall-his face and that aura that seemed to spread out far enough from him that it began to infuse me with his dreamy energy.
Now, from my description, you might think we'd stared at each other for the rest of his shift, but in truth, it was probably only a second or so. Still, his look said his greeting was no idle blather, not at all: he was expecting an answer.
"Doin' okay," I grinned. And then he gave me another look-a look that said, "what's up with that silly shit-eating grin?" Clearly he could see something was tickling me. Normally, I'd just dismiss a look like that from someone else with a "Ah, just thinking about something...", and they'd be okay with that, and I would, too. But I knew I'd not be dismissing him anytime soon!
"Well, to be honest, I was enjoying your earlier conversation," I said, looking back into his eyes, wondering if he take up the challenge.
"Oh," he responded, and I figured that'd be the end of it. Basically two shy guys enjoying the moment, but never moving out into boundary territory. But my cashier boy had yet another surprise. "About the shaving?" he said with a self-conscious grin and just the slightest hint of a blush. His eyes sparkled.
"Yes," I said. "Exactly," I added with a coy smile. And I thought now this would surely be then end of our delightful little interlude. But again, my boy wasn't ready for it to end.
"So," he said, "Do you use electric or manual?" By manual, I took him to mean using a razor and blades; I wasn't quite sure that's what he meant, but I didn't want to put him on the spot with a question that suggested what he said wasn't clear. It really didn't matter anyway.
"Well, I actually use both, depending."
He raised his eyebrows above those delightfully sparkling eyes.
"Depending on how much time I've got or if it's a quick touch up in the afternoon-then I'll use electric."
"Ah," he nodded. "Cool."
I looked at him again, at that sweet, unblemished baby-smooth face. I couldn't see that he'd ever shaved or in fact needed to. I resisted the urge to reach out and with the backs of my fingers lightly stroke his skin in an attempt to feel what the eye could not perceive. Then again, if his "beard" (and I use that term advisedly) was as blond as his hair, I'd need a magnifying glass to see the stubble. (I liked the prospects of that: using a magnifying glass over every centimeter of the poor boy's body!) He wasn't like some boys whose dark beard can be seen even right after they shave.
I had to work to keep my composure as I gazed into that face, studied his toothy smile, examined that delightful tiny valley that led from his upper lip to his nose, and speaking of his nose, it was the most perfectly shaped organ of smell I'd ever seen. When I was his age, every time I looked in the mirror, I thought my nose was about the size of a banana. (Now if that had been in reference to another part of my anatomy that might not have bothered me!) But it was my nose that dominated the reflection in the mirror, and it rivaled Jimmy Durante's. Yeah, I know: I'm showing my age, but look him up on the Internet! A clue: he was known as "The Schnoz".) Anyway, this boy didn't have a thing to worry about in the "schnoz" department-or any other department as far as I was concerned.
The bagger girl had had just about enough of his hi-jinks. She cleared her throat, and slapped a bag open. He glanced over at her. "What?" he asked innocently. She just gave him a look. For an instant, I wondered if she had designs on him the way I figured 99 percent of the other people in the store did-the way I did. Was I seeing a little pique or jealousy? Either way, it turned out, it didn't matter. My boy was having none of it.
"Hey," he said to her, then glancing back to me, "this is the first time I've ever talked to another male about shaving." He continued to look at me with that killer smile, and again I thought I saw the hint of a blush add just the softest rosy tint to those silky smooth cheeks.
In that instant, my heart melted. I wanted to leap over that counter and snuggle him into me, and whisper to him, telling him that there were lots of other things he could ask about, and I'd be happy to share my knowledge. "Have you tried the Gillette razor-the one you put the batteries in?" I asked, not wanting to end the moment.
"No," he said.
"Well, it kind of vibrates when it's turned on...It's kind'a cool. You should try it."
He grinned at my description, and then offered a cheery, "Thanks!" He shot a glance at the bagger girl, and then gave me another of his award-winning smiles.
By then, my groceries had been packed, and I thanked them both as I picked up my purchases. I regretted our moment had finally ended, and as I stepped away, one more impulse struck, and I turned and said to him, "Good luck...with the shaving!"
He beamed a huge, red-faced grin, and then he turned to work his magic on the next fortunate soul in line. For my part, I turned, and walked slowly into the parking lot, thinking of what might have been.
Oh, dear reader, it shouldn't come as a surprise when I tell you that I thought about that young lad all the way home. And continued to think about him once I got settled in. Truthfully, my thoughts were not of some lascivious nature; no, in truth, they were more pure-at least to my way of thinking. They were sensual to be sure, but rooted in the boy's own goodness, in his innocent, playful way of being himself. He seemed in those moments not to have a care in the world: Life was good, and he was out to make the most of every moment-even a moment involving a complete stranger.
I realized in my confused rapture, I hadn't even glanced at his nameplate. I'm sure he had one, but I didn't even think to look. Ah...dummy! Then I could have used his name, a name which I'm sure must have been as delightful as the boy himself. "Yes, Luke (or Wes, or Eric, or Tyler)," I could have said, "actually, I use both electric and manual." But I didn't think to look, and therefore, I couldn't incorporate his sweet name.
I did, however, resolve to go back to the store, and I did so the very next day, but he was nowhere to be seen. If he were only 15, then the state-I know because I looked online-would have restrictions on the number of hours someone under 16 can work. And I shall, of course, go back again. Our first encounter was now an eternity ago – nearly a full 48 hours! Yesterday, he was AWOL. Today...I shall return again. My fate is sealed: like the ever-constant tide, I'll sweep into that store, and then retreat...hoping for even an instant to wash over the warm soft aura of that sweet boy.
In a moment of self-indulgence, I shared my encounter with a young online friend. He is older-a bright, beautiful, college-aged boy, and he was quick to suggest, was insistent even, that the cashier boy was really speaking in code...seeking my attention, offering a sort of invitation that we explore mutual interests-shaving and then some. And it is thus, dear reader, that brings us to Chapter 2.
Ah me, what might have been. Permit me a digression: May I speak to you directly? While I say in all my stories that they are mere fantasy, I must now contradict myself. May I tell you, instead, that this one time, 99 percent of what is written above is absolutely the way it really happened? It is true. The conversation is as verbatim as I could make it, save recording it on some snooping device. And the one percent that didn't happen? I now make my confession: I never used the word vibrate at the end of Chapter 1. Instead, I simply-unimaginatively-said, "It works really well..." I did, however, tell him he should try it, and I did tell him, "Good luck with the shaving." And he did grin.
But we were talking about what might have been...
I returned to the store today, my third excursion in as many days. And-be still my heart-my boy is there. Not only is he there, he is working the "Express Lane". I wouldn't have to buy out half the store, I could just get my fourteen items and "proceed directly to Checkout 1." But you see the folly in that: Had he been at the regular checkout, and with more in my cart, I could have dallied there for a longer time. Alas...
When I got there, he was waiting. He looked up, saw me, and burst into a great, toothy grin. (And I'd been afraid he wouldn't remember! Silly me!)
"Hi," he said expectantly.
"Hi," I replied, struggling to keep my voice from sounding inappropriately excited.
"Did you..." "I bought..." We spoke over one another, and both stopped.
"You go," he said. "You were going to ask something?" He waited as if I might ask him to go to the Greek Isles with me (which, as I think about it, isn't a bad idea).
"Oh," I began, "I was just going to ask if you thought about Gillette razor?"
He blushed, the sweet boy, he actually blushed. "I did. It's called the Fusion, right?"
"Right, Gillette Fusion Power," I expanded.
"Yeah! I saw it in Aisle 15, there's a brand new one: the Fusion ProGlide. It just came out a few weeks ago!" He seemed pleased to be providing me with new information.
"Really," I said. "I didn't know that. Thanks..." I glanced down at his nametag. "Tad," I added. "Um...maybe I should go check it out." I glanced up and Tad's supervisor (I assume) seemed to be taking particular note of his young protégé. "You're quite the salesman," I said, loud enough for his boss to hear. Young Tad blushed.
"Ah, sir...you can leave your things here if you like. I'll have them ready for you when you get back." He looked up like a little boy waiting to hear if this was the day his folks were really going to take him to the fair!
"Thanks, Tad. I'll be back." For that last, I did my best "Ahnold" Schwarzenegger impression.
He graciously giggled once, beamed that wondrous smile, and offered a soft, "I'll be here."
At the razor section I picked up one of the new razors, and turned, but then stopped. I looked back down at the display for a moment and made my decision. I picked up another.
When I got back to his counter, he had a customer, and when he looked up, he beckoned me forward.
"No," I said. "It's okay. I'll wait." Hell, I'd be in heaven if I could have stood there all day watching him.
He focused back onto his customer, and in my dazed state, it seemed just moments before he was reaching out toward me. I realized he already processed my order, and for a moment I considered demanding that he void the order and start all over again. Anything to delay my departure.
"Wow," he said gazing at the objects in my hand. "Two! In for some serious shaving, eh?"
Now I blushed. "Well..." I began, hoping he'd be okay with this. I know for some families, this shaving thing with young teens is quite a special thing. A boy's first razor is often something his parents want to give. "I hope it's okay with you, Tad," but it just sort of hit me: I thought...um...maybe you'd like one, too."
The boy's eyes widened. "For me! Really!"
I grinned. I guess my uncertainty had been unfounded. "Mhmm. My gift to you-as a sort of thank you."
He looked momentarily perplexed. "Thank you?"
"Well...I've never had a conversation quite like the one we had the other night. It was really delightful. I thoroughly enjoyed it, Tad. I've thought about it a lot over the last few days."
