Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2009 07:15:35 -0800 (PST)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Light Bulb Scout

All the usual disclaimers apply:

+This story is a work of fiction.  If you think it is real, you have a very
active imagination.

+Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do
so.

+Scenes of sexual activity between a man and a young boy are represented.
Do not read further if this offends you.

+Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot
accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story.


If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.   Joe
____________________________

LIGHT BULB SCOUT
(copyright 2008, Joe Hunter)

Saturday afternoon when the front doorbell rings, I am in the spare bedroom
putting up a window blind.  The house is brand-new; I am two weeks moved in
and just now getting around to the dozens of things that need doing.

Leaving my battery drill on the floor, I head for the front hall, thinking
as I pass through the living room that my old tank top and torn workout
shorts are going to look pretty casual if the caller is some welcoming
neighbor.

To my surprise, I open the door and find a kid.  By height I guess him to
be twelve or thirteen, and I get a quick impression of delicate features,
timid expression and straight blond hair spilling over his forehead.  His
slender build is nearly lost in baggy shorts and an oversized khaki shirt.
There are embroidered patches sewn to the shirt, but before I can see what
they are, the kid is shyly holding out a paper grocery sack and asking,
"Mister... You want... You want to buy light bulbs?"

His voice is so soft I have to bend down to catch the words and it makes
him sound even younger than he looks.  Giving me a hesitant glance he adds,
"It's for scouts..."

Right away I like him, so I smile, trying to give him some reassurance,
unable to tell if the kid is nervous, scared or just naturally shy.
"Sure," I tell him and open the door wide as an invitation to come inside.
"I'll buy some."

The boy steps cautiously into the hall keeping his eyes averted, but as I
close the door I see him glancing at the dumbbells on the floor of the
living room and the X-Box system over by the big TV.

Careful to move slowly, so as not to scare him, I get down on one knee to
examine the contents of the grocery bag.  It is packed full with boxes of
assorted light bulbs.

"Been up and down the whole street?"

The kid nods and I give a sympathetic grunt.  "Couldn't find any customers,
huh?"

He gives a little shake of his head.

"You know what?  That's not right."  From my kneeling position I reach out
to pat the boy on the hip.  He does not move or shy away.  "You're selling
for a good cause.  I'll buy your whole bag."

After I get up the boy follows me to the kitchen, standing a few feet away,
eyes downcast, while I get my wallet out of a drawer and dig bills out of
it.  When I hand the money to him, he sees the amount, looks dismayed and
begins fumbling in the pockets of his loose shorts.  But with a shake of my
head, I gesture for him to stop.  "Let the extra be like a contribution."

With every passing second I am liking the boy more, and as we head back to
the front I want to find some way to get a conversation going and learn
more about him.  I try another question.

"You been in scouting long?"

Shaking his head he still says nothing, but even though we are back near
the door he makes no move to leave.  Instead, he stands close to me,
looking up shyly from under the spill of blond hair.

I make another attempt.  "So, what do you do besides scouts?  Play any
baseball?  You look like a ballplayer."

There is another little shake of his head.  His eyes stay on me, as if he
wants me to keep talking and I squat down to be less intimidating, reaching
out to pat him again.  "I'd have bet money you played ball.  You've sure
get the build for it."

The boy remains absolutely still as I touch him and when I stroke his hip I
feel the seams of tight briefs beneath the thin, worn fabric of his shorts.
My palm slides down over the slender outline of his thigh.  "You're pretty
strong in the legs here.  You bike ride a lot?  Do BMX and stuff?"

A tiny nod from the boy confirms my guess and when I continue to explore
the firm muscle he pulls up the bottom edge of the shorts, bunching the
loose folds to bare his whole leg for me.

"Yeah," I murmur, stroking him.

The boy's skin is warm and smooth.  My palm glides down over the sculpted
definition of his thigh, around the delicate knee and then onto the swell
of muscle in his calf.  "Yeah," I tell him, nodding my head.  "You're
really getting bigger, aren't you...  You're gonna' be strong here."

