Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

 

Anyone wishing to contact me can do so at john.thestoryteller@gmail.com All emails will be answered.

 

Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller. Boys can be lovers, too.

 

All rights reserved. All parts of these documents are Copyright 2010 John T. S. Teller, and may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Nifty.org have permission to reproduce it on their website. 

  

 

Jimmy the Love-Virus. 

 

By John T. S. Teller.  

 

Part thirteen.  

 

When Rob comes out of the bathroom, I'm ready and waiting, and fondling my erection. He looks at me, and grins, and I give him an evil grin, and poke Willie towards him. "Come on, boyfriend; Willie has been waiting all day for this. You'd better be nice to him."

Rob is, and his expert loving takes me to the edge on a number of occasions, before he finally has me yelling at the exquisite climax that shoots my sperm deep into his throat, and almost before I've recovered, he's got my knees onto my chest, and Eccles is sliding deep into my already well-lubricated tunnel of love. More peaks of sex, and then the moment I love best - he spurts everything he's got deep inside me, and I flex my stomach muscles to suck every last drop of his preciousness out of him.

I can tell he's tired by the way he slumps onto me after he's climaxed, which doesn't surprise me, because he's drunk quite a bit of wine tonight. He is like this sometimes; just the once is enough to knock him out. I grin at him. "Do you want to go to sleep now, Rob? It's ok; I'm happy now. Honest!"

He looks at me through tired eyes. "Are you sure? I am tired."

I hug him, and kiss him, and stare into his eyes. "I'm sure. I've cum four times. Not bad for our first night in a seedy hotel."

He grins, and snuggles up to me, and I cuddle him in my arms. It takes only a few minutes before he's fast asleep. Now that he's asleep, I can really study the man I love. His eyelids are closed, and his long, beautiful eyelashes are exposed, and I stroke them with my little finger. The three-lined furrow on his forehead has relaxed, and I kiss it. His mouth is slightly open, and his regular breathing is making his lips pout, and I touch them gently with my own, and breathe in the air he exhales. I stroke his fabulous wavy hair that I adore. His strong neck is open to me, so I suck it gently. I lie on my side and look at my lover, my face no more than two inches from his, and I continue to stroke his soft hair. And then the tears begin to come. Slowly at first, but, after a while, I begin to sob; deep, heart-wrenching sobs of pure love that I have for this man beside me. It takes me a while to get over the pain, but, eventually, I stop crying, and I begin to whisper my inner thoughts to Rob: now is the time to tell him everything about me, and who I really am.

----------

Go to sleep, Rob, my love. I need to tell you something. Before I do, I'll have to tell you what that shrink said to me when he had me on the couch one day. It was after I said I thought I was gay, and he was warning me to stick to my own age range while I found my feet. He came up with this gem: children should be allowed to find their own sexuality in their own way without pressure from adults. I nearly laughed in his face. It's a good job I didn't tell him that he was talking to a child nymphomaniac. If I'd told him about Uncle Pete, he'd have had to go and see a shrink himself.

 

------------

 

