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No Pistol in
His Pocket
The evening is warm, dark, and quiet. Wearing only a pair of silk
boxers, I sit on a lounge chair on my shared deck between my bedroom
and my neighbor’s. The duplex house we share is built in a U
shape; we each have one leg of the U and half the base. Living,
kitchen, and dining rooms are at the front of the house, in the base of
the U, and the bedrooms are in back, enclosing the deck between
then. Behind the deck we share is a common but secluded back
yard. Normally there is a wooden privacy wall between our two
sides of the deck, but it’s been removed to allow some below grade
repairs to be made. My neighbor and I are thinking about leaving
it down, because we both like the bigger, more open deck space.
So I am enjoying the peaceful evening, just sitting in the dark,
sipping a beer, and letting my mind wander. The neighbor’s side
is dark; I assume that Randy, a single dad, is not home as usual (he
works long hours), and that his 16-year-old son Justin is out with his
friends. Then I notice a dim light come on in the window across
from me: Justin’s room. His room faces the deck, and like
mine, has a six foot sliding glass patio door. Normally it would
be hidden by the wall and I would have to peek through a knothole in
the boards if I hoped to catch a glimpse of him dressing or jerking
off. Tonight his window is less than 10 feet away in plain
sight. I can see some shadowy movement through the thin drapes,
but no detail. I’ve no sooner noticed this than I hear the
unmistakable strains of “The Stripper” coming from Justin’s
stereo. And as the music begins, additional lights come up behind
the curtains, and then they part. Justin stands barefoot in front
of the open door wearing a silky white shirt and very tight blue jeans,
his lithe teenage body illuminated by a couple of desk lamps he’s
adjusted to shine on him like stage lights. He’s actually
skinnier than he looks in his baggy tee shirts and jeans, but he’s got
nicely toned arms and broad shoulders that complement his average
chest. He doesn’t shave yet and I’ve seen no obvious body
hair. The shadows that the lights cast accentuate his thin, toned
body beneath the clingy shirt and especially his obviously well filled
basket that bulges between slender legs and virtually nonexistent hips.
He begins to move a little with the music, just swaying a bit, moving
his shoulders and so on. Then he moves his hands to his chest and
begins to caress himself as a lover would. His nipples become
stiff and prominent, pressing against the thin fabric of his shirt,
made obvious by the lighting from the side. He begins to unbutton
the white silk, one button at a time down to his jeans, then shrugs it
off his shoulders so that it falls around his narrow waist. He
slowly pulls one arm at a time free and the shirt hangs from his
waistband. He is totally smooth thus far; not even wisps of
hair under his arms intrude on his perfect skin. More caressing
of his upper body as the music increases in intensity and then the
release of the top button of the jeans. The shirt drops forgotten
to the floor as his hand slides inside his jeans, obviously caressing,
massaging, holding, rearranging. When he pulls the hand out, the
clear outline of a hard cock remains, extending all the way up to the
waistband. Slowly, very slowly, with pelvic grinds and thrusts in
sync with the music, he lowers the zipper, pushing against the hardon
as he goes. The blue denim parts to reveal white fabric beneath,
and going faster now, he pushes the jeans down toward his thighs.
No ordinary Fruit of the Looms are left, but a sheer white pouchless
thong that barely covers--and certainly does not hide--the meat that
pushes it outward and up, nearly to his belly button. With the
jeans around his knees, he turns around to add his firm butt to the
show, smooth and ample balls accentuated below by the two thong straps
that disappear upward between his perfect cheeks.
Justin knows that I am gay, and I know that Justin is exceedingly well
endowed. He likes to come over and hang out from time to time,
and often we collaborate on dinner when his dad’s working. He’s
looked at various gay magazines in my house, and he likes to browse
through the gay picture newsgroups and websites on my
computer. (His dad still has him locked out of all sex
items on his own computer.) A month or so ago I had returned a
day earlier than expected from a business trip, and when I changed into
lounge shorts and went to relax on the deck, I found him
sunbathing nude in the backyard. He lay there in the sun awhile,
his long cock draping down over those ample balls, and disappearing
into the grass like an actual snake. When he stood up to go in,
it dropped down half way to his knees, swaying pendulously as he walked
toward the deck. He just said hi and welcome back and how was the
trip and all that --he made no effort to cover up at all, just stood
there idly scratching his balls--and he got half hard as he stood
chatting with me. I stared, I admit it, watching his cock
straighten and start to ascend. I put up a major pants tent as I
watched him, which he obviously noticed, because he was staring
too. Then he went over to his side, and I did likewise. I
had to immediately jerk off, and wondered if he was doing the same on
his side of the wall.
