Date: Thu, 28 Jul 2011 20:22:22 +0000 From: Jon Kent Subject: OSCAR MY LOVE Part 3 Gay Male Youth Adult 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 3 Oscar's eyes are huge as he gazes directly up at the shark circling above his head. "Sharks don't have any eyelids," he whispers. "Did you know that?" he asks without turning towards me. "No, I didn't," I reply, my gaze fixed on Oscar as intently as his is on the grey-white circling above us. "And did you know..." the boy continues giving me a potted history of the life of the shark with a confidence startling in a six-year-old. But I'm not surprised when a tiny yawn escapes his pretty pink lips. After all, he is only six years old, and it has been a packed day. We've already spent two hours on the beach and Oscar has spent most the time in the water with me in close attendance since the boy cannot swim - something he is determined I will put right. "Mummy's frightened of water," he confides, "but don't tell her I told you," he instructs me. "Promise?" I promise. "Solemn promise?" he insists. "Solemn promise," I assure him. "Believe me, Oscar, I know how to keep a secret," adding, "Mums don't have to know everything." He smiles his agreement. The conversation takes place, as with an oversize beach towel, I shield him from from the eyes of passers-by, but not from own. I'm not surprised by the beauty of his body; that could hardly be otherwise. But I'm startled by the size of his penis. Nothing outlandish, but it wouldn't look out of place on a boy slipping into puberty. A good four inches, it sticks out in the way that dicks on small boys often do with being in any real sense erect. Four inches, slender though not skinny; creamy, except for the little pink mushroom peeking our from his foreskin. As he wriggles into his satin Speedos - two shades of blue, electric and royal, I note his bum deserves the over-used description of 'bubble butt'. It's like a firm peach slashed through the middle by the crease of his buttocks. "These things make my bumhole itchy," he announces, pulling a fold of fabric out of the crease. "That's better," he sighs, "but I wish my mum would get me baggies." To myself I laugh, "I'll fukin' kill her if she does." "Am I allowed to go in the water?" he politely asks. "Yes, but not above your waist. And you're stay near me all the time. Got it?" "Got it." "Now hold the towel for me," I instruct, "and turn your eyes away," I add a bit primly. "What for?" Oscar laughs. "You're a boy, too. Well, you're a man, but you're a teacher, so..." "Avert your eyes, you wretched creature!" I command. Oscar gets the message, laughs, but turns away as I slip into my baggy swim shorts. Two hours in the water, two hours of sharks, crabs, sting rays, turtles, and the good ol' Pacific Octopus, and we're both ready for home, stopping on the way to pick up a couple of ready-to-bake pizzas. I settle Oscar down in front of 'Merlin' on the TV and head into the shower since lots of sea and sand still cling to me. I've got a Walk In Shower Surround, silver-framed, toughened clear glass, a left or right hand opening, and built in speakers. I chuck my clothes onto the bathroom floor, turn on the music, and step under a welcome flow of warm water. I try to keep images of Oscar at the beach - his dick, his balls, his bubble butt - out of my mind, but it's hopeless, and within a minute my cock is tumescent and hoping for more. Nobly I resist - Thou shalt not touch! - and I might have made it if... I only realise the Oscar is there when I feel him bump into me. The shower, the music, the soap, my own lewd thoughts... "What the fuck?!" "You said a bad word!" I turn to find Oscar standing in front of me, his head bumping against my chest, my semi-hard cock poking against his I'm-not-sure-what. I turn down the music. "Oscar! Get out of here. Get back to Merlin!" "But it's all kissing stuff," he protests. "I don't care what it is," I yell. "You can't be in the shower with me. I'm naked," I add superfluously. "So am I," he says - superfluously since I can't keep my eyes from him. "Mummy lets me share a bath with her sometimes. We gotta protect the Planet," he says. I'm about to correct his English but realise there are bigger issues at stake. I kneel down in front of him and take him by the shoulders - my fingers slide on the silk of his skin - and try to explain. "Listen, Oscar, there's really nothing wrong with sharing a shower with me... but some people don't like it. Some people think it's wrong." He gives me a frown. "They think it's wrong because... because..." How do you explain to a six-year-old boy that most people would not see the funny side, the sweet side, the reasonable side of man and boy sharing a shower of hot water after a sweaty day at the beach. "I can't really explain why some people would think it is wrong. They just do. I'm not even sure your mum would like it." Oscar brightens up immediately. "But remember," he begins, "we don't have to tell mums everything. 