This story is pure fiction. It did not happen to me, nor did it happen to anyone I know. It is merely the product of an active (overactive?) imagination. If you are offended by stories about sexual relationships between men and boys, then what the HELL are doing here???
My Cute Paper Boy
I first saw the boy—the young Chinese boy who delivers my daily newspaper—about a year ago. He was 9 years old then and really didn't catch my eye until a few weeks ago. Every afternoon, without fail, he would walk up my sidewalk, drop a newspaper into my mailbox by the front door, then walk back down the sidewalk on his way to the next house on his route. We never spoke to each other. We didn't have any reason to. His deliveries were always on time, and my payments to the newspaper accounts office were always done electronically. As long as I got my newspaper, I never really gave the boy a second thought.
That is, until a few weeks ago. It was then I started to notice what a really cute kid he is. His round face, his ready smile that showed beautiful straight white teeth, his gorgeous eyes that squeezed to slits when he smiled, and his short soft spiky black, typically Asian hair—it all made him so remarkably attractive all of a sudden. More often than not, when he delivered his papers, he wore a nice tight little pair of cut-off jeans, plus a basketball jersey that was a size or two too big for him. His bare arms and legs were quite skinny but he was well proportioned for a kid who stood 4 foot 3. Or maybe it was just that I like the look of a skinny young boy. Whatever. This boy was nothing less than drop-dead gorgeous, full stop!
My first occasion to talk to him was during a brief late-afternoon rainstorm when he banged on my front door to hand me my newspaper directly rather than leave it in the mailbox where it was certain to be soaked by the day's deluge. He stood in my doorway looking like a drowned rat, his usually spiky hair now pasted flat against his head with water running down his face and neck. The poor kid was soaked to the skin, but he didn't seem to mind. I said thank you when I took the neatly folded newspaper from him, and he smiled quickly as he said, 'Welcome.' It was fleeting, but his smile was forevermore burned into my mind's eye. It was incredible.
So, that was it. That was the sum total of our first verbal exchange. He simply turned around and walked down the sidewalk in the pouring rain, leaving me standing in the doorway with a heart that was pounding like I had just run a marathon. I stood there and watched him until he was well down the street and out of sight. For the next couple of hours, I replayed that exchange over and over in my mind, trying to understand—if such a thing is possible—how my young paper boy could have such an effect on me.
After that day, I kept a careful eye out for him as he made his daily visits. I felt kind of silly, but I found myself standing discreetly at the edge of my living room window to watch him approach, then as he walked back down the sidewalk on his way to the next house. Jesus, I'm reduced to spying on the kid. Then I found myself looking for reasons to be outside in the front yard so I could take the newspaper directly from him, giving me what I hoped would be more opportunity to speak to him.
And it worked. With each day's delivery, our conversations became a little bit longer. I learned that his name is Du (pronounced 'do') and that he moved to this country from China with his family only three years ago. I also learned that he was almost 11 years old, although if truth be told, he still did not look much older than 9. The mysteries of the orient! He didn't like school very much even though he was actually a reasonably good student. He loved sports, particularly track and field. His mom and dad own a Chinese restaurant in the center of town. And he has no brothers and sisters.
In turn, he learned that mine name is Walter—Wally to my closest friends, which I hoped would now include Du—that I am almost 36 years old, single, and work as an agent for a corporate travel service. I like some sports, most of them from my comfortable sofa, although I golf on weekends, jog three times a week, and I wrestle occasionally just for exercise with friends. I didn't need to tell Du was that I was slim and muscled, for he could see it for himself.
And so, Du started banging on my door each afternoon at 4:30 to deliver my paper rather than just dropping it in the mailbox. We would chat for a brief moment before he had to continue his delivery route. I found myself thinking about him and looking forward to his visits all day long.
Then one very hot Sunday morning, just before noon, I was working in the flower bed in front of the house. I was wearing, as I usually do for yard work on such hot days, a pair of old ragged gym shorts and an old pair of running shoes. No t-shirt because I hate the feel of sweating through a shirt. Anyway, I was busy pulling weeds and trimming shrubs when I heard my name called from the direction of the road.
Despite the few short conversations we had had over the past couple of weeks, I knew it was Du. He was sitting on his bicycle, one foot still on one pedal, the other on the ground. My god, he was adorable in a canary yellow sleeveless t-shirt—this time a size or two too small for him—over a pair of yellow LA Lakers basketball shorts. He was showing a couple of inches of smooth bare skin between the bottom of his t-shirt and the waistband of his shorts.