"Really! You thought that! So did I!" I got the impression he was going to say more, but he caught himself, and suddenly he blushed a deep red. "I mean..." he stammered and immediately went back to scanning one of the razors.
I laughed right out loud, and held up my hand. "No need to explain. I know exactly what you mean, and I agree."
"You do? Really!"
I smiled again. "Really, Tad. It's okay."
He relaxed a bit and grew more serious, looking down at the second razor. "Umm...we're not supposed to accept gifts..."
I leaned in a bit over the counter and spoke conspiratorially: "No one needs to know about-any of this, right?" I watched him process that for a moment.
"I guess..." he breathed.
"Tell you what." I swiped my debit card. "We'll use plastic for this stuff."
"And...ring this up for cash." I pointed to the second razor. "There," I said when he'd complied. "Stick that under the counter with the receipt, and you're all set."
"Tad," I interrupted. "I want to do this...and you don't know me very well, but I usually find a way to get what I want. Now, I don't have a son-and probably never will have. So, this isn't just for you, it's for me. Sort'a gives me a chance to experience something I'd probably never be able to otherwise-it's pretty special when a boy begins to shave. Kind of a symbol of all the changes that are happening to him." I eyed him carefully, and he blushed again under my gaze. "And," I continued, "I got'ta tell ya: I'm enjoying the hell out of this! So...we okay?"
"Gosh," the boy breathed, "Yes...Mr..."
I smiled. "Just call me Will."
He smiled back.
"When do you work next?" I asked as we bagged up the items.
"Thursday, 7:30 to noon."
"Ooo...7:30, eh? Early morning!"
"Yeah...It's not bad though," he said. "Gives me all afternoon to goof off...if I can find something to do."
"You'll come up with something, I'm sure," I said. Maybe I'll see you Thursday...if I can think of something else I need to buy."
He smiled again, and nodded, handing me the bag. "We've got a store full of stuff: there's got to be something here you need, shaving cream, maybe." Again those sweet cheeks flushed and an awkward moment followed. We both stood waiting-it seemed-for something to happen.
Then another customer began unloading her cart. "Well...Tad," I said, "later."
"Yeah," he said dreamily. "Okay." And then, as I was reluctantly stepping away, he called after me, "Will..." I turned. He seemed a bit embarrassed to be so forward with a grownup. "Ah...there's a special on scallops starting Thursday." He sounded desperate, and then seeming to realize just how desperate he sounded, he added, "if you're interested."
I grinned at him. "I am. Definitely. See...you are a great salesman! See you then."
He grinned again. "And ah...thanks, Will."
I waved, offered a soft, "The pleasure is all mine, Tad," and stepped off.
Believe me, dear reader, when I say Thursday could not get here quickly enough.
And the closer it got the more antsy I became.
Finally Thursday morning arrived, and I was almost beside myself with anticipation. Oh, to see that boy's sweet face again.
The scallops looked delicious-and so did Tad; he was just as fresh-faced, scrubbed and clean as could be.
He was busy and therefore didn't see me sneak up to his checkout, but when he finally looked up, he beamed. I smiled back and nodded. Now, as if to show me he was really the best at his job, he turned back to his customer and allowed me to see how he approached everybody. There was a bounce in everything he said and did. Customers, no matter who they were, couldn't help but be drawn in by this incredible human being. He was perfect!
"I've been looking for you," he said softly when I finally got up to the register.
"Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!" I offered.
"Nah..." he muttered, "It's been busy," he said, and then realizing he'd responded too seriously to my little overstatement, he offered just a delightful hint of a blush. Then I could see the wheels turning, and he wanted to be sure I knew my being there did matter, so he added, "but I wondered if you'd come. I was...you know...getting a little worried...um...I mean..." He sort of groaned in frustration at not being able to tell me what he really wanted to. "I thought maybe you forgot when I got off. Or maybe you'd just decided not to...well...I mean maybe you don't like scallops. But if you came, I didn't want to miss you." He looked hopelessly frustrated. Finally he just offered, "Remember, I get off at noon."
"Oh, Tad, I didn't forget. Sorry," I said, handing him the scallops. "You're right by the way."
He looked momentarily lost. "About?"
I nodded toward the wax paper covered package. "The scallops. A pound and a half."
He beamed. "Sweet."
"So," I asked. "You try the razor?"
"Wait," I said, stopping him in midsentence. "I got a better question: You ever figure out what you were doing this afternoon?"
"Nah...not really. Maybe I'll bike over to Birch Point-to the beach."
"Cool. That's more than what I've got going." I offered, feeling an odd disappointment that that portion of his life was already planned out. I figured his friends were even now waiting for him.
"Yeah," he said, and then hesitated. He scowled and seemed to forget anyone else was around.
"Tad?" I asked almost worried at the change I saw in him.
He looked at me and almost trembled. "Um...you wouldn't..." He paused and then seemed to check himself. "Um...never mind."
I caught his gaze. "What were you going to say?"
He blushed. "No, it's stupid."
"Tad...nothing that comes out of that brain of yours is going to be stupid. Now what were you going to say?" I hardened my voice and tried to sound like a boss or a parent or a teacher issuing a command. I wagged my finger at him.
He grinned and thought for a moment, gave a quick scan around to see if anyone was close and might hear. He swallowed. "Well I was going to ask if you maybe would want to come with me?" He looked at me with an expression that was a cross between hope and fear. "I guess not though, maybe that'd be too weird..." he said, answering his own question. "...you know, a kid asking a grownup to go to the beach with him."
"Ah...so, you're a mind reader, too, I see."
"Asking me a question, and then telling me what my answer would be." I gave him a look out of the corner of my eye and saw him grinning. "But yeah," I said, "maybe that'd be a little weird." He looked crestfallen. "So how about this: how about you and I go for a boat ride. I know a great little island with a perfect little cove. Great place for sunning or swimming, and people only go there on weekends. Nobody'll be there today.
His eyes got huge, and he again swallowed hard. "Really? A boat?"
"Really. Long as you're okay with goin' on a boat ride with some weird ol' grownup."
He grinned. "It'd be awesome, Will! Cool beans!"
"Yeah, that, too," I chuckled.
"Ah...cool beans means..."
"Tad," I interrupted, "I may be an old duff, but I do know what `cool beans' means." I gave him a wink, and he grinned, his face reddening again. I've never seen a boy who blushed as much as Tad. Those blushes were like some delightful warning light signaling that something dangerous was happening ahead-or in this case inside a head.
The next forty minutes, dear reader, were some of the longest of my life. I waited in my pickup for Tad to appear. I picked up some trash from the floor of the cab; scanned up and down the radio stations, trying to guess what music he'd like to listen to; agonized over not having a jack in the audio system for a music player; adjusted the seat; checked in the mirror to see if anything needed adjusting on me. I was as nervous as a schoolboy waiting for a first date to come to the front door.
I grabbed onto the steering wheel, locked my arms, and waited. Noontime came and went. I argued with myself. He wasn't coming, I worried; some inner sense had cautioned him to reconsider. He was coming, but he was simply just a nice, sweet boy-innocent, and not at all thinking the way I was thinking. But, I argued, maybe he's innocent, but he's certainly not a dullard: He had to know what he was saying! He was the one, after all, who invited me to go to the beach. And he knew what that meant; he said so himself: kind'a weird. No he knew exactly what he was doing. On the other hand-I checked my watch for the twentieth time-why was he going on fifteen minutes late? And so it went.
I was just getting ready to turn the key, when the supermarket's automatic door swung open, and I told myself to wait one last time. But alas, false alarm. It was a woman with a cart loaded with groceries and an infant in the cart's seat. Beside her, a three- or four-year-old seemed to struggle to keep up with her mother's halting pace. Then the woman stopped altogether and turned and looked back into the store. Slowly, she picked up the toddler, handed her to someone, and then pointed out into the parking lot. She started pushing the cart again, more determined now. And right behind her stepped my boy. He held the little girl in his arms, and he carried his apron over his shoulder, along with a small backpack, actually more a book bag type of thing. As he walked behind the woman, he seemed to be anxiously scanning the parking lot. I got out and stood on the running board, hoping he'd turn enough to see me. It took a few seconds, but finally he did see me, all his consternation seemed to evaporate. Mine, too.
"I was afraid you'd be gone." Those were his first words to me in the truck, and all my silent arguing melted along with my heart. "My boss grabbed me just as I was going out the door, and I had to shelve part of the delivery. I would have called, but I don't have your cell."
"No problem," I said with a smile. "I figured it was something like that," I lied.
He grinned back; we both relaxed and settled in for the short trip to the harbor.
Tad was in awe when he saw my boat. It's a fun little sloop, but not anything spectacular, just 22 feet, but it serves me well. I can sail up and down the coast, and spend a few overnights before feeling like I needed to find a motel somewhere. But Tad thought it was the most fantastic thing he'd ever seen; you might have thought it was Trump's yacht to see him ogle it.
It took twenty minutes to get to the dock, row out to the mooring, stow our gear, and get the boat ready, but by 12:40 or so, we were on our way out of the harbor.
"Your folks okay with this?" I asked casually at one point.
"Umm..." He shrugged. "I guess. My dad's away on business. He'll be back tomorrow night. My mom and aunt are visiting my grandma in Portland. They'll have dinner there and get home late.
I nodded and smiled. Seems we were going to have some time on our hands-not an unhappy prospect, no indeed!
I set the mainsail and the little jib, and we eased back and let the wind carry us.
"So...I don't know a lot of `Tad's'. Cool name."
"Yeah, I guess I'm different." His words just sort of hung there, and I noticed they lacked his usual high-energy delivery.
