|Micah and Me|
Copyright© 2014, 2015 by Simon Campbell
The following is a work of fiction and is not based on true events. It contains graphic depictions of consensual sex between an adult male and two teenage boys. It exists for entertainment purposes only and should not be construed as a primer for acceptable behavior.
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I'd been writing at a solid clip for almost ninety minutes when I decided I needed a break. Micah should've been at about the halfway point with his mowing (we both had rather large yards), so I figured he'd be ready for a cold bottle of water.
Once outside, I followed the sound of the mower and found him in his own backyard. After flagging him down, he met me at the side of his house and I handed him the bottle of water.
"Thanks," he said, twisting the cap and taking a few sips of the chilled water. "How's the writing going?"
I couldn't help but notice his gorgeous body glistening in the sun with perspiration, his blond hair darkened by the moisture. Even smelly and sticky with sweat, the boy looked beautiful, just as he always did. He caught me looking and offered a smirk. Micah lifted the bottle of water, tilted his head back, and poured about half of the remaining liquid down over his face. It soaked his hair and then flowed down his body, drenching the white shorts. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look that he'd neglected to put on underwear. I said a silent prayer of thanks that our backyards were secluded from the eyes of prying neighbors by the large number of trees that surrounded our homes.
"Okay," I said with a smile. "That's just mean."
He brushed his wet locks away from his face. "Well, if you weren't so obvious with your staring, I wouldn't have to be."
"I am kind of obvious, huh?"
I looked him up and down. "I'd jump you right now if you weren't all sweaty and disgusting."
"Wow. You really know how to make a boy feel special. And you're assuming I'd let you jump me."
I nodded. "Oh, you'd let me."
"Too damn hot," he said, shaking his head. "Plus, I'm not sure I want you to touch me now. You hurt my feelings."
He tried to look wounded.
"You don't want me to touch you, huh?" I looked around to make sure no one could see us. It was doubtful, so I decided to take the risk. I reached out and grabbed his flaccid cock through the wet shorts. "Does that make up for your hurt feelings?"
"Your apology is accepted," he said with a grin. "I'll even give you bonus points."
I let go of his dick. "Oh, I can apologize much better than that. Just wait 'til later."
"No, you wait 'til later. Remember, I've got a plan."
I smiled. "I love it when a plan comes together."
Yet another obscure pop culture reference that went straight over his head, but he smiled brightly.
"Get back to work, sexy," I said, giving him a wink.
"Yeah, you too."
As I turned to walk back to the house, I heard the lawn mower roar back to life. When I reached my front yard, I realized I'd forgotten to check the mail (both Kim's and mine) yesterday. After collecting from both boxes, I returned to the glorious cool of the inside.
Save the occasional camping trip, I'd never really cared for the outdoors. I jokingly opined to a group of friends once that I'd enjoy nature more if it were indoors. Grizzly Adams I was not, but I did think taking Micah (and possibly Parker?) on a camping trip this summer might not be a bad idea. What a glorious thought: sleeping naked with my gorgeous boy under the north Georgia sky for a week or so.
Putting that out of my mind for a moment, I took my mail to the study and headed for the laundry room. Kim's small stack ended up on top of Micah's bedding so I wouldn't forget to carry it over later. The next few minutes I spent folding clothes and putting wet ones in the dryer. It was then that it hit me, a terrible wave of depression. With the force of a swift-moving bus, it almost knocked me off my feet. I needed to lie down, but I wasn't sure I even had the energy to make it upstairs to the bedroom.
Fuck, this one's bad.
Somehow, I managed to climb the stairs and collapse onto the bed. An uncontrolled crying jag came next, the sound of my sobs drowning out the drone of the lawn mower outside. I never knew why I cried, or even why I was depressed. That was the most frustrating thing about it all. There was no cause, no reason; it just happened. All I did know was that I hated feeling this way. I hated myself for not being strong enough to fight it. I knew this was stupid, of course. It was a chemical imbalance in my brain, some unknown region of my mind in which there was a short circuit. Knowing the truth behind it, however, didn't change the fact that I thought I was defective in some way.
Once again, the feelings of unworthiness came back, the unsubstantiated belief that I was unlovable. As the self-destructive mindset crept its way back in, I cried myself to sleep again, just as I'd done the previous afternoon.
"Feeling bad again?" Micah asked.
I was in that strange half-asleep/half-awake state when he spoke. The words, though heard, were not quite processed. My eyes shot open and immediately rejected the light coming in from that damn picture window.
First thing next week, I'm hanging some fucking curtains!
"What?" I asked, much too sharply. "I'm – sorry. What did you say?"