I was a beautiful child they said. Like the Fairy Soap adverts they said. They were right. I was a beautiful child. I had blond hair and blue eyes and a pert nose and full lips, and a nice body to go with my good looks. I'd reached and gone past the age where I could masturbate and experience a climax when I had my first sexual experience with an adult. I was nine-years-old. Because they had two small kids, Mum and Dad hardly ever went out together. Dad's brother, Uncle Pete, came to stay with us. He'd divorced, and stopped with us while he sorted stuff. I was comfortable with Uncle Pete. We'd sit on the sofa, and he'd rib me and tickle me, and sometimes he'd grab Willie and pretend he was going to pull him off. Other times, he'd grab one cheek of my bum, and squeeze it. I liked that, because his fingers would touch my tickling hole. These little games of ours progressed from him grabbing me, to me grabbing him. We both knew we were flirting with each other, and kept it a secret, and we only did it when we were sure we wouldn't be seen. Occasionally, having brought in a half dozen cans of Stella, Uncle Pete would stay in with Sis and me, so that Mum and Dad could go out. The second time he stayed in with us, he put Sis to bed, and told me I could stay up and watch TV. I jumped at the chance, and lay across his knee, face down, with my head on a cushion while he tickled my back. That was lovely. And now, Rob, I decided to play a little game. I pretended to fall asleep and see what he'd do. He was about three Stellas drunk when his fingers started wandering onto my bum. I snored, to give him encouragement. It did the trick, because he slipped my PJ trousers down and began to fiddle big time. And do you know what, Rob? I could see what he was doing, because I had my eyes slightly open, and I could see our reflection in the TV. This was fun. I watched him open my cheeks, spit on Love Hole, and put his finger in me. Well, as you can imagine, Rob, I was enjoying that big style, and it got better when he pulled his Willy out and knocked one off all over my bum and back. When he'd finished, he went to the bathroom, got a facecloth, cleaned me off, pulled my PJ's up, and carried me to bed. He was still drinking his Stellas in the lounge when I knocked off a couple before I went to sleep.

 

The next time was even better. Same thing, but this time, Uncle Pete used a dildo on me. Where he'd got it from, I have no idea, but it was not a massive one. In fact, it was a perfect boy-size, and it vibrated! Superb!  Haha. What Uncle Pete didn't know was that until I got to experience the real thing, this was my favourite toy; even better than my Action Man. Oh yes, Mum's dildo knew his way around my lower anatomy very well. Haha. So, when Mr Boy-Dildo began rattling away on my G Spot, the outcome was inevitable. I reckon Uncle Pete was surprised that I could climax without him playing with Willy, especially when I was asleep. He enjoyed it, too, because he had Mr Dildo in up to the hilt when he jerked off on me. Haha. The old pervert. Haha.

 

Mum and Dad were enjoying this freedom. For years, they hadn't been able to go to the pub without taking us kids with them. Uncle Pete was a Godsend to them. He was to me, too. Whenever I saw a Stella six-pack in the fridge, I'd get a hard on straight away. Haha. And then we progressed further. All I had to do was snore, and we were off. Uncle Pete didn't even bother being gentle with me anymore, and I adjusted my position in my `sleep' so he could have his way. I must be the only kid who `forgot' to put his PJ trousers on, and then went to sleep with his butt sticking up in the air with his legs wide open. Haha. Haha. It got even better! Mr Boy-Dildo was replaced with Uncle Pete's Willy, and I could spread my legs, brace myself, and climax when I felt Uncle Pete filling me with his juices, and all this happened while I was `asleep'. Haha. The best of it was that during the rest of the time we spent together, we just pretended nothing was going on. Haha. It even got to the point where Uncle Pete would slip Dad twenty quid, and then pretend he was doing him a favour. It all came to a grinding halt when the daft bat was remanded in custody, and sent down for five years for grievous bodily harm, after he battered a bloke in the pub. That was a blow!  And when he came out on parole, he got another five years for robbing an off-licence. He got out of jail about a year ago, and called round our place, wanting a bed for the night. Mum buggered him off. I'm glad she did. I reckon he would have wanted to carry on where we left off, and I'm not like that now. After Uncle Pete, and even before I met Chris, I'd changed. I didn't want anybody messing with me unless I loved him. I could have had that sort of sex just by going to the park bogs if I wanted it, which I didn't. My wrestlers were better than some old pervert in the bogs.

