Gator didn’t have to call shotgun when the three boys loaded into my car. He’d had shotgun when I picked them up for the camping trip, and it was clear by now that Gator was my sidekick. The two boys in back talked animatedly about our weekend camping trip, just completed. Gator stole glances at me, and flashed smiles.
After I dropped the other two boys off at their houses, he reached across and patted the bare skin of my leg, just above my knee. “Take me by your house,” he said. “I want to see where you live.”
We had sexed in the night, but it was mid-afternoon now; his hand on my leg gave me an instant boner. And then he ran his fingers up my short’s leg, feeling the inside of my thigh muscle and my skin, which is pretty smooth there. It wasn’t overtly sexy; not like a twelve-year-old was trying to seduce me… well, not entirely. It’s just that his hand there, casually like that, also said a lot about how he felt around me, about me, and about us being us.
I reached a hand behind his neck and gave it a squeeze. “Okay, sport. Like I told you before, it’s not much, but yeah, I’d like to show my house to you.”
It was my first place on my own; rented, of course… a two bedroom, little ranch style house, built in the sixties; back when houses had decent yards that weren’t either as small as a postage stamp or as large as the Astrodome parking lot. A buddy had rented with me initially, but he moved on, and though it would be cheaper to rent with someone else, I liked living by myself.
I didn’t bother opening the garage door, but simply took Gator in through the back gate. “This is like, really nice,” he said, approvingly. A previous owner had landscaped the property well, and the backyard was enclosed by a high, wooden fence. I had added a grill and a hot tub which I placed just off the covered back porch and screened with lattice work and vines. The yard was an oasis for me.
Gator went right to the hot tub. He lifted the cover and peered in.
“It’s a hot tub,” I said, coming up alongside him. I resisted the temptation to smooth his long hair up over his ear. It looked so soft and his ear poked up through the strands. I wondered if anyone ever cut his hair.
Gator dangled his fingers in the water. “You must get paid a lot of money for mowing lawns,” he commented.
“No,” I said, chuckling. “I got this tub used. We were re-landscaping the back yard for a stockbroker and his wife. They were getting a new hot tub, so I offered to buy this one.” I didn’t tell Gator that banging the stockbroker’s wife at that house had sweetened the deal.
Gator looked over the back porch; the weight bench, the hammock, the cheap lawn chairs and table. Then he peered into my living room through the sliding glass door. “Nice house,” he commented. “Did you get a good deal on it, too?”
“I don’t own the house,” I explained. “I rent it from my uncle. But he does give me a good deal on the rent, because I do work on the house... painting, repair, upkeep, and stuff… and because he’s my uncle, of course.” I grinned. “He had another house down the street, but Patrick and his wife bought that one.”
“Jeffy and Daniel live down the street?” Gator asked, surprised.
I nodded. “Their house is like a three bedroom version of this one.”
Gator looked back down into the hot tub. “Can we like, swim in this sometime?”
“Sure, or rather, we can sit in it sometime,” I told him, smiling, thinking of the girls I had banged in the tub and wondering what it would be like simply to relax with Gator in it.
I took him inside the house through the kitchen door. My cat, a big butterball of a Maine Coon, was waiting.
“Whoa! A cat!” Gator exclaimed, dropping to his knees. “What’s his name?”
“Benny,” I said.
Like most Maine Coons, Benny was a love-bug, and he was more than happy to return Gator’s attention. “Why’d you name him Benny?” Gator asked as the cat rubbed against Gator’s jeans.
I shrugged. “Dunno. Just seemed like the right name.
Gator glanced up at me with a frown. “For a cat?”
“So? What’s a good name for a cat? Garfield?”
Gator shrugged. “I guess Benny’s okay. At least you didn’t name him Jamie.”
“Or Gator,” I said with a grin.
“Or Sport,” Gator countered, looking up at me from under a furrowed brow. He picked Benny up and looked around the kitchen, taking it in.
“I don’t have much furniture,” I explained as he eyed the small table and chairs in the tiny breakfast nook. “Mainly just stuff from Patrick and Jennifer or from my mom.”
As I led Gator into the living room of my own house, and him not even chin-high on me, I had conflicting emotions. Gator was only a twelve-year-old kid, and yet, I felt happier, prouder, showing him my house than I’d ever felt showing it to anyone else. In my heart of hearts, I hoped he would like it enough to come over often… to share it with me, and I’d never thought of sharing my house with anyone before, well, except for Benny.
