Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2004 04:49:48 EST
From: PixaJax@aol.com
Subject: He Made Me Do It 1

He made me do it.  The first time, he just showed it to me. It was big.  He
sort of rubbed it and it started to get even bigger. Then it got really big
as I looked at it.  Then hard and stiff. And he let go of it and it stuck
out from his body.  Then he laughed when he saw the look in my eyes.

"Wanna touch it?"

I shook my head. I wanted to run away. But he stood between me and the
door.  No escape.

"Yours ever get stiff like this, kid?"

He took hold of it again and held it in his fist, pointing it at me. Like a
weapon. Like he was pointing a gun at me.  I shook my head. But I was
lying. Mine got all stiff sometimes, I didn't why, and I usually tried to
make it go down by bending it, but it always seemed to spring back.

"You mean, you never had a stiffy, kid? How old are you anyway?"

He looked as if he was in pain. I felt my cheeks burning. Red.

"Ah, so you DO get a stiffy sometimes! Course you do. All boys do."

He paused. I tried not to look at it, but it was so big and had such a big
dark purple knob. Mine wasn't like that. Mine had a sort of skin so you
couldn't see the, you know, knob thing underneath.

"So, wouldn't you like to touch it, kid?"

Again he rubbed it, holding it tight in his fist. Rubbed it hard. Up and
down. Fast.  He was breathing hard, and his face was going red with the
effort. Then he bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. He looked as if he
was in pain.  That was my chance. I scooted past him and out the door and
ran as hard as I could.  That was the first time.

The next time, I was in the barn and I didn't hear him come in. I heard the
barn door close and I heard his laugh.

"Well, if it isn't the Stiffy Kid!" he said. "Good to see you again,
kid."

He came close to me, trapping me in the corner of a stall.

"It's ok, kid," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Just wanna chat
with you a while."

"Please let me go!"

"So, you DO have a voice! Nice voice too."

"Please!" I begged.

He looked at me.

"And such a nice face, all white and pink. And pretty blue eyes. And such a
pretty mouth too. Like a girl's mouth."

He reached forward to run his fingers through my hair. I hated my hair,
long and blond and wavy, it flopped over my eyes. I wanted to have it short
like the other boys, but my mother insisted on keeping it long. Like a
girl's.  I shrank from his touch. He backed off a little.

"Really, kid, I am not going to hurt you. Promise. Just chatting. What's
your name?"

I tightened my lips defiantly.

"Oh ok. I know it anyway. It's Michael, isn't it? I know your mother."

I noticed his hand stray to his crotch. He was rubbing himself through his
trousers. I knew what was going to happen next.

"Well, I shall call you Michael. What are you doing here anyway?"

His rubbing hand mesmerised me. I tried not to look at it but I couldn't
help myself.

"Nothing."

"Oh. Nothing. I thought you might be playing with your stiffy, Michael.
Like all you boys do."

What was he talking about?

"Shall I tell you a secret, Michael? I like playing with my stiffy too!"

He laughed.

"Wanna see it again, kid?"

In a trice, he had unzipped and flicked it out. It was dangling down,
curved, thick, like a pale fat sausage. Not big and hard and stiff like the
first time.

"Wanna touch it? Wanna know what it feels like? Go on. It won't bite
you!"

It suddenly twitched as if it was coming alive.  He grabbed my hand and
pulled me close to him.

"Just touch it with your fingertips."

He held my hand and caused my fingertips to run the length of its upper
surface to the base, where I could feel hairs and then up again. He held
them just behind the ridge of his helmet. His thing twitched again and
again and began to swell and grow.  My fingers felt every little tremor.

"Mmm. You got nice fingers, Michael. Soft. Like a girl's."

With his free hand, he stroked my hair.

"Such a pretty boy. Michael, wrap your fingers round my cock. Hold it for
me."

He made me do it. I had no choice.

"That's it, hold it there..." - indicating the base - "....that's good."

It grew in my hand. It got bigger and bigger and harder and harder until it
was stiff in my fist. It was like holding a hard bone. The flesh of it was
warm. And silky.

"You are good, Michael," he said, a little breathlessly. "Now work your
fist up and down the way you saw me do."  He made me do it.

[to be continued. Comments to pixajax@aol.com]