At the smallest of gestures from me, the boy sits down on the floor, pulls
up the other side of his shorts so both legs are uncovered, and stretches
out, arms flung back over his head.  What I can see of him is beautifully
proportioned, his legs a bit long compared to the rest of his developing
body, but slender and graceful.  I rub the back of my fingers over the
glossy smoothness on the inside of his thighs and the boy stares upward
with an unfocused gaze, his lips parted.  In his groin, beneath the bunched
folds of clothing, I feel a hardness trapped in his tight briefs.  When I
put my hand onto his shirt, he pulls it up for me, exposing a slim lean
stomach.  I have just begun to circle my palm there, dragging the edges of
my fingers along the waist of his shorts, when a car horn sounds in the
street outside.

The boy's head comes up.  I help him to a sitting position, and then we
both look cautiously through the window.  On the far side of the street, a
nondescript gray van is parked at the corner.  It's driver, a young man,
has his head out the window and is peering around.  Behind him are the
shadowy outlines of kids in the back seats.

"I gotta' go," the boy tells me and stands up, hastily straightening his
clothing.  He keeps his face averted and seems so anxious to get away it
sends a stab of fear through me.  Suddenly I am sure I have pushed too far,
too fast.  All the questions I intended to ask - his name, where he lives
and everything else - freeze in my throat.  As he hurries out the door, the
best I can manage is, "If you need help with your bike - like repairs or
something...  You can come around..."

The boy gives me a last timid glance, and then runs across the lawn and I
watch with a sinking heart as he climbs into the van and it drives away.  I
have not even gotten his troop number.  Probably it was on one of the
patches sewn to his shirt.  I should have gotten it.  Too late now.

I go to the kitchen for a soda and think of at least a dozen things I
should have done differently.  What if he says something?  My stomach
tightens as I think about it.  The last thing I need in a new neighborhood
and a new house, is trouble...  Yet, he had seemed like he...

Thoughts and recriminations chase through my head as I resume my chore of
putting up window blinds, but fortunately there is more than enough work to
distract me.  By the time I go to bed late that night the incident with the
boy has faded.

Sunday morning, after running the truck down to the crossroads convenience
store for gas, coffee and a few breakfast pastries, I return home to start
a morning's work in the garage.  The new house, despite being small, has a
double garage with plenty of space for both my truck and motorcycle with
room left over for a nice workbench.  My plan is to finish a couple of
projects and then do a tune up on the motorcycle.

There is no air conditioning in the garage and the weather is both hot and
humid, so I work with the door rolled up, dressed only in a pair of cut off
jeans that have been faded by a hundred washings.  The motorcycle's tune up
is complete and I am re-torquing the last spark plug when the faint sound
of a tire on concrete makes me turn my head.

A young boy is riding his bicycle into my driveway and a thrill shoots
through me as I recognize the kid from the day before.  He is bare from the
waist up, wearing only the same baggy shorts, and as he coasts to a stop
just outside my open garage door I see that his slim upper body is
glistening with sweat.  He sits on his bike, one foot down on the pavement,
watching me from under the spill of blond hair over his forehead as if wary
and poised for instant flight.

"Hi," I say, straightening up.  I wipe off my hands and then come out
slowly, anxious not to scare him.  "Wow.  So this is the bike, huh?"

Cautious, not getting too close, I get down on one knee, nodding in
appreciation.  The bike is a cheap BMX imitation bought at some discount
store, yet it is spotlessly clean and I can see that an attempt has been
made to keep all the parts lubricated.  I pretend to examine it, but I am
really admiring the boy whose lightly tanned, half naked body is gleaming
in the hot sunshine.

Seeing him without a shirt confirms my guess that he is slender without
being skinny.  The boy's graceful form has the taut beauty of a young
dancer with a delicacy that makes the baggy shorts he is wearing seem
grotesquely out of place, as if the only clothing appropriate to such
perfection would be pure sunlight.

"Pretty nice," I tell him, standing up.  I make a gesture and the boy
dismounts to wheel his bike into the shade of the garage where I pick it
up, flip it and place it upside down on the workbench.

"It looks good," I say, checking the tension on the chain, and then
spinning the wheels to examine their alignment.

The boy stands very close to me; so close I catch the honey scent of his
sun-warmed hair.  The bare skin of his shoulder touches my arm as he points
to one of the pedals.