It was easy to imagine holding Gator on the couch or on the carpeted floor in front of the TV, or playing Xbox with him – I showed him my games. That was pretty much all I had in the living room; my Xbox, TV, a couch and an arm chair, and my sound system – I had a good, home system. Gator saw the CDs, set Benny down, and thumbed through them.
A girl I went with in high school turned me on to classical music and, though my tastes in music were wide-ranging, I had a lot of classical music. Gator seemed intrigued by those CDs. “I like classical music,” I explained.
He glanced at me. “Opera and stuff?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a little opera, and… stuff… like symphonies and concertos. I like listening to that kind of music at night when I read. I like reading, too. I’m like a total nerd at night… except when one of my favorite teams is playing.”
He glanced dubiously at the Xbox. “I’m not very good at games like that,” he said, pointing. “And I don’t read much either.”
I shrugged. “Maybe we can take up dancing.”
Gator laughed. He glanced at the window. “How come you have all your curtains closed?”
I walked over to the window and opened the curtains. “When I’m away, I close them so people won’t see the house is empty, and it keeps the house cooler. When I’m home at night, I often just hang around naked, and I don’t want the neighbors ogling.” I grinned. “I keep the curtains in back open; no one can see into those windows very easily.”
Gator eyed me with his head tilted… suspicious. “You really walk around all day naked?”
“Sure, why not?” I asked. “It’s my home. C’mon.
I’ll show you the second bedroom. I’m making it into a study…
a home office kind of thing.”
Gator followed me into the room and went right to the overstuffed chaise lounge. When he plopped onto it, Benny jumped up from the floor and into his lap.
I sat down on the edge of my dad’s old desk which I used for my computer. “You like that lounge chair?” I asked, pleased that Gator seemed to. The chaise lounge had been an indulgence. Because of the softness and plush velour, I told other guys I got it as a chick magnet. And chicks did like it; it was great for sex. But the truth was, I liked it, and I liked lying in it to read at night when I wasn’t on the couch in the living room.
Gator grinned up at me, looking way too comfortable and happy in my chair, so I pounced on him, tickling. Benny went flying. Gator squirmed wildly and we went rolling off onto the floor, laughing. “C’mon, sport,” I said, offering him a hand up. “I’ll show the master bedroom.”
Gator stood beside the bed, looking up at the mirrored ceiling with his mouth agape. I shifted, uncomfortably. Did he know why guys put mirrors over beds? Actually, my mirror over the bed was made up of cheap, mirrored tiles. I put them up in an afternoon, and now, I felt embarrassed, a little, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because what had happened between Gator and me, and what I hoped would happen again, wasn’t the same kind of thing I put the mirrors up for.
His eyes followed the mirrors down the wall behind the bed. His gaze shifted to the brass bedstead. I had a brass bed, partly for the same reasons I had the mirrors. I even got bedsprings that would squeak. And yet, I loved the bed as a bed. It was soft and extremely comfortable.
Gator’s eyes took in the bed. I laid my arm on the back of his shoulders and thought about how much I wanted to share that bed with him. He slipped his arm behind my back, and we stood there for a moment, just looking at the bed. Then he leaned into me, wrapping his other arm around me. We turned to each other and hugged. I picked him up by the butt and he wrapped his legs around my waist. He ran his fingers into my hair and pressed his mouth to mine.
I wasn’t much of a little lover when I was ten and having my first sex, but by the time I was twelve, there were times I practically dragged Patrick to bed with me. I was glad that Gator was twelve.
I backed him to the bed, laying him back onto it. He grabbed the back of my shirt as I did so, and I came up without it. I pulled off his shoes and socks. The obvious tube pointing out toward his hip, inside the front of his shorts, made me proud in a silly way; my boy, Gator, was hung. I undid his shorts and pulled them and his underwear off at the same time. And then I stood there.
Gator’s eyes were on the ceiling, or more exactly, on his reflection in the mirrored tiles. He stroked the underside of his cock with one finger, watching himself.
It was the first time I’d really gotten to simply look at him, in the daylight, there with his legs apart and dangling over the side of the bed. It always amused me that pubescent boys grew first in their hands and genitals, sort of the way puppies grow big paws. Gator definitely had grown his. His dick lay pink and thick up his white belly, and onto the bottom of his shirt. It was a beautiful boner, thick, but evenly proportioned up to a crown that flared perfectly. His balls were little eggs hanging in a ruddy, loose sack, down between his satiny-skinned thighs… and his thighs… slender, long-muscled. Somehow, having only a shirt on, and naked from the waist down, made Gator unbelievably sexy.