 

I'm in the winter of my eleventh birthday now. A new guy named Chris starts to call at the flat. He's single, and, like Dad, he's well into dogs: Lurchers. He begins to spend more and more time with us, until he's sleeping on the sofa. He's nice, and he becomes one of the family. I sort of fancy him, but then I don't, because he's one of Dad's mates. I even disregard him to the point where I walk about the house and sit on the sofa in my underpants. We become pals, and do what pals do; wrestle sometimes. I was in my underpants, and wrestling with him one evening, when I discovered we'd got something going. I had his arms pinned behind his head, and was allowing spittle to drip on his face. He was laughing, and moving his head from side to side to avoid it, and his face made contact with Willy. I was puzzled. To do that, he had to move his head deliberately towards Willy. It couldn't have been an accident. I looked him in the eyes, and he knew I knew. I didn't have time to dwell on it, because he threw me off him. That was it. He left the next morning, and I didn't see him for a while. He was staying with his sister - Mum said. He'd gone there because he felt he was putting on us too much - Dad said. Dad was miserable. He wasn't as miserable as me. The more I thought about what had happened, the more certain I knew why Chris had left. He wanted me, and I knew he'd gone away to stop us getting involved. I was bloody angry with him.

 

It's strange how you don't see things until something happens to make you see them. While he was away, I recalled all the small things we'd done together, and they took on a new meaning; the things I'd missed because I didn't think it was probable; the hands that would linger lightly on my thigh when he was talking to me; the many squeezes and slaps my bum took as he walked past me. And how could I have missed his gentle caresses when I was lying folded in his arms the night Mum and Dad went out, and he offered to stay in to look after us, and it reminded me of Uncle Pete, but I'd just dismissed it as being a funny thought. I began to realise that Chris was probably a paedophile, but that didn't bother me, because I knew Chris liked me a lot, and I began to pine for him, so much so, that I told Dad that it wasn't the same without Chris in the house, and Dad agreed. But Mum was strangely quiet. She knew what was going on. Oh yes, Mum knew exactly what was going on. I discovered that, later; much later, when it was all over.

 

Three weeks after Chris left, I came home from school, and Chris was there. I ran to him, and he hugged me, and then slung me onto the sofa. I didn't mind... my Chris was back, but we'd have to be careful. I knew it, and Chris knew it, too. Chris was perfectly happy just being with me. But I wasn't. My feelings had changed so much, that I wanted him just as I wanted Uncle Pete. Days went by, and Chris rejected me that way. Days turned into weeks, and still no progress. And then Mum and Dad decided go to the pub for the evening. This was the first time they'd done that since Chris had returned to the fold. I knew Mum's and Dads' plans in advance, so that gave me time to plot. I was a beautiful, hairless, (down there), small boy, with a perfect bubble-bum that no paedo worth his salt would be able to resist: the perfect bait. I deliberately made myself scarce, and even shouted goodbye from my room as they left. I thought about wearing just my underpants, but my four-inch hard-on would be a dead giveaway, so I discarded my underpants, and put my footy shorts on to disguise it. I listened until I heard Chris put Sis to bed, waited five minutes, and then sauntered into the lounge. Chris was lying on the sofa, and there was room for me to nestle down in front of him. The telly was on, but I wasn't remotely interested, and I'm sure Chris wasn't either. His head was above mine, and I could feel warm breath on my hair . . . and then movement. I knew what he was doing; he was rubbing his lips on me. I had to be brave, then. The hand I was holding was flat against my chest, and I began to caress myself with it. Chris didn't stop me. I had to be even braver. The hand needed to go lower, so I exerted gentle pressure, and pushed it down. It yielded, and slipped to my tummy. There were unspoken signals passing between us. I knew that as long as Chris didn't pull his hand away, I could continue. Slowly, slowly, catchee paedo. The hand was at my waistband now, so I decided the time was right to go the whole hog. I turned my head away from the telly, and buried it into Chris's chest, and at the same time, I pushed his hand over my shorts onto my stiff Willy, and I'm rewarded for all my scheming when he took it between his fingers and began to rub it. The rest was easy, and before the night was out, Chris had cum in me twice, and I'd climaxed four times in various ways. After sex, we talked and made plans. It was best that Chris left and got his own place. I wasn't too happy with that, but I knew we couldn't keep doing it at home. While he was waiting for his flat, we could go fishing, and do it then. It all worked out super, and we even managed a week's camping on our own. For months, life was sex, sex, and more sex. Chris adored my lovely little body, and I loved his big Willy, especially when it was inside me, stimulating my G spot. But for some strange reason, that even today I can't work out, he would never let me take him in my mouth, even though he knew that's what I desperately wanted. Perhaps it was a psychological thing with him: the ultimate admission that he's a paedophile. That's it Rob; the rest you know. I'm having difficulty comprehending all that has happened to me today. I'm sure I can knock another one off if I want to, but I don't feel like it after telling you all this stuff, so I'm going to wrap myself around you, and go to sleep. I'm sorry about all that shit, but I needed to get it out of my system so that we can build a life together. Luv u. XXX.

