Date: Wed, 02 Aug 2023 02:44:28 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Lessons from the Granny Flat | Part 2 - AY/YF A college student tutors a middle school friend through budding sexuality. If this work of utter fiction violates your local laws or your moral code, close the tab. If you enjoy this story, or any of the works here on Nifty, please chip in to keep the lights on: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ====================== Halloween used to be so much fun, until 7th Grade. Suddenly, I was "too old" to trick-or-treat, according to my parents. And though clearly a lot of my friends joked in a not-joking-way about going out to beg for candy anyway, they all seemed resigned to another unwritten rule about growing up in Boise. I say my "friends," but most were recent new acquaintances. My long-time friends - the boys initiated into the wonders of mutual masturbation - had almost all drifted away, maybe a little unnerved that I was still committed to "little boy games," when they were chasing girls. My best friend Justin and I had a falling out, over my parentally-induced guilt about sharing handjobs. By late October, I was a committed loner, spending all my spare time at swim practice, and grateful to fall asleep exhausted every night. I was terrified someone might learn the dark secret that I just wasn't into girls, through something I might say, or a stray glance at a boy's ass, or worse: a betraying boner. It was different in the 80s. Being gay in much of the country (and especially Idaho), was an invitation to be a punching bag, at best. Adding to my misery, this was also when I finally started to ejaculate (though it was just a few dribbles of the clearest boy syrup). I couldn't share my elation with anyone, since admitting you jerked off in 7th grade was a non-starter. Weird, of course, since all boys did it, and knew all other boys did it. Halloween was delivering social tricks with physical treats. Anyway it was the last week of October, when my parents rented out their "granny flat" to a college boy: something that would turn my world upside down. Without checking with my grandmother, my parents had built a one-bedroom cottage in the back yard for her. That would have been lot of money out the window, since she decided to move to Arizona. So, my parents had to rent the place out. Finding the right fit was a challenge, until Michael Strand answered the rental ad. Michael was a college sophomore who'd had some recent roommate issues. It didn't take much to convince my parents he was a good fit: an honors student in engineering, with a job at a hardware store, who also found time for a gymnastics club AND volunteering with a literacy program, about the only box Michael didn't tick was regular church attendance (which was just fine with my non-religious family). So yeah, on paper, he was the perfect fit for my parents. And in the flesh, he would have been the perfect fit for me. I mean, this guy was a hunk, and when I met him for the first time, helping him carry in his few boxes from a taxi, I was tongue-tied. Michael was about 6 feet tall, with a broad chest and shoulders, a slender torso tapering down to lean, long legs, with sinewy muscles straining against his tight jeans. He was more succulent than any Calvin Klein model. Discretely, I tried to discern whether his zipper constrained anything like what I'd seen in GQ ads, but he caught me. Thankfully, he merely smiled at my red-faced guilt. And that's the thing. His chiseled features were full of mirth and good will. He made you feel safe with just a look. Michael had trendy, spiked, jet black hair, which alone would set him apart in a city still rolling with the feathered peroxide fashions from the previous decade. Nonetheless, he also had a poise and grace that was just a few crucial degrees away from effeminate - but with the self-confidence of a boxer, or a bull rider. And his piercing eyes were a dark green, like tourmalines: penetrating, and yet never threatening. God, he was a fucking hottie. And sadly, he came with a sexy side-piece. While I was making excuses to hang out with Michael and help him get settled with his handful of things, Kiera arrived. A classmate of Michael's, with a Boise State sweat shirt under her down vest, she was conventionally attractive, with long blond hair. Kiera didn't stay that first night. In fact, she rarely stayed over, which was a slight relief to my parents. It wasn't like they clung to outdated notions of propriety, but a lot of our neighbors were nosy and religious. Anyway, that first night, after I brushed my teeth and shut off my lights, I thought I ought to check on our tenant's welfare. I mean, it was a Scout's duty, right? So I carefully peeled opened one of my curtains, and peered through the moonless darkness toward the cottage. The living space had a window on either side of the door, and Michael hadn't thought to draw the curtains on a room awash in the light of a cathode ray tube TV. Shirtless, he was drinking something from a mug, leaning against the kitchenette, while watching TV. His jeans hung low, over muscular hips, revealing a good inch or so of tight underwear that changed hues with the flickering TV rays. His abs rippled with riotous shadows and the colors of swirling sorbets. I'd never seen arms as sinewy, and they inadvertently flexed, while he absently feathered his fingers across his tight pectorals. I quickly grew painfully hard, imagining what they felt like. Shit, it was true. I was a total homo. There could be no other reason I wanted to run my fingers all over his firm, full-grown male chest. Sure, Michael was only 7 or 8 years older than me, yet he was a man, and I was just a boy, and it was driving me crazy. Maybe this was what it was like when my friend Billy jerked off to his Heather Locklear poster? Fuck that - my pud pounded to a real life vision of sculpted pulchritude. My hand screamed into my pajamas like an osprey after a fish, deep into my underpants, and I gripped myself with steely resolve. How could I stop myself? Though he couldn't see me, it was almost like he put on a show. Setting down his cup, he undid his trousers and let them fall, and I beheld an extraordinary vision: a college gymnast in nothing but a pair of men's bikini briefs, straining against the bulging muscles in his legs and buns - and almost bursting against a sizable package! He briefly turned toward the window, and I could see the front of the skin tight fabric barely containing solid man meat! Sadly, I couldn't really make out the details in swirling TV light, and the last thing I saw before he quickly pulled the drapes was his hand caressing his erection through his undies. Then, all his shadow disappeared, and the lights went out. Sadly, after that night, he never left his curtains open after nightfall. Still standing at my window, it took less than dozen strokes on my barren 3 inches before those strange muscles pulled on my pubescent balls, while my cock convulsed, and smeared a few drops of my clear sap into my undies. Collapsing into bed, I rolled on an ocean of emotion. On the one hand, I was a spent battery of exhausted sexual charge, enthralled with post-climactic ecstasy. On the other hand, I had literal confirmation of my worst fears. I didn't want to just mess around with friends: I wanted to have sex with men. My parents didn't view homosexuality as a sin. But they were products of their time, and considered it a sad mental disorder. And I desperately craved to me "normal." So, as with Justin, I avoided Michael successfully - until my parents invited him over for dinner. My parents were still wondering why their previously outgoing and curious son had suddenly turned into a social recluse over the last two months. But they'd grown accustomed to my silence at the dinner table. And yet that never stopped their nightly Inquisition, answered with single, simple replies ("fine," "it's OK," "sometimes," etc). Yet the whole time, Michael smiled at me as if I were an old friend, only commenting with complements and encouragement. And goddam, but I had to look