I raised my eyes to his. “You’re awesome, sport… awesomely awesome.”
His eyes dropped to my torso, and I was glad for every hour I’d spent in the gym because of the way he looked at me, admiringly.
“You, too,” Gator said in a soft, thick voice.
My eyes dropped back to his parted legs and the two egg shapes in his deeply-flushed scrotum which hung so large-looking between them. I dropped to my knees, on the floor, between his knees. It didn’t seem that the mirror bothered him at all, and if that was the case, I knew what a turn on it was for me, to have my cock sucked while I watched a head bobbing between my legs in the mirror. I’d try that for him.
Bending forward, I lifted his cock, pointing it straight up, and licked over the soft skin of the shaft and over his smooth crown, the way he had done me, as if licking an ice cream cone. Gator spread his slender legs wider and ran his fingers into my hair. I lifted his balls on my tongue and used the tip of my tongue to rub his perineum. I licked his scrotum. I closed my mouth over his cock and Gator moaned out loud… a high, twelve-year-old boy moan. I glanced up his body; he was watching in the ceiling mirror.
Gator was tan down to his waist, and then from his knees down. He evidently wore baggies a lot. The skin of his thighs was smooth and white. I ran my palms over the insides of them, spreading them wide, out to the sides, and I decided that I was ready to be between them.
Standing up, I kicked off my shoes and socks, and pulled off my jeans and boxers. I stepped up to the edge of the bed, between Gator’s legs, and grabbed him under the butt. I lifted his bottom off the bed and pulled the base of his boner up to mine.
Gator came with it, pulling himself up, his belly muscles rising in a single ridge from his pubis to his sternum. He came up against me, his butt in my hands, and he pulled off his shirt before grabbing the sides of my face and planting his lips once more on mine. He was only twelve, but after two nights of lovemaking, he knew what he wanted.
I held him to me, our boners pinned between us, rubbing him against me by moving him around by his butt. I climbed up onto the bed with him, and we went down, Gator under me.
We frotted… simply rubbing, kissing, humping together… laughing… tickling… nuzzling. I don’t have much of a beard. Despite what one might expect from my blue eyes and a few chest hairs, my family has some Native American blood. Patrick’s the same way as me. We don’t usually shave more often than every couple of days; mainly sideburns and the chin. Nevertheless, it had been a couple of days, so I was careful rubbing my face against Gator’s. It would be dangerously stupid to take him home with beard burn on his cheeks.
We grew quiet, moving together. Gator pressed his hands, first here, then there, over my back and bottom, feeling my muscles as they worked. He was watching us in the mirror.
“Do the mirrors bother you?” I asked.
Gator glanced at me, but continued thrusting his hips to meet mine. He shook his head and smiled. “I was watching your muscles. They flex when you’re… you know… rubbing with me. I can see them in your back and your legs… and your butt squeezes tight… over and over.” He spoke between grinds and thrusts, his eyes drooping between phrases, his lips close to mine. His head turned to look up again at the ceiling, and he pressed the side of his face to mine. “It’s weird,” he said softly, “watching your butt going up and down between my legs like that, and feeling our boners rubbing at the same time.” He pressed his lips beside my ear. “We look hot,” he whispered. “I mean… I never seen anything this hot.” He whispered like a golf commentator next to the green, commentating on what he was watching. “I look taller with you than I thought I was. And you... “ His voice dropped to the barest of whispers. “I’m gonna come, watching you.”
“No,” I whispered. “You’re going to come, kissing me.” I covered his mouth with mine and ground more firmly, and faster, between his legs. Gator wrapped his thin arms over my shoulders and returned my kiss, and my thrusts; still peeking past me at the ceiling.
We built quickly to a hard-grinding climax, and we each squirted between our bellies. Our kisses became playful nibbles. Our stomachs slid on each other.
“I gotta get you home, sport,” I murmured.
“Not yet,” he said, combing his fingers through my hair. “My mom doesn’t care when I get home.”
“It’s almost four. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“My mom doesn’t care,” he repeated.
“But I do,” I whispered, kissing his nose. I knelt up. “C’mon sport. I’ll feed you first.” I pulled him up and hefted him over my shoulder.
He laughed and patted a rhythm on my back muscles with his hands.
Gator sat astride my leg with his back to me to eat his sandwich. That made it difficult for me to eat mine, for a number of reasons. But I liked him there.
“Weird,” he had said when we first sat down. “I ain’t ever eaten naked like this.”
“When it’s just us, we can always hang naked. That is, if you like it.”