"Well, I like it," I said, trying to lighten up the suddenly somber tone.
"It's short for Thaddeus. Means `heart,' Mom says."
"Really!" I beamed. "I like it even more, then. It's an awesome name!"
He offered a hint of a smile and the sparkle worked its way back into his eyes.
"So, Tad, I interrupted you at the store. I was asking if you tried the razor?"
"Yeah," he said shyly. "Thanks, Will. It was awesome." He turned his head slightly to display his cheek. "See?"
I smiled. What I felt like saying was, son, with that little bit of peach fuzz, I could have nibbled you smooth in about thirty seconds (happy prospect indeed), but I could see the idea of a beard that needed shaving was for Tad, like most boys, a thing to be proud of. I didn't want to wound his ego. "Little hard to see in this bright sunshine," I replied, with a squint.
"Well...here..." He scooted closer to me and leaned in. "Feel."
My heart was pounding right up into my mouth, and now I did what I had imagined doing the other night. I reached out and touched his baby-smooth skin. With the backs of my fingers, I lightly touched down on his velvety-soft cheek. I know I trembled when I touched him, and I was sure he did, too. If I wasn't mistaken, I could see the tremors passing through him like little bolts of lightning from a brewing storm as my fingers drew across his cheek.
After I lifted-reluctantly-my fingers from his face, he murmured dreamily, "Smooth, huh."
"Oh, man, Tad, verrry."
Okay. This was another one of these moments. Did he know what he was doing, or was he just being a sweet, innocent boy. This time, I was convinced it was the latter; it had to be, I was sure of it. But then he sort of winced and stiffened and blushed as much as I'd ever seen him. He abruptly turned his gaze out to the horizon. I suddenly saw it for what it was: just a simple act of a sweet, innocent (and unthinking) boy for it was as if in this moment he just realized what he'd done. Something that just popped into his head had led to an incredibly sensual moment, and he was unprepared for the effect. I understood now that he'd been quite innocent when he "offered himself" to me, but then the intensity of the moment took over, and the enormity of that first touch settled in on him.
"You sail much?" I tried to ease his self-consciousness.
"You want to take the wheel?" I asked as we lazed along our way on an east-northeasterly heading.
"Sure." He slid in between me and the wheel and placed his hands where mine had been. He seemed aware of our momentary closeness, but even if he wasn't, I certainly was-no doubt there. I could feel his heat even with the steady, cool breeze. I cast a sideways glance in his direction, but if I was worried he might see me checking him out, I needn't have bothered; his clear blue eyes gazed steadily ahead as if he were Leif Erikson himself. I think I could have torn his clothes off him, and his stare into our future wouldn't have wavered.
"So," I began, "tell me about yourself, Tad."
His eyes widened, and he stiffened slightly. He reached down and tugged at his pants, the way nervous boys do. "Not much to tell."
"Oh, I don't believe that, not for a second!"
He grinned. "Well, I'm a sophomore, but I'm only 15."
"What's the story with that?" I asked.
"Not much of a story. I was home schooled until middle school. And I was kind of ahead the other kids, so I skipped sixth."
"How was that?"
He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I was littler than everyone else...um...than the guys...well, and the girls, too. But girls mature sooner... His thought was punctuated by yet another blush. "well...anyway."
"Ah...girls," I mumbled. "You have a girlfriend?"
"No!" I guess he realized he'd spoken with a bit too much force, and tried it again. "I mean, not yet anyway. I dunno...My dad says I'm just a late bloomer." He paused for a moment, and seemed to darken a little. "Maybe I am. I didn't start growing, you know, like puberty an' stuff, until last year." He seemed to think about that, and then shrugged. "Anyway, not very interested, I guess."
"Yeah, I guess," he said with a shrug that was meant to convey indifference but did anything but.
"That's cool, Tad. It'll sort itself out when you're ready. Whatever."
"Yeah," he breathed. "Maybe." I could see the wheels turning, and suddenly he had a question for me: "Will, are you...you know...like married or anything?"
"Like married?" I grinned. He smiled, then shifted his gaze back to the horizon. "Good question," I offered. "Nope. Not married...no `anythings,'" if you mean girlfriends, boyfriends, cat, dogs."
He sort of chuckled but he didn't miss the "boyfriends" part of my list. He seemed to eye me for a moment, as if he might want to ask a follow-up question. I began to worry how I would answer if he somehow screwed up enough courage to ask me the question: if I was "like that." Well, dear reader, I think he wanted to ask, but he didn't, so I deflected the conversation.
"So how do you spend your free time?"
"Well, my mom and dad and I are at church a lot."
Ohhh-oh, I thought. "Cool," I said-coolly. "Which one?"
He named one of the largest churches in the area. It was one of those very conservative churches. Sort of Baptist, I guess, but I guess I'd call it non-aligned, or non-denominational, or non-something. It seemed like the pastor did his own thing. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working, if you judge by the numbers. But that explained a lot: the home schooling, why Tad was as clean-cut as he was, why he wore the clothes he did, etc. Yet something didn't add up. A boy from that type of environment, from that type of family, wouldn't-it seemed-ever risk going off with a stranger like he was doing with me. And I am certain his parents wouldn't have been quite as accepting of our little adventure as he had suggested earlier. They would have had to meet me, run a background check, and had me join their church, first. Hmm.
One hour and a few tacks later, we eased into our little cove. We dropped the sail, and motored in. It was a little tricky getting in through the small, rocky channel. Unless you really knew the place, it'd be easy to end up on the rocks, which is why I think no one ever put in there. In addition, unless someone was purposefully exploring the island, we'd never be seen. In fact, from not too great a distance, the narrow inlet was all but invisible from the water. On the charts it looked more like a stream and too small for anything but a skiff.
"Wow," Tad said once we'd gotten anchored. He took in our own private little haven. "Cool."
"Yeah. Cool beans," I agreed with a grin. His eyes twinkled when I said that.
I nodded down at his pants. "So...I'm gonna change, I guess. Get my swimsuit on. Ah...I can stay up here, and you can change dow..." I stopped as a wave of panic flood over his face.
"Oh my gosh!" he cried. "I'm so stupid!"
"What! What's the matter, Tad," I asked, alarmed.
"I didn't bring a da...um...a darn suit! I forgot to tell you! I should have stopped at home, but I was so late, and so excited to...well...Grrrrr!" he groaned in exasperation; he looked like he was about to cry.
"Hey, Tad," I breathed. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Then I took hold of his other shoulder and turned him to face me. "We got lots of options here, babe. Lots." I watched carefully for a reaction to "babe" and he did react, but it wasn't a turn-off, more like he just wasn't sure about being called that.
"Really?" he asked, calming down a bit.
"Yep. Not the end of the world, no matter what. You know, we've got some food, some drinks, and I think we've got good company!" He cracked a hint of a smile. "I'd be happy," I continued, "just to stay right like we are and chat." He seemed to relax again.
"Yeah, but I thought...you know...we could go swimming." He blushed. Why would that make him blush, unless the idea of seeing me in a swimsuit-or the idea of me seeing him in a swimsuit was sparking "certain" thoughts. Well, we were about to find out.
"We still can, Tad," I reassured. "I'm sure I've got a spare suit somewhere below." His cheeks pinked up slightly. "Or...you could just go in your skivvies." More pink. "Or..." I said, raising my eyebrows, "we could just go au natural." I don't think he got the meaning. "Sans suits," I clarified. Still nothing. "Skinny-dipping!" I exclaimed. Bright red flooded into those sweet cheeks. I chuckled. "Finally, I get a reaction!" He looked at me nervously, as if this were something that he'd never considered, but now that he was having to consider it. Hmmmm.
"You're, um, like kidding, right? About, you know, going nude."
I shrugged. "Up to you, Champ," I said. "Those are the options I can think of." I winked at him. "But, I got'ta be honest with you. Lots of times when I'm out here alone...I'm naked as the day I was born! And I've never been caught in an em-bare-assing position. I put the emphasis on "bare" and "ass" and he blushed predictably. "If you've never done it-gone nude outside in the sun? Well...it's really different."
"You like doing it?"
"Going nude? Honest?"
"I do, Tad. Really." I glanced skyward. "I just love feeling the sun and the breeze...like all over." I added the last part for his benefit, and was rewarded by a self-conscious grin, and rosy cheeks. "But-hold on a sec." I stepped below and rummaged around in a box. I found an old swimsuit-a Speedo as it turned out. I tossed it up to him. He grabbed it, and sort of held it up, staring at it. For a long moment, he didn't move. "Sorry, Tad, but that's the best I can do in the swimwear department."
He kind of leaned and looked around the Speedo. "It's..." I grinned as he searched for the word.
"Trim?" I asked. "Sleek? Skimpy?"
"Getting warmer," he remarked drily and then: "Will, what are you going to do...wear?"
"Look, Tad, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. You decide. Whatever you decide is cool with me." I grinned up at him. "Tell you what: I've got some stuff to do down here. You said you wanted to go for a swim, so I'll give you a little privacy, and you can decide what you want to do...Change or whatever. When I hear you go in, I'll join you. Just one thing-a little heads up: if you decide for the undies option, we may have to fly `em off the backstay on the way home to get `em dry! And...just so you have all the important data as you're deciding, I can tell you from experience, if you're swimmin' in your undies, it's sort a like having nothing on at all. Once they get wet, well, they get clingy-major wedgie potential and sort'a see-through." I raised my eyebrows knowingly three or four times and grinned. For an instant, I thought he was actually going to put his hand down over his package, but he halted. However, that didn't do anything to slow the red that flooded up his cheeks and up to his temples. "So whatever. You decide." I went below to give him some privacy.
