You know exactly why you're here, so warnings make absolutely no sense. The beginning of this story is intended to help you get a nice fantasy going, so mentally embellish it as you will. The "lessons" are good for those who just want a quick wank.

I don't do sequels, so if you think you might get off to this more than once, remember the name. Creating a bookmark makes you an official perv when your computer is seized ;-)

Comments may be sent to This story is public domain, so if you want to plagiarize it, go right ahead -- and remember to send contributions to Nifty. After all, Nifty is most of your sex life!

His First Time

One day, back when I was a young teen, I traded insults with another kid on the school bus -- we called it "ranking out" back then. I must have had thirty of forty IQ points on him, so it really was no contest. The problem came when he followed me off the bus at my stop. He must have had thirty or forty pounds on me.

He insisted I fight him, and my brilliant brain was unable to think of a way to get out of it. I was not a fast runner. I tried apologizing. He wasn't in a forgiving mood.

So he was coming at me with his fists up and I was backing away with my palms out when my savior arrived. Some youngish man I'd never seen before and never saw again screeched his car up to the curb, jumped out, and yelled at the other kid to leave me alone. I still remember him saying, "He doesn't have to fight you if he doesn't want to."

That happened a very long time ago. For many, many ensuing years, I longed to find myself in a similar situation -- only I would be the man coming to the rescue. Then, one day, it happened.

I was coming out of the liquor store at the local strip mall when I saw, there in the parking lot, three boys in a circle around another boy, shoving and pushing him back and forth. Finally! Old man to the rescue!

"Hey! Assholes," I shouted as I strode forth holding my bottle of vodka like a club, "get the hell off him!"

The three bullies looked about fifteen. The kid in the middle looked younger. I yelled again, (albeit wondering how three rough looking teenagers might feel about beating up an old man.) "I said leave him alone!"

One of the bullies looked up at me with a puzzled expression, and said, "But he's gay! Look! His mascara is running."

It was true. There were dark streaks running down his cheeks, and his lips looked just a little pinker than they might have without the benefit of a dab of lipstick.

"So what?" I replied. "Gay bashing isn't cool anymore. It's so... so twentieth century. Now get the hell out of here or I'll call a cop!"

Grudgingly, the three bullies got the hell out, leaving me with a tear and mascara stained little fag. A very cute little fag, I couldn't help noticing.

"Thanks, mister," he said, gushing more tears. "I knew I shouldn't have worn the makeup, but I was just so tired of hiding who I am."

"Come over to my car and we'll get you cleaned up," I told him. I got a paper towel out of my trunk, wet it with a little vodka, and started cleaning the mascara off his cheeks. The fingers of my left hand were tangled in his shaggy brown hair as I wiped his face with my right.

He looked about thirteen, going on an immature fourteen, maybe. He had a perfectly tilted little nose, clear, soft skin, and a mouth I totally wanted to kiss right then and there -- but it didn't seem like a good thing to do in a strip mall parking lot. When he opened his eyes after I'd finished wiping away his mascara and eyebrow pencil, they were almost jungle green.

I didn't want to stop touching him, but I did. Then I offered him a ride home, "just in case those guys are still hanging around." He slipped into the passenger seat, and I started the engine. "Where to?" I asked.

"I don't want to go home," he said, with a little smile. "Could we go to your place?"

The little bastard! Just what did he have in mind?

"I'm pretty sure you like me. When you were washing my face, it looked like you wanted to kiss me. If we go to your house, we could kiss all we wanted -- unless you have a wife."

"No wife," I said, "but I'm not really sure that's a good idea."


Well, I was tempted -- and giving into temptation is kind of a habit with me. Five minutes later, we were back at my apartment, and I'd learned his name was Lonnie and that he was in eighth grade, the school year when boys walk around with stiffies all day long. Lonnie was no exception, as I could tell by a glance at his nylon shorts.

Yes, I was nervous, not wishing to spend my golden years in prison -- but he was so cute, and I had that bottle of inhibition suppressor I'd just bought at the liquor store. I tossed some ice cubes in a glass and poured myself a very large drink.

"Want some orange juice or something?" I asked him.

"Okay," he answered. "Could I have a little vodka in it?"

I was really hesitant. If he went home with booze on his breath, somebody might want to know where he got it.


His "please" was irresistible. I tipped a little vodka into his juice. "Cheers," I said, clinking my glass against his before swallowing most of my large vodka and dropping onto a kitchen chair.

Lonnie drank about half his screwdriver, put his glass on the table, sat down on my lap, and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Kissing time," he informed me with a devilish grin.