He twisted back to smile at me with a mouth full of sandwich and wriggled his eyebrows.
I rubbed his back. “You gonna come over sometime to get help with your homework?”
Gator swallowed, glanced back at me again, and grinned again. “Homework and sex,” he said. And then, his eyes went all soft as he looked at me, as if some new thought had troubled his young mind. He set his sandwich down and leaned back against me.
I wrapped my arms around him and just held him. “I am gonna love you, Gator,” I murmured. “As long as you want me to, and you want us to hang together, I’m going to love you. You know that, right?”
He nodded his head under my chin and laid a hand on my chest.
The phone rang.
Reluctantly, Gator rose off me and I went to answer it.
“I thought you were going to call me when you got home,” Jenna said.
“I’m not really home yet,” I told her. “I just stopped by for a few minutes. I’ve got one more boy to take home.” I glanced at Gator and shrugged.
“After that, you’re coming over here,” Jenna told me. “I’m making that chicken casserole you like. I know you’re hungry for a good meal.”
Of course, I wasn’t hungry at all; not with either type of appetite Jenna could satisfy. But she had clearly made an effort. “Okay,” I promised. “I’ll be over in an hour or so.”
I hung up, giving Gator an apologetic smile, and it occurred to me that I might have a struggle, balancing time between Jenna and Gator.
“Who was that?” Gator asked.
I shrugged. “A girlfriend.” Jenna would have freaked if she’d heard that… a girlfriend.
Gator watched me shave, or more exactly, watched my body, running his hands over my back and sides, moving around me, squeezing muscles. “I’m gonna cut myself,” I warned, “if you keep distracting me like that.”
From behind, he wrapped his arms around my belly and laid the side of his face on my back. “You know what, sport?” he asked quietly.
I chuckled. “What’d you call me?”
“Sport,” he said, still quietly. “If you can call me sport, I can call you sport.” He hugged my belly. “You know what, sport?”
“No, sport. What?”
“I’m gonna love you, too… a lot.”
I set down the razor, turned in his arms, and gave him a big kiss, getting shaving cream all over his face and making him laugh. And then he hugged me, and clung to me, and I held him tightly to me.
I met Gator’s mom and her boyfriend when I took Gator home. His mom wasn’t an unattractive woman, but she looked like a woman who lived life hard. She showed all of her forty-plus years. Her big-bellied boyfriend had seen better days as well, and too many beers watching football games on TV, which is what he was doing that afternoon.
Gator’s mom was friendly. She came on to me, in front of Gator. Her boyfriend was too engrossed in the game to notice.
I managed to eat enough of Jenna’s casserole that evening to please her. After a couple of nights without me, she was horny, and I managed to please her that way, too. But as I lay that night, with her draped over my side the way Gator had been the night before, I was struck with the differences. Not that a bare pussy pressed against my leg wasn’t exciting – she waxed and shaved down there as well. The differences had more to do with how I felt about her and about Gator.
Why my infatuation with Gator? Was I putting onto Gator all that I had ever felt or wanted to feel for Patrick? When I was younger, I thought I might be gay, but Patrick always assured me that I wasn’t. To be sure of that, he set me up with my first girl fuck – a girlfriend of his, and he was there, too. There were other girls after her, girls he set me up with if they said I was cute and they seemed interested. Perhaps the setups were Patrick’s atonement, or perhaps therapy for what he feared he had made me.
Unlike Patrick, Gator would let me love him. I dreamed in the night that it was Gator lying on my side.
But then Jenna woke me for a frolic before breakfast, and then cooked breakfast for me, happily. I felt guilty. She expected us to be married someday. Before the previous weekend, I had begun to expect that myself. As I drove to work, I tried to think clearly. Where was the logic in getting involved with a twelve-year-old boy? Jenna was gorgeous. She loved me. She liked sex. She was easy to be around. We could make babies.
And yet, I remembered how Gator clung to me at the lake when he thought I was throwing him to alligators. I remembered the feel of his smaller body clinging so tightly to mine. I remembered the way the corners of his wide mouth curved up when he smiled, or the sound of his twelve-year-old-boy’s voice when he called me ‘sport’, or the softness of his hair, or, the way he looked, lying back on my bed, gazing up at himself in the mirrored tiles. I recalled the taste of his thin semen in my mouth and grew instantly hard. It was Gator to whom my mind kept returning.
My email address is email@example.com. Sorry for the delay getting this chapter out. It should not take so long for the next one. Thanks again for sending emails. They really do keep me going. It'd be great to hear from you if you liked this chapter as well. Thanks!