 

----------

 

It takes me a short while to realise where I am in the unfamiliar surroundings, but the filtered light seeping through the thick curtains, and the warmth of Jimmy's naked body soon brings me to reality. He's sleeping soundly on his back. I need a pee. When I come back into the bedroom and slip back into bed, I prop myself up on one arm, and watch Jimmy sleeping. He's beautiful, and I softly kiss his lips. I want to see more of him, so I pull back the covers until he's fully exposed to me. Willy is soft, and resting, and beautiful. To awake Little Willie would be a crime, so I get out of bed and go to the bathroom to shower and clean my teeth. I'm joined in the shower. Jimmy has the KY with him, and I know what I have to do. At least we will probably get through the morning now without him moaning that he is `bursting'.

 

We're eating breakfast, when a text comes in on Jimmy's phone. It's from Carl.

 

Hope u 2 had a good night. Luv Carl. XXX

 

JIMMY: He was a waste of space. 2 much wine. LOL. Luv J. XXX

 

Carl: These old men r like that. LOL. XXX

 

JIMMY: We cumming 2 c u b4 we go. C u soon. XXX

 

Carl: Luvly. C u soon. Luv Carl. XXX

 

J Zee is blasting out as we breeze through the village and park up on the car park. We've decided we want to say goodbye to Carl before we leave, and he's smiling broadly when we walk through the door and make our way to the jewellery counter.

 

Carl joins us, and grins. "Did you two have a good night?"

 

I gently scuff him behind the ears. "Mind your own business. Jimmy wants to buy you something to say thanks for everything you've done for us. It's important to him... and to me. (Carl is bashful, but I can see he's pleased.) While I look at the underpants, you two go and choose something."

 

I watch them out of the corner of my eye as they pour over the various trinkets. They're both tactile, and I don't miss the many touches each of them give and receive. This friendship is blossoming, and I want it like that, because part of my plans for Jimmy are that he has companions away from the social life he lives in now. I'm not a snob, far from it, but neither am I blind to the fact that if Jimmy is to get on in the world, he will have to remove himself from the slums he used to inhabit. His pal, Sam, is part of my plans, too... in the long term, because he's the nearest thing Jimmy will ever have to having a brother. Carl will be more a sister to him, so, in this evolving situation, I'm making plans on the hoof. They've chosen something, beckon me over, and Jimmy says he wants Carl to have a lightweight gold choker with a small St Christopher medallion. Its mid range for this shop, so I reckon the `girls' have come to a sort of compromise. Jimmy would have wanted to buy him the dearest thing in the shop, and Carl would feel guilty if he did, so he chose something he liked that would not hurt Jimmy's feelings, while at the same time, he could keep his own credibility as a non-sponger by displaying that he hadn't been too extravagant. It's all working out well.

 

"I need four packs of the Calvin Klein underpants, too, Carl. I'll choose the colours. What size are you Jimmy?"

 

"You know what size I am! About six inches. I'll be catching up with you soon."