"Yeah, okay - I see it."  Looking closely, I wiggle the pedal with my
fingers.  "The bolt's bent."  I flash the boy a quick grin.  "You've been
trying some jumps on this, haven't you."

His eyes are light green, almost golden.  They flick to mine as he gives a
timid nod.

"Good for you," I tell him.  "But you gotta' be careful.  This bike isn't a
Mongoose.  You can only do so much with it."

Rummaging in a box of parts beneath the workbench I find a new bolt and
then start removing the bent one so it can be replaced.  The boy watches
everything I do, leaning against me so our bare upper bodies touch.  When I
hand him a wrench, he holds the lock nut in position, steadying himself
with a hand on the back of my waist.  The cool touch of his fingers sends a
tingle racing through me.

Once we are done, I twirl the pedal making sure it moves freely.  Then I
see that the boy is looking over at the motorcycle.  "You like
motorcycles?"  I ask, sure of the answer.

He nods and I lead him over to it, then placing my hands on either side of
his small waist, I swing him up into the air and onto the seat.  The boy's
warm skin is silky smooth beneath my palms and when he leans forward to
grasp the handlebars I slide my hands on him and then give his hip a pat.

"You ever ride one?"

Wide-eyed, he looks up at me and shakes his head.

"Come on."  With a nudge at his shoulder I help the boy climb off the big
machine and he scurries after me, following around the truck to the
connecting door that leads to the kitchen.  The air conditioning inside
strikes our heated bodies as I lead him over to the breakfast alcove where
boxes are stacked, still not unpacked from the move.

"Hang on a sec," I mutter.

The one I want is near the bottom of the pile and from it I pull out two
jackets: a leather one for myself, plus a smaller denim jean jacket that I
hand to the boy.

"Here you go."  I help him into it.  The thing is big on him, but it
buttons up well enough to give the necessary protection.

Next, I find a helmet for him and demonstrate how to fasten the chin strap.
Then, with my own helmet in hand, I lead the way back to the garage.  After
pushing the heavy motorcycle out onto the driveway, I straddle the seat and
wait for the boy to climb on behind me.

"Keep your legs clear of the exhaust," I warn him, leaning down to be sure
his feet are secure on the rear pegs.  It is then that I notice the boy's
sneakers.  They are cheap imitation Nikes, faded from having been scrubbed
to keep them white, with cracked uppers and a gaping tear in one of the
sides.

"Geez!" I say, gesturing, "How long you had those things?"  When the boy
does not answer, I twist around to look at him.  "Those the only shoes you
got?"

He nods shyly without meeting my eyes.

"Okay."  I turn back to the front.  "Okay.  Don't worry about it.  Make
sure you keep your feet on the pegs."

I reach back to pat his thigh, and then rub my palm on his knee.  "Hang on,
now."

When I start the engine the boy leans against me, clutching around my waist
the way all nervous first- timers do.  His grip tightens even more as we
begin moving, so to reassure him I give his knee another pat, and we rumble
in low gear out of the driveway and then up the road a few blocks to the
edge of the housing development.  There, a two-lane blacktop highway,
virtually deserted on Sunday, gives me room to let the bike out.  Turning
onto it, I twist the throttle, do a racing change through the gears, and
with the boy clinging like a burr, we hurtle down the long straight road,
engine thundering, the wind of our passage tearing at our clothes.

There is nothing to hinder us on the empty road and the speedometer needle
is over 90 before I finally ease the throttle, slowing for the intersection
with the Parkway leading to the bay.  When I make the turn the boy leans
into it with me, his convulsive grip loosening as he gains confidence.
Then, with another long straightaway in front of us, I open the throttle
once more and feel his heart thumping as he presses against me.

The engine note rises to a winding scream and we are over a hundred before
I let the big machine coast, slowing once more for a turn onto a twisting,
two-lane road that hugs the bay.  The boy clings, leaning into the curves
as the bike sweeps around them; then I am downshifting, and with a rumble
of engine noise we approach yet another turn at a corner where there is a
convenience store.  The boy moves in a way I recognize, squirming to rub
his groin against me, caught up in the sensual rush of speed, power and the
closeness of his body to mine.  The connecting road we turn onto has
another long straightaway where I can reopen the throttle and the bike
leaps forward, engine roaring.  Wind rips at my faceplate as the
speedometer needle winds upward and the boy hugs against me.  In the mirror
I see him drinking with open mouth the air wash of our speed.