“Hey, handsome, it's nice to see you.”
He always flashed a shy smile when I called him handsome, but he was, and I enjoyed telling him anyway.
“I am just ride and I see you here. Okay I stop to visit?”
“Of course you can. I'm very happy that you've come to visit me,” I said with genuine delight. He smiled. Then he got off his bike and pushed it up onto the grass.
“You came at just the right time, kiddo,” I said. “I was just about to get something cold to drink. What would you like? Some ice water? Or maybe a soda? Oh...or maybe a coffee. I've even got beer!” Du giggled at my silly attempt at humor. There was that killer smile again.
“Yes, please,” he answered with his usual politeness. “I have ice water, please.”
“Good choice,” I said as I put my arm over his thin, narrow shoulders. “We'll go to the back yard and sit in the shade.” I led him around the house into my large back yard and directed him to the patio table under a large umbrella that was under a very large shade tree. He sat and waited patiently, looking all around, while I got our glasses of ice water from the kitchen refrigerator.
“Wow,” he said when I returned, his eyes trying to take in everything around him, “your place so velly (very) beautiful. I like very much.”
Those simple words were a huge compliment coming from this beautiful boy. The broken English seemed only to enhance the sincerity of his words. Part of me hoped he would never lose his pidgin-English style of speaking because it was so endearing, though I knew it wouldn't be long before he learned to speak like all the other kids in his school, whether they were born in this country or not.
For the next little while, we talked about him and his friends and his school. He chatted quite excitedly, pausing only occasionally to search for the word he wanted. He talked mostly about his friends and his sports, and only fleetingly about school. A typical boy.
Then the conversation took a rather interesting turn. “Wally, why you no got hair on body here?” he asked, pointing to my chest. “Other man have many hair. You don't got hair.”
My hand moved almost involuntarily to my smooth chest as my brain recovered from the momentary shock of his question out of the blue, then raced to formulate an answer. He was right, I had no hair on my chest because I regularly shave my chest, along with my under-arms. I told him as much, that it was more comfortable without hair.
He pulled up the front of his yellow t-shirt to expose his beautiful creamy young boy chest and said, “Papa say Chinese man don't have hair. So I not shave too, huh?” He shot me a wry smile. Right then and there, I popped a woody, though Du wouldn't have seen through the protection of my somewhat baggy old shorts!
I laughed at his comment and said, “Yes, Du, I think you're absolutely right. You're stuck with having a smooth chest all your life.” We both laughed.
He looked over my shoulder and asked, “What that?” He pointed to a square area of bare soil surrounded by a low privet hedge.
“It's a mud pit.”
“What is mud pit?”
“My friends and I like to wrestle. And we wrestle in wet mud.”
He paused a moment, trying to understand. I explained that when I was in college, a buddy had introduced me to regular wrestling as a form of exercise. Another buddy invited us to try wrestling in a pool of wet mud and it has been a favorite activity with me and my friends ever since.
“Oh,” he said with a sour look on his face; “it very dirty. Your cloth be get very dirty.” I couldn't help laughing out loud.
“No, we don't wear our clothes. We wrestle in our swim trunks. Or sometimes in our underwear. That way, our clothes don't get dirty. And it's easy for us to shower off after. It's really fun.” What I didn't tell him was that my friends and I started out wrestling in trunks or underwear but that we usually ended up wrestling naked. I figured he didn't need to hear that little tidbit of information.
“Really?” he asked, not quite sure.
“Yep,” I said, “really!” I took him over to the pit and explained how I flooded it with water from a storage tank, and how I used a kind of sprinkler system to keep a fine mist of water spraying over the mud pit during the wrestling matches.
“Huh!” he grunted, his head nodding in approval. “Cool. Maybe you teach me wrestle in mud like that.” He looked up into my eyes, smiling again. My god, if I didn't have a lot of self-control, I would have taken the boy right then and there and given him a huge kiss on the lips.
“Sure, if you want to. I think you'd really like it.”
“Cool,” said Du again.
To my utter delight, Du was serious about it. We agreed to meet again the next day because there was no newspaper delivery on Sundays.
By the time Du arrived just after 11:00 the next morning, I had already flooded the mud pit. It was to be another scorcher of a day, so I turned on the timer for the misting sprinklers so that they would spray for 15 seconds every 3 minutes.
Du came through the backyard gate just as I was putting a pile of towels on one of the patio chairs. He looked so handsome in white tennis shorts and a white and pink golf shirt. He looked like he was dressed for the country club.
