Micah and Me Copyright© 2014 by Simon Campbell The following is a work of fiction. It contains graphic depictions of consensual sex between an adult male and a teenage boy. It exists for entertainment purposes only. There is a real boy named Micah. I was briefly acquainted with him and his mother (Kim) a little over two years ago. Liberties were taken with the details of their lives for the sake of the story and to protect their privacy. As much as I would like the events in this story to be true, they are not. Thanks to my fearless beta reader for giving the story an extra pair of eyes. Please show Nifty some love with a generous donation. Feedback is always welcome. Drop me a note with your thoughts, constructive criticism, or ideas to micah.parker@live.com. I'm also on AIM (micah.parker@live.com), Google Talk (simonwritesgood@gmail.com), and Yahoo! Messenger (ridethaskater). Chapter Two Still wheeling from the after effects of my Micah-induced sex coma, I stared down into the toilet bowl at my spilled seed. A tidal wave of guilt flooded my brain with the realization of what it represented. The boy was only fourteen and his mother had entrusted me with his care. Should this play out to the logical conclusion, admittedly a place I wanted it to go, it would not only be illegal, but a gross violation of that trust. I was the adult here. Did I not have an obligation to stop things in their tracks? Was Micah truly mature enough to consent to this? Surprisingly, the more important question on my mind seemed to be, "Did I really care?" "Screw it," I finally said to myself, flushing the toilet and stepping over to the sink. "I'll think about it tomorrow." Yeah, Scarlett, you do that. "Shut up!" Didn't I have enough problems without my inner monologue waxing sarcastic? Staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror as I washed my hands, I realized my face still glowed red. There was no avoiding going upstairs unless I wanted to sleep on the couch, but I was deathly afraid of what I'd find when I got there. Afraid? How about hopeful? "I told you to shut up!" Seriously, the way this night was shaping up there'd be a trail of rose petals at the top of the stairs. That trail would lead straight to the guestroom, or worse, my own bedroom. There, I'd most likely find Micah wearing nothing but that wicked grin, ready to hair-flip his way into my pants. Resistance, as they say, would be futile. Splashing cold water on my face, I decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable. I couldn't avoid seeing Micah forever. I shut off the water and dried my hands and face. While repeating my nightly routine of shutting off lights and locking doors, I made a trip to the laundry room to grab a plastic clothes hamper for the guestroom. Then, I made my way upstairs. When I reached the landing and moved down the hall, I noticed the guestroom door was open. The light was still on. "Oh, crap," I whispered to myself as I approached the doorway, not knowing what I'd find. "Lights out, Micah," I said, announcing my arrival. "You have to be up for school in a few hours." I turned into the bedroom… "Your mom will kill us both if—" …and found myself face-to-face with Micah's ass. He was in the process of picking up his pajama pants and t-shirt from the floor. Having shed those, he was now clad only in a pair of blue camo print boxer briefs, an exact match to the PJ bottoms he'd had on. While the pants had allowed my imagination to fill in the blanks, the briefs left nothing to question. To say they were snug would have been true, but, then again, not entirely accurate. Had I not known better, I would have sworn he'd been born wearing those undies and they'd been growing right along with him, albeit at a slower pace. Yeah, the terms "second skin" and "painted on" definitely applied here. It's cliché to say, I realize, but his ass could not have been any more perfect had it been sculpted out of marble. Want. To touch. The hiney. As he stood up, his back still to me, my eyes drifted down the infinite expanse of his thin, hairless, milky-white legs. My subconscious flashed an image of Micah lying on his back, with those limbs high in the air, with me between them, plowing his hole like a madman. Yeah, thanks for that, sub-conscious. You son of a— My still dripping cock was instantly hard again. Bloody hell! There's an expression people use when they can't stop staring at something they know they shouldn't be looking at. It's like watching a train wreck. You want to look away, but you can't. Yeah. That. My eyes were fixed on his ass again as he stood straight and began to turn towards me. It was like one of those scenes in a teen movie where the guy watches the beautiful girl climb out of the pool in slow motion. Time slowed down as his body spun around. As my eyes were previously locked onto his butt, a tasty profile view of his crotch came into view as he turned. Like me, the boy was aroused, obviously