Approaching the highway that skirts my development, I have to slow once
more and while we wait at the stop sign for a lone car to pass there is a
stiff hardness in the boy's groin that I feel when he squirms, rubbing it
against me.

We have come full circle.  When we turn in at the development's entrance
the boy leans with me, hands lightly placed on my waist, riding like a
veteran.  Then as we near the house he hugs tightly again and I feel his
heart thumping in excitement.

We take the bike directly into the garage.  Once we are both off I help him
unfasten the strap of his helmet, lifting it carefully from his head so it
does not hurt his ears.

"Kind'a fun, huh?"

Wide-eyed, the boy gazes up at me and nods.  Then he lets me brush the hair
back off his forehead.

"Come on."  We go inside to the kitchen where the cool air conditioning is
a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside.  We put our helmets on
the counter, and then after unzipping my jacket I get a bottle of Coke out
of the refrigerator.  The boy stands very close to me, looking up shyly
while I pour out two glasses of soda.

"What's your name?"

His answer comes in the soft voice I remember from the day before.

"Nate."

Imitating me, he has unbuttoned his jean jacket and the front hangs open,
baring his smooth chest and shoulders.

"Mine's Joe."  I hand him a glass of soda.  "Where do you live, Nate?"

When he tells me, I know right where it is - no more than a mile from my
house, one of the old developments beyond the Dog Track, where rows of
cracker box houses crowd together on narrow streets, the peeling siding and
sagging eves betraying their cheap construction.  A few more questions and
I learn that he is in the seventh grade and lives with his mother and his
half-sister.

When I take my jacket off, Nate starts to take his off, too, and I help him
with it.  Then he stands next to me, our bare arms brushing while I pour
out a little more Coke.

"You want a cookie?"

He glances up and nods, so I get out a pack of Oreos and he eats one,
nibbling on it daintily.

"How did the light bulb selling go?  Did you guys do okay?"

He gives another little nod, and glances up again.  But this time there is
something expectant about his look - as though he is waiting for my answer
to some unstated question.  We are still close together and he presses his
bare shoulder against my arm.  I lift my hand to give the boy a gentle pat
and the instant I touch him his arm goes around my waist; then he is
leaning against me and as I hug him his hand slips down onto my butt.  A
tingling thrill races through me and suddenly I am so hard it is painful.

The boy's slim waist is lean and taut, the bare skin buttery smooth.  I
slide my palm on it and then stroke down over his shorts.  The day before I
had felt the seams of tight briefs beneath the worn cloth, but now there is
nothing but warm skin.  Like myself, the boy is wearing no underwear.  My
palm caresses his hip and then cups his firm butt cheek while he rubs back
and forth on the stretched denim that covers my own rounded muscle.

We turn towards each other at the same moment and the question is still
there in the boy's eyes as he gives me a pleading look.  My free hand
slides down his naked side, and just as it moves onto the front of his
shorts I feel his own fingers exploring me.  Beneath his clothes the boy is
as hard as I am, his little boner jutting out like a rigid branch.  As I
begin to rub him through the cloth he fumbles at the waist of my cutoffs,
unbuttoning and unzipping; then he is pushing them down, going to his knees
in front of me, taking my stiff rod into his mouth...

It is all happening so quickly.  With a deep breath to stave off dizziness
I lean back against the counter, stroking the boy's blond head as his
tongue curls around my shaft.  Hands on my hips, he slides me all the way
to the back of his throat, pressing his face against my groin, and the
sensation of being held within this beautiful boy is so incredibly sweet my
knees tremble.  I have to squeeze to hold back a sudden surge.  Taking him
by the shoulders I began to move my hips and the boy lets me slide between
his lips, tonguing the shaft until I shudder in partial release, spurting a
little, barely keeping the rest back as he tugs at me, wanting more.