“Wow, you look so nice today. You look like you're going someplace special,” I said as I put my hand on his slim shoulder. He smiled.
“Yes, I going very special place. I going here,” he answered. That made me smile. And it made my heart pound.
“Well, I think it's special that you're here,” I said, again massaging his shoulder. “So, are you ready to try some mud wrestling?”
Du giggled a moment as he looked across at the glistening pool of mud. “Okay.”
“Did you bring your swimming trunks?”
“No, not have trunk. You said it okay wear underwear. Yes?”
“Yes, of course,” I said reassuringly. “No problem. I'm just going to wear underwear too. Let's take our clothes off and leave them on the chairs, okay?”
Together we undressed at the table and laid our clothes over the backs of a couple of chairs. For the first time, I saw the boy's nearly naked body, his skin so smooth and creamy and perfect. He seemed so much smaller and skinnier without his clothes, and the sight of this exquisite young boy made my heart pound harder than it did when he first arrived. He was wearing a cute little pair of white cotton briefs that showed off his tight round ass and a nice little bulge at the crotch. I was wearing a pair of beat-up, baggy old white boxer shorts that I often wore when wrestling because it did not encumber my dick if it chose to show its excitement. And I had a strong feeling it would show its excitement today with Du.
I took Du's hand and led him to the mud pit. A fine mist from the sprinkler came on just at that moment and produced a momentary fog over the dark muddy soup, then it stopped. Before we entered the pit, I explained some rules to him so that he would not get hurt during our play.
“First of all,” I explained, “while we are wrestling, we never grab each other's head or neck. Someone might get hurt that way.” Du nodded his understanding. “Second, we don't throw mud at each other. We don't want to hit anyone in the eye with mud or water, okay?” Again he nodded. “And whenever someone says 'Stop', we stop. We say Stop when anytime we feel uncomfortable or when we we think we might get hurt. So we always listen for the word Stop.” Again Du nodded his understanding.
“Well, handsome, it's time to enter the pit,” I said, this time my hand resting on his bare soft shoulder. “Hold my hand and walk carefully. The mud will be very slippery.” Together we stepped over the grassy edge into the pit and walked through the 4-inch depth of black soup to the middle. “Let's start on our knees,” I said, still holding his hand until he got down on his knees in the muck. I knelt in front of him. “Next, I'm going to write your name on your chest, then you'll write my name on my chest.” I picked up a handful of sticky mud, and neatly and slowly wrote D-U on his smooth, flat chest. He followed my example, picking up a handful of goo and writing W-A-L-L-Y across mine. It was like a lightning bolt through my chest, having him touch me like that. I could feel my dick begin to awaken. And if I wasn't mistaken, I thought his bulge was just a little bit bigger too.
“Alright,” I told him, “we're going to start now. You want you to try to stay on your knees as much as you can. The way we play is that if you land on your back, you lose the game. And if I land on my back, I lose.” I smiled at this because there was very little chance that little Du had the strength or agility to overpower me. “Don't move too fast. It's too slippery to do anything too fast.”
To my surprise, Du didn't wait for me to say 1-2-3-Go. He launched himself into my chest with enough force to send me backwards onto my ass. The muddy water sloshed over my baggy boxers, soaking them completely and sending a wash of mud into my crotch. In that same motion, I grabbed Du and pulled him over me, sending him almost face-first into the mud. His underwear too was now black with muck. I flipped him over to try to get him on his back, but he knew the consequences would be the loss of the game, and he wiggled his body away from me. With amazing speed, he came at me again from behind me and wrapped his arms and his legs around my chest and stomach as he tried to pull me down on to my side. But he found himself again lying in the muddy water. But again, he wriggled himself free and resumed his kneeling position. By this time, he was completely covered in mud from head to foot. It caked his underwear and his hair. The only parts of him that weren't covered in mud were his eyes that shone bright white from a muddy black face.
At that moment, the mist sprinklers came on again to give us a nice cooling fog for a few seconds.
Now both of us were quickly back on our knees, ready for the next attack. I quickly latched on to Du's wrist and spun him around so that I could grab him from the back around his chest, his back now pressed against my chest as he fought me. He wiggled and wriggled so much I had a hard time keeping control of his slippery, slimy body, a much harder time than I thought I would have with such a small boy.
Again we were on our knees facing each other, ready for yet another round. My cock had stiffened considerably and pushed out on the muddy, wet boxers. Du saw it and looked down at his own muddy crotch. There was no mistaking it, he too was erect, an impressive 3-inch stand. The boy was clearly finding this kind of play as erotic as I was.