The fog was lifting slowly, though the despair remained. My boy's presence made it somewhat better, but not enough to pull me completely out of the funk. I heard him walking to my side of the bed as he spoke.
"I asked if you were feeling bad again."
He came into full view, his sweat-soaked body, covered with goose flesh in the chilled air, a much-welcomed sight for my tear-soaked eyes. The basketball shorts were still there, though his shoes and socks were missing. The sneakers were presumably sitting by the front door; the smelly socks, I hoped, were in the laundry room.
"Have you been crying?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
I'd never told Micah the full extent of my craziness. He'd known I'd struggled with something, as I'd once had a rather nasty depressive episode while we were on one of the trips we'd taken. As far as knowing the whole truth, I'd kept it from him.
"Poor Simon," he said, placing his hand on my arm. "You gonna be okay?"
I looked at him, seeing the concern in his eyes.
"I will be," I said, trying to smile. "Soon, hopefully."
"Is there, like, something you can take? A prescription or something?"
I shook my head. "No, I don't have anything. I haven't been back to the doctor in a while."
"Maybe you should go."
"I'll be – I'll be fine. Don't you worry."
"But I do. I was worried about you yesterday, but I thought it was just because Mom had called about coming home early. I'm even more worried now. What's wrong?"
I hated that question. I really fucking hated that question.
His concern, however, was touching. I still wasn't sure I deserved him.
"That's just it, Punk. I don't know what's wrong." I took hold of his hand. "It's both everything, and nothing. But I promise you I'll be okay in a little while. Thank you for caring."
"Of course, I care, ya big dope," he said with a smile. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Yeah." I crinkled my nose. "You can take a shower. You smell like foot and ass."
"Dick," he said with a giggle.
He stood up from the bed and started toward the bathroom.
"Love you too," I said as he went.
Although I have a vague recollection of hearing the shower running, I must've drifted back to sleep. The next thing I remember was hearing Micah's voice jar me back to reality.
"Skooch over," he said, sitting down on the bed.
He wore a red t-shirt with the black Spider-Man logo imprinted on it (the new one, from the most recent movies). Once again, his underwear matched his t-shirt. The Spidey boxer-briefs had a black waistband with the hero's name emblazoned around it; imprinted on the red fabric was a black web design, and the logo mentioned above featured on the front. As I'd mentioned before, the boy could fill out a pair of undies, and I still found it amusing he coordinated his outfits so carefully.
I scooted over and he maneuvered himself next to me, pressing his ass into my crotch, placing us in the ever-popular spooning position. The bottom of his head was just under my chin and the lovely scent of his shampoo once again invaded my senses.
I loved that his hair smelled of pineapples.
His blond locks were still a little damp from his shower, but I didn't care. It was just nice to feel him next to me. I placed my arm over top of him and pulled him closer. As strange as it might sound to say, and despite the position of our bodies, there was nothing sexual about it.
"This is nice," Micah said.
For some reason – I still don't know why – I chose that moment to tell him the truth about everything. I told him about the bullying and verbal abuse I'd suffered as a teenager, the reason for my glaring insecurity. I told him about the depression, how its crippling effects sometimes caused me to shut down and have to hide from the world, something I'd done both yesterday and today. I told him things I'd never told anyone before. I wanted him to know why I was the way I was, that I'd come by my "fucked-upedness" honestly, and any insecurity, or doubt, I felt had nothing to do with him.
However long I talked, he listened. He laid there in silence as I bent his ear with my personal baggage and he never once said a word. He didn't challenge me, ridicule me, or judge me as weak, like those that had come before. Somehow, he knew I needed to do this, and he let me. The funny thing was it made me feel far better than I ever had before, even factoring in the thirteen years of therapy. I remember humorously thinking in that moment of the thousands of dollars I could have saved if only I'd known that one day I'd meet a boy who'd change everything, one who'd make me feel better about myself than I ever had, and make me feel loved.
A boy's love is like no other, and the love between a boy and a man the most precious.
He wrapped his arm over mine and said, "The next time it gets bad – you know, like, really bad – I want you to remember this. I want you to remember holding me. Even if I’m not here, Simon, I'll always be with you. I promise I'll never let you go. I swear on my life."
I had no right to hold him to that promise. It was a promise he'd most likely not be able to keep. The boy was only fourteen years old and had yet to experience what the world had to offer him. Most likely this thing between us would be over in a few days, weeks, or months. He'd likely soon realize that what he felt for me wasn't actually love, but only a crush. When that hit home, he'd find some way to let me down easy, or maybe just make a clean break.
