Date: Wed, 27 Jul 2011 19:36:21 +0000 From: Jon Kent Subject: OSCAR MY LOVE Part 2 Gay Male Youth Adult From: jonkent@post.com Subject: OSCAR MY LOVE Part 2 DISCLAIMER Everyone should accept the laws of his country, reserving the right to strive democratically to change those he disagrees with. Therefore, if the laws where you live say that you should NOT be reading stories like these, you are legally obliged to leave now and read no further. It does not matter if these stories are fiction, made-up, only written to entertain, instruct, engage, and inform. If for any reason, the law where you live says you are NOT allowed to read them, you have to go. So off you go. Live a healthy and happy life, and come back, if you want to, when your laws say. And remember: these are only stories. They are made-up. They did not happen. And the writer does not believe they should happen. The first responsibility of adults is to protect children and their innocence. It doesn't mean some adults won't enjoy reading stories like this, but it doesn't mean they should go out and do things like this. Who knows? maybe reading stories like this will actually stop them going out and doing these things. OSCAR MY LOVE Part 2 I love boys. There. I've said it. I've learned to live with it. I've learned to accept it. I've spent most of my working life amonst boys. I am not a saint, but I like to think I've helped more boys than I've hurt. In fact, I like to think I haven't hurt any boys, but as they say, you never can tell. I've certainly never forced myself on a boy though I've seduced my share - or have they seduced me? When an 11-year-old boy is lying on the carpet, stripped to the waist, an obvious bulge in his jeans, and he looks seriously into your eyes and whispers, "I like having a hard-on," it's hard not to believe he has an agenda in mind. And if his agenda concides with yours, well... Why me? Why boys? Honestly I don't know. I imagine a Freudian would have a field day with me, but for the life of me I can't recall wanting to murder my father and fuck my mother. To be honest, even the idea fills me with horror. And nobody seduced me, nobody molested me when I was six years old - my rotten luck I guess - but I knew when I was 11 years old that it was boys I desired. And as I grew older, the objects of my desire didn't. Oh, to be fair, I graduated to 13 and 14 year olds, and I had a 'go' at 15, 16 and 17 years old, but to tell the truth the magic wasn't there. Gone was the intense desire that drove me to the edge of the abyss time after time but I'm nothing if not self-controlled, and even though the ice creaked and cracked under me a few times, I never plunged into the icy waters of disaster, despair and degredation. Now, those of you who have already pulled down your zip and fished yourself out in anticipation, just pop yourself back in. I'm the writer; I say what goes. Actually Oscar does, but since he's not here at this moment, I'll sneak in a few bits of the grown-up stuff. Of course, you can always use Ctrl+F (FIND), pop in whatever you fancy (dick, cock, hole, anus, and so on), skip the grown-up bits and head straight for the other stuff. Even I have to admit Oscar is your oyster as much as he is mine. Oscar... ah, Oscar... the little fucker who sneaked up on me when I wasn't looking, who sneaked into my heart even before I sneaked into his little underpants. You'd think a man of my experience would be immune from 'lust at first sight', but no - for Oscar I fell head over heels like Jack with no Jill right down that fucking hill. Now where did that come from? Oh yes, it's one of Oscar's favourite nursery rhymes, and I still see him as a six-year-old standing buck-naked in my shower, chanting out nursery rhymes, whilst I... You have to admire the boy's powers of concentration. Not many six-year-old would remain word-perfect with an adult naked man kneeling before them in a power shower. And where was the lovely Amy, mother of Oscar, when all of this was happening to her beautiful little boy? Out at a pub or club probably. And who could blame her? After all, the lovely Amy was only 22, having had Oscar when she was a mere 16, a kid herself. And where was Dad, father of Oscar, impregnator of Amy? You might as well ask 'Who was Dad?' And the answer you'd wouldn't be much better, though Amy, to her credit, could narrow it down to one of six, or was it seven, who'd taken it in turns to fuck her on that bit of wasteground behind 'The Red Lion'. Now before you go hollering 'rape' it was definitely not that. Amy herself will tell you that though she was out of her mind on rum and blackcurrant - Do kids actually drink that stuff? - she really enjoyed that Big Night Out, or what she can remember of it, which, to be sure, isn't very much. And to her credit, instead of snuffing out the embryonic Oscar, she went through the whole messy business of pregnancy, giving birth, and raising Oscar as best she could, which was pretty good all things considered. Her family disowned her, of course, chucked her out, which is to be expected from strict, devout Plymouth Brethern, or some such sect. But like most single mothers, Amy was doing a great job with Oscar on the proverbial shoestring and the actual last two-quid on a Friday night. Then along came me. And when Amy'd checked me out: (a) I was indeed a deputy Headteacher, and therefore CRB-checked, (b) had a beautiful flat, (c) had a BMW, (d) and was obviously liked by Oscar: she saw her chance for a bit of freedom. And, to be honest, I saw my chance - to spend time with, support, and enjoy what I admit I've always been drawn to - a cute boy with high spirits. But six years old? That gave me pause. I'd never spent much time with boys so young. And I'd certainly never fantisised doing with a six-year-old what I'd done with... but he was so sweet, so cute, so funny, so precocious, that, when Amy asked me if I'd mind - "I know it's an impossible favour, but we've no-one else... and Oscar really really likes you... and it would only be twice a week, and..." Oh. come on now, you'd need a heart of stone to refuse a request like that. So Tuesdays and Thursdays it was, from 3.30 to 6.15, Oscar was to be with me - and Oscar? - he loved it so much that when he begged for weekend sleepovers neither Amy nor I had the heart to refuse him. And everyone was happy. Amy was happy as she dolled herself up for The Roxy Club. I was happy as I showered, shaved and scented as I waited for Oscar to be delivered into my safe-keeping. And Oscar was delighted. What boy wouldn't be in a three bed-roomed flat (one of the rooms equipped as a small gym), another room with not only bunk beds but with a host of toys from Hamleys (all of them new!) - and with its own computer, and a master bedroom with a giant double bed, a wall-to-wall mirror, and a balcony on top of the world. Oscar wasn't much interested in the bathroom at first - What six-year-old is? - until he saw the jacuzzi in action... ah, the jacuzzi - every boy lover should have one; they are irresistible to small boys. And did I mention the DVDs - a whole shelf of them from which Oscar could have his pick? Well, not those, not quite yet - "You have to be at least seven to watch those." Could I have kept my hands off Oscar? Could you? When he was sprawled across me as we watched 'Toy Story', or 'Transformers', or 'Gladiator', or 'The Terminator' together. Could you keep your hands off a boy as he wriggled around in your lap making himself comfortable, his pyjama top riding up to his tiny nipples. the pyjama bottoms hanging from his bottom? If Oscar asked you, "Can I sleep with you tonight? Mummy lets me sometimes.", would you have the strength to say 'Fuck off'. If Oscar climbed into the jacuzzi with you and wanted to play at ducks with your... but I digress. Or rather I jump the gun. And I held out. Honestly I held out for four weeks, but that Saturday night, yes, that one, was the beginning, and I guess you want to know what happened - with all the details, because it's the small things that matter, isn't it? Well, who am I to refuse you? So here goes. (to be continued) Hey, guys. the archivist does a brilliant job. But he needs our help. And he needs more than just our thanks. He needs donations to keep Nifty up and running. So if you can spare something, please do. 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