enjoying his torturous seduction. His boy cock – I guessed it to be about four-and-a-half inches long – strained against his skivvies, the tightness of which revealed every line, every feature. I knew without actually seeing it, that it was going to be perfect. A damp spot glistened on the fabric, the obvious sign that my boy was oozing pre-cum. I wanted that dick. I longed to free it from its 100% cotton prison and hold it in my hand. I wanted to wrap my lips around it and fellate it until it gave up the sweet nectar from what I knew had to be two perfectly shaped balls. I wanted to— "Hey," Micah said, snapping his fingers. The slow motion 180 had ended and I was staring directly at his crotch. "Simon." He snapped his fingers again. "My eyes are up here, dude." I felt my gaze move slightly north, focusing on his flat stomach and adorable outie. Flashes of spent cum glistening on that tummy seared onto my brain. I'll help you clean up that mess, Micah. Every last drop. Micah whistled, interrupting my delightful mind-movie. "Uh-uh. You're not quite there yet." There was too much too see; too much to admire. Not a single hair tainted his entire glorious torso. His nipples, no bigger than a couple of nickels, stood out prominently against the blinding whiteness of his skin. Like his prick, they too were erect. Back in my movie, I was teasing one of those nipples between my thumb and forefinger. My mouth encircled the other, gently tugging at it with my teeth. I'm so going to jail. "Si – mon," Micah teased, drawing out my name. His neck…his freakin' sexy neck. I wanted to bite it. Suck it. If ever a neck was made for a hickey the size of Texas, this was it. "Earth to Simon," he said with a giggle. I snapped to attention and found myself meeting his gaze again. Great day, he was beautiful. "There you are," he said, flipping his damn hair again. You're killing me with that! I realized I wasn't talking. I needed to say something. I needed to speak and prove to him that I was in complete control. No way was I going to let this little teenage tease maintain his spell over me. No way in hell. Speak, dumbass. Speak! He cocked his head slightly, like a dog after hearing a strange noise. My mind made the leap from dog to doggie-style. I was taking Micah from behind in my movie. "You okay, Simon? You look a little flushed. I heard you groaning downstairs." That damn wicked grin again! "What happened? Did you pull something?" Say. Anything! "Laundry basket!" I said, much louder than I should have. "What?" Micah replied with an adorable giggle. Laundry basket, Simon? Really? Smooth. "I, uhh—I brought you a laundry basket." Yeah, I'm an idiot. "Thanks," he said, dropping his PJ pants and tee into it. "I'll—I'll just—leave it here," I stuttered. "You know, by the door. For your, uhh—" I turned and placed the hamper on the floor. Faintly, I heard the sound of fabric against skin. "Simon?" "You know, dirty—" I turned back around, "—laundry." Micah was standing there in all his naked splendor, holding out his underwear to me as innocently as if he were passing the salt at the dinner table. I tried not to look. Hand to heaven, I tried. However, my eyes went straight to where you think they would have. His slim, erect cock curved slightly upwards, its slit winking at me and dripping with pre-cum. A thin, downy coat of white pubic hair crowned it. For the love of— "Fuck me," I said aloud, not as a request, but as a way of expressing my disbelief. I'd never been one to hurl the f-bomb around, but this wasn’t just any occasion. On a lighter note, my guesstimate of his cock size was spot on. He giggled. "Sounds tempting, but I was hoping it'd be the other way around." My life had gone from completely normal to FUBAR in less than an hour. "Not tonight, though," he continued. "I've got school tomorrow." "Yeah, me too," I said, finally managing to avert my eyes from his raging boyhood. "I mean—yeah. I should really get to bed." "Definitely," he said. "You don't look so good." I don't feel so good either. "Good night," I said, turning toward the door. "Good night, Simon," he replied. "Oh wait, don't forget these." Sweet mother, what now? I turned back around and realized he was still holding out his boxer briefs. The only teenage boy I'd ever wanted to bed was standing naked before me and offering his underwear. Did he really expect me to take it? And do what? I halfway wondered if this was all some sort of a sick, twisted prank. Or perhaps I was imagining the whole thing. This doesn't happen to people in real life, does it? No, this was a scenario straight out of one of those cheesy skin flicks. Cue the seventies porn music! "Go ahead," he said, tossing them at me. "Take 'em." Thrusting out my hands on instinct, I managed to catch them. Damn, they were so soft, and I bet they smelled like hot, horny teenage boy. Had it not been extremely bad form, totally uncool, and a whole lot perverted, I would have pressed them