away from that beautiful smile. Unfortunately, my report card had arrived that day, and there was more grist for the conversational mill about my high marks in art, social studies and English, contrasting with shit-for-grades in math and science. And wouldn't you know it, but Michael volunteered to help with my homework. My heart flip flopped. I was crushing hard on this older boy - this straight man, and I didn't want him to guess I was gay. Still, I didn't fight the idea. Twice a week, he'd come over and help me grapple with assignments, after my swim practice. We started out at the kitchen table, while Mom cooked, and he'd end up joining us for dinner most nights. But it was always noisy in the kitchen, with my parents or Sarah constantly interrupting, so we moved things over to the cottage. Just Michael and me sitting side-by-side at the kitchenette, keeping my lurking fantasies company. Of course, it was tough to keep my eye on the ball, when my eyes were always drifting towards his balls. He pretended not to notice. It didn't help when he gave me one armed bro-hugs every time I had a break through in my work, which made me kind of swoon. Pretty quickly, we became real friends. Plus, he had a Nintendo, and my parents let me stay to play Super Mario and Zelda until dinner, when my homework was done. So, I started hanging with him every afternoon during the week, when I could. My grades drastically improved, and Michael took me out for pizza and ice cream to celebrate great test results. Kiera frequently came along, which was...OK. I mean, she was funny and nice. But I didn't like sharing Michael with her - even if there was something strangely non-sexual about their chemistry. Though obviously very close, they weren't very physical with one another. I mean, Michael hugged me more frequently than his girlfriend. Additionally, he seemed more attached to his buddy, Chuck, who looked a little younger, and definitely like Tiger Beat cover meat. I was skeptical that all was not what it seemed. I noticed that although Kiera only stayed over once in a while, Chuck was there every Friday and Saturday night, and sometimes during the week. According to my parents, Chuck and Michael worked late on lab projects together, then met up with friends at bars on the weekend. Rather than drive all the way back to campus, Chuck would spend the night. But my suspicions went on over-drive when the sleep-overs continued through the university's Christmas break. I was putting the "hard" in Hardy Boy. I only needed proof. Michael and Chuck usually crept through our backyard very quietly, sometime around midnight, according to my parents, which was way past my bed time. But I'd set an alarm for 11:30, and when I woke up, I drowsily read a book, waiting with my window cracked. Maybe 20 minutes later, I heard the side gate clatter, a muffled shushing and whispers, and a choked off chuckle. Peering out my window, I watched the older boys enter the cottage, then turn off their porch light. My heart pounded while I threw on my bathrobe, then tiptoed past my parents' and sisters' closed bedroom doors. I pulled on my down jacket, beanie and boots in the mudroom, then stole out into the night. An early snow left 2 inches on the ground, and I followed the furrowed trough of foot prints to the guest house, blending my path with the college boys', while I crept along the cottage wall. My heart pounded fiercely, while I eased up toward the window. The double windows buffered almost all sound, though I could just hear music, soft laughter. And then - a moan?? Moving along the lower edge of the curtain, I found a dimpled section that wasn't lying flat on the sill. Filling that space was a view of Michael and Chuck's bare torsos - pressed together! They were entwined, arms undulating over each other's backs like octopuses. Rotating together, stepping forward and back, they were obviously dancing. And more! Their bodies curved and slithered, and yet all I could see was waist-to-ribs. Michael may have had Kiera, but he was also definitely into guys - or at least one guy. If only I were that guy! And my hand slipped into my pajamas and briefs, pretending I were in Michael's arms. In less than a minute, electricity surged behind my balls, and my little cocklet vomited its dew. Convulsing with made pulsations, I rocked against the cottage wall, and couldn't strangle a moan. "What was that?" The two torsos twisted apart, and one boy shot toward the door. I couldn't hear the rest of the muffled conversation, because I was running back away as fast as my little legs would carry me. Just before I reached the mudroom, I slipped and fell on my ass, then I stumbled into my house. About the same time I was shutting the door behind me, I heard Michael's voice softly call "Tommy?" Busted. Worse, in the mudroom, I realized my cap had come off during my retreat, but I surely couldn't go out and search for it. When I peaked out my window, the cottage was dark. I was much more consumed with being caught sneaking about than what I'd seen - that is, until the next day. My waking wood pulsed against a full bladder, wagging with its own muscle memory of big boys in a clinch. I peed in a haze, willing away my boner, and dressed for the day. I didn't have long to process everything, because midway through breakfast, Michael politely knocked on the back door, before peering into the kitchen. "Tommy! My man! Hey Mrs. Stolz - how you doing?" "Gotta start the day, Michael. Coffee's still hot." A moment later, Michael sat across from me, sipping from a mug, while my mom and dad left for a full day of Christmas and grocery shopping. Excepting my big sister, still asleep upstairs, that left me alone in the house with my crush. And my crushing guilt. I stared down my cereal, swirling it with a spoon, while I could feel Michael's eyes on me. I swear I could hear my heartbeats echoing in the silent room. "Tommy, I think you dropped this." Michael slid my cap across the table. My cheeks burned, and couldn't look up at him. "That's not mine." "Tommy." Michael drew out my name with a sigh. "You know that's not true." Before I could say anything, Michael quickly interjected. "We're friends, bud. Friends don't lie. We also don't need to keep secrets from each other." He was giving me an opening, but I remained silent, still staring at my soggy cereal. So, he pried. "I know you were watching Chuck and me. So..?" I nodded, and looked up. It took a lot of effort, but I managed to ask him. "Are you guys...you know...?" "Gay? Yeah, you could say that, for sure," Michael replied with a chuckle. "But that's on the down low, right now. We'll talk about it when I get home from work. You have any questions, I'll answer `em totally honestly, while I'm kicking your ass in the sewers." I laughed at that. So far, he'd yet to beat me at Super Mario. After rinsing out his coffee mug, he stopped at the door. "Tommy, life's difficult at your age. A lot of things don't make sense. You can trust me, if you want." The day passed slowly. Though my swim team was on break, I took the bus to the rec center for an hour of laps, then hit the weight room. It was snowing again by the time I returned to my empty home at noon. I had some reading to do for English Lit over vacation, and I fully intended to get to it - once I'd addressed the insistent erection I'd had since I spied a redheaded boy undressing in the locker room that morning. Lunch would have to wait, too. My little master commanded me upstairs. Shutting the door to my room, I gazed in the mirror, while shucking off all my clothes. Though I was taller than the ginger 5th grader, I wasn't any more developed. My smooth little scrotum was like a tight half-dome at the base of my throbbing, 3 inch bone. I couldn't even see my individual balls, but I rubbed them with an index finger all the same. Gripping my cock with two fingers and a thumb, I stroked my whole little length, pulling my circumcision scar partially over my head's ridge on each up stroke. In my mind, I was pushing and pulling on that redhead's boner - he was the boy in the mirror - while the sensations