He'd meet a boy his own age (hell, maybe even a girl if all this had just been some grand experiment) and I'd be alone again. Perhaps he'd look back on our time together with fondness, or maybe he'd try to forget it had ever happened. Maybe he'd even think it had all been a mistake. There was really no way of knowing, and no point in mentioning any of it to him. I would no longer verbalize my self-doubt or make him think I didn't believe in us.
Therefore, in that moment, I chose to believe him. He would never leave me and we'd always be together. If it made things easier for us, made us both feel better, then there was no point in ruining it. We would live in the moment. I was safe, holding him in my arms, and he was safe held in them.
Our moment was perfect.
"I love you, Micah."
A warm glow of safety surrounded us and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
We napped for an hour or so. I was still tired from my depressive episode and Micah from his yard work. Our glorious weekend together was winding down, and I still felt a little depressed because of it. I finally decided there was no point in dwelling on the inevitable. The only thing that mattered was that we enjoyed each other.
"Simon?" Micah said in a quiet voice as he gently nudged me. "Wake up."
My eyes opened and met with the beautiful sight of Micah standing over me at the side of the bed. He'd awoken before me and had gotten fully dressed, adding a pair of brown cargo shorts, which, like every other pair of pants he wore, hung dangerously low on his hips. The top inch or so of his boxer-briefs peeked out above the waistband. Sagging – well, not the severe kind where every bit of one's undies were out there to be seen by God and everybody – had always been a big turn-on for me, but on Micah it was all the more sexy. He finished out the ensemble with a pair of red flip-flops.
"Hey, Punky," I said groggily, offering him my best smile. "What's up?"
"We have to go make up my bed, remember?"
I hadn't remembered, though I did recall seeing the folded sheets and blanket on top of the dryer.
"Oh, yeah," I said, rolling off the bed and standing to my feet. "I'm glad you reminded me. I'm not sure what your mom would think if she came home and found your bed stripped."
He took me by the hand. "Come on, manwhore!"
"Where's the fire?"
"No fire. I just want to get it over with. I hate making up my bed."
So did I, actually, but that really didn't explain his sudden urgency. I mean, I knew it had to be done, but I wasn't sure why it to be done now.
"What time is it, anyway?" I asked.
"Four-thirty," he said. "Now come on."
He practically dragged me out of the bedroom and down the stairs. After a quick stop at the laundry room, we made the short trek across our front yards to his house. Once inside, Micah placed his mom's mail on the dining room table and we continued up the stairs to his room. I placed the pile of bedding on his desk and tossed him the fitted sheet. It reminded me that my own bedclothes needed washing after the wear they'd taken yesterday, with three different sets of DNA dried into them. Anyone going in there with a black light would have had a field day.
"I don't think I mentioned it the other night," I said as he stretched the fitted sheet over the mattress cover, "but that was the first time I'd been in your room in all the time I've known you."
I tossed him the sheet. "Yeah, I know. We've known each other for five years and I never had occasion to come up here."
He seemed nervous to me, but I wasn't sure why.
"Crazy," he said, tossing the sheet over the bed and smoothing it out.
I handed him the gray winter camo-printed blanket and it went sailing into the air as he threw it over the mattress. I stepped aside as he tucked the ends of the top sheet and blanket with perfect hospital corner precision, a technique he'd likely picked up from his mother the nurse.
"Well," I said, "that's that."
I turned toward the door.
"Where ya goin'?"
I stepped and spun around to face him. "What do you mean?"
"We're not done here," Micah said, making his way to his closet. He reached inside and pulled out an old, ragged-looking green camouflage fleece throw. He returned to the bed and covered the clean blanket with it.
"What's that for?"
"Your wait is over, Simon. It's time."
He smiled coyly.
Like an idiot, I asked, "Time for what?"
Seriously, I should've known exactly what he meant. I'd only been waiting for it the whole damn weekend.
Micah reached into the pocket of his shorts and removed a bottle of lube, which looked remarkably like the one I kept in my bedside table. He handed it to me and fell to his knees.
"Time for you to make love to me, silly," he said, undoing my belt and opening my pants.
I suddenly remembered the thought I'd had Friday afternoon, about how hot it would be to take him in his own bed. Apparently, he agreed.
The boy leaned in and put his open mouth over my flaccid member, still trapped inside my boxer-briefs. I moaned loudly as his tongue pleasured me through the fabric, ensuring that I didn't stay limp for long. He pulled away from my crotch and looked up at me with a sexy grin, his blue eyes twinkling in the light.