I got into my suit, also a Speedo. I wondered if he would be so circumspect as I about sneaking a peek as I was changing. (I could only hope he wouldn't be!) Then I puttered around in the galley getting things shipshape. Soon I heard a clunk: one shoe. Another clunk: the other shoe. I heard my boy unzip his khaki Dockers, and I resisted (with all my strength) the urge to peek up; however, I wanted him to know I was good for my word, and after a moment, I heard a bit of scrambling, and then a splash. I was up on deck in a flash. I gazed down at his leavings: a shoe here, a shoe there, a couple of white ankle socks, his store-logo polo shirt, and a sweet pair of tighty-whities: Hanes. The Speedo was nowhere to be seen.
A flash of disappointment flooded over me, but it was only momentary. I'd given the boy a choice. I shouldn't have been surprised by his decision. After, all, just coming out here with me, by all accounts a stranger, was probably as big a risk as I should expect of him-or deserve. But still, I could not resist the urge to crouch down, and under the guise of straightening up his things, I grabbed onto his undies and drew them to my nose. I breathed in, hoping to catch a hint of his scent. Nor was I disappointed. His innermost clothing was still warm from holding his body snuggly, and it was permeated by the sweet, warm aroma of boy. Ah...me.
"How's the water?" I asked, as I folded his pants and shirt, arranged his shoes, and placed his now folded briefs on top of the pile.
"Great!" came the sputtered response. "Not cold at all. Come on in."
I moved to the stern and dove in. In an instant, my head broke the surface. "Not cold!" I squealed. "What're you: a walrus! It's cold enough to freeze your balls off!"
He laughed (and of course blushed at my bodily reference). But he really laughed as hard as I'd seen him since I'd first met him. He had a wonderful, open laugh coming from deep inside.
"Oh...so you think that's funny, huh?" I had swum to within a few feet of him. I thought about reaching down and grabbing his package, and making a further comment, but I reminded myself to take my time and let the relationship develop.
"Yeah," he chuckled... "I do...kind'a."
"All right, for you, then," I mumbled, and the play was on. We cavorted like two playful whale calves: splashing, diving, poking, bumping. When we'd been in the water for 20 minutes or so, I'd had enough. "Hey, Tad, don't know `bout you, but I'm about cool as I wanna be. And I'm starting to look like a prune-more wrinkled than my ol' grandma. Time to get out, for me."
He swam for a few more minutes, and then he was climbing up the ladder and over the rail. In that instant, I really glimpsed his incredible body for the first time. He was to my eyes, perfect. He trembled at the cooling breeze on his wet skin; I trembled because of the essence of boy which I now beheld. I tossed him a towel, and I watched him dry off. In those too brief moments, I examined him without his clothes-well, his usual street clothes, and felt my pulse quicken.
"Speedo fits pretty good," I said simply.
He blushed as I knew he would. "Really?" he breathed.
"Really," I answered without a beat. He knew I was studying him as if he were a work of art, but he never made any attempt of cover himself or turn from me. He was-simply stated-beautiful; however, I worried that should he hear me describe him using that word, he'd be at least freaked and even possibly afraid. "Handsome" would, no doubt, be a more acceptable word, but even that might be hard for him to hear from me. So instead, I kept my own counsel, and let my eyes convey my appreciation.
The skimpy (!) suit looked like it had been made for him. It was almost all white, with a bold red stripe. For the first time, I got a hint of what he carried between his legs. I wasn't disappointed. The rest of him was exactly how I pictured him: utter perfection. His skin was smooth and hairless, except for light downy hair on his arms and legs. His tan was relatively even across his body. His neck was probably about a size 14" and he held his head proudly and firmly facing forward. His muscles were firm. He was not what you would call jacked, but he was perfectly proportioned. His biceps mounded nicely, and I could tell he was strong without being muscle-bound. Wiry, my grandpa would say.
His legs were also appropriately muscled and they were straight and true. I figured he took about a size 30-inch pant leg. For that matter, I guessed his waist was probably about a 29". His chest was also muscled. I could not see an ounce of fat, nor could I count his ribs. Not too round, not too thin...mmmmm, just right! Thanks to the chilly water, and the brisk toweling (anything else, as well?), his two nail-point nipples were erect, and the copper areolas surrounding them were penny-sized. Which brings me to his belly. Again, firm and muscled, a nice six-pac. Well, on closer inspection, a nice four-pac. His sides tapered nicely to form that male "V" shape which is like a road sign pointing to an attraction further on (or down, in this case). His navel was just the slightest outie. And again, without me falling to my knees with a magnifying glass, his belly appeared completely hairless. Shaving, indeed! Oooo...how I'd love to properly shave that sweet boy's body.
"Hungry?" I asked, determined to wrench my mind from the path on which it seemed to have set itself.
"Yeah," Tad said.
"Me, too." I opened up the cooler. "We've got tuna sandwiches...and ah...tuna sandwiches...and-oh wow-look at this: tuna sandwiches." I looked up at him. "What's your pleasure?"
"Gee," he said, "I think maybe I'd like a tuna sandwich."
"Tuna? Excellent choice!" I grinned and handed him a sandwich and a soft drink.
We stood for a moment, and I noticed he bowed his head: He was saying grace. I felt a little awkward about having started right in, so I waited until he looked up. His eyes flashed to my sandwich, which had obviously had a bite taken out of it.
"My family always says grace," he said simply.
I nodded. "I guess I'm not too religious," I said.
"It's okay," he said. "No problem."
"You're pretty close to your family, it seems."
"Yeah," he said. "Mostly."
"Well...sometimes we don't always agree."
"No family does, Tad, not even close ones."
"What if..." His voice trailed off, and he looked off in the distance. "I don't know, what if there was something really big? It could really mess up everything."
In that instant, for the first time that I'd know him, I saw something other than perfection. It was dark, and it was scary, and I wanted to take him, pull him to me, and hold him until it was okay.
"Tad, if a family really loves one another, it'll survive whatever the `really big' thing is. It may not be easy, and things may not be the same, but the love will stay strong." I looked over at him. "And," I added, "if it doesn't, then maybe the love wasn't as strong as people thought it was."
He nodded, but I don't think he felt any better.
"Hey," I said softly, "We can sit down, you know!"
We ate mostly in silence. We watched as an osprey hunt, dive, and catch lunch, but neither felt the need to say anything. I worried that perhaps I'd said something wrong or that he was suddenly feeling that he'd made a wrong decision. Clearly something was on Tad's mind.
"Hey," I began. "Is it what you thought it'd be?"
He scowled for just an instant, and he cocked his head. "The Speedo?"
I grinned. "That, too." I paused. "Actually, I meant coming out here with me."
"Oh," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, Will, it's awesome." He broke into his heart-stopping smile, making his eyes sparkle even more. "Really!"
And in that instant, I could see that he really did mean exactly that: For him it was awesome. So what was I picking up just moments earlier? "Well, you were pretty quiet; I was beginning to wonder if you were having second thoughts."
"Second thoughts? No! Just thinking, is all."
"Anything you care to share?"
Tad was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, "Nah...guess not."
"Well, I'm a pretty good listener, if ever..."
"Thanks. Um...you feel like going for another swim?"
"Maybe in a bit. I thought I'd go up on the bow and catch some sun."
He shrugged. "Okay," he said simply.
As we spread out our towels, I said, "Now, this is when it's really nice to be nude." I let the idea drop, and he and I stretched out on the towels. The conversation moved on, and I asked him about school and music and other odds and ends.
Then he abruptly changed the subject. "Why'd you say that-that part about going nude now?"
"'Cuz it's true: it just feels nice to feel that warmth all over."
"Will? If...um...I wasn't here...would you be, you know, nude?"
I hadn't been looking at him, but now I turned my head to face him. He was right there, staring into my eyes, and I'd gotten the feeling he'd been gazing upon my body the whole time we'd been laying down.
"Dunno." I paused, and then shrugged. "Maybe. Probably. Really, Tad, I guess it would depend on my mood. But yeah, I guess I probably would be."
I dropped my head back down onto the towel and let my eyes drift shut. I had a feeling the conversation wasn't over.
"Will?" I opened my eyes. "Would it be too weird if...you know...if I tried it: going nude?"
"Not as far as I'm concerned." I grinned easily at the suddenly nervous boy. I could see he'd made a decision. "I might just join you-unless that'd be `too weird'."
He smiled. "Nah," he muttered.
We'd been on our stomachs. Now we rolled over, and slowly, staring at the Speedo, he reached down and began to pull them down. Oh, how I wanted to offer my assistance. He glanced over at me and saw my hungry stare, and then he actually gulped as I shifted my gaze to where his hands were hard at work. My heart was pounding as he tugged the suit lower and lower. A soft bush of blond hair finally came into view-the same color as the sweet-corn-silk of the hair on his head. In another squirming tug, the base of his penis appeared. As more of it was revealed, I could see he was uncut and far from fully erect, but neither was he completely flaccid. Then the suit was down over his thighs, and off. His cock rolled slowly to the side; beneath his ball sac which held two large testicles. And they were large-large enough that they seemed almost out of proportion with the rest of him.
"Nice, Tad," I breathed. "Very nice." I glanced up at his face in time to see the blood flooding into his cheeks and right up to his temples.
"Now you," the boy said with a shaking voice. For some kids, stripping down would have been no big deal, but it was for Tad. Clearly he was violating so many taboos that had been defined by his family and his church. Again, I wondered why. But he had made a request-one that I was more than happy to accommodate. He propped himself up on his elbows, and riveted his stare on my hidden (at the moment) package. In just seconds, I'd tugged down on my suit and revealed my hardening cock and pendulous balls to his hunger eyes.