 

Carl bursts out laughing, and I shake my head in disgust. "You're a filthy minded little creature, Turner. I hope Carl understands that getting involved with you could be a degrading experience. I can't take you anywhere. Measure his waist, please, Carl. I want nothing to do with him. Dark-blue, mid-blue, red, and grey."  And I walk away to the selections of Jeans. Jimmy uses his credit card to pay for the gift and the underpants. A first; and I know how much pleasure he has by doing it.

 

Carl is standing in the shop doorway as we walk away and give him a wave. He waves back. I can almost see in his eyes the love he has for his new friend, and I know Jimmy will have to keep a lot of credit in his phone. Which reminds me - I'm going to buy him a new one on the way home, and put it on my account.

 

As we're walking back to the car, Jimmy asks me, "What's happened to my Tesco-underpants-turn-on then?"

 

"Nothing. The CK ones are for school, so you can tease the girls... or boys. When we're together, I want Tesco ones on you. I need to buy you a new phone on the way home. What sort do you want?"

 

"What's wrong with the one I've got now?"

 

"Nothing, really, but its pay-as-you-go, and, one of these days, you're going to run out of credit, and I won't be able to speak to you. So, you've got a choice... either you have a new phone, or I'm dead."

 

Despite the fact that we're walking amongst the tourists, Jimmy's hand grips mine tightly, and there's no amusement in his voice. "I'll have a new phone. Don't ever talk like that again!"

 

I look at him. He looks at me. I can see his eyes misting over slightly. My comment was an off the cuff one, but it had hurt Jimmy. It tells me a lot. Despite Jimmy's outward bravado, there's a sensitive soul inside his small body that has not yet recovered from the emotional beatings of his short life. I won't repeat the error. "Sorry, Jimmy. I won't."

 

Back at Mum's and Dads' house, we clean up, and then begin the drive back. On the way, Jimmy selects the most expensive, all-singing, all-dancing phone from the shop that I buy my phones from... punishment for my verbal error. I'm learning. This is a tough little guy I've fallen in love with, who will strike out when he's hurt. And he comes from a family of bruisers; which prompts my next question, as we drive to Willow Row. "How do you go on at School, Jimmy? Does anyone suspect that you're gay?"

 

"I don't advertise it. I suspect some of them know, and they probably talk behind my back, but they don't say anything to my face. If they did, they'd get a fistful of knuckles. Being gay doesn't mean I'm soft."

 

"Do you get into any fights?"

 

"No. Hardly ever. I can look after myself... no probs, but I don't like fighting. Do you?"

 

"No. I much prefer loving."

 

Jimmy grins. "I reckon you're a better lover than a fighter. You certainly know how to please me. (He looks at Big Ben Sherman.) It's almost five now. We'll be home in five minutes: six o'clock. That gives us about twelve hours of loving. Do you think you can manage that?"

 

I laugh. "I'm glad you walked across my lawn. I'm only just realising how boring life was before I met you." I reach over, and stroke the side of his face.

 

"What was that for?"

 

"Because I love you."

 

Loving goes almost as Jimmy had planned, but I can only manage two hours, before I have to make some phone calls, and sort out some stuff. Jimmy is watching TV, and I'm busy on the pc, when a text comes in. Beep, beep. Diddly dah do dah.

 

VIRUS: U ok? Luv u. XXX

 

Me: No. Not really. Never ok unless u in my arms. XXX

 

VIRUS: U can cum here. XXX

 

Me: I cant cum there. Worn out. Haha. XXX

 

VIRUS: Wuss. Luv u. XXX

 

Me: Make sum supper. Luv u 2. XXX

 

Life with Jimmy is like riding a roller-coaster. Although, at times, it's frightening, it can also be highly stimulating, and, like now, as the texts come in, it tickles my tummy. What will tomorrow bring? Will it be a high crest of this wonderful ride, or will it be a low that makes my heart feel twice as heavy as normal?

 

To be continued...

 

Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller: Boys can be lovers, too.