to my face. I wanted to suck out that little glob of pre-cum I'd seen earlier. Just a taste, that's all I wanted. "And—and—" I stammered, "do what?" He smiled as he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over his body. His erection formed an obvious tent. "Throw them in the hamper, silly," he said. "Right," I said. "Of course." I turned to leave the room but he spoke again. "What did you think I meant for you to do with them?" "I don't—" I began. "You know what? Never mind. Go to bed, Micah." "Yes, sir," he replied, with no small amount of sarcasm. "Good night." "Good night." Not wasting any time getting out of there, I flipped the light switch, stepped into the hallway, and closed the door behind me. I had safely returned to my own room before I realized I was still holding his briefs. I had been so bloody flustered that I'd forgotten to drop them into the hamper. There's no way I could take them back now. Micah had surely seen me take them. How could I explain having to bring them back? Then again, why give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd brought me to such a state? That ship has sailed, dumbass. He already knows he won. True, but not going back would have spared me from seeing the self-satisfied smile that was undoubtedly on the little bugger's face. It also would have given him the opportunity to pull another stunt. There'd been way too many stunts pulled already. "Screw it," I said, tossing the briefs onto the foot of my bed. "Just go to sleep." Maybe things would make sense in the morning. I made quick work of stripping down to my underwear. As I tossed my clothes into my own laundry basket, my eyes fell on his skivvies. Throw them in the hamper and go to bed! No more drama, just toss them away. I knew I should have. Perhaps doing so would've stopped the incredible and chaotic chain of events that would soon follow. Then again, maybe not. Just one little sniff, that's all I wanted. What's the worst that could happen? My heart pounded as I reached over and took them into my hands. I held them up by the waistband, staring at the crotch. The fabric had stretched and still held the faint shape of my would-be lover's dick. I kneaded the angel soft fabric between my fingers for a few seconds, imagining how good it would feel to wrap it around my cock and jack off into it. Getting hard again, I moved my right hand down and began stroking myself through my briefs. My left hand moved the boy's undies closer to my face. I wanted to smell the boy. I wanted to taste him. Pressing the fabric against my face, I inhaled deeply. His scent was an exquisite combination of musky, feral, and sexy. My right hand slipped inside my shorts and wrapped itself around my cock. The very thought that the object of my lust had spent all day in these made me even harder. Was it wrong to be jealous of a pair of boxer-briefs? I moved the fabric away from my face and flipped them inside out, immediately pressing the inside crotch back to my mouth. Slipping my tongue out, I licked greedily at the cotton, tasting the spot once pressed against my boy's dick. It was pure heaven, sweet and salty all at the same time. When I found the still-damp spot of pre-cum, I sucked at it hungrily. If his pre-cum was this delicious, how good would a full load of his spunk be? Realizing I was about to shoot again, I stopped jacking myself. Without even removing Micah's shorts from my face, I used only my right hand to free myself from my own. As I laid down on the bed, I took one last glorious whiff of my boy before moving his briefs down to my dick. He'll never know. I'll come into them and carry them straight down to the washing machine. He'll never know I got off with his underwear. Famous last words. Careful to make sure my cock was wrapped in the inside crotch of the briefs, as if his member was touching mine, I closed my eyes and began to masturbate. Between the delicate softness of the fabric, and the thought of what it had recently been in contact with, this wasn't going to be a long, drawn out affair. I was going to come in record time. My brain flashed some lovely visuals in rapid succession on the movie screen inside my head. Micah lying on top of me, grinding his dick into mine. Micah's lips wrapped around my cock. Finally, and most pleasant, me on top of Micah, ravaging his boy snatch. Nope, this wasn't going to take long at all. Any second now and I was going to— "Well, isn't this a lovely image. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." I froze. I hadn't heard him come into the room. My eyes opened and I caught a brief glimpse of his naked body. His prick was still standing at attention. He held my own underwear, which he'd picked up off the floor, in one of his hands. "Uh-uh," he said. "No fair peeking! Close your eyes." I obeyed. I didn't know what else to do. I was still unable to move. "I wish you wouldn't stop on my account. I was enjoying the show." Paralyzed with fear, I did nothing. My fear at not being able to finish was a little silly in one respect. So far, my only crime was jacking off with a fourteen-year-old's underwear. How much worse could I honestly make it for myself by jizzing into them? Well, other than leaving DNA evidence? Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending upon your perspective – I wouldn't be allowed the time to make that decision. I felt the mattress shift as Micah sat down on the bed. I really wanted to look, but as stupid as it was to say, I was still afraid. For one, it would make it real if I looked. While part of me wanted it to be real, another part was terrified to face the reality of it. Besides, he'd told me no peeking. The boy had me wrapped around his little finger. I was willing to do whatever he told me. That's how I justified it, anyway. I wondered how it would play out as a defense at my eventual trial. "He told me to do it, Your Honor," I would say to the judge. "Off with his head," the judge would reply, pounding his gavel. Was there such a thing as "lust-sanity"? If not, then there ought to be. "Oh, geez, ya big baby," Micah said, snapping me back to reality. "I guess I'll have to do it for you. Move your hand." "He told me to move my hand, Your Honor!" Yeah, lots of luck, pal. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Well, what can I say? I moved my hand. He told me to. He pulled his briefs away from my crotch and pressed them firmly against my face. They were replaced by what I could only assume were my own pair. He enveloped my shaft with them, wrapped his hand around it, and began thrusting up and down. I breathed deeply, taking in the incredible smell of my boy, pushing my tongue upwards and French-kissing his palm. "You like that, Simon?" he asked, speeding up his thrusts. "Mmm," was all I could manage, lost in the heat of lust. My hips bucked up and down, matching the rhythm of his gyrating hand. I was so close. "You gonna come for me?" "Yuh – yeah," I managed. He jacked me harder and harder. "Come for me, Simon." My second orgasm of the night was imminent. In that moment, the ramifications of these events were the furthest thing from my mind. All I wanted was to do what my boy had asked of me. I wanted to come for him. Yes, I wanted to come, but I also wanted this feeling to last forever. My boy pleasuring me was the most intensely sexual and erotic thing I'd ever experienced. It was so unfair it had to end. But the end was near. I felt the orgasm building, my balls aching once again to relieve their burden. Holding out as long as I could, I finally let go with a deafening scream. "Fuck," I yelled. My cock erupted like a massive volcano, shooting load after load of jizz into the black cotton. The boy's hand didn't let up. It moved up and down at the speed of light, milking my shaft and sending almost painful waves of ecstasy through my body. I felt my hips continue to buck upwards into his hand, even though doing so increased the pain. He stopped pumping and, using his thumb, teased my cock head through the fabric. If you've tried to touch this area after an orgasm, you know the intense painful pleasure I'm talking about. It's torture. "Stop," I begged, struggling for breath and trying not to squirm. "Fucking...stop." "Watch your language. A dirty mouth like that will never suck my dick." "Please stop." He teased me for a few more seconds, and then squeezed my shaft one last time, milking the last drop of sperm before he stopped. As if to torture me a few seconds more, he made a production of wiping my cock clean before pulling my briefs away. "That was fun," he said. The mattress shifted again and I gasped as I felt him straddle my midsection. "What the—" I said, opening my eyes and raising my head, causing his undies to fall from my face and onto my chest. Next time, on Micah and Me... "Mmm," he cooed. His right hand began jacking his dick through his shorts. He closed his eyes and increased his rhythm. It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. As he continued slurping my spunk, my cock got hard again. I felt it poke against the smooth skin of his ass crack, ever so close to the Promised Land. He was so damn sexy. All I wanted to do was to touch him. I reached my hands out and placed them on the insides of his milky white thighs. "No touch," he corrected, the words muffled through the undies pressed against his mouth. "Bad boys don't get to touch." I pulled my hands away. "That's better," he said, dropping my underwear from his face. All around his mouth were the remnants of my spilt seed. He licked his lips and smiled. "Yummy." I could do nothing but gaze longingly as he pleasured himself. Had I woken up to find this to all have been a dream, I would have seriously been pissed. "Oh, fuck!" he shouted. Remember, your comments are appreciated. Drop me a line at micah.parker@live.com to let me know what you think. Many thanks to those who've written so far.