"Where else?" he asked, reaching up with his hands and pulling down my undies, causing my now fully erect cock to spring out, ready for action. "This is where you first made me come, remember?"
How could I forget? I'd jerked him off just two nights ago, never once thinking we'd be at the point we were now. We'd gone from a hand job, to a blowjob, to anal in just a couple of days.
Who'd a thunk it?
"How could I forget?" I looked down at his angelic face, positioned mere centimeters from my aching, raging manhood. "Is this part of that plan you mentioned earlier?"
"Yep. I figured what better place for this to happen than where it all began."
Technically, it had begun when he'd jacked us both off in the wee hours of Friday morning, not long after his mother had left us alone, but who was I to banter semantics with the sentimental little schemer?
"That's some impeccable logic there, Punk."
He smiled, opened his mouth, and inhaled my dick.
I let out a loud groan as he went to work on me. The sight of his hot teenage lips wrapped around my shaft was enough to make me blow my load in his mouth. Of course, that was certainly not where I wanted to come.
Micah slathered every inch of my cock with his saliva, which, amazingly enough, made me even harder. Once he was satisfied, he backed off me and stood to his feet.
"Take off your clothes," he said with a lascivious grin and a flip of his hair.
I dropped the bottle of lube and practically ripped every stitch of clothing from my body in mere seconds. If there'd been a time in my life in which I'd gotten naked faster, I certainly couldn't recall it.
Micah chuckled at the urgency at which I'd undressed. "Somebody's anxious to get started."
Under fucking statement of the year!
Once I was completely nude, Micah's eyes scanned my body up and down and nodded his approval. "You're so fucking hot, Simon."
I felt my face turn red. Yep, I couldn't help but be embarrassed by his declaration. I was honored, of course, but still a little self-conscious. It wasn't every day a forty-two year old man – at least not this one – received compliments like that, much less from a sexy adolescent boy. As difficult as I found his statement to believe, this was not the time for a spirited debate on the merits of his argument. All I wanted right now was to be inside him, and unless I was still in my bed dreaming, that very thing was mere minutes away from happening.
"Undress me," he ordered, stepping out of his flip-flops.
I moved forward, reached down, and pulled his shirt up. He raised his arms in response and the shirt was off and thrown to the floor. I dropped down to my knees and placed my hands inside the waistband of his cargo shorts. Curious to see if they were as loose as they seemed, I yanked downwards and they fell easily to the ground.
"Geez," I said with amazement, "how the hell do they stay up?"
"Since when do you care if my pants stay up?"
Micah stood before me wearing only his Spidey undies. He appeared to be as hard as I was. I leaned over and wrapped my mouth around his cloth-covered cock.
He gasped. "Mmm."
Placing my fingers inside his skivvies, I yanked them down and they fell to the carpet. I took a moment to gaze at my lover's gorgeous body.
"Damn," I said, in awe of the beautiful creature before me, "you're absolutely perfect."
While before he might've rejected the compliment, this time he kept silent.
"So are you," he said with a grateful smile.
I took the entire length of his dick into my mouth and sealed my lips around it. Quickly, but lovingly, I began to move back and forth, pleasuring him with my tongue. While I'd taken my time earlier, now I decided to get him off quickly. In hindsight, I suppose it was selfish of me not to pleasure him longer, considering I was about to pop his cherry. It would have probably been more considerate to make it last as long as possible. Then again, I was about to pop his cherry. Who the hell could blame me for being anxious about getting started?
No one, that's who.
Fuck, I’m only human.
I increased my speed, flicking my tongue all over his boyhood, bobbing my head to and fro, bringing him ever closer to climax. The volume of his moans and the slight buckling of his knees signaled to me that he was very much enjoying himself.
"Oh, god," he said breathlessly.
I moved my hands around his waist and squeezed his ass cheeks, pulling him deeper into my mouth. He gently placed his own hands on top of my head and drew me to him, making the head of his cock touch the back of my throat. He moaned louder and his knees buckled some more. The boy was about to erupt.
"Fuck, Simon," he groaned. "I'm gonna—"
He didn't have time to finish the sentence before he exploded, the savory taste of his seed filling my mouth. I pulled back until only the tip remained; my right hand moved back around and encircled his shaft. As I milked him of his nectar, my tongue flitted over his head, causing him to squirm and gasp.
When the well was dry, I pulled off him and looked up at his face. He was staring down at me with the most grateful and loving gaze. Smiling widely, I stood to my feet and pulled him into an embrace, holding him as tight as I could without crushing him. In that moment, more than any other we'd shared over our weekend, I never wanted to let him go. It was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to hand him back over to his mother tomorrow.