I felt were from his hand. I stroked a little faster, and the slender tummy in the mirror rose and fell with my quickly tattered breathing. If I could only kiss that boy, while we jerked each other off, and fondled one another's butt and balls. Just that mere thought did it, pushing me over the edge. I gasped and groaned, stroking myself harder while my flesh pulsated in my fingertips. I almost doubled over while my cock retched up what little it had, then dry pulsed drily. Still, when my climax faded, I was still hard and famished for more. Spreading my skinny legs widely on my bed, I filled my fist with hand lotion, and set to work polishing the bishop mercilessly. I wondered if this wetness was what a mouth would feel like. By then, I'd known about BJ's from boy banter in Justin's fort, and even read a couple of stories oral sex in Playboy (though that magazine left the mechanics to the imagination). I really wanted to put a boy's penis in my mouth, almost as much as I wanted my bone coated in another's saliva. I beat if faster and harder, and my room echoed with my moans, and rhythmic squelching. If that red head and I blow each each other at the same time... "Gaaaaah!" Almost without warning, my cock erupted again, muscles spasming mostly in vain, while my hips bucked up and down. I fucked my slathered hand so hard, the itchy tingles felt like flames, shooting out in waves across my body. And when it was all over, I collapsed, breathing heavily. The room seemed to spin, and in moments, I was fast asleep. Thankfully, we had a "knock-first" rule before entering anyone's room, and it was Sarah's voice that roused me. "Just a sec," I called out, pulling on my briefs before opening the door. Smirking and rolling her eyes, she didn't even bother with a jack-off gibe, and I didn't bother trying to come up with a lame excuse for being half-dressed in the late afternoon. Wait - Sarah was home from work? How long had I been asleep? "Michael's downstairs. He says he owes you some Nintendo payback." While she turned to leave, I scrambled to pull on my clothes, then headed down the stairs. I was nervous, but also eager to talk with him about the weird places my imagination went. "Hey man. How was your day?" I shrugged. Boring, basically. I almost missed going to school. "I picked up some snacks on the way," Michael said, holding up a shopping bag. He was talking to me like it was any other day, showing none of the anxiety that had me quivering like a tuning fork. It was just like any other day, minus the homework. Settled in on his couch with chips and sodas, we torched up his TV, then his console, like normal. But he had a surprise: a new game for us to try. It was the first version of Street Fighter (which was nowhere as good as the next release, but still lots of fun). We spent a good half-hour figuring out the game, and I'd practically forgotten the conversation we were supposed to have. Then, Michael brought it up as casually as offering me another Coke. "Yeah, so like I said this morning, I'm into guys, not girls. Is that going to be a problem?" My face burned, my hand froze on the controller, and my character, Ryu got knocked out. 
 "Whoa, my man. I meant a problem for us hanging out - not for your lame kung fu." "Shut up," I giggled, and we gave each other shit over gameplay like normal, until he eased it out of me. No, I didn't care he was gay. I knew he could help me navigate my own shit, but I wasn't ready to go there, yet. I had more immediate questions, like how he could be gay, if he had a girlfriend. I didn't get that there was nothing magical about sexuality: that a girl wasn't a magic wand that transformed a dude into a pussy hound just by being there. "Kiera?" Michael chuckled. "She's my best friend, Tommy. I mean, she was my girlfriend in high school, but we both figured that was going nowhere." In fact since they were 14, Michael and Kiera had done everything together: sharing their first beers, joining the same teams, and taking each other's heterosexual virginity. Kiera was the first and only girl he'd ever banged, and only a couple of times. Now in college, when she came over for the night, it was for study sessions, movies and gossip. "She also goes out with me when I need a date. I'd rather bring Chuck, but the world ain't ready for that." No, it wasn't. While a few celebrities were starting to come out of the closet in the 80s, homosexuality was still anathema, and in some parts of the country, a potential death sentence. But while we talked, the only shame Michael expressed was that he hadn't told his parents, yet. His siblings knew, but his very religious parents were still in the dark, and he knew he had to get over that hurdle. I learned that about 10% of every population in the world is strictly straight, and another 10% strictly gay. They can't get aroused by anyone not within their preferences. "The other 80% are all over the place. Like gay dudes who enjoy a little pussy; straight chicks who've gone down on their sorority sisters; and that guy who gets all the girls, but had a couple of wet dreams about the school quarterback. When Kiera and I were going out, at first I thought I might be bisexual. But after the second time we did it, I knew girls didn't do it for me." My jaw was hanging open, and the game forgotten. Somehow, I managed to mumble that I might be in that 80% area. Of course, I knew I had no interest in girls, but I couldn't manage admitting the Full Monty just then. "Yeah, most guys are. I mean, if you're anything like me, you've already played around with a friend or two." I blushed and nodded, and briefly mentioned "doing things" with friends at our fort. "I was 9 when an older kid than me taught me how to beat off in an orchard. Blew my mind. Thank God I didn't have to ask my parents why my friend squirted out thick white stuff, and mine just kind of drooled some clear water. My friend filled me in on a lot of things whenever we snuck off to do it." "You...could shoot? At 9?" "Well, not much. Just a drop or two. I mean I didn't really pump out serious boy juice `till I was 12 or so. I'm sure you make a lot more than I did, then." I blushed again, and looked down at my Coke, and mentioned I was almost 13, and had just started. "Oh, man, don't worry about that. Boys develop at different stages. Like I could squirt, but I still didn't get any pubes until I was your age. His openness filled me with confidence. Almost without embarrassment, told him I was still a baldy. It was now like talking to the big brother I'd always wanted, and my hairless groin came out as more of a complaint than an admission of failure. "That's actually kinda cool," Michael said. "I didn't like getting pubes. And I really hate shaving." At the time, I thought he meant his face, which was still unblemished with any noticeable 5 o'clock shadow. Boy, was I in for a surprise. Anyway, I finally admitted that I pretty much knew I was gay. I'd tried so hard to jerk off to a Playboy, hoping I could force my brain into straightness. But it didn't work. And I told him how my parents thought homosexuality was a mental disorder, and I didn't want to be their little embarrassment. I teared up by then, and Michael held me in his arms while I sobbed for a few minutes. Then, he said something that bowled me over. "Parents can be wrong, too." It had never occurred to me that Mom and Dad were anything but infallible. But they were just people. On and on we talked, all about our hopes and dreams, and how to navigate the world as it was. That first afternoon, we didn't get into the mechanics of sex, but just the challenges of growing up. Sometime around 6:30, the phone rang. It was my mom calling me home for dinner. She could have walked across the back and knocked on the door, but she'd taken to not interrupting our "boy time." I didn't know it then, but my mom was more clued in than she ever let on, especially when it came to homosexuality in general, and my sexuality in particular. From the start, she also knew Michael's score, as well, and figured he'd make a great role model for me. Of course, I didn't learn