So as he finishes his strip tease by kicking off his jeans and stepping
outside onto the deck, it is not a total surprise. A total
pleasure, to be sure, but not a surprise. He sort of dances his
way toward me, his huge hardon bulging against the flimsy white
thong. He stops with his cock in front of my face, just as the
song ends.
“I hope this means you’re happy to see me,” I say to him, “because you
got no pockets, and that’s not a pistol.”
“No, but it shoots straight and true if you know how to aim it,” he
replies.
I pull him closer to me and he straddles me on the lounge chair.
I feel around his narrow waist for the tiny clasp of the thong strap,
and release it, pulling the string from between his cheeks. The
bit of flimsy material drops to the deck and I take his massive tool in
my hands, pulling it towards my mouth. It’s too long to get all
of it in, and I’m no good at deep throating, I can’t suppress the gag
reflex, so I give the top plenty of attention, sucking and licking and
trying to stimulate as many pleasure points as I can. Justin
starts fucking my face as I suck, and together we get a good rhythm
going. Then to my surprise, he pulls out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Don’t you like it?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he replies, “and I love it. But I want
something else. Something I’ve been practicing for.” He
opens his hand and shows me a small bottle of Eros Bodyglide. and a
condom “I already put some back there,” he says. “Should we
put some on you too?”
That seems like a good idea and I tell him so. He pulls my stiff
cock out of the confining boxers and puts a few drops of the silicone
lube on me, rolls the condom on, and adds a few drops to it as
well. As he does that, I reach around and probe his ass,
discovering that he is indeed slick back there. I push a finger
in and meet no resistance, although he is quite firm. A second
finger is no problem, nor a third. The boy really has been
practicing, and he likes what I’m doing, judging by the appreciative
noises he is making. I pull my hand out and down to my own
erection, and I ask him if he’s ready.
“I’m more than ready,” he says. “I’ve wanted your cock for so
long, ever since I saw that magazine with the pictures. It’s all
I think about, your cock in me. I want it. I want it
now.” And with that he lowers himself toward my erection, pausing
only briefly so that I can get aligned before sitting on my slick
pole. I slide into him easily and he sinks down all the way.
He’s tight and hot and it feels great, but I don’t have any room to
move and he doesn’t quite know what to do next, so I have to instruct
him. “Justin, babe, this is great but I can’t move. You
need to lie back and then bring your legs up. Yes, like
that. OK, here we go!”
With him on his back and me on top, I can give him the fucking he has
been desperate to have. And I do. I pound his virgin ass,
pushing full in and pulling out to the tip, and then repeating and with
each thrust I hit his prostate and he is in sexual nirvana, judging by
the noises emanating from his mouth. I am also jacking his big
cock, my hand extra slick with lube, and he does not last long (he’s
16, for Pete’s sake!), soon shooting thick ropes of cum onto his belly
and into my hand. Watching him cum while I am pumping his ass is
way hot and I am cumming right after him, blowing a major load deep
inside him, filling the condom in his ass.
We both wind down and I pull out of him, lying on top of his cummy
body, kissing him all over until I am face to face with him, and we can
kiss mouth to mouth.
“That was even better than I imagined it would be,” he says. When
I saw that web page on your computer, you know the one, “Boiz 4 Men,”
it made me so hard! I knew I wanted to try this, so I started
putting stuff up my butt. The biggest thing so far is the handle
of a hairbrush. Your cock was way better than the
hairbrush. I want to suck it some more, too.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I tell him. “But maybe a shower
should be the next thing on our agenda. Let’s get clean, and then
we can talk about getting dirty again.”
Thend.
Thanks to Jay for pre-posting feedback and assistance!
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