'Cos we don't want them to worry. But I know Mummy likes me to be clean. So... can I have the soap, please? And can you put the music back on? It's really nice." I sigh and hand Oscar the soap. I turn away. Fortunately my erection has already collapsed - anxiety will do that - but my dick is still swinging like a small trunk between my legs. That Justin Bieber kid comes on the radio. I know it's Justin Bieber because the younger kids in my school spend most of the day singing his songs - at least the girls do, while boys claim to hate him, say he is 'gay', and claim he takes pills to stop his voice breaking. Of course I should hate the stuff but something called 'Eenie Meenie Minee Mo Lover' comes on, and I have to admit it's cheerful and catchy. Behind me, I hear Oscar piping along with Justin Beaver, word and pitch perfect. A tap on my back. "Yes?" "Can you do my back, please?" comes the request. "Mummy always does my back, and the soap is too big." "Too big for what?" I think, but I dutifully take the soap and begin to stroke the cream bar up and down Oscar's back, satin on silk. The bar and my fingers slip lower and lower until they are caressing Oscar's bubble butt in unison. The six-year-old stands there, legs apart, so that the crack in his buttocks is open to my caress. I drop to my knees and begin to soap him from the ankles upwards, my hand sliding up the front and back of his legs until I can only be centimetres from his ball sac and his four inches of wondrous flesh. It would be so easy to... "I'll do you now," Oscar pipes. "What?!" "Let me do you now," the boy repeats. I glance down. I'm fully erect. In fact, I've started to ache and drop pre-cum. I risk a glance at Oscar. Fukin hell! The boy is erect, too, his cock stiffly upright against the lower part of his tummy. How the hell did this happen?! Flustered and frankly scared by my own lust, I step out of the shower and grab a towel, fling it round me and announce, "Thanks, Osc., but I wanna get those pizzas in the oven. You finish off. Get to your bedroom and get your jammies on. You got 15 minutes exactly." "Okey dokey," chirps Oscar, and I can't help pausing to observe how the head of his dick has forced its way out of its foreskin for a breath of fresh air. My cock leaps in response, and I beat the hell out of there, not caring whether MY English has collapsed this time. Pizza on the terrace as the sun goes down. A six-year-old boy, cute as a button, sitting opposite me, his lips wet with a variety of flavours and juices, once again showing me how bright he is, though he clearly isn't aware of it. Oscar, you're one special kid. "May I choose the DVD?" he asks, not adding something like "You said I could," because above all Oscar is being raised to be polite. "Of course you may," I echo, "but nothing too long, and nothing too violent." "Toy Story 3?" "'Fraid I haven't got that one," I admit. "But I do," he grins. "I got it with me. It's in my bag. I wrapped it in my jammies. Case Mum said I couldn't. Remember what we said about mums." His grin is even wider. "What's it about?" I stupidly ask. "Well, then toys should get delivered to the attic the night before Andy goes to college. But there's a mistake, and they get delivered to a day-care thingy instead. And Woody has to convince the other toys they should..." "Whoa Whoa, young man. How often have you seen this movie?" An Oscar frown of concentration. "I don't know. I don't count. But I got most of the words off by heart." "Well, just stop there," I admonish him. "I haven't seen it even one time, and I definitely don't want to know what happens." "Sorry," murmurs the penitent six-year-old. I smile. "No probs. Now get to your room, get the DVD, and load it up pronto. We've got to get this show on the road." Before I can get the plates and glasses into the kitchen, let alone the dishwasher, I hear, "Ready! Hurry up, you slow coach." I abandon the dishwasher and head into the salon. The DVD is loaded, the TV switched on, and Oscar is standing, waiting. Waiting for what? "Where you watching from?" he asks. I point to the couch; it's a four-seater. "Stretch out on it," the six-year-old instructs. "Please," he insists. I humour him by stretching out full-length on the couch, which, I have to admit, is the only way to watch a DVD with a boy. Oscar leaps onto the couch, and onto me, and manoevers me until I'm stretched against the back of the couch with him pinned fell-length against me. "This is the way me and Mum always watch Toy Story," he explains and cuddles down against me. Don't ask me how I survived Toy Story 3 - 98 minutes, and I couldn't tell you a fukin thing about it if my life depended on it. But I remember every second of how Oscar's hot little body pressed against me. How when he got excited - and he often got excited - he would squirm against me, his back, bum and hips pressing into me. How when he got sad - not often - he would turn to me and look up into my eyes as if he needed assurance to be sad. Can you imagine how difficult it was not to lean mdown and kiss him on those pretty pink lips, stained a darker pink by fruit juice? How when he needed a cuddle he reached for my hand and dragged my arm round him - my hand resting on his naked tummy, my fingers instinctively stroking his belly button, sliding up his chest, circling his tiny nipples until Oscar oushed them away only because they broke his concentration. If this wasn't Paradise, it wasn't far from it. And yet, and yet... (and I still smile) by the end of the movie, he is asleep. Sleeping, yes, but probably running the final part of the movie in his dreams. Gently I rise and gently I carry the boy through to my bedroom and deposit him gently on my double bed. Oh no, don't get me wrong. I have no designs on Oscar's virtue whatsoever; at least I have no conscious desire. I simply want to be sure he is sound asleep before I deposit him in his bunk bed. 