"Ohhhhh," he sighed when I'd ridded myself of my suit and leaned back. I settled back and looked over at him. It was as if my package were a Tad magnet. In that moment, it seemed if I offered, he'd have dived onto my cock without a moment's hesitation. As he stared at my now-rapidly hardening cock, I could see he was torn between studying the transformation and feeling guilty about lusting over another man's body.
"It's okay, Tad," I said as gently as I could. I watched as he swallowed hard. A slight frown, and narrowing eyes told me he wasn't sure it was okay. I glanced down and I could see his cock responding as well. He seemed so uncomfortable I thought he might decide this was all wrong, and pull his clothes back on. "Tad." He looked back up at me. "I know this is all new for you, and I'm guessing there's more going on here than just a little nude sunbathing. I know there is for me, that's for sure. And I suspect there is for you, too. When I see a perfect young male body-and that's what I'm seeing right now-I react. He blushed again, at my description of his body.
"It's not perfect," he muttered.
"It is in my eyes," I replied.
"Well...I'm not perfect, he breathed.
"None of us are, Tad. Not if we're human...and you, my friend, are very human. And just for the record, if I had any influence, an exact likeness of your body would be on permanent display in the Louvre. You are-your body is-the essence of male youth." Tad turned beet-red again to think he was the object of such attention.
"But...I'm..." He glanced down at his now throbbing six-inch boyhood which pointed up to his chin. "It's wrong."
"I'm...It's the way it should be around girls, not men."
"Tad," I said, "maybe that's true for some boys and men. And it may be that your mom and dad and your church are telling you that that's the only way a man can get aroused...but I think you know that's not true. I certainly know it's not true!"
"It's a sin." He looked like he was about to cry.
"Tad, I know that's what you've been told. But it's not true. I think the people who are saying that are confused-and maybe a little afraid."
"Tad," I interrupted.
"Sometimes I just want to cut it off!"
"Tad!" I shouted, almost losing my cool. "I know Jesus said people if your right eye offends, pluck it out, if your right hand offends, cut it off, but he never ever mentioned cutting off your penis. And for that matter, he never mentioned being gay or homosexual. Never. So, nothing can be so horrible as to cause you to disfigure what God had created so perfectly. Nothing, Tad. There is so much right about you." I paused to let that sink in. "I think I know what's bothering you, but even that, Tad, is not the end of the world. It may mean you and your family are in for some difficult times, but you are who you are...just as I am who I am. I can't help who I am-even if I wanted to-and neither can you. The fact is, Tad, your mom and dad are who they are, too. The challenge for everyone here is to accept folks for who they are-no matter what you believe."
Tears flooded down his cheeks. "It's wrong."
"It is not wrong, Tad, not for you...not for me. Tad. Look at me!" He did. "When I was your age, younger even, I remember seeing a bumper sticker. It said, `God doesn't make junk.' Now if you believe in God, you believe that God is the creator of everything. So, what do you think that means: `God doesn't make junk'?"
"That he doesn't make anything bad."
"Exactly. God doesn't make mistakes. And I'm here to tell you, I'm the way I am because God made me this way. And you're the way you are because God..."
"...made me this way."
"My pastor says gays are perverted."
"He and a lot of other people, but you and I know better, don't we?"
"I'm not sure."
"I am, Tad. You are not junk. If anything in the world is sacred, you are. You didn't choose to be the way you are. You're not bad."
He seemed to relax some then.
"My parents don't think so. I mean, they don't know about...how I am...but I know what they say about gays."
"And that stinks. It's so messed up. Maybe they don't really know their son, as well as they think they do."
Tears flowed-big, hot, hurtful tears. Can you, dear reader, understand what I am about to tell you because I'm not sure do: I dreaded doing what I knew I was going to do, but I had to: I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. I felt him stiffen, but I moved my hand lightly over his smooth skin. I thought how strange this was: a beautiful naked boy within my grasp, but in this moment, dear reader, I am bound to tell you that I desperately wanted him to be fully clothed. You see, I didn't want my touches to be taken the wrong way. With his nakedness, I feared the messages would be confusing to him. All I wanted to do was to comfort him, to reassure him; I wanted my touch to soothe, not excite.
So I touched him lightly on his shoulder, on his baby-soft skin. "Tad, I know it seems overwhelming now, but you cannot deny who you are. In the little bit I've been around you, I see you have so much to offer the world. I know it seems like the only thing you can think about is your sexuality-your sexuality and how it will destroy everything you know and love. I understand that. If you're like me when I was going through all that, it overwhelms everything else. You're pretending all the time, you're pretending at home, at your church, at school, even with your friends-maybe especially with your friends. But the truth is while our sexuality is important, it is not ALL we are, not all you are. You have so, so much going for you. And you would have whether you were gay, straight or whatever! You are a wonderful part of a wonderful creation! You are, my friend, a person of extraordinary worth. That silly little job at the store? I've watched you. You bring light into each and every one of those customers. You matter to them-and not because you're straight or gay. But because of you are who you are: a wonderful, intelligent, caring human being-and yes, a human being who happens to be gay."
He looked up at me and seemed immobilized. "I...I'm...not..."
I put my finger on his sweet lips. "Shhhhhh," I hushed. "Just think about those words, Tad."
He trembled, looked into my eyes, and I could see such uncertainty. Suddenly he scrambled up off his towel, and grabbed onto me, hugging me tight, his glistening body pressed against mine. His spear stabbed into my groin, and my manhood was sandwiched between our bellies. I was stunned. He held me tightly in his embrace, and I felt hot tears on my neck. "I'm scared," he breathed.
My hand trailed down his back and found his luscious bottom. Ahh, me! I was so privileged to be with this boy in these moments. "I know, Tad, I know." I explored his firm, velvety bottom, barely touching him there. It was as if I did not want to defile him, to jeopardize the purity of his being. "You never have to be scared when you're with me. I'll always be here for you, Tad. I pray things never seem overwhelming or scary for you, but if they do, I'm here. I promise you, you will always be safe with me." He sobbed then; huge drops of hot tears seemed to scald my skin. I held him tightly, and he squeezed even tighter.
"There, there," I soothed as if he were a small boy with a skinned knee. "Shhhh..." I rocked him gently.
We lay that way for an hour it seemed. Finally, when my every limb was without feeling, I whispered softly, "Tad, I need to shift positions." He looked up at me and started-reluctantly-to get up. "No," I whispered, "just a bit." I scooted back and leaned against the mast. "That's better," I said with a smile, and held out my arms.
He quickly settled back down, this time we faced in the same direction, he nestled in between my legs, and leaned back against my chest. "That's better," I whispered in his ear. "I meant it, by the way. Every word." He twisted around enough to look into my eyes. "What I said earlier. Every word."
He smiled, and turned around to face out forward. "Thanks," came a soft reply. "Will?"
"I like it when you hold me." It was a simple statement, but it said so much. And it surprised me. For a boy concerned about his "wicked" thoughts, he was being remarkably revealing in that moment.
"I like it, too," I confided. "It just feels so right."
"Mmmmm," he breathed and nestled further into me, so my cock aligned somewhat naturally with the deep cleft of his bottom. He had to be aware of what he was doing, but he never let on, if he was.
"Instead, he took my hand and drew it downward over his chest, and over his firm, gently rippled belly, and omg, it was as smooth as a baby's bottom, hell, as smooth as his own bottom. I slowed my hand's downward journey, and toyed with his cute navel. And then, growing impatient, he actually tugged at my hand, and I relented. He drew me down to his penis, now throbbing, and hard and still pointing up to his chin. Oh, ye Olympian gods! To fondle that perfect specimen of boyhood was nearly more than I could bear-so smooth and velvety, so hot, so hard, so, so perfect.
When my hand finally touched him, he sighed, as if suddenly he'd been transported to a place of bliss. I gently let my fingers drift over his body the way a thistle seed floats over a meadow on a warm summer day. He was so warm and smooth. His prepuce easily slipped back revealing a glistening, silky helmeted head-utter perfection. He sighed again when I did that, when I eased his foreskin back off that beautiful head. When I released it, it eased back over his glans, as if trying to shield it from probing eyes.
I reached lower and cupped his balls in my hand. I could feel what I could not see: his scrotum was sparely covered with fine, short hairs. But it was the heft of his testicles that focused me. They were the size of a small egg, much bigger than what I would have expected "Mmmmm," I hummed. "You must shoot buckets when you jack-off!" Tad's face turned red, and I figured I'd got it just about right.
"Will," he said simply and swallowed hard. "I've never done it."
"Done it?" I was momentarily confused.
"You know, masturbated."
Oh, dear reader, there was so much that was about to come out of my mouth in that instant. First, I had a hard time believing him. What healthy boy would-or could-refrain from pleasuring himself. And so, the word that found its way to my lips was a simple one: "Never?"
"My church has a youth group, but sometimes the boys and girls meet separately. And my pastor meets with the boys. He says the bible says it's a sin to...you know...'spill your seed.' He says it's a way God tests teen boys, and that no matter how the Devil is making us feel, we must resist."
"And you've been able to...'resist'? In my experience, that's downright impossible for a boy."
"Boys get called in for special counseling. It's sort of like confession for Catholics, I guess. We have to tell him if we've had any impure thoughts."
"Oh, Tad," I groaned. "I'd just lie, I think."
"I try, but he's pretty relentless. `I know how the Devil works at boys like you,' he says."