Maybe Parker's suggestion last night at dinner hadn't been so crazy after all. Could we really run away together? I gave some serious consideration to 'Googling' non-extradition countries, and pictured us both lying together on some beach somewhere no one could find us, making love in the breezy, tropical air for the rest of our natural lives.
Pie in the sky, I know, but dreaming was still free.
"Are you sure you're ready for this, buddy? Cuz its okay if you're not."
I was deathly afraid he'd say he wasn't, but as badly as I wanted it, I had to ask the question.
He squeezed me tight and didn't hesitate to answer.
I pulled away from our embrace and looked down at his face. He smiled at me, which made my heart flutter. We stood there awkwardly for several seconds, a nervous energy in the air. Now that the time had finally come, neither of us was sure how to get started.
Micah finally broke the silence by asking, "Umm, where – I mean, how – do you, like, want me?"
I could hardly believe this was actually about to happen. At any moment, I expected a Dateline camera crew to bust in and crash our little party.
I'd never been sure what the most comfortable position was, if there even was one, for anal sex first-timers. We'd had Parker on all fours for his inaugural, and he'd seemed to enjoy himself just fine. Somehow, though, that didn't seem appropriate for Micah. Doggy-style was too undignified for my boy, and far too dirty. It wouldn't be special if we did it that way.
Placing my hand on his cheek, I said, "I want to be able to see your face."
"Okay," he said with a smile. "Just tell me what to do."
I thought for a moment and formulated my plan.
"Grab one of your pillows."
While he did that, I retrieved the bottle of lube from the floor and began to work the slippery liquid onto my cock.
"Now what?" Micah asked, holding the pillow.
"Put it under the old blanket, right in the middle of the mattress. Lay down on your back with your ass on top of it. Rest your head on the other pillow at the head of the bed"
He followed my instructions while I continued to slick up my dick.
"Lift your legs and spread them apart," I said, climbing on the bed and positioning myself in front of his ass. "Now let's get you lubed up."
I spread his cheeks and squirted some of the lube over his hole.
"Fuck!" he gasped. "Cold!"
"Sorry," I said with an apologetic smile.
I worked the lube around his hole and then positioned my finger to push inside him.
"Alright, Punk, I want you to relax and push out." I felt his sphincter loosen against my finger. "That's great, buddy. I'm gonna slide it in, okay? I'll take it slow and you be sure to tell me if I'm hurting you, or if you want me to stop."
He nodded and flipped his hair. It was obvious from the look on his face that he was both nervous and excited.
"Here we go," I said, slowly pushing in the tip of my index finger.
Micah let out a sharp hiss of air and said, almost in a whisper, "Shit!"
I immediately stopped as I felt him clench around my invading digit.
"Relax, you're doing fine."
His muscles gave way around my finger and I pushed in a little further. He groaned in response. I gave him about a minute to get used to it before I gently moved forward, putting my finger halfway inside him. His ass tensed up again and he let out a moan.
"Halfway there, buddy. You still okay?"
His sphincter relaxed again and I pushed forward. I could feel his body squirming and saw that his hands were digging into the blanket beneath him. There was a determined look on his face; his eyes were clenched shut.
"I'm going all the way in now."
The rest of my finger slid inside and he tightened up around me again.
He hissed and I rubbed his inner thigh as a sign of encouragement.
"You're doin' great, Punky. You still okay?"
After giving him a few minutes to get used to it, I began to finger fuck him slowly. His face winced, but he registered no verbal complaints. I continued for several minutes before finally pulling out.
"That wasn't so bad," he said, smiling up at me.
"Let's hope you feel the same way in a few minutes."
My dick received another coating of lube before I positioned myself at the entrance of his ass. Another look at his face showed he was now even more nervous.
"It's going to hurt, isn't it?"
"I'll do my best not to hurt you," I reassured him, "but it's going to be a little uncomfortable until you get used to it. I promise to move slow, okay?"
"Mmm-kay," he answered.
With one hand, I rubbed the soft flesh of his thigh; the other held my dick, ready to guide it home. I was so anxious to proceed that I had to remind myself not to move too fast.
Micah's sphincter relaxed as I pierced his veil with a slow, gentle push. I stopped as soon as my head was all the way inside him, afraid to move any further until I could gauge his reaction.
"G'uh," he groaned, his face contorting again.
I felt his muscles constrict around me and I had to fight to hold myself inside him.
"Motherfucker," he said.
He nodded and offered a smile. "Yeah, it's just a lot different than your finger."
"You want me to stop?"
Once again, I was afraid of what his answer would be, but he simply shook his head and raised no objection.