"Just a sec," I said -- then poured down the rest of my drink and put the glass on the table. I wrapped my arms around him, and our lips came together. He really wasn't much of a kisser, but I certainly enjoyed squeezing his soft little bottom through those nylon shorts. I love boys in nylon shorts.

"You've never actually kissed another guy before, have you?" I asked as we came up for air.

"No," he said with a very serious face. "I guess I wasn't much good. Can you teach me?"

I smiled. "We'll work on it. It's not too hard."

"I want to learn everything. Everything gay guys do with each other. When I get a real boyfriend, I want to make him happy."

"I guess I don't get to be your boyfriend, huh?"

"Nah. I mean, I like you, and you're pretty handsome, but I want a boyfriend more my own age."

"That's a very good idea," I replied. "Maybe I can be your sensei in the art of gay love, and then you'll go on to conquer."

"Gay love is like karate?"

"Well, it's easier than karate, but you still have to be in shape!" I knocked back another drink, and said "Come with me."


My bedroom looks pretty neat because I always make the bed in the morning. Lonnie jumped right on and bounced a couple of times. His grin was enormous. "Okay, teach me gay kissing!'

Gay kissing, I explained, is no different from straight kissing, but is different from kid kissing because you use your tongue. He looked at me with some skepticism -- I suppose because, to most kids, swapping spits is kind of disgusting. "You have to try it," I explained, "before you understand just how much you'll like it."

I lowered my face to his deliciously soft lips, and snaked my tongue right into his mouth. After just a moment's hesitation, his tongue came back at mine, twisting and thrusting and... Well, you get the idea. The kid was a natural.

When I pulled back, after a delicious minute or two, he said, "Shit, you were right. That's fantastic. Let's do it again."

We did it again. And again.


Envisioning just how an elderly perv might be treated in jail, I knocked back another large vodka. Lonnie, a shameless little slut, as you know by now, looked up and said, "It would feel a lot better if we were naked."

Well, I couldn't fault him on that insight. With another deep tongued kiss, I slipped my hands into those sexy nylon shorts and rubbed the smoothest, sweetest ass that ever wiggled this benighted planet. With his total cooperation, the shorts and the briefs beneath them were promptly removed. When he lifted his arms above his head, I gathered that the t-shirt too was to be removed. It was so sweet -- my little gay lover naked except for those silly short white socks kids wear these days under their sneakers.

Lonnie's penis was just as stiff as you might expect an eighth-grader's penis to be. It looked to be just shy of four inches, but I didn't have a ruler, and was in no mood to bother myself with statistics. I liked that he was circumcised, so I wouldn't have to deal with any smelly smegma. Young boys do not have the best habits of cleanliness.

I cuddled the little cutie in my hands as I ran my hungry tongue up and down that incredibly creamy body, with special attention to his deliciously puffy nipples. Oh, how those nipples stood right up to that special attention!

He was making a lot of noise, but his voice hadn't quite changed, so he sounded pretty much like a woman. Anyway, the neighbors on one side were old and deaf, and the guy on the other side never got home until eleven or so, and then he was drunk. I didn't really know about upstairs and downstairs, but I didn't have time to think about it. I was too horny.

I licked my way down his chest to his navel, his flat little belly, and then that little stiffie was a fraction of an inch from my lips. The way it was twitching, I could tell he felt my hot breath. I paused long enough to say, "This is called a blow job."

I like a four-incher. I never saw the joy of a cock poking down your throat, and he was a perfect fit. As I went down on him, his noise level increased, and I sincerely hoped the old couple next door were as deaf as I thought they were. I really wanted to push a finger up that adorable asshole, but he wasn't lubed. I was looking forward to lubing him with my tongue.

He twitched. He squirmed. He squealed a high soprano squeal, and humped my mouth like a crazed puppy on your leg. I tasted a little saltiness before he fell back and let out a long moan.

"Well," I said, "that's one thing gay guys do."

"Wow," he said. "I wanna try that. Get naked."


I got the vodka out of the freezer and brought it back to the bedroom, drinking straight from the bottle and shedding my clothes along the way. I really didn't want to spend my golden years in jail, but what we'd already done was enough to accomplish that, so I figured what the fuck. Let's just do it.

I'd kind of half come while sucking him, and the vodka slows me down, so I was only half hard when he took the bottle from my hand, knocked back a slug, and choked. "Crap! How do you drink this shit straight?"

I grinned at him. "But I drink it gay!"

I guess he'd had enough booze to find that funny, because he giggled. "Oh, just lay back, you asshole. I want to suck you."