I want more, too - for him as well as myself.  I withdraw and the boy looks
up anxiously, fearful he may have done something wrong.  But when I pull
him to his feet and take him in my arms, he melts into them, opening his
mouth as we kiss.  He tastes of the Oreo's sweetness with a faint hint of
my own cum that my tongue discovers as it thrusts into him.  The boy hugs
eagerly, squirming his hips to rub his jutting little boner against my
thigh.

Caressing the boy's warm smoothness, I kick away my fallen cutoffs and then
lift him up.  He tucks his head into my shoulder and, with his arms clasped
around me, I carry him into the bedroom.  There, as soon as I place him on
the bed he unfastens his shorts, but to prolong the moment I do not let him
strip right away.  Instead, I lie down next to him so we can hold each
other, our bodies twisting, and I push a hand up under the baggy shorts,
the same as the day before, to stroke the swell of muscle in his slender
leg.

The boy hugs me, shifting position to give me more room as my palm slides
all the way up to his bare hip.  Rubbing over his groin crease I draw my
hand down the inside of his thigh to his knee.  Then I stroke his back and
he quivers in anticipation as my fingers glide down into the top of his
butt crease, hooking over the waist of his shorts.  He lifts as I pull the
shorts down, letting them slide off his hips, then I bunch them behind his
knees and he pulls his legs free of both shorts and shoes.

Naked, the boy hugs me, pressing the full length of his slender body
against my own while I caress him with my palms, breathing in a sent of
vanilla from his youthful flesh.  Sunlight pouring through the slatted
blind turns his blond hair to fine-spun gold.  The boy is all warmth and
smoothness beneath my hands - velvety armpits, delicately glossed chest and
shoulders, silken buttocks - the insides of his thighs a sheeny satin.
Slowly and deliberately I place my mouth on all these textures as the boy
twists in ecstasy beneath me, every swell and curve of his graceful form
shadowed by golden light.

From his hairless groin the boy's rigid boner strains upward in a slight
curve, it's engorged shaft already showing the thickening and lengthening
that heralds oncoming change.  I swirl my tongue around the base and then
take the jutting hardness into my mouth.  The moment my tongue is around
it, moist warmth envelops the head of my own quivering rod as the boy takes
me into his mouth as well.  I pull his knees up, parting his thighs, and
hear him moan softly.

Licking with my tongue, I slide the boy's straining shaft between my lips
while caressing down the backs of his legs with my fingers, brushing them
into his stretched open butt crease.  The boy hugs back, arms locked around
my hips, pulling me all the way into his throat while his slender body
writhes.  I lick up onto the tiny slit at the end of his shaft, and then
take his taut little scrotum briefly into my mouth before rolling his hips
up further, licking onto the dimple of his small anus and thrusting the tip
of my tongue into its tight opening.

Moaning, the boy squirms, twisting his feet and pulling his thighs apart as
he strains to open himself.  It is a response so instinctive that I sense
he has never done it before.  I swirl my tongue around his rim, then thrust
it deep within him and the boy jerks as a shuddering thrill passes through
him.  Withdrawing, I coat my fingers with saliva and then insert one into
his rectum.  The tight little ring squeezes me in reflex and the boy
squirms as my fingertip presses on the tiny nub at the base of his penis.

Taking his jutting boner once more into my mouth, I lick the shaft, rubbing
it with my lips while the boy twists, quivering beneath me.  Then,
suddenly, his hips buck in quick little thrusts as pulses throb within his
loins.  His arms tighten around my hips and he strains to pull the head of
my jutting shaft deeper into his throat.

I push in a second finger, squeezing it through the boy's ring, which
flutters in spasm.  As I slide the tips back and forth over his nub the boy
writhes, jerking so hard this time that droplets roll from the slit of the
straining little boner in my mouth.  I keep pressing on his nub until the
throbbing in the boy's loins eases and then let my fingers slide out of
him.  But we keep our mouths on each other, the boy tonguing me, breathing
through his nose while holding me deep in his throat.

I caress him, stroking his silky thighs and hips until at last he tires and
releases me, lying sprawled, panting beneath me.  Rolling him onto his
side, I get a tube of KY from beneath the bed and slick my hard rod until
it glistens in the light from the window.  Then I push two lubricated
fingers into the boy's crease.  As the tips slide over his anus his head
pulls back and I hear his breath catch in a little gasp of pleasure when I
push into his ring.