"Try to relax, Punky." His grip around me loosened. "That's great. I'm gonna push in a little more, okay?"
I was so pleased he hadn't asked me to stop. Encouraged by his willingness to press on, I inched myself further into him with the same deliberate pace as when I'd begun and didn't stop until I was half way inside him.
"God," he moaned. "Fuck."
I decided to make a joke to break the tension.
"You're thinking about Captain Creeper, aren't you?"
He laughed and raised his head up off the pillow, his eyes twinkling in the light. The boy's face had lost its painful wince, which I hoped meant we'd moved beyond the pain and toward the pleasure portion of our program.
Micah reached up and clasped my hand. "Not a chance. There's nobody I'd rather be with."
I smiled. Inside, my heart burst with joy and pride.
He'd chosen me.
Me and only me.
I've never been one to brag, but eat your fucking heart out.
Micah smirked. "And you'd better not be thinking about Kaz."
I channeled the demon chick from Ghostbusters. "There is no Kaz, only Zuul."
His head tilted to one side. "You're so weird."
I gave it another minute or so for him to get used to my girth before I decided to move forward.
"Are you ready?"
Once again, as slow and steady as I could go, I pushed myself in all the way. It felt amazing, the soft and silky-smooth warmth of his insides. I looked down to see just the root of my cock exposed, the sight of my shaft engulfed by him. My mind tried to snap a mental picture, in case I never found myself in this position again.
"Ungh," he said, his only reaction to my final thrust.
His vocalization snapped my attention back to his face, which no longer appeared to show any sign of pain. His expression was not a grimace, just one of slight discomfort. I had always been the one on top, so I had no idea what this might be like for him.
How did it feel?
How bad did it hurt?
Micah's head dropped back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. He was biting his bottom lip.
What was he thinking?
"How are you, Punk? You okay?"
He opened his eyes and offered a crooked smile. "Yeah, but...fuck, you're big."
I wasn't, but I could see how it might feel like that to him.
"It doesn't – it doesn't hurt so much," he continued. "It feels kinda...strange...but nice too."
I couldn't help but wonder if his lack of protest came from his strict desire to please me. He knew how much I wanted this, so it would be just like him to soldier on and tell me it didn't hurt.
As if he could read my thoughts, he said, "I'm okay. Really."
A sense of relief flooded through me. It was the reassurance I was so desperate to receive.
I pulled out of him until only the head of my dick remained, then pushed back in. The friction of that one gentle thrust was incredible.
Micah moaned loudly.
Again, I pulled out and pushed back in. Determined to see any sign that it might all be too much for him, and that he might want it to end, I focused my eyes on his face. I found no such indication. In fact, I think he liked it.
God, I hoped so!
"You still okay?"
"Uh-huh," he answered with a moan.
I positioned my hands under the crooks of his knees, spread his legs wider, and began to move in and out of him. The pleasure it brought to me, something I hoped he felt too, was almost more than I could bear. This was the first time I'd shared this with someone out of love, and it was, dare I say, magical. It was so much different than it had been with Parker, or Kaz. I wasn't sure I'd want to fuck anyone ever again.
His head pushed back against the pillow and he flipped the blond hair away from his face. He was so damn beautiful. The blue eyes, the ones I'd gazed into with such longing all weekend, locked onto mine with a laser-like focus. He seemed to stare straight into my soul, as the two of us became one.
Does he feel what I feel? Does he see this as the profound expression of our love that it's intended to be?
"Fuck, Simon," he moaned. "Feels – good."
"I'm not...hurting you?"
He shook his head. "No. Hell, no."
The bed beneath us rocked back and forth with each thrust. I gazed down at my lover; watched how his body shifted forward each time I pushed into him. I tried to memorize every movement, every sensation, and each way his body reacted to mine, so that if this was to be our one and only opportunity to make love, I could relive the experience. I needed to remember what it was like, how it made me feel.
"I – I love you, Simon."
Micah labored to speak the words – he was panting now – but there was pure sentiment behind them. I could tell by the way that he looked at me.
"Love you too."
My eyes detected movement below his neck and I looked to see that his free hand had moved to his chest and taken hold of one of his nipples. He pinched it between his fingers as loud moans escaped his mouth.
"So – good—" he said in an almost breathless whisper.
He liked it – enjoyed it even. There was no doubt in my mind now.
My thrusts settled into a steady rhythm, as the sound of skin against skin grew in volume. The fapping, mixed together with our moans, formed the perfect erotic accompaniment to our lovemaking. The boy was so tight, the feeling – the velvet warmth – of being inside him was sublime. Our bodies fit together perfectly, as if the sole purpose of our creation was to unite.