Yeah, I thought, the dirty ol' fuck is probably getting' his rocks off at the expense of these poor, guilt-ridden boys.
Tad continued, "And lots of times, parents report their sons if they find evidence."
"Pastor Mitch says parents should have a rule if they have teenaged sons: no closed doors. `Too much of a temptation," he says, and well, Mom and Dad agree. Because the Devil has terrible power, he says, especially over teenage bodies." He reddened. "Mom and Dad have seen my sheets. I mean, well, like in the morning when I'm still asleep: you know, tented up, so they tell Pastor Mitch, and we have to have a talk."
"Unbelievable, Tad. This is so twisted! If I were you, I'd have been visiting `Pastor Mitch' every day! You poor boy! You really have never jack-off. I'm..." I shook my head, lost for words.
"I've tried but I've never, you know, made the sperm come out. I started to do it a few times, but then I thought about Pastor Mitch and Mom and Dad, and then I start feeling really guilty. And usually then, when I think about the Devil, and how I'm disappointing everybody and failing to do God's will...well, I can't, you know, like stay hard anyway. But I really don't want to disappoint Mom and Dad, and I know they would be."
I felt him twisting his head to the side, and again, I felt hot tears spill onto my skin.
"Oh my God, Tad. That is sooo twisted. Do you think-you, not your pastor-that a loving God would torture of teenaged boy that way, would give you all the feelings and capabilities of a healthy adult, and then expect you not to discover how to pleasure yourself? Oh, Tad." I drew my left arm around his chest and pulled him tighter to me. It's a wonder this boy-and all the boys in that church-weren't so screwed up that they'd all need years of counseling! Then I thought of something else: "Tad, you don't have wet dreams?"
"Yeah," he said guiltily. "I can't help it. Pastor Mitch says..."
"Stop!" I said more loudly than I intended. He twisted around, alarmed, and looked up into my eyes. I got myself under control a bit. "Tad, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. It just hurts me so much that you-that all the boys in your church-have had to go through this-this bullshit!" I felt him flinch when I said that. "I'm sorry, Tad, but please, no more about what Pastor Mitch says. It's just so sick what he's doing. Tad, it's simple biology: when a boy enters puberty, and he starts producing sperm, then it's got to come out-one way or another. If a boy isn't having sex with someone else, or masturbating, then nature takes its course and a boy has a nocturnal emission-a wet dream. Again...it's the way God made males. It's just natural! And I believe it's just as natural to find relief by jacking-off."
"You do? Really?"
"I do. Absolutely no question in my mind." He studied me, and I'm sure he saw I was absolutely serious. And when the silence had grown uncomfortable, I spoke again: "But I do have a question for you: Why? Why are you here today-naked, in the lap of a naked man?"
I felt him tense then, and not in a pleasant way.
"Don't send me away. Please." His breaking voice trembled.
I tightened my grip on him, and leaned down and kissed his sweet cheek. "Oh, Tad, I would never do that. Never! But I'm trying to understand: being here the way we are right now...why?"
He was quiet for a long time. "I'm not sure...but it...I dunno...it just seems this isn't right. I mean the way Pastor..." He caught himself. "...the way I've been brought up. An' at school, I hear other kids talking and it seems like none of them have any problems with jacking-off or whatever." He was again silent, but I could tell he was still working something over in his head. "And," he said finally, "I looked at your ring finger, and you weren't married...so I wondered if you were, you know, like gay or something."
I chuckled softly. "Yeah, Tad, I'm `like gay.' Or something." I giggled softly in his sweet-smelling hair. I wasn't about to tell him lots of married guys don't wear rings either. Anyway, he'd guessed, and guessed correctly.
"And..." Oh? Apparently my boy wasn't finished. "Well...I was hoping...like really hoping maybe we could do stuff...you know...like together."
"Tad, I have to tell you: when I first saw you at the store? I thought, now there's a hot young stud. I'd love to...well...I'd love to do sexy things with him!" I was going to be completely honest and tell him my first thought was, Oh such a sweet boy; how I'd love to suck that tasty morsel of his deep into my hungry mouth. But that might have been too much for a boy who still struggled with guilt about touching himself. I looked at my blushing boy. His eyes widened and a hint of a smile stretched his sweet lips. What I'd said wasn't a turn-off, and that shook my resolve; nevertheless, I continued. "But I'm not sure that's the right thing, now. I see you differently now; you're more than just an incredibly beau..." I caught myself. "...handsome boy. I'm concerned about your...struggle with all of this. I'm worried that maybe `doing stuff' isn't what you need right now."
Tad snapped his head around and stared up at me. A look of pain clouded his usually bright face. I scowled; I should have been seeing relief or appreciation, but I wasn't. He turned away, looking out through the trees. On the other side of that narrow spit of land, waves rumbled up over the granite edges of the island. He was silent for a long time. I held him gently, unmoving. Finally he twisted around, looked me in the eye, and spoke again.
"Will, do you want me to tell you what I was thinking that first time I saw you?"
"Yes, Tad, I'd like that."
"The truth is, I didn't know what to think. That other guy...I don't know why I started talking about shaving. I just did. I think he thought I was just some wise...um...wise-ass kid."
If it was a struggle to say a "naughty" word like "wise-ass," I suspected my "bullshit" comment earlier must have really shocked him. I smiled. In some ways, he was more like a ten year old than a fifteen year old. But his sweet, high tenor voice focused me away from those thoughts.
"But you were different. I got embarrassed with the other guy because he made me feel stupid, but that all disappeared when you started talking. I could see you thought what we were talking about was...interesting...fun. You really looked at me; it was like you were really listening." He blushed as he talked in his soft, quiet tones. "I got embarrassed again because...because...I was feeling different all of a sudden. And I was looking at you and thinking how cool it is to be talking to an adult and not having to be on my guard all the time...about how awesome it was just to be talking. And...honest, right?"
His blush grew even deeper. "It was sort of gave me a funny feeling...like down there." He gulped and his voice grew even softer. "And I was getting hard." He looked deep into my gaze. "I trust you, Will. You seemed...nice from the beginning. Honest, too. I knew you'd tell me the truth. And when I saw you again, I liked you even more. And I...I wanted you to show me stuff. I wanted you, Will."
I mulled over what I was hearing. My thoughts-and certainly my feelings-were all jumbled. Nothing was making sense. "Maybe, Tad," I began, "it'd be better if you, you know, explored with another boy. Someone your age."
Now a look of almost disbelief came over his face. "Another boy!" he gasped. "There are no other boys that are...the way I am!" He turned and stared down at the gentle water lapping against the boat. "Do you know what would happen if I tried getting another boy interested?"
Suddenly I knew how ridiculous my suggestion must have sounded.
"Everyone would know. I'd be ruined." He turned back to me. When he spoke again, he was subdued, almost hurt sounding. "That's why I wanted...imagined...you would like, you know, teach me." He paused again, and again looked up at me with those soft, doe-eyes. "I thought you'd understand."
Oh my God, how his simple, honest words seared me. I do understand, I wanted to tell him, and yet, as I thought about our conversation, I remembered my own youthful forays into exploring my sexuality, and knew he was right. Clearly, Tad had thought this out-more than I had, anyway. "I'm sorry, Tad. I've assumed some things, when I should have been asking you. But now I am: Is that what you'd like, Tad?"
Again a long silence followed. I continued to hold him around his chest. My right hand continued to hold his now flaccid penis. It was so small and pliable in my grasp, so vulnerable. Finally, he made his decision.
"Yes. It is."
"Then we will, Tad."
"I'm going to jack you off. Is that okay?"
"Yeah!" There was a desperate sound to his instant response. Desperate indeed.
"So," I said. "Electric or manual?"
He snapped his head back and glanced up at me. "Elect..." A look of confusion flooded over him. Then he noticed the shit-eating grin I wore. "You're kidding...right?" Still there was a little doubt in his voice.
"Oh," I said, sounding suddenly apologetic, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid our Vibratron 9000 is being serviced today." I gave him a smirk. "Seems our only option is manual!" I eased my grip around his chest, and let my fingertips dance up and down his side, and up into his armpit.
He stiffened and squealed like a little boy. "Stop!" he protested. "It tickles!"
"Mhmm," I hummed. "All part of the service we provide." I chuckled, paused, and then lowered my voice to a whisper. "But perhaps you'd prefer our advanced option." With my left hand, I began toying with his nipples and savoring his luscious, warm skin. I pressed in gently, feeling each rib, then again circled upward to toy with his nipples, and like little soldiers, they snapped to attention. Below, my right hand had never let go of his penis. My fingers wrapped delicately around it as he had lost his arousal during our discussion. It was now just a nubbin, little more than an inch or so, and not much bigger around than my index finger. It was still soft and warm, and I wanted never to let go. His foreskin completely covered his glans and extended perhaps a quarter of an inch beyond. In the last few seconds in which I toyed with his sweet, hard nipples, I felt his boyhood start to swell, and I knew my touches were sparking life where threats and guilt has caused a withering diminution.
I cast my eyes downward to watch the transformation. As many times as I've seen it in my own body and in others, I never cease to be amazed. It is magical. I dropped my left hand down and drew my fingertips along the shallow valley that defined the end of his belly and the start of his leg. I felt an involuntary tightening at that spot, more like a shiver, I suppose, and he sucked in a sharp, short breath. My fingers danced over to his soft pubic hair, and lightly and slowly combed across it. I was in heaven! I continued my gentle touches, cooing and ahhing in his ear. For his part, he emitted soft groans and sighs, as his penis grew. If his nipples were little soldiers, then here was his general offering a salute to his troops.
"It's a little weird feeling someone else's hand down there," he breathed.