I keep my fingers in him just long enough for the boy to pull up his knees
and began to writhe.  Then I ease them back out.  After wiping them off, I
stretch out behind him, pushing the blunt head of my erection between the
smooth mounds of his butt and from his passive response I can tell the boy
has never done it before.  But he knows that something is different and
turns his head to give me an anxious look.

"It's okay," I whisper to reassure him.  "Trust me."

Taking his hand, I pull it back behind him and place it on my thick shaft,
letting him feel where it is.  "Hold it there," I whisper.  Then I slip an
arm beneath his waist so I can steady him and stroke a hand down the smooth
lean warmth of his stomach.  Taking his stiff penis in my fingers I began
rubbing it and after a few moments the boy relaxes, his head arching back
in pleasure from the sensation radiating out of his groin.

Breathing the words softly into his ear I tell him, "Push down real hard,
like you're taking a dump."  I feel him stir, then the muscles of his
stomach tense.  "Now," I whisper, shifting my own position to be ready.
"Now...  Push it in..."

He wiggles, sliding the blunt tip of my rod onto the dimple of his small
opening while I hold him tight around his slim body, thrusting gently with
my hips, maintaining steady pressure as my tip squeezes into his ring.  The
boy arches against my encircling arm, his legs twisting.  "Uhhhhhhhh..."

I stroke his jutting penis harder and faster, whispering, "Push
down... really hard... harder..."

The boy's legs thrash.  Then he grimaces, his delicate features twisting.
The effort makes his stomach rock hard.  Then the tight stricture of his
ring eases and with a bump I enter the boy, penetrating his rectum, the
head of my straining rod suddenly enclosed in his moist heat.

"Ah... Ah... Uhhhhhh..."

With a reflexive spasm the boy's sphincter flutters, then squeezes the neck
of my shaft.  He gives little moaning cries, writhing on the fullness
thrusting into him, the movements impaling him even more.  I keep rubbing
his stiff shaft and feel it become so hard it is a straining rigidity; then
with a startled cry the boy jerks, kicking his legs.  Pulsing contractions
squeeze clear slippery liquid out of his tiny slit, dribbling over my
stroking fingers.  The boy pushes back, sheathing my full length in his
body until his rounded butt is pressed to my groin.  Then, with another
moaning cry, he arches, shuddering, as more throbs pulse in the hard shaft
beneath my fingertips.

Grinding my hips, I move my tip deep within the boy and his sphincter
relaxes as he surrenders to the sensations overwhelming him.  With a slight
withdrawal and then a gentle push, I begin to slide in his opening, taking
my time, increasing the length of my stroke bit by bit until the boy's anus
gapes and my slick, glistening shaft is gliding in and out without
resistance.

Moaning with pleasure, arms extended and blonde head pulled back in
ecstasy, the boy gives himself to me, moving in rhythm to accept my
thrusts.  His rectum grips me, throbs rippling in its walls like massaging
fingers.  Each spasm makes his hips buck and the hard contractions of the
boy's shaft bring more clear droplets rolling from its tip.  I keep
pounding, sliding my thick rod in his body, and the boy's feet kick and
twist.  He jerks again and again - I lose count of the number of times -
and he lies quivering in my arms, eyes staring, lost in a trance of
passion.

Deliberately I hold back, postponing release for as long as I can, but the
boy's quickening responses heat me and I begin to pound faster, straining
to slide in as deep as I can.  With each thrust there is a bulge in his
lower belly, which I feel beneath my encircling arm.  The boy's head pulls
back and he draws a twisting foot up onto my lower leg, trying to lift his
thigh so he can open himself even more, his breaths coming in little gasps,
"Uh... Uh... Uh... Uh..."