"Oh, fuck," I groaned.
While I had dreamed of this moment many times over the last two days, anticipated how wonderful it might be, nothing I had imagined could compare to the actual experience. It was awesome, mind-blowing, and even surreal. Our love, before just a simple, yet powerful, emotion, was now a living, breathing thing. It was tangible.
"Go faster," Micah moaned. "Please."
I increased the velocity of my thrusts. Micah's body writhed with pleasure; his head pressed deeper into the pillow as his eyes rolled back. My heart pounded inside my chest from both the energy I exerted, and the excitement of finally being here in this moment.
"God, Simon. Fuck."
His muscles relaxed and constricted around me in cadence with my movements, which showed him to be just as adept a bottom as his cousin. While the vocalization of his pleasure was not as pronounced as Parker's, his body movements were solid evidence of his enjoyment. That, however, was not the only proof. He'd grown hard again. He'd slid his hand down his torso, wrapped it around his boyhood, and started to jerk it up and down. The boy looked beautiful as he lay there beneath me and masturbated himself. It was such a turn-on.
"I want you to come—" he began. "—inside me."
Micah's entire body trembled; his milky-white skin glistened with perspiration. The friction of our movement had raised the temperature in the room, which caused my own skin to become soaked. As I peered down at my lover's form, as it writhed with pleasure in response to my expression of love, I made another mental photograph in my head.
I never wanted to forget this.
"Shit, Punky. I’m so – so close."
Micah moaned as his hand pulled his dick with a feral ferocity. "Come – please—"
It was difficult not to notice that both Micah and Parker were different animals when it came to sex. Parker was the type of boy you gave it to hard and fast, because if you didn't he'd take his business elsewhere. Micah, on the other hand, was someone you took your time with, because you never wanted it to end. The former you fucked; the latter you loved. It was an honor to give my boy what he both required and deserved.
I can't tell you how long I spent inside him before I finally came, but as I watched the furious manner in which he pleasured himself, I forgot all about my desire to make it last forever. The inevitable was about to happen, much sooner than I would have liked. My head fell back as I felt myself go over the edge.
"Oh, god!" I shouted. "Oh, fuck!"
I lifted his legs with my hands, raised his ass off the ground, and buried myself as deep as I could go. My cock erupted and shot wave after wave of my seed inside him. The enormity of the orgasm amazed me. It ripped through my body like a bolt of electricity. My toes curled, stars and fireworks flashed in my head, and I could have sworn I heard a choir of angels sing the "Hallelujah" chorus.
Yeah, that sounds cheesy, but fuck, it was hot.
As the surge of pleasure swelled through me, and with my dick still inside him, Micah jerked himself with greater intensity. His hand moved up and down in a blur; his head twisted back and forth on the pillow. With eyes squeezed shut and a face flushed with determination and pleasure, my young lover brought himself to the brink of orgasm. One could not help but be transfixed at the site, as it was quite a thing to behold.
Then, just like that, the moment arrived. Micah's back arched, and I felt his sphincter clamp down on my semi-erect member.
"Fuck!" he shouted. "Oh – fuuuuuuuuuck!"
Shot after shot of his delicious nectar flew into the air, splattering his face, chest, shoulders, and stomach. He continued jacking his boyhood as he experienced his own earth-shattering climax. I would never tire of seeing this boy experience sexual pleasure, whether by his hand or mine. He was simply amazing, and I loved him with all that I was.
As his swell of ecstasy subsided, and with his cock fully milked of its prize, he looked up at me with an impish grin.
"Did I—" he began in a breathless whisper. "Did I do good?"
"You did great, Punky. You were awesome."
I reached down, scooped up a glob of come from his tummy, and took it into my mouth. The taste was exquisite.
"Mmm," I said. "I should bottle that and sell it. We could call it 'Punk Spunk.'"
He thrust out his tongue and licked some from his mouth.
"Yours tastes better," he said, making a face.
"Au contraire mon frère."
"Mercy buckets," he said with a smile, using the comical mispronunciation of the French phrase, merci beaucoup.
My cock, now fully deflated, slid out of his hole and I lowered his ass back down to the bed. Leaning over him, I began cleaning his spilt seed from his body with my tongue, starting with his stomach and working my way up. I saved his face until last and finished off the process with a long, open-mouthed kiss. When our lips parted, I lay down next to him on my side and placed my hand on his hip. We spent the next few moments in silence, though there was a question on my mind that I wasn't sure I wanted to ask. I was afraid of what his answer might be.