this until I finally came out to my family, and mom coasted into her roll as an ally, while dealing with Dad. I hugged Michael before I left, eagerly asking when we could talk again. Any day and every day, he replied. "We're both on Christmas vacation." Over dinner, Dad noticed my obvious upwardly swinging mood. "What happened to Tommy Grumpus?" I was bubbling inside about life in general, but mostly that I had an older friend who understood me, because he was like me. But I couldn't say that. So I told him all about Street Fighter, until his eyes glazed over. "Video games will be the end of us all," he grumbled. That night, as my hand slid into my briefs, I imagined it was Michael's big, experienced fingers taking charge of my throbbing meat. I knew it would be too much to hope for. After all, in another month, he'd turn 21, and I was just a kid. But what a fantasy to whip my childish bone with raging sparkles! The next week, every day after Michael got off work, I spent an hour or two playing games at the cottage. We talked about everything: the things we loved and hated, but also about who we wanted to be. Michael was so open with me, I had no reluctance even talking about the most embarrassing things. We dug into my social withdrawal. I really missed hanging out with the guys - especially Justin. Michael said that the real friends I'd keep for life would figure out I was gay, and live with it. In the meantime, I'd find a boyfriend or two, and maybe fall in love before college. But how, I wondered? How had Michael found an actual boyfriend, after outgrowing boyhood "exploration?" And how in the world had Chuck and he found each other in college, in fucking Idaho?? "Gaydar, my friend." Laughing at my baffled expression, he said there were indescribable behavioral clues indicating a guy is into other guys, and particularly if they're into you. "You know that expression, `takes one to know one?' Totally applicable. Doesn't matter how `straight-acting' a boy is," Michael said. "Like you, my man. Your tells are kind of obvious, for anyone who's been around the block." The blood drained from my head and I felt dizzy. Was it that obvious I was a fag? "Don't use that word, Tommy. And no, most people would just assume you're an average 7th grader. But I was pretty sure about you when you helped me move in." Oh shit. Was my crush that obvious? Had I been acting like a total fool? "Chill out, Tommy," he said, turning the game back on. "Your turn to be Ryu." A few minutes later, he asked why I never asked him about sex itself. I shrugged and blushed. I guess I was scared, and turned the game back on to change the subject. Just before I left, Michael reminded me he would be headed home for the holidays that week. "I want to give you a Christmas present - something you can't open in front of your family. See you tomorrow?" A secret present just for me? He wouldn't tell me anything more, and my head swam while I trudged through the backyard snow. I was so stoked and feeling pretty smug about having such a close, adult friendship. The next day, I skipped practice, and biked to the Mall. I had to find a Christmas present for Michael, and I had no idea what to get him on my very limited budget. My anxiety turned to panic - what do you get a 20-year-old man? Knowing a little about his musical preferences, I ended up buying a CD of vintage reggae. Back home, I changed into clean clothes, carefully combed my longish brown hair, and brushed my teeth. Holy shit, I thought. I'm acting like this is a date. Michael and I are just two friends hanging out. Michael answered the door with a grin. "There he is! You eaten lunch yet? I made sandwiches." He looked so hot with his spiked hair matching his black, cashmere sweater, I was dumbstruck for a minute. "Hello? Tommy? You home in there?" I blushed, and told him I was starving. Moments later, we were munching at his little kitchen table, while watching European soccer on ESPN. I didn't follow the teams, so Michael filled in with color commentary. All the while, I could only wonder what Michael's surprise could be. When the game ended, we shut off the TV, and Michael turned on some music, then lit a stick of incense. It was sandalwood, with a rich, leathery smell I'll always connect with that afternoon. "So, Tommy..." Michael paused, surprisingly searching for words. "I have a little something I figure you could use." Getting up from the table, Michael ducked into his bedroom, then pulled out a thin, gift wrapped rectangle. He grinned at me as I held the package. It felt like softbound book, and I was relieved he hadn't gotten me something extravagant. But when I opened the present, my eyes widened. Two gay flesh mags: Blue Boy and Starz! I couldn't thank him enough, and told him I didn't even know such publications existed. As the words left my mouth, I realized how stupid it sounded. Of course, there had to be homo counterparts to Playboy and Penthouse. But Michael merely smiled and said he hadn't known at my age, either. Like me, his middle school stroke books had largely been menswear catalogs. I quickly opened one, and found a world of difference from SFW underwear ads. It was filled filled with frolicking twinks, some college-aged, and some looking definitely younger. They were lean and cute, and so hard - but not as hard as I got from seeing actual gay sex. I pointed to one young man holding another's long, slender prong, while licking the underside. "Do you and chuck do this?" I quietly rasped. "Oh, definitely, my man." Michael nudged me forward to the edge of my chair, and straddled the seat behind me. Then he pulled me back, hugging me from behind. Slowly stroking my chest with his big, strong hands, he explained what the guys were doing in each picture. I felt so safe and secure in his arms. He was my big brother, and my friend, and he was mentoring me about things I'd only guessed at through playground conjecture. I didn't have any qualms about rubbing my aching hardness through my jeans, while asking him how these guys could lick, and then suck and then lick some more, without cumming immediately. "That takes experience. After a while you can hold back as long as you want." "But why would I want to hold back??" Those magic tingles were the whole point, and I started rubbing myself faster. Michael chuckled, and pulled my hand away from my busy work. I probably whined. "You're so damned cute, and you have so much to learn, T." He kissed my neck, and I purred. Calling me "T" rather than "Tommy" made me feel grown up, and I was his kitten for life. Patiently explaining the obvious, he told me I should savor every sensation for itself; that slowly building up to "that feeling," would make it 1,000 times better. And then the other shoe dropped. Now that I was starting to spew, I wouldn't be losing the super power of machine gun climaxes. Big boys couldn't chew through orgasms like endless breadsticks at The Olive Garden. And then, he really took me to school. His giant fingers danced up and down the small, hard lump straining up against my Levi's fly. It was just feathery teasing, before he unbuttoned the waist. Slow as ice melting in the spring, he undid the next button, and then the next. All the while, I held my breath with expectation, distracted from the pictures for the small eternity it took to open my fly. At the same time, Michael's other hand stroked my chest, occasionally squeezing me with hugs. Michael flayed my trouser opening, revealing a triangle of soft white cotton rhythmically stretching with the pulsations of my heartbeat. I was losing interest in the Starz twinks in cowboy drag, sucking one another off on a printed page. Instead, I stared in expectation, while Michael's big hand glided up and down my enraged boyhood, and shuddered with delight at the slow, delicate tickling through a thin cotton wall. Taking his fingers off my chest, Michael turned to another chapter. It was the story of two young men on a date. "When you're going out with someone, you don't just jump into bed," Michael explained, while we studied the pictures of two late teens strolling hand in hand