Needless to say, he needed instruction. "Jesus, not so hard! More tongue! No teeth!" Whatever. He was a fast learner, and fortunately for him, my dick is kind of average size instead of the gigantic size usually described in Nifty stories. When he wrapped his hand around the base, the rest fit in his mouth very nicely -- and he certainly seemed to enjoy it.

Okay, he didn't swallow, but when he tasted precum he pulled back just in time to have a very nice facial. "You are just so cute," I said, "with my cum dripping down your face."

He stuck out his little pink tongue and tentatively tasted a drop. "I'm pretty sure," he said, "I could get to like this a whole lot."

I kissed him again, getting a good taste of myself. Then I wiped him off with my discarded tee shirt, and we just cuddled for a while. I just loved squeezing that impossibly beautiful ass -- and anyway, I'm not that young anymore. I needed some recovery time.


"You just gonna lay there all afternoon?"

I shook my head, grabbed the bottle off the nightstand, and had another snort. Since this seemed likely to be the last day of my life outside a jail cell, I figured I shouldn't waste it.

"I mean," he said, "there has to be more to getting gay than just sucking cock!"

"Okay," I told him, "roll over on your belly, and we'll see how you like getting rimmed." I really hoped he would like it, because that adorable ass was just demanding some tongue. Well, not some tongue. My tongue.

He smelled pretty good -- maybe a little musty, but it was fine by me. I buried my face between his luscious white cheeks, and my tongue darted toward its object of desire. Not everybody likes eating a boy's asshole, and not every boy likes it, but there's not much I like more -- and Lonnie seemed to find it interesting.

He giggled. "That feels kind of... funny. But you know, I shit from there."

I lifted my head long enough to say, "And I pee from the cock you were just sucking" before I dove back in. I curled up my tongue (a useful genetic trait) and poked it a little way into his hole. He tensed up, pushing me back out, so I just went back to licking and nibbling his sweet buns for a while.

After a minute or so, he said, "Uh, okay, do it again." That time, he was much more responsive, and I was starting to hope that my Lonnie was a natural-born bottom. I really hadn't planned to fuck him, but if he was willing...

"You know," he said, breathily, "sometimes I stick my finger up there. And once I tried one of those Sharpie pens."

I certainly believed him, because his asshole was self-lubricating. I rolled my head to one side and pushed a middle finger a little way up that delicious pucker, not neglecting to kiss and nibble the buttock pillowing my face.

He gasped. "Oh, crap! Why does your finger feel so much better than mine?"

I couldn't really answer that, because I was pushing in deeper, squeezing his little boner with my other hand, and licking up his back until I felt the softness of his earlobe in my mouth. It wasn't long before he had another semi-dry orgasm.

You can't believe how much I wanted to fuck him. Well, maybe you can.


I guess he was wondering about it himself. "I'd let you put your dick up there, but I'm afraid it might hurt."

"Well, I don't want to hurt you," I told him, "but my dick's not all that big, and you probably passed plenty of craps that were bigger."

He scooted down so that his face was up against my crotch again, and batted my dick against his nose a couple of times. It really was kind of cute.

"But it's a lot harder than my turds are."

It was true. My dick was harder than it had been in years, even though I'd already come once. Considering my age, it was almost uncanny -- but Lonnie was just so hot. "We could try it just a little at a time," I suggested, "with some lube."

"What's lube?" he asked.

"Slippery stuff," I told him, "so it slides in real easy."

"I don't know," he said. "I don't want you to go crazy and rape me."

Legally, of course, I'd already raped him, but I didn't mention that. "Well, if you were on top, you could kind of sit down onto me as far as you wanted. If it started to hurt, all you'd have to do would be get off."

He looked a little dubious, but said, "Okay, I suppose I can try it. Where's the lube?"

There had been half a tube of KY in the nightstand next to my bed for more years than I like to remember. I fished around for it, hoping it hadn't dried out like old paint. It was still good, happily, but if not I'd certainly have tried butter or mayonnaise or something. I greased up my pole, wiped my hand on my discarded socks, and lay back. "Okay," I told him, "climb on."

He straddled me, took hold of my cock, and giggled. "It feels weird with the lube on it. It feels kind of like a wet fish."

"It'll feel a lot better than a wet fish when it's up your sweet little ass," I replied. "Just kind of push like you're crapping when you sit on it to open up your hole."

He did as instructed. He gasped a little as the head poked through, then relaxed and just sat right down on the rest of it. He was the most natural bottom I'd ever encountered, and a big smile spread across his face.

"I can't believe it," he squealed, "your cock is all the way up my ass!"