"So how was it?" I finally inquired, bracing myself for his reply.
He was quiet for a second and it scared me.
"It was great."
My heart leapt.
He rolled over on his side so he could look at me, which caused his hair to fall over his eyes. This put our faces just centimeters apart, and he leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the lips.
"I didn't hurt you too badly?"
"No. I mean, it did hurt, like, a little at first, but it got a lot better. Thank you for taking it slow."
With the weight lifted, I felt relief. He'd enjoyed it.
"You're welcome. The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you. I'm glad we could share that together. I'm honored that you trusted me enough to be your first."
My hand moved up his side to his face, where I brushed a shock of hair away. I then rested my hand on the smooth skin of his upper arm.
"I wouldn't have wanted it to be with anyone else," he said with an adorable smile. "It wouldn't have meant as much. I know now what you were talking about last night when you said it would be different from how it was with Parker. I didn't get it then, but I do now. Love makes it better."
There was still one remaining question on my mind. I decided to go for broke.
"Did you enjoy it enough to do it again?"
He sighed. "I can't wait to do it again. Though it sorta feels like you're still inside me."
"That'll fade after a little while."
Feelings of both dread and denial came over me.
I don't want to let him go. It's not fair that we can't be together like this.
Micah had said we would figure it out, that we could make it work, but what might that look like? How many stolen moments could we share together without arousing the suspicions of his mother? It wasn't as if we'd been overly chummy before this weekend. I'd been a part of his life, sure, and we'd most definitely spent time together, but he'd never been over at my house for any extended period. What would Kim think if her son kept hounding her to let him come over here? Was there any amount of excuses we could dream up that would make it believable? The enormity of it weighed heavily on me.
I knew what the boy would say. He'd said it to me yesterday. Don't worry about something you can't change. If only it were that simple. Wasn't this something we should discuss? Shouldn't we start making plans? Would he even want to talk about it?
I decided to find out.
"What happens when your mother comes home tomorrow?"
My hand crept southward, savoring the feel of his skin, until it reached his hip again.
"I don't have an answer for that yet," he replied. He placed his hand over mine. "But we'll—"
"Figure it out," I interrupted. "I know."
"We're not having this conversation again, Simon. I told you not to worry about it."
"I just don't want it to end."
"Ugh! Who the hell said anything about it ending? Will you just shut up about it already?"
He squeezed my hand hard. "I swear if you apologize to me one more time, I'm gonna punch you in the balls."
"Sor—" I began, but caught myself.
"I love you," he said, "even if you are a huge pain in my ass."
"Literally," I answered with a smile.
I stared into his eyes.
"I love you too, ya know."
"Yeah, you'd fuckin' better, especially after making me put up with all your bullshit."
He was kidding. Well, maybe he was kidding. I mean, I don't think he was being mean-spirited, but there was definitely truth here. I did make him put up with a lot.
"Wow. I didn't realize I was so high-maintenance," I said jokingly.
He rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."
I did have an idea, which made it even more surprising that he still wanted to be with me, despite my many faults. This just furthered my opinion that the boy had no faults of his own. He was 'practically perfect in every way'.
Great! Now I'm quoting Mary Poppins.
At every stage of our brief relationship, I'd had my doubts. It had always been in my nature to worry about things, and not to trust myself. Acceptance of everything he was saying about figuring it all out, not fretting over it, and even me being a high-maintenance pain in his ass, was paramount to the future success of our relationship. I had to put my confidence in us. I mean, hell, the stars had aligned to bring us to this moment, from our introduction five years ago, when he was nine, to his mom going away for the weekend and dropping him in my lap, so why wouldn't they stay aligned to keep us from falling apart?
That was something I could bank on, right? After all, we loved each other, and, as the song said, "Love Will Keep Us Together."
You've gone from quoting Mary Poppins to Captain & Tennille. You're sinking fast, Simon.
Tell me about it.
"You've gone quiet again," Micah said, once again jarring me from my internal sparring. "What is it now?"
"I'm just being me."
He cracked a smile. "Well, stop it."
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was five-thirty. We still had plenty to do. Neither one of us had eaten lunch, so there was still dinner to consider. I still had to write, and it probably wouldn't hurt for Micah to go to bed earlier tonight, since he had school tomorrow. On top of all that, we both desperately needed a shower.
"We should get cleaned up," I said, "and grab something to eat."
'Yeah," he said, rolling off the bed, "I'm kinda hungry."
This is not the end. The final chapter of Micah and Me will be here in a few days! :)
Drop me a line at email@example.com to let me know what you think. Many thanks to those who've written so far.