Knowing Du was temporarily distracted by our erections, I put my hands on his shoulders and flipped his body to the side and onto his back, then I straddled his hips with my legs. I laid my body fully over his and rolled onto my back, carrying him up onto my body in one fluid motion. We lay there for a moment, hard cock to hard cock. Both of us were breathing a little heavily.
“Have you had enough yet?” I asked. “Do you want to stop?”
He shook his head. “No way,” he said emphatically; “this is fun!” His beaming smile confirmed it.
We continued to wrestle for a while longer, both of us still sporting our erections. At one point, Du tried to take me down with his version of a football tackle, wrapping his arms around my waist and trying to upset my balance. Unable to get a firm enough grip on me, he only succeeded in sliding down my slippery body, taking my boxers down to my knees.
“Oh...oh, Wally...so sorry...so sorry. I make mistake.” Du stared in horror at my now naked, mud-covered, 6-inch stiff cock, horrified that I might be angry.
“No, Du, no. It's okay. Really!” I said reassuringly. “It always happens when I wear these old boxers. I don't mind at all.”
“Really? You not angry?”
“Not a bit.” I stood and kicked the boxers off and tossed them to the side of the mud pit. “In fact,” I continued as if telling a secret, “wrestling is a lot more fun when you're naked.” Then I sat down in the muddy mire and used the slimy muck to caress my stock.
“Really?” He watched me for a moment. “I can try too?” When I assured him that I would be delighted if he would, he slipped off his briefs to reveal his 3-inch erect cut cock and the small smooth ball sac that hung below. Like the boy himself, his dick was beautiful.
I got up on my knees again and said, “Okay, handsome, are you ready?” Du got to his knees in front of me and, with a big smile, said, “Yes, Du ready!”
With that, we launched in what was without question a much more erotic form of wrestling. We rubbed our bodies together as we twisted and wriggled, rolling around in the mud with our arms and legs entwined. I fondled him in the muddy soup and he fondled me. And when he was on his hands and knees, I positioned myself behind him, like a couple of randy dogs, my stiff dick working between his small round ass cheeks. As he stretched his body up to a kneeling stand, I put my hand on his hard cock and caressed him and played with his supple ball sac. He moaned contentedly, his ass wiggling to the feeling of my cock pressing hard against his butt hole.
This went on for some minutes until, without any real intention on my part, my cock penetrated his ass. Du gasped as I entered him, but he made no sound or action that told me he objected. He was tight, but because my own penis is not particularly thick, it was a comfortable fit.
“You can say Stop if you want,” I whispered.
“No, no... not stop. I like.” He gasped again as I pushed a little farther into him. My hands were now caressing all over his body. I played with his erect little nipples and rubbed muddy hands up and down his smooth torso. His moans were soft and pleasing. I knew he was enjoying the experience as much as I was.
I could feel his small body relax a bit, so I started to fuck him, slowly at first, but soon getting into a nice steady rhythm. At the same time, I continued to stroke his hard meat. His moans started to take on some urgency and I felt his ass close more tightly around my cock. I could tell he was only seconds away from orgasm. I increased both my anal fucking and my hand fucking.
At orgasm, Du's body doubled over, taking me with him. His cock convulsed and pushed into my hand as he shot his little boy juice over the mud beneath us. Six long shots in all before he almost collapsed from exhaustion. His orgasm triggered my own. I suddenly felt my cum rising from my balls. The spasms shook us both as I pushed my hot meat as far inside the boy's ass as I could before firing eight powerful shots of cum. Like him, I was completely spent. We fell onto our sides and lay quietly for a moment in the warm, gooey muck. I was only vaguely aware of the mist sprinklers coming on again.
“Wow!” he said, still panting slightly.
“Yes, Wow!” I replied.
After a few minutes, I withdrew my cock and slowly, gently caressed Du's body with a muddy hand. I put my face down to his and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“So, did you enjoy that?”
“Yeah,” he said with a big smile.
We got out of the mud pit and used the outdoor shower to clean ourselves off. I carefully soaped and washed Du from head to toe before starting on myself. We then used the towels I had left on a chair to dry ourselves off, then put our clothes back on. Du was now without his underwear but I assured him I would clean them, good as new.
Du visits almost every weekend now for more wrestling fun. But he doesn't like to wrestle in his underwear anymore. He likes to wrestle naked. A boy after my own heart!