"But I kind'a like it," he added quickly. "I guess it wouldn't get hard if I didn't," he breathed.
"Mhmm," I hummed softly. "You got that right, my boy."
He chuckled softly at that. I continued to explore his body, letting my hand drift along his side, then mount the crest of his thigh, and finally slip into the silky warmth between his legs. When I fondled his testicles, I felt a tremble spread throughout his body, and his thickening, lengthening, hardening seemed to take on greater urgency. "Nice," I breathed. Now the sweet boy seemed almost to be beside himself with unfamiliar sensations, and he began a sort of rhythmic clenching of his body: tightening then loosening. Even his buttocks tightened and relaxed, the effect of which was like a vise on my cock, and it drove me wild. He surely had to be aware of the level of my arousal, if he had any feeling at all in that scrumptious bottom of his!
Now he took my hand which held his penis, and urged me to do what I promised I would. "Manual, please," he gasped.
"Yes, sir," I whispered into his ear. I smiled, remembering Nifty descriptions of "aching manhood". I wouldn't have been at all surprised if after all these years of denial, he was indeed aching as wave after wave of new sensations flooded over him. His belly rippled with muscle, his legs locked pushing hard against mine, and his feet pressed firmly against the deck. With his hand, he drew mine up and down over his tumescent boyhood. He was a rock hard six inches now, and when I was too slow to respond, impelled by nature, he lifted with the intent of driving himself up through my curled fingers.
He was a hungry boy. I smiled, happy to see that even a boy tortured with guilt for the first years of his adolescence could respond naturally and "enthusiastically".
"A little desperate, are we?" I whispered, feeling his soft hair on my cheek.
"I've waited a long time!" he gasped, never taking his eyes from my hand on his penis. It pulsed in my grip; it was strong enough that I had to grasp him firmly, lest it pulse right out of my hand. And when I thought about his words, I nearly lost it, nearly cried like a baby. No boy should have to deny himself what nature intended, to satisfy the twisted notions of some-and let me charitable here-some "misguided" adult. I thought about that. They'd label me a pervert, but I ask you, who's the real pervert here?
The boy sucked in a sharp breath. "A long time," he repeated.
"I know, Tad, I know," I sighed. "But try to relax. Otherwise you'll be coming before we really begin."
"Begin...Oh my gosh!" he exclaimed, twisting around and looking at me with eyes wide, "We haven't begun yet!" He gulped in some air and wore an almost wild expression.
I apologize now, dear reader, to you, dear, sweet Tad, for at that moment I laughed right out loud. I did, and in retrospect, I fear it may have been somewhat callous on my part. But truthfully, I was simply caught up in his enthusiasm, that joie de vivre I've spoken of previously. It was simply oozing out of that boy, and as I gently pulled back on his prepuce, I could see that's not all that was oozing out of him. I fantasized that for all his years of denial, he'd stored up gallons of precum, and finally the floodgates had been opened-if only a bit. I eased his foreskin back all the way, and gazed on that perfect helmet: pure, glistening, soft, warm, exquisitely smooth, a deep purplish pink. His head had a regal coronal ridge, sharply defined and curving deliciously around the top and down the sides. There wasn't a drop of precum at his meatus, but there was ample evidence that it had been there scant moments ago. Easing back his foreskin must have caused his collected juices to be spread over his glans, making it seem like a piece of succulent fruit dipped in the sweetest honey.
"No, my sweet boy, we've just barely gotten started. Is there a problem?" I asked innocently, still tickled by his ragged breathing and wide-eyed desperation.
"No! No problem," he gasped. "It's just...it's...I dunno...it's...it's...arrrrghhh!"
The poor boy was so overcome with sensation that he was reduced to incoherent babble, eliciting another chuckle from me. Clearly he was experiencing a new level of frustration. Some primeval sense, part of every boy's genetic code, told him what he was sensing was simply a preamble to what would follow-whatever that might be.
"Tad," I interrupted. "Take a breath...it's okay." I stroked his rippling belly. I think just that minor stimulation had him aroused and close to his first conscious orgasm (versus, I suppose, the unconscious orgasm of nocturnal emissions). As I held his pulsing cock still, I let my other hand come to rest on his stomach. "Shhhh..." I urged softly in his ear. "Relax."
"Yeah, right," he muttered to himself, "Relax," which drew another smile from me.
"You're doing great," I said, "but I think you were about to come. I want you to last a little longer."
"I think it will be a little better if we can slow down a bit."
"Okay," he murmured, but I could tell he wasn't convinced delaying what he had felt was so close was going to make anything better.
We lay there that way for a good five minutes. The sun beat down on us and the gentle breeze cooled us. And a beautiful boy nestled against me, his head tucked under my chin. It was heaven. When his breathing had once again become slow and gentle, I began again the process of sensitizing the most erogenous of all human organs: his skin. His penis had lost none of its rigidity, but it had gradually ceased its pulsing. However, almost as soon as my left hand had begun to trace lightly over his tummy and up to his chest, that changed once more. His cock became a metronome, counting out a boy's dance to nirvana. When I again began to tease those two sweet little nipples, his boyhood jerked almost violently, a kind of exclamation point to his soft, gasping intake of air through that sweet mouth.
I took that little breath as permission to explore his body once again, my hand drifting up and down, teasing, brushing, scraping, toying. My light touches almost seemed to be leaving a wake: tiny rippling waves of energy seemed to spring from his body wherever I touched him. A soft moan escaped from his lips, and I knew it was time to introduce him to a new sensation.
It was time that poor boy truly be introduced to the mysteries of masturbation. I eased his foreskin partially back in place, and then grasping his cock between my thumb and just three of my fingers, and using his loose prepuce, I delicately stroked downward, uncapping once more his sweet glans. A sharp gasp told me he sensed the difference in the assault on his sweet boyhood. I held still, waiting for the feeling to ease a bit, and then slowly began the upstroke. Like a building wave, his foreskin led the way, bunching for a split second at his rim, and then surging over his sweet, glistening head until it was fully covered, and my thumb and index finger formed a ring, snug against his now-covered coronal ridge. Again a gasp punctuated my movement. His whole body tensed.
I wondered at the boy. To be denied for so long, and now this sudden and major submission to the demands of his young, alive body: I was amazed, and overwhelmed that I was part of this extraordinary moment-possibly the most momentous day of his young life. An overstatement, dear reader? Perhaps, but grant me this: after today, his life would never be quite the same. He had pondered a different reality for himself, and had chosen to pursue that new reality with no counsel, save his own-and now, in these last minutes, mine as well, but he had done it, he had come to a decision about who he was and had committed himself to a journey of discovery.
It was my fervent prayer that, along the way, Tad would exorcise the demons haunting him. Puberty is a time filled with the uncertainties that come from such dramatic change and newness. Even with those doubts, boys share a sense of wonder as those hidden parts of them grow astoundingly, and their bodies transform from man-child to man. It is wondrous! But that had been denied to this boy. To have adults in a boy's life only add to those uncertainties is twisted and tragic. I hoped Tad was resilient enough to break out of the strictures imposed upon him, and discover the true blessings of his body and his sexuality.
"Do it again." His words weren't a request but a command-pleading and desperate but a command nonetheless-and they drew me back to the "task at hand," so to speak.
"Yes, master," I said in a trance-like voice. And I complied, finally beginning a slow, steady up and down motion. He stiffened a little and pressed his hands down on my thighs as he leaned back into me more, gasping softly. My hand moved deliberately in a steady action on his rapidly pulsing boyhood. He mewed softly with each stroke.
His leaking precum made for a soft slurping sound each time I capped and then uncapped his head. With my other hand, I continued to play with his hard little nipples. He continued to clench his tight, smooth bottom, and each time he did, my cock throbbed against his crease (which only seemed to cause him to clench even more).
As I worked his rigid tool, I varied my pressure as well as the length of my stroke. Sometimes my fingers completely covered his head; sometimes I let them "bump" up against his coronal rim. Each time he'd stiffen and offer a little gasp or a moan, or a soft, "aaahhh" as he drew in a short, sharp breath. Other times the sensations appeared to overcome him, and he almost whimpered.
"Faster!" he gasped. The sweet boy was on a skateboard, careening down a steep, curving road. What was beyond that last curve at the bottom of the hill he could not know. All he knew was that he was on the ride of his life. I increased my speed, and again, another surge of raw energy surged through his body. Truthfully, I don't think he understood what was happening, but he had committed himself to this ride, and he never flinched.
My left hand reluctantly drifted downward away from those erect, coppery nipples. With my fingernails scraping lightly down his rippled belly, I savored that boy's heat and elicited more reactions from his overworked body. When my fingers reached his soft bush, they lingered, as if in some video game where, if they poked around long enough, they could absorb the energy required for the next part of the journey. I drew my finger downward and to the side, following the path between his leg and his genitals. Again a soft squeal escaped from his lips, and he opened his legs even more, pressing more firmly against my own legs.
His breathing had become short, sharp gasps, and he seemingly took more air in than he expelled. Waves of energy surged through his body. His skin had taken on a sheen, glistening from the hard work that his body had never before experienced. He was close, and a silent debate raged within me: bring him off quickly, or delay, and ratchet up his responses yet again. Then my boy made the decision for me with just one, short word: "Please."
I increased my action yet again. I toyed with the idea of slipping my hand under him to explore his hidden bud, but I was afraid that would be too much for him. I wanted no distractions; I wanted him completely focused on what was about to happen. Now, as if dissatisfied with my insufficient stimulation, he was succumbed to those primal forces that had existed before time, and began lifting his hips, thrusting his penis faster into my hand. Rather than just using my fingers, now I let my whole hand surround his tool. He groaned loudly, and continued his wild thrusting.