into a park. Next, they were gazing into each other's eyes, a brunette boy leaning against a tree. Their lips were so close, on the cusp of promising what was to come. "Everything starts with a kiss," Michael said, in a very low and slow voice. While still lightly teasing my painfully engorged prong through soft, skimpy cotton, Michael used his free hand to turn my head towards him. You know how the "Jungle Book's" cartoon Mowgli is utterly hypnotized by Kaa, the snake? That was me, and I wouldn't be surprised if my eyes were twirling while I stared into his. All the same, instead of deadly constriction, Michael hugged me lovingly, brotherly, while giving my bone a gentle, two-finger squeeze that made me lurch. Our lips met, and he gave me a slow smack, while I melted in his hands. "Open your mouth a little, T." With the slow speed of a molasses wave, and with infinite patience, Michael lead me through my first real kiss. I was overwhelmed by the pleasure bursting in my mouth. I had no idea lips were so sensitive. Finally, I understood why adults loved to make out so much. With all those sensations of taste, touch and scent combined, we intimately shared profound information with each other. "You like this, bud?" It was a rhetorical question, and I so I joked "Nah, not really," with a grin, then dived in for more. I adored the many ways our tongues could tussle. At the same time, my body was thrumming like a tuning fork, and my hips pushed up, eager for pressure on my enraged, needful boyhood. It would have taken only a couple of serious strokes through my briefs, and I'd have cum violently. "Slow down, T. See, those guys are taking their time?" His hands left my chest and crotch, and started pulling my jeans down. Eagerly, I lifted my ass up, so he could slide my trousers down to my knees. But then, I suddenly realized the next step would reveal my still hairless loins, and I didn't want that. What if he laughed at my almost 13-year-old baby dick? Michael dragged a finger up and down my turgid tent pole, and my fears grappled with my primal desires. But when his thumbs reached for my striped waistband, I choked. "Um...uh..." My voice was so uncertain, Michael instantly read my modesty. "Would it be OK, if I took off your shirt - just like that guy?" I nodded, despite the fact the boy in the photo had a clear tuft of teen boy hair under each arm. While he peeled the hem up, I raised my arms, and a moment later, I hugged my own skinny ribs. At the same time, Michael lifted me up a little, so that I was sitting on his lap. There was no disguising the rock hardness pressing between my buns, through his woolen trousers and my undies. I shuddered and sighed. "You're so sexy, T. You're gonna be such a heart breaker, my man." His index fingernail scratched at the underside of my glans, through my snug tighty whities. At the same time, his other hand stroked up and the down the insides of slender, smooth thighs. Unconsciously, I tried to spread my legs, though they were bound at the knees. Almost immediately, I felt Michaels' thumb and index finger sliding up and down the inner side of my leg elastics, tickling my tight little scrotum directly. "Is this OK?" "Uh-huh." "What about that?" Michael pointed at a picture of one of the twinks sliding his hand into the other's underwear. I just turned and planted my lips on my Michael's. "Mmmm hmmm," I hummed, then opened my mouth to lure in his tongue. His big hands glided up and fanned my slender tummy for a minute, then one slid back down, into my undies. Touching down skin-on-skin sent a shock through me that made me jump. Big, dynamic fingers gripped and squeezed me mid-shaft, slowly pulling and pushing. I moaned into his mouth. With Michael's meat knocking at my back door, I lifted my ass up a little, then, pushed down. It was his turn to groan, while I ground in time with his slow stroking. But soon, I was so fucking aroused - like a forest fire was raging in my guts - that my hip thrusts rose and fell faster, desperate to fuck Michael's fingers. "Easy cowboy," Michael whispered, then kissed my ear. But I wasn't listening. My blood was now on fire, and my brain was disappearing in clouds of primal lust. Pumping hard, I felt those muscles pulling on my tiny balls, and then I gasped. Knowing that he couldn't prevent the impending avalanche, Michael charged ahead of it, stroking me hard and fast, while I thrust up and down in his firm grip. The head of my little cock dragged to and fro against my underpants, multiplying the friction, and the combined sensations were staggering! I exploded in my older friend's fingers, wetting them with bubbles of juice, while Michael hugged me tightly with his other arm. The next few eruptions were no doubt dry, but all the while, my innards strained to eject anything - everything - I could possibly muster. At last, I collapsed, and Michael's grip on my still hard prong loosened, while I shuddered with after shocks. All the while, he held me tenderly, and I felt so safe and secure, never more sure of my place in the world. "That was pretty fucking hot, T," Michael said, quietly, then kissed my earlobe again. His moist fingers left my unquenched, rigidly demanding boyhood, and lightly explored all of my hairless pubic mound, my smooth little nuts, and the surrounding real estate domed by briefs. "You're so smooth and sexy, my man. You've got a rad little body." At the time, I didn't get why he'd think my prepubescence was alluring, but as I'd find out later, Michael loved teen boys of all ages (particularly those that kept in shape). His engorged cock still thumped against cleft, and I reached under me to get at it. I had to roll over awkwardly, my knees still tethered by my jeans, onto the edge of the chair. Facing Michael, I stared down at his straining trouser meat and gave the granite-hard ridge an exploratory squeeze. He groaned and grinned. Michael reached around me, and caressed my little buttocks through their white cotton veil. Then, he leaned in to give me a gentle kiss on the lips. "You wanna get a little more comfortable, T?" "Uh-huh," I nodded eagerly. Trailing a lot of my classmates in growth, I didn't weigh much, and Michael easily hoisted me up by my armpits. As I stood in front of him, Michael leaned down to undo my boots and pull them off, then my white socks. My jeans followed, and leaving me in nothing but a pair of plain white briefs, stretching up and out with my furious erection. He must have sensed my hesitation to lose my last stitch of clothing, so he stood up, and stepped a pace away. I must have been studying him hungrily, because I distinctly remember Michael pausing with a coy, yet knowing look. Without taking his eyes off me, Michael slowly pulled off his black crew neck sweater, and then, the black t-shirt underneath. His chiseled torso was smooth and hairless. Ropey, veined muscles stretched up his arms, to his firm, flat pectorals. His prominent abs were framed in an oval that ended above his navel. Michael wasn't wearing a belt, and his trousers clung to his hips just below his underwear waistband. I might have drooled, in eager anticipation for the curtain to fall. I was definitely staring, and Michael chuckled, slowly undoing his button and zipper. Swiftly leaning down, Michael shoved his trousers to his ankles, then stepped out of them. Standing back up, he put a hand on his hip, letting me drink him in for a moment. And that's when I decided to take up gymnastics. From his smooth, muscular legs, to his broad shoulders, he would have been an amazing swim suit model today. However, fashion was then dominated by soft and skinny, "heroin chic" androgens. And none of the photos in my wank fodder depicted a package like Michael's. I mean, how could they? Underwear ads - at least, in the U.S. - always featured formless groin baskets surrounding vague, concave shapes, not a rigid, fabric ripping club like Michael's. Certainly there were never a hint of the details I could clearly see through his skimpy little man panties. I didn't even know Jockey made bikini briefs, much less in neon purple. And Michael's were