I couldn't believe it myself. I hadn't thought I'd ever get that lucky again. "Okay, cowboy," I said, "now it's time to ride it."

Very slowly, I started a humping motion, pulling out no more than an inch or so at a time. He caught the rhythm, and joined in, pulling up higher and then sitting down hard. I was especially glad I'd already come on his face, because I wanted it to last a long time.

He was moaning loud enough so that I figured even the deaf couple next door would be able to hear him, but they must have been out buying prunes or something because nobody banged on the wall. His adorable little cock was straining up against his belly, and I reached out to squeeze it as I fucked him.

After just a couple of minutes, he surprised me by pulling himself off me entirely. There was a surprising little "pop" when we disconnected, and I wasn't happy because I hadn't come yet, but he soon let me know it wasn't over. Getting onto his hands and knees, he said, "Okay, you can go crazy and rape me now."

I got up on my knees, aimed my cock at his hole -- which was noticeably wider than it had been when I was eating it -- and plunged in. I started a long, hard stroke, reaching around to squeeze his little stiffie, and really pumped into him, my balls slapping against his every time I plumbed his depths. "Oh, god," he squeaked, "fuck me! Fuck me hard!"

I stopped worrying about the neighbors. If I was going to jail, it was worth it. I came, deep in his ass. It was the best orgasm I'd had since I'd been only a few years older than Lonnie was. Then I collapsed on top of him.

He turned his head and planted a kiss on the corner of my mouth. "I like being raped," he commented. "Can we do it again?"

"Maybe later," I told him, not really believing it. "I need a little recovery time. And another drink."


I headed for the kitchen for some ice for my vodka, and Lonnie went into the bathroom, possibly, I thought, to drop my wad of cum into the toilet. When I got back to the bedroom, though, he was lying on his back with his legs up, looking at his boy pussy with a small hand mirror he'd found.

"You really stretched it," he observed. "But look what I can do!"

Proudly, he flexed his hole, opening and closing it several times. I didn't believe it, but I was starting to get hard again. I lay down next to him and inserted my finger into him again. My finger felt like it was being sucked. "You're a very talented boy," I told him. He grinned.

I popped out my finger, and he let his legs collapse on the bed. All I really wanted to do at that point was to kiss him all over his adorable face, and that's what I was doing when he clamped his mouth onto mine and shot his tongue into my mouth. Lesson One, it seemed, had been very successful.

I pulled away long enough to swallow half a glass of vodka, thinking that, perhaps, Lonnie might be more than I could handle. "You know," I said, "it's pretty rare for a guy my age to be able to go more than twice, but we'll see what happens. In the meanwhile, I suppose I can just suck you off so you don't get bored."

"Okay!" he said brightly.

I finished off my drink, and lay my face on his soft, smooth stomach. His dicklet had gone half soft, which was nice because I like to feel how they stiffen up in my mouth. His stiffened up, promptly, and began humping my face. I reached underneath him, and squeezed his plump little bottom as hard as I could. He started making too much noise again, but it already was too late to tell him to hold it down.

When he came that time, there definitely was a discharge into my throat, so I think I probably swallowed his first real cum. I felt, kind of, honored.

I also felt boned up again, which was probably the first time I'd been ready for a three-fer since I'd left my thirties behind. "Stay on your back," I instructed him, "and pick up your legs again. This time, we're going to do slow, sensitive love."

I slapped on a new layer of lube, even though he probably didn't need it, and climbed on top of him. Once I was properly lined up, his hole kind of sucked me in. I crushed him against me with both arms, and his arms clamped around my neck, pulling my face against his. We locked lips, and I started a slow, languorous stroke.

It lasted what felt like a very long time, but eventually I felt him spurt a little spurt against my stomach -- and that was all it took to set me off. I don't suppose it was an especially big wad, but I left it in his ass before I went soft and dropped out of him.

"That was nice," he whispered in my ear. "It felt like you really loved me."

"Maybe I do," I replied. "How about a shower before we get dressed?"

"Okay, but then I really have to go. My mom doesn't like me to be late for dinner."

While we were soaping and rinsing each other, I asked if he thought he'd have problems with those three bullies again.

"No," he said, "I don't actually live in this neighborhood. I just came here to, well, try out being gay."

"So, will you be coming out any time soon?"

"I don't think so. Maybe if I find a boyfriend. But assholes like those guys make it hard."

We got into my car, and I dropped him off at a strip mall a few miles away. I never found out where he actually lived, and even though I prowled that neighborhood in my car over and over, I never saw him again.