In those last moments, I think the boy was literally out of his mind with lustful hunger. Whatever was about to overcome him, he had to have, and he had to have it now! At one point, I thought about trying to restrain his humping action, but ultimately this was for him, and I wanted him to be a participant. This had to be something that wasn't simply being done to him; it had to be something he was sharing in, something he had chosen for himself. His thrusts did just that.
My hand was practically a blur now. I glanced down. If his penis had become any more rigid, I feared he'd rupture some internal plumbing. His balls had all but disappeared, mere shallow swellings on either side of his tool's root. He stiffened even more. I felt the thick tube on the underside of his boyhood expand, as if it knew what was about to occur even before Tad himself knew.
"Something's happening!" he gasped. They were hardly words, more like wild, growling explosions. (although later when I recounted these final moments, he had no recollection that he'd spoken at all).
"Mmmmm..." I hummed into his soft hair above his ear. I drew my lips back and forth over that corn-silk sweetness, breathing in his clean scent. And then I kissed on his head, as if he were a tiny baby.
His head had been titled back and thrust against my neck. I worried at times he'd choke off my breath. His eyes were shut. "Tad," I whispered into his ear, "Open your eyes. Watch what's about to happen!" He struggled to comply, and when he had, I bore down to provide him with the release he so desperately sought.
"Aaaaahhh!!!" His body locked suddenly, impossibly, as if a jolt of electricity has violently contracted his muscles beyond their limit. His back arched and hips lifted high. I felt his penis spasm with startling force. The first bolt of his creamy juice burst from him and landed just above his navel. Then, as if his body finally understood what its mission was, the second blast reached all the way to his nipples. Violent contractions forced out more of his semen in hot, thick ropes, reaching all the way to his face-and mine. Each time his body expelled another bolt of his cum, he cried out, as if at the mercy of his own body.
After what seemed an impossible orgasm, he began to quiet in a series of shudders. It was as if his whole body had become an erection, and now it was slowly becoming flaccid.
He whimpered now as any tension drained from him. His hands which had gripped my thighs so tightly, in these moments of resolution, lay unclenched and unmoving. In fact the only sign of life from his body was his long, slow breaths and his shrinking boyhood which continued to pulse even as he came down off his climactic high.
Ahh me! To be in heaven on earth-to find such contentment-is true bliss, dear reader. And I was (in heaven), and I did (find contentment), and oh, ye gods of Olympus, it is (true bliss)! In those post-orgasmic moments and when he had become completely soft, my hand released his penis the way one might slip his hand from under the head of an infant just placed in a crib-with the utmost delicacy so as not to disturb the sweet babe's slumber.
I gazed down at his perfect body. His legs stretched out over mine, his arms relaxed by our sides, his head rolled to the left, his warm cheek against my shoulder. His slow breaths raised and lowered his beautiful chest. I scooped up a dollop of his still-warm spend. He stirred as I did that, and watched dreamily as I drew my drooling fingers to my mouth. Ahhh...succulent nourishment. Not sweet exactly, the way Nifty stories describe a boy's first ejaculations, but oh so savory, like the finest meat sauce, rich and smooth with just a hint of tangy aftertaste.
"You ate it," he sighed. His soft words conveyed a question beyond his observation.
"I did, Tad." I could see he needed more explanation. "I want to taste you, I want to have that which your body makes in me, I want your hard work to bring me nourishment." I smiled. "Mmmm..."
"What's it taste like?" he asked after reflecting for a moment on what I'd said.
I scooped up another bit of his juice of his chest, and brought it to his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned out and I brought my fingers to his mouth. He opened and I slipped my fingers inside. He sucked down slowly, as if taking an offering of honey from my fingers.
"Weird," he said.
"It's a taste that will grow on you," I replied.
"I guess," he breathed, and then settled down again, deep in thought. "Will?" he asked finally.
"Yes, my sweet boy."
He offered a soft, sweet chuckle when I said that, and snuggled against me even more. "Mmmm," he hummed contentedly. Then he realized he'd wanted to ask something: "How...um...Did...did I do it right?"
I smiled now. He so wanted to please, so wanted to get it just right. "How do you think it was, Tad?"
"It was...I dunno..." He shook his head as if mystified at the question. "Awesome. Unbelievable. Like I was gonna explode. I thought I was dying."
I laughed softly. "Oh yeah, you did just fine, I'd say. You were perfect!"
He didn't, as I thought he would, blush at those words. He was, himself, in that place of utter and complete bliss.
"Now I know what those kids at school mean when they talk about cumming hard."
I laughed again, and moved my hand gently over his smooth, semen-slicked chest. "I got'ta believe, Tad, that none of them have ever had an orgasm like the one you just had. It was...the very coolest of cool beans!"
He giggled at that. And then sighed. "Will?" he asked again.
"I wish we never had to leave here."
"I know, Tad. I know."
We both knew, of course that that wasn't possible, but we continued to lay together like that for a long time, until the sun moved lower in the sky. Our slow, relaxed breathing became one. We became one-in spirit, if not in body.
Eventually, we did get back into the water. "It is different," he said after we'd been splashing about for a while.
I grinned. "Yeah. But better?"
His grin turned into a laugh. "Way better!"
By late in the afternoon, we'd moored the boat, cleaned up, and gotten into the pickup.
"I don't want it to end," he said.
"Well," I said, "we have the evening left. We could get something to eat."
A great smile stretched across his sweet face. That was all the answer I needed. Then he seemed distracted for a moment. "I should shower first," he said. "The salt is itchy."
"We can do that at my house," I offered. "...if you're okay with that."
It seemed only a matter of minutes before he stood naked before me again, this time in my bathroom. We got the shower going, and just before stepping in, he glanced down at my sink. My brand new razor was there next to a can of shaving cream.
"How do you like your new razor?" he asked.
"Awesome. So smooth," I said. And in that instant, I got an idea. "Tad," I began, "I'd like to do something. Will you let me?"
His eyes widened. "What?"
"Well," I said, "let's just say, I think you could use a little bit of a trim."
"Electric or manual?" he asked with a coy grin.
His gaze fell to the razor for an instant, then back to me. "Manual," he said, his voice trembling. I got him in the shower and soaped him up, paying particular attention to the area at the base of his boyhood. I rinsed him off, shut off the water, and reached for the shaving cream. I knelt before him, like a supplicant worshipping his god, and lathered him up.
When he felt the cream on his balls, he stiffened. "It tingles," he offered by way of explanation.
And then I began. I worked slowly, carefully. I trimmed up his pubes, making a sharp, straight edge along the top, then on the sides, I tapered the line down to the underside of his penis-which by now was a throbbing erection and pointing to the ceiling. He had only a few downy hairs on his cock, and they were gone with just a few strokes. His balls had more hairs, and I worked carefully, first stretching, then shaving his scrotum. He had his hands on my head, and each time I'd draw the razor down over his balls, the pressure on my head would increase.
When I finished, I rinsed him thoroughly, and then, like the consummate barber, I grabbed a mirror, and held it so he could check out my work. I wasn't at all sure he'd approve. He studied it for a long time, glancing from the mirror to me.
"It's awesome," he said softly. "So cool. It looks so different." Then he looked again at me. "Do you like it?"
"I love it," I said, and reached out and stroked his penis once.
He got a sly look on his face. "I meant my pubes." His eyes sparkled.
"Oh," I said, standing up. "That. Thanks pretty cool, too."
We shared a huge grin as we gazed up each other's face: his, smooth, fresh and angelic; mine, weathered and worn. Our smiles faded, as the moment grew more serious. His eyes dropped a bit, focusing on my lips. He drew his tongue over his own lips-red and ready.
I reached out and with my hand caressing the back of his head, pulled him to me as I leaned in. His heart pounded and his face flushed, as did mine. He closed his eyes, but I kept mine open. The first touch of our lips was, in a word, chaste. But his hunger quickly overcame him, and we kissed again. It was as if he'd thrown a switch, releasing a surge of passion. He was as hungry for this as he had been for his first foray into his sexual awakening.
And needless to say, dinner came late that evening.
I remind you, dear reader, that the reality of this story is limited to Chapter 1. Everything that follows must reside in the realm of Nifty fiction. I know nothing of the boy's family circumstances and nor, truthfully, of his sexuality.
I could tell you that we met again in the grocery, and that one thing led to the other, and life has never been the same for either of us, but that would only be more Nifty fantasy.
I have only seen Tad one other time-thus far, anyway-and he was all business. Well, except for the fact that he said he needed to see some ID when I was purchasing a six-pack. Odd, you see, because I look old enough to be his grandfather. (That, and the fact that I was buying water.) He looked at me uncertainly for a moment, and when I said, "Oh you do, do you?" he broke into his wonderful smile.
But Tad is... Um, a confession here: Tad is not his real name. No, dear reader, in deference to his privacy, I shall not share that detail. Instead, let's just refer to him as "J".
At any rate, J is, I believe, a sweet boy-purely and simply. Is he gay or straight? I have no idea. Would he go with a stranger on a boat trip (if my boat were anything but another Nifty fantasy)? I rather doubt it. Indeed I have no reason to believe his motivation in chatting with me is anything but his natural sweetness, his self-confidence, and that extraordinary joie de vivre. I only hope that he continues to embody those qualities, qualities that are all too unique among human beings today.
So, J, if you happen upon this, my deepest hope for you is this: be true to yourself. Stay the extraordinary human being that you are. And continue to share that beautiful smile with all you met in the course of your day.