so tight, I could clearly make out the shape of his circumcised glans, almost bursting through the thin fabric, at a diagonal near his hip. Damn, it was so big - wonderful, and yet frightening. I was frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. Michael took a step toward me, with a smile warm and sweet as pie. At the same time, he suggestively ran a finger up and down his length. As he drew nearer, I saw a dime-sized circle of dark violet just underneath his white waistband, right in front of his lurching tip. At first, I thought it was pee, because what did I know about pre-cum? But later, he set me straight. And it wouldn't be the last time I see him ooze in expectation. "Everything OK, T?" "Uh-huh..." I muttered, awestruck by his glorious package, and yet unmoored and unpowered. "Here, buddy." Michael took my hand gently, and placed it on his rod. It was so fucking hard and warm!! I squeezed it, and it felt like energy was flowing out of him, into me. I was holding a mighty force, something that promised all the secrets of manhood, and more. Michael bent, and kissed my forehead. At the same time, I felt his fingers clutch my swollen flesh once again, fingers squeezing me through my briefs. Then, he was slowly, gently stroking my length, with little more than a tickle, at a glacial pace. "Do it like that, T." I nodded wordlessly, and lessened my grip, teasing him with a feathery touch that made him sigh. After a few moments, Michael quietly suggested we lay down, and lead me by the hand into his small bedroom. The early winter twilight lit the room through his gauzy curtains. Side-by-side, heads on pillows, we smiled at one another, kissing for long moments, while wordless teasing each other's love pipes. I tried to copy everything he did, though he periodically told me to slow down. Eventually, he pulled my hand off his damp manhood, and put it on his ass. I got the hint, and squeezed his gloriously firm glutes. His lips sealed around one of my nipples, and I gasped. Then, he gently nibbled it, and I moaned - Lordy how I moaned! I was discovering whole new pleasure points that craved to be touched. Michael coached me through suckling on him, and I wondered at how they got erect while I licked them. We'd been teasing and kissing for a very long time, before Michael asked if I was ready to get naked. I stiffened, suddenly shy again. How weird, huh? I mean, he'd touched my bare boner - jerked if off - already. What was there to hide? I mumbled why I was nervous. "I'm uh...you know...not big like you." Michael chuckled, and ran his fingers through my longish hair. Then he gave me a very long and tender kiss on the lips. "T - you're not even 13. You know you're gonna grow like crazy in the next couple of years." In fact, he said, I felt bigger than he'd been at my age. "No way, Michael." "I can prove it, if we you can keep it to yourself." I swore I would, and Michael got up from the bed. God, his muscular ass was so firm in those tiny briefs, bulging out a bit from the leg hems. I barely paid attention to him searching through a closet, until he found a shoe box. Laying it on the bed between us, Michael opened the box, revealing it to be filled with Polaroid photos. For half a century, these instantly developing pictures were the equivalent of digital shots today. They offered immediate gratification, with no developing lab involved. However, there was only the one photo per shot, printed directly out of the camera. Anyway, it looked like all the square little pictures featured a few young boys, some separately, and others together, some fully or half dressed, and most naked. Pulling a shot out, Michael said, "Here you go. Me in 8th grade." The boy in the photo had brunette hair reaching his shoulders, and all he wore was a turquoise Indian choker. It was clearly a much younger Michael, and he was lying back on a bed, under a David Bowie poster. His index finger pushed the head of his engorged little cock upward, revealing a tiny little mustache crowning the base. It was probably 2.5 inches - smaller than me. Yet his ball sack, wrinkled and full, hung low. "No way!" "Yes way!" It turned out Michael and his boyfriends had taken numerous photos of each other, and when they could rig it, posing together. I wanted to see more, but Michael shut that down. They were private memories, and it would take weeks of cajoling for him to take me down memory lane. But that's another story. After he put the box away, I agreed it was time to man-up and get naked. I lay back and cinched my eyes shut, armoring myself against the slightest possibility of mockery. But as my briefs were peeled away, I only heard a contented sigh. "So fine, my man." "Really?" I opened my eyes, and he nodded, with an incandescent smile. Laying back, he asked if I wanted to strip him. Oh, I sure did, but I didn't do it slowly. As I yanked down his briefs indelicately, the waistband dragged his cock with it, making it spring back and bounce against his pubic mound with a deep bass drumming. That's not what made me gasp and freeze with Michael's undies half-way to his knees. It was the sight of a real man bone - not just in the porn we'd flipped through - but in the flesh, accompanied by just a whiff of muskiness that merged with the sandalwood. It looked so massive to me, though in reality it was about 6.5 inches, and neither slender nor fat. "It's so big!" Michael chuckled, and ruffled my hair. "It's about average, my man. By the time you're out of high school, you'll probably be bigger than me." Well, that was true, but I wouldn't learn that for several years. At the moment, I had other mysteries to unearth. Like, why was Michael as hairless as me? His groin should have been all furry, like my dad's. While I was studying his big boy bone, Michael clasped his hands behind his head, totally relaxed - and his pits were as smooth as mine. From his toes to his chin, he was devoid of body hair. In today's world, we take manscaping for granted. But in the 80s, a smooth adult was uncommon. I'd never heard of such a thing, and yet I was totally intrigued. I pulled his underwear all the way off, then spread his legs and knelt between them to closely inspect Michael's body. "Uh, Michael, can I ask you something?" "Yeah, T. You can always ask me anything." "Where's your, uh, hairs?" Michael chuckled, and pulled me into his arms, then brushed a finger down my nose. "Sweet boy, I'll tell you a secret. Once a month, I get rid of it." "You shave it off? WHY?" I wanted to be a big boy like Michael, with lean muscles, and a frighteningly huge tool. I just didn't comprehend why Michael would want to exfoliate his body. "Something like shaving, but way more effective." Taking my sex in his fingers, he gently feathered its length, making me squirm and tingle. At the same time, he told me he'd hated going through puberty, with its pimples and social awkwardness. But even more so, he hated hairs sprouting from his body. It seemed vaguely dirty, especially since his body hair came out as black as the hair on his head. He thought smooth bodies looked and felt vastly more arousing. At the same time, he loved ejaculating, as well as all the freedoms and responsibilities of adulthood, so he definitely wasn't trying to relive his boyhood. "You know, T, grownup swimmers shave their bodies before meets." I knew that. I'd seen senior high school boys shaved as smooth as babies, to reduce water resistance in a race. But none I'd seen in the shower shaved their junk. This was new territory for me, weird and arousing. Michael was sharing his vulnerabilities with me, just as I'd shared mine with him. It was a depth of intimacy I'd never had with my boyhood friends. But I wasn't in bed with Michael to play at group therapy. I was there to play with his big, sophomore snake, and charm its very moist head. First looking to him briefly for a nodded OK, I took his cock in my hands. It was warm, and diamond hard, though his skin was so soft. A couple of huge veins coursed down from his circumcised glans to his nuts, like the Amazon and the Orinoco. He quietly moaned. Clasping it tightly, like