We both move faster.  Surging waves of pressure build in my loins and I
feel droplets emerging from my tip.  While I squeeze desperately to contain
myself I rub the boy's rigid boner with fast hard strokes and use my other
hand to push a finger into his belly button.  The boy utters a little cry,
arching his slender body like a bow, every muscle in tension.  I make a
final thrust into him, locking my groin to the mounds of his butt, and for
a moment we strain together, hearts beating wildly, fused in the bars of
sunlight slanting through the blinds.  Then the boy is jerking and throb
after throb pulses in his shaft, squeezing out slippery moisture that rolls
over my stroking fingers.  With an explosive burst my own hips buck and in
spurt after spurt I come into him, flooding his rectum with semen.

When it is over, I hold the boy as we lie panting, still locked together in
the wash of golden light from the window.  He moans, pushing back, trying
to hold me inside, but nothing can keep my rod from gradually softening and
when the muscular tone of his rectum pushes me out, I turn the boy to face
me.  He cuddles, pressing his warm smooth body close to mine, face buried
on my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my chest.

I stroke him, gliding a palm down his back onto the firm silky mounds of
his hard little butt.  The boy is so perfectly formed it takes my breath to
touch him and as I feel his bare skin clinging to mine the knowledge that
he has given himself to me so completely brings a rush of love and
tenderness.  I want to hold him forever, protecting and guarding him, the
most precious of all treasures.

My palm drifts over the swell of his hip onto a smooth slender thigh and
the boy hugs me, squirming to pull his leg up over mine.  I press my lips
to his blond hair, breathing in its honey scent and then my palm slips back
up to cup his butt cheek.  "Feel good?"  I whisper.

He nods, arms tightening around me.

"You were scared at first, weren't you."  My palm caresses him.  "I would
never do anything to hurt you, Nate...  Not ever..."

The boy nods again, pressing himself to me, the beat of his heart thumping
on my chest.  He strokes my side with his hand and I feel the hard jut of
his little boner on my stomach.  Then he whispers something in words so low
I cannot catch them.

"What?"  I ask, turning his head so I can brush his lips with mine.

His eyes plead with me and the words come out in a soft breath.  "Do it
more..."

"We will," I say, giving him another tender kiss.  "We will.  I promise.
But first, rest a bit..."

Using the tip of my finger I brush lightly down the hollow of his spine,
tickling all the way to his butt crease, and the boy squirms, hugging me
even tighter.  But he does not laugh or giggle and I am careful not to
tickle him again, sensing that he does not like it.  Instead he clings to
me, wanting to be petted and caressed, so I give him that, bending my head
to whisper over and over, "It's all right, Nate.  I've got you now...  I
won't let anything hurt you...  Not ever..."

When I finally roll the boy onto his back, he stares up at me with the same
wide-eyed, pleading look as before and I brush his cheek then kiss it to
give him reassurance.

"You want to come over and ride the motorcycle with me all the time?"

He nods.

"That's good," I tell him.  "'Cause I'd like that, too.  How 'bout I ride
you to your next scout meeting on it?  Would that be cool?  Would you like
that?"

His eyes widen even more and in a soft, high voice he answers, "Uh-huh."

"Listen," I say, rubbing back and forth on his chest, feeling the hard
little points of his nipples beneath my palm.  "How 'bout we take another
ride right now?  The malls will be open.  Those shoes of yours..."  I
gesture at the place where I tossed them on the floor.  "I mean, you don't
have a nice pair for school, right?"

Nate's eyes never leave my face.  He shakes his head.

"Geez..."  The idea of him wearing those ratty shoes makes me angry.
"Check this out...  If I get you a good new pair - you know, like in the
same design - so they look the same...  You think your mom would notice?"

The boy shakes his head again.

"Let's go do that now," I say, bending to give him another kiss.  Nate
throws his arms around me, hugging very tightly, and I hug back, lifting
the boy to put him on his feet so I can get him dressed.  "We'll go to
Footlocker," I tell him, holding the shorts while he steps into them.
"You're going to have the best Nikes we can find.  The hottest and the
latest..."

As I comb his tangled hair, the happiness shining in the boy's eyes sends
another rush of emotion spilling through me and I tell myself that I am so
incredibly lucky.  We have it all before us - everything we could want -
and all the time in the world.

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

Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment,
my e-mail address is:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I will try to answer all serious mailings.  Rants and ravings will not get
consideration.


All the Best.  Joe