'Deposit' rather than 'tuck him up' because although it's September, we're enjoying an Indian summer and a single cotton sheet will do. Oscar murmurs as I lay him down, and it's a challenge to untangle his arms from round my neck without waking him as I lay him on the silk top cover. The dishes are done and tidied away. I've checked our plans for Sunday - the Toy and Model Museum - then beach sports for kids - I've tried to settle down to a book, to TV, to... but nothing works. I'm so conscious of Oscar stretched out on my bed. I must take a peek - to see he's okay. Oscar is okay. He is stretched out on his back. His pyjama top has ridden up his chest, his pyjama bottoms have slid down to his hips. His pyjamas have been chosen to last - two sizes too big. His thumb is in his mouth. Now that surprises me. But then I remember Oscar is only six-years-old. Six years old... but that's quite a bulge under his pyjamas. I know that six year olds can't have wet dreams, but they can certainly have hard-ons, and Oscar's got one right now. I try - not very hard - and fail. Gently I sit on the edge of the bed, and even more gently I grip his pyajama bottoms and slowly lower them down to his knees. The boy's penis is fully erect, the foreskin completely retracted, the little pink head wet and glistening. Surely not pre-cum? No, of course, it can't be, but it makes it o so delicious, o so tempting. And it will do him no harm as I lean over, flick out my tongue and run it across, then round the naked glans. My fingers toy with his balls, tiny walnuts in a sac. Enough - enough - that's enough. But of course it's not. I lower my head and draw the full four inches into my mouth, let my lips slide up and down the shaft, as a free hand slides up the silk of his chest. All of Oscar is in my mouth. No, not all, and I lower my head further and let his balls slips inside my mouth along with the shaft. I can't slide my lips up and down on his shaft like this, but it feels so good, so right. I set his balls free - the sac is wet with my saliva - and slide my lips up down the shaft, squeezing, easing, tightening, freeing. Oscar's legs begin to twitch, his tummy seems to flutter, he seems to suck harder on his thumb. I let one finger slide into his crack, let a fingertip play across his tiny opening, then bring it to my nose to smell my Oscar as he is - all boy. Enough - enough. No - more - more. Gently I rise, stand and slip off my robe. I am naked. I am so erect it hurts. Believe me, I am stripped to finish my interrupted shower. I had no intention of... I have no intention of... I see Oscar stretched below me, naked from nipples to knees, his thumb deep in his mouth. I climb onto the bed, not quite sure of my intentions. Gently I remove his thumb from his mouth. I place a knee on either side of his head, take my cock and rub the head along his pretty pink lips. My balls hang floppily on his neck below his chin. I ease my arse until the boy's hard-on is snug between the cheeks. I begin to masturbate. At first I am slow and gentle, working my own foreskin until my precum drips onto the boy's face, his cheeks, his lips. Then faster, working the foreskin over the head until my fingers are a blur. It's going to be messy... and then... No, you can't. Yes, you can! With my free fingers, I pinch Oscar's nostrils. His head rolls slightly. I hold the pinch gently. His mouth opens. Gently I slip my finger in his mouth and roll it in circles. His mouth widens in response. His mouth is almost a perfect pink circle. I can see his pretty little tongue. I can't hold it any more. I squirt once, twice - that's enough to fill his mouth. I free his nostrils. He coughs a little and the cum bubbles through his lips. I twist my body and squirt the rest of the semen onto the silk cover. There's so much of it I'm relieved I kept some control. I didn't want Oscar waking up, choking. I lower my lips to his, lick away the cum on his lips, chin, neck and chest. I keep on licking till there's nothing left to lick. I press the tip of my tongue against the boy's lips and I'm rewarded when he opens them a little and I can slide the tip in. No semen. Where's it gone? Down his throat, all the way to his tummy. It's strange to think there are now hundreds if not thousands of tiny me's swimming around inside my very own little six-year-old. Gently I pull his pyjama top down, the bottoms up. Gently I get my arms under him, raise him - only the merest of protests - and carry him through to his own bed. Gently I lay him down, kiss his nose, and leave him to sweet dreams. I hope they'll be as sweet as mine. (to be continued)