a religious talisman, I sighed from the firm heat coursing through my hand. It was real. The moment was real. His big dick was real. At his suggestion, I loosened my grip, and stroked it slowly, while exploring his body with my free hand. His thighs and torso were rock hard muscles, coated in soft, smooth, pale leather. His pubic mound was framed by a deep "V," leading all the way down to a full, smooth scrotum. And when I rolled those big balls in my hands, while stroking him steadily, I gasped, seeing a stream of slightly milky goo ooze from his ruby tip. It was so intensely savage, my little cock was hammering in the air with my quickening heartbeat. I peeled my fingers away from Michael's nuts, to deal with the pest between my own legs. I was pulling on Michael and myself with the same pounding rhythm, then, going a little faster, and harder. My blood was aflame again, and I needed that sparkly eruption. But Michael sat up and stayed both my hands, and gently pulled me by my arms upward. Laying back, he had me lying on him, face to face. That last time I'd been in such a position, my little boy bologna was rubbing against my best friend Justin's. Now, my tiny trowel was digging a trench into a firm, college boy's abs. And thought I'd secretly fantasized about kissing Justin, I was now openly leaning down to smooch on Michael's succulent, big-boy mouth. I was getting a crash course in romance, and digging every second of it. I was overwhelmed by the passionately tingling sensations coursing through my lips. Instinctively, my head was corkscrewing, as if I could drill into Michael's soul with my tongue. His fingers caressed my naked little buttocks, then squeezed a moan out of me. Then, I squealed with surprise and delight, feeling a finger tickling my anus for the first time. I couldn't help but hump my enraged little tool into his hard abs. Pulling away from my kiss, he whispered, "Get up here," and patted his silky smooth, barrel chest. My bare bottom rested on a warm, sweet island, rising and falling with the robust cadence of his deep, tidal breathing. Michael grinned up at me with an arched eyebrow, then lowered his gaze to my throbbing member. I shivered when his fingers traced around the upper half of my buns, then burrowed underneath, between his chest and my ass. When he squeezed them, we both sighed, and then he lifted me forward, until my surging prong bounced against his handsome face. Still squeezing my buttocks like a couple of oranges, he tried to kiss my dick. While I'd been awed and nervous about what would come next, I giggled when his lips kept missing, and my bone bounced around his face. He chuckled, and pulled one hand off my backside to grip me between a thumb and forefinger at the base. Then, he finally kissed my savage little warrior on its helmet. It was something I'd wanted to do to Justin - and to just about any boy I fantasized about, and the touch of his lips on my tip was electric. But what came next was mind boggling. Still clutching my ass, and holding my boy cock upward, he slowly licked it the head like a tiny ball of ice cream, careful not to melt it, yet savoring it with long slow laps, using only the tip. Up and down the frenulum, he took deliberate care to savor every micro-millimeter. 
I gasped, and reflexively clutched his head with both hands. It was a good thing, too, because when his warm, wet lips wrapped around my knob, I could have fainted. I didn't - but it was close. Nevertheless, that savage initial dip in his steamy bath was literally just a taste of things to come. Gentle suction made me groan, and then Michael's tongue washed all around my tenderest region, and my toes curled. My glans was in a hot tub, buffeted with rhythmic, sponginess, and it was so good! After a minute of simply slowly sucking and licking my little pee berry, the hand holding me upright squeezed my butt cheek with a gentle cadence. At the same time, the fingertips holding my dicklet like a lollypop slowly stroked my tiny stem. I would have instantly come - come so hard - if he wasn't rubbing me torturously slowly, with the lightest touch. I begged him for more, for him to jerk me harder. I needed those tingles so badly. His laugher was silent, but I felt it in his chest, through my thighs. I didn't think it was funny. I just wanted to cum! Michael's lips slid all the way down to my baby-smooth base, and rested there for a moment. I couldn't believe it! My dick was actually getting sucked, and it was better than I could have possibly imagined! His mouth undulated, snake-like: his lips, then his cheeks and tongue, cyclically slurping along my prong, squeezing me with the most delicious, rhythmic suction. I was shuddering and groaning, wishing the sensations would never end. Since I was no longer sitting on Michaels' chest, but just straddling him like a bull-rider, he could slide his hand up and back, under from tight little balls, all the way up my ass, and back. At the same time, his other fingers feather around my torso, occasionally tweaking my little boy nipples. I was on sensory overload, panting and moaning, shaking and groaning. Then, I felt his finger playing with my back door again. It wasn't a firm push, but more of an insistent, tickle. Anyway, at some point, Michael soaked his finger with his own saliva, and it'd slithered into my lair, twirling circles around my tight, virgin hole. I barely noticed, because his other fingers were running back and forth on my barely emergent scrotum, rubbing my balls with slow insistence, beckoning my balls to radiate their mojo. At the same time, his mouth was moving back and forth, from my glans to my base. His tongue swabbed underneath, while his cheeks pulled with swallowing motions. He sped up the wet friction, making my moans pipe out louder, and my hips started thrusting on their own. And just when I was on the outskirts of Tingle Town, Michael throttled down, making me whimper with frustration. Then he sped up again for a minute or two, only to slow down, even halt once again. It was torture! But at the same time, my first prolonged sex was an epiphany. After the first 20 minutes of my very first blowie, my entire body was was quaking - and that was before Michael's finger finally popped through, into my tight little tunnel. I gasped, enthralled that my ring of fire could sting so wondrously. And then, he went deeper, touching down on my prostate. If the granny flat weren't insulated, and 30 yards away from my house, someone would have heard me wail. Damn, but that first introduction of Michael's finger in my bum was one of the fiercest things I've ever experienced. Pressing my magic button made me convulse, with hips driving forward, my back arching, and my head flung back in the jet stream of joy coursing through me. Michael pulled off my cock, with a string of saliva bridging its tip to his lips. "You like that, huh?" He chuckled and slowly pushed my buzzer again, making groan. "Yeeeauuuuuuh!" With his finger still in me, Michael rolled me over, onto my back, and knelt between my widely spread legs. Slurping my angry little mace into his very hungry maw, he steadily bobbed up and down for a few moments. When my hips started rocking, he would stop. He'd suck on my head for a bit, and flick the tip and underside with his tongue. All the while, he was gently playing with my prostate with a slow "come here" motion. With the palm of the same hand, he gently fondled my tight little scrotum. His other fingers were gently caressing my nipples, gently tweaking each in turn. The world was spinning, draining into my groin. I was moaning and shuddering, and so very close to the edge, and desperate to cum. Finally, Michael engulfed me to the root, and then beyond. Moving his palm out of the way, he sealed his lips around my snug ball bag, as well. Then, I felt his wet, spongey tongue slopping my tiny testicles. Reflexively, my hips shot upward, punching Michael's face with my barren boy pubis. I could feel those familiar strands of tissue pulling behind my balls, and my tattered gasps were more than a clue to Michael that I going over the edge. His nipple play became a sharp pinch. At the same time, he sucked on all of my genitals fiercely, swallowing his own copious saliva, and working me from testicles to tip with his lips and tongue and cheeks. The tingly tickles turned into fire. Then, his impaling finger pressed firmly into my special place, and I screamed. Itchy plasma flared from my little love cannon, exploding into a hot saliva maelstrom. My brain burst with stars, and everything from my bowels to my belly compressed, pumping everything out of me, again and again. My ears reverberated with my own blood surging, and my lungs working like bellows, exhaling with anguished moans. Finally, my climax faded away, but not the random spasms rocking my body for another minute. By then, Michael was lying on his side, with me folded in his big, protective arms. With gentle kisses on my cheek, he caressing the side of my face, and smoothed my longish hair. I was all but inarticulate, gasping syllables of bewilderment about my world shattering orgasm. I didn't know you could fall into such sensations, like a sky diver with no parachute, blissfully buffeted by winds of pleasure, heedless of his imminent collision with earth. It had almost felt like I was going to die - and I hadn't cared. He smiled, his dark green eyes twinkling with kind amusement, and said something like "that's why you take your time with another boy." Sure, I now understood the journey could be every bit as wonderful as the destination, and that made the ending even richer. But it would take a lot of patience on Michael's part to help me learn some self-control. Through the next year, he'd teach me what real edging could be, reducing me to a quivering pudding over long afternoons when we could be alone together. But just then, I had a real puzzle to solve. "You put your finger in my butt." "Really? You sure?" I laughed, playfully punching him. Then, he explained the mysteries of the prostate. I'd never dreamed of playing with even my own anus, much less another boy's. More than my mouth, the other digestive doorway was a Solomon's Mine of sensation, and to this day I wish I'd been born with my thumb up my ass. Shaking off my blissful fatigue, I wanted to play with his cock, and give Michael a dose of his own medicine. Michael lay back, and obligingly spread his legs, cocking up his knees, to give me total access. Haloed by his muscular pelvic "V," his blood-engorged, 6-inch love hammer rested on a smooth, flat, and solid mesa. Meanwhile, his heavy balls pulled his artificially hairless, elongated sack almost over his man hole. That still life of utterly hairless adulthood will always hang in the halls of my memory. Wrapping my little hand around his turgid girth, I couldn't help comparing it with every little boy's erection I'd ever played with. My experience until then was with pocket-sized packages (literally, if you remember discretely toying with your little trouser snake during a boring class). This was the real deal, and I was gripping Excalibur. Slowly, steadily, I masturbated his man meat with one full fist. Meanwhile, I filled my other hand with his balls, exploring their slightly sticky mass. Michael sighed, and let me explore for a few minutes, then tutored me through a pro-level handy. Following his suggestion, I licked my fingertips, then clasped them over his raging knob. With my saliva and his pre-cum as lube, I twirled and rubbed on the glans, and Michael's breathing grew faster. At the same time, he coached my ball game, and I gave them gentle squeezes, then rolled them and pulled on them, clumsily at first. Yet I was a quick learner, and soon was giving little pinches to the skin, pulling on it, then fanning it with feather fingers. Earlier, I'd wanted to drill into his ass, like he'd done mine. But when I tickled his anus with my finger, I grew reticent, imagining the threat of a poo-finger. I didn't need to say a word, since Michael could read me like a book. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, baby boy. If it's not fun, then fuck it." Reaching down, he repositioned my middle finger in between his sack and his hole, rubbing the concave bump. At the same time, I could caress his balls with my palm. Grasping him by the shaft once again, I resumed a steady stroking. Michael closed his eyes and sighed. Occasionally, he told me to speed up for a few moments, until he started panting. Then, in an almost pained voice, he had me slow down. Without asking, I leaned down and licked the underside of his drooling nozzle. As I was savoring the vaguely salty flavor, his eyes flew open, and he grinned at me. I stared back at him, while my tongue washed all around his tenderness. Our eye beams were locked, and I giggled at the obvious pleasure washing across his face. Sealing my lips around it, it was time for the student to become the master. But I was an immediate failure. "OW!" I hadn't thought about teeth, and was totally embarrassed by my clumsiness. Yet Michael only chuckled. "There's a first time for everything." Still, this first time, he discouraged me from attempting a full blowie. I wouldn't have gotten more than a couple of inches in, anyway. So, for my apprenticeship, I worked on his helmet, sucking and licking and kissing it. I worshiped the jeweled scepter with love and devotion, in an incense-heavy temple of passion, and the walls started to tumble down. Michael bunched the sheets in his fists, starting to shake.. "I'm so close, buddy. I'm gonna cum so hard!" Pulling my mouth away, I gazed down, eager to see a big boy's load, and rubbed him in a fury. Michael's back arched, and his ass rose off the bed. With a mighty groan, Michael erupted with hot man lava, and the first geyser spewed across my face, momentarily blinding me in one eye. Both of my eyelids reflexively closed, and I kept pumping blindly, feeling a second volley, and then a third, painting me from forehead to chin. It pulsating several times more, but I only felt a warm river running over my fist. At last, he collapsed back onto the bed, and stilled my hand. "It's too sensitive, dude," explained, coaxing my fingers away. Over time, I'd learn how to hold it gently while it softened. But this was very beginning of a lifelong expedition, and I just lay back, and laughed about my cum-soaked face, and absently wiped the back of my hand on my belly. Licking my lips, I tasted the strong, salty flavor of his fertility. Though it didn't gross me out, it'd be a long time before I grew to love the full-bodied robustness of well-aged semen. Michael kissed me gently on the lips, then carefully sucked his own goo off my face. My eyes were still closed while Michael got up and brought a wet wash cloth and hand towel from the bathroom. Moments later, he had us both cleaned up, and we hugged tenderly. Our lips met for long, slow kisses, and I could taste the lingering rainbow on his tongue. Moving back to the living room, we snuggled naked together on his couch, wrapped in a blanket. While we watched a gymnastics competition on ESPN, the storm resumed outside. It was only 3 o'clock, but already dark, and the sight of falling snow through the windows drew us together even more tightly. I can't tell you how safe and secure I felt, nor how glad I was to offer up my vulnerability to his fingers. He loved holding my prepubescence, and not surprisingly, I quickly hardened again. Thankfully, he quelled the beast slowly and gently, because the next two times I came, it was painful, though wonderful. But at last, I could surrender flaccid flesh to his protective clasp. Though he was just as rigid, he wouldn't let me touch his cock again, that afternoon. He would be spending that night - his last night before he flew home for Christmas - with Chuck. Michael reminded me that as a boy grew into a man, his magazine was loaded with powerful ammunition, but it was always in short supply. It wasn't until that night, replaying the afternoon in my mind and hands, that I thought about Chuck, and it suddenly dawned on me that I was jealous. =========================== To be continued... My other stories can be found here: