Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2016 15:49:45 +0000 (UTC)
From: short_guy@yahoo.com
Subject: Play like a man

Play like a man
by Short Guy

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Play Like a Man Part 1

I had been playing violin since I was eight years old and I was getting
really good at it. Good enough that my teacher told my parents that I had a
chance at becoming a professional musician if only I had a teacher who knew
what he or she was doing. Miss Zelenka had been great starting me off but
she knew her limits. She recommended a man named Joe de Luca. We made
arrangements to meet him and have a lesson and see if we'd hit it off. He
was an amazing guy -- a professional violinist who had been a major league
baseball player -- not an ordinary combination. Few guys could bridge the
gap between working hard enough to be a professional sports star and
practicing enough hours to be a professional musician. He obviously had
talent galore.

By this point, I was 16 years old and driving so I took my mom's car and
drove to Mr. de Luca's house for my first lesson. His house was in a
working class neighborhood in the town next to ours. The house was small
with a neat front lawn and well-kept shrubs. I knocked on the front door,
holding my violin and some music. The door opened and there he was.

I felt as if time stopped. I could see him behind the screen door and two
things hit me in my gut. He was as handsome as a movie star and he was tall
enough to put his nipples right at the level of my mouth. How could I see
his nipples? The guy wasn't wearing a shirt! I couldn't fucking believe
it. His pecs were large and muscular. So were his arms; he had biceps to
die for. And those nipples were prominent. They were large and stuck out so
you couldn't help but notice them, especially being at eye level like that.

He opened the screen door to let me in and I froze, staring hungrily at his
chest. He coughed, a little self-consciously, and I realized how rude I was
being. I looked up at his face about a foot and a half above me. There was
that movie star stud face. He was masculine, with a thick good looking
manly nose, piercing blue eyes, and short crew cut hair, unusual back in
the early 70's.

"You're Guy, right?" he asked.

I could only nod. My voice seemed to have fled to Arizona.

"Welcome and come on in. Sorry for being dressed like this. I was just
working out and lost track of time."

He reached out his hand to take my violin.

"Here let me get that son," he said, putting his muscular hand over mine
and letting me slip my hand out of his. He put his other hand on my
shoulder and guided me into the house.

The feel of his hand on my shoulder made me shiver. He was being
protective. He was being fatherly. He was guiding me where he wanted me to
go. He was taking me under his wing. He was letting me know who was in
charge.

I looked to the right and saw one huge nipple staring me in the face. Fuck
me if I didn't get a raging hard on in the two seconds I stared at it.

He was talking, telling me how we were going to start with exercises and go
on to concertos and chamber music, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I
was desperately trying to stop myself from moving my head to suck on his
nipple.

He set my fiddle down on the table. I looked at him now and realized he was
sweaty. His chest gleamed in the daylight. Fuck me, I imagined licking the
sweat off his muscular pecs. Then I heard him talking.

"Before I take you on as a student, we have to make sure we are
compatible," he said, rubbing his chest. "That's what today is about."

I knew this was a kind of audition and I prayed I would pass it. I would do
anything to spend time in the presence of this god of masculinity. I
promised myself I would do whatever it took to become his student --
whatever it took...

"Back in a sec," he said. "Need a shirt." He left to go to the other
room. I hyperventilated over his sweaty back muscles; they glistened and
rippled as he walked. And his ass was large and muscular and tightly
encased in form-fitting pants. His hand had left some of his sweat on my
neck. Man sweat on my naked skin. Mr. de Luca's sweat. My cock twitched as
his muscular ass disappeared around the bend in the hallway.

Fuck me, how was I supposed to concentrate when all I wanted to do was suck
on his nipples?

OK, pull yourself together, I told myself. You're here for violin
lessons. You can jerk off thinking about Mr. de Luca later.

I opened my case and started to put rosin on the bow. As I did that, Mr. de
Luca returned to the room. He had a shirt on now but it was still open. I
could see the crease between his muscular pecs. I realized for the first
time that they were smooth. I was surprised. Men had hair on their
chests. This was before it was common for gay guys or body builders to want
to wax their chests to sport the smooth hairless look. I'd never seen a
grown man with no hair on his chest. It was mesmerizing. It was sexy. His
shirt had short sleeves. His biceps were large, with peaks that stood out
even when his arms were relaxed. The shirt showed them off. The open front
framed his pecs beautifully. If I stepped forward, nothing would stop my
tongue from sliding over those buldging biceps or those smooth twin
peaks. Nothing would--

Fuck me, I realized I was staring at his chest, that deep crevice between
his smooth pecs, the shadow his muscular pecs made under them and just over
his muscular, flat stomach. I looked up and saw he was looking straight
into my eyes, a small smile on his face, as if he had just confirmed
something, as if he had just learned something he needed to know.

I resumed moving the stick of rosin up and down on the hair of my bow. He
smiled slowly and very slightly as I slid the rosin up and down, up and
down, up and down. He reached up as I did that and put his hand on his bare
chest rubbing it up and down as I moved up and down on my bow. He was
copying my motions, stroking his pec in time to my strokes of the rosin and
my bow. I was fucking hypnotized.

I realized, all of a sudden, that sliding the rosin to make the hair of the
bow sticky was a lot like stroking a man's cock. He watched me. He licked
his lips, idly rubbing his muscular pec, looking from me to the bow. He
looked down at his open shirt and his protruding chest muscles. He looked
up at me as my right hand stroked my bow. He looked right into my eyes as
he started to slowly button his shirt. When he was done, he moved his right
hand to his left pec again. He started squeezing it as I stroked my bow. He
was fucking massaging his massive pec right in front of me.

He grunted a little and said, in a gruff voice, "Did a few too many
pushups. Sore muscle here. Helps to massage it."

He walked toward me still massaging his left pec now encased in his shirt
which was made of a stretch material. His other nipple was clearly visible
poking against the stretch fabric. Damn it, it was almost like he was still
shirtless.

"Let's start with some scales, okay Guy?" he said, smiling and continuing
to massage his massive left pec muscle. "Start with G major."

I took up my bow, fit the violin beneath my chin and started to play a slow
scale, one note at a time. He slowly massaged his pec in time with my
bowing. I moved the bow, he squeezed his muscle. I moved my bow the other
way, he squeezed again.  Goddam it, he was just two feet away from me,
those man pecs right in front of my eyes. I was riveted to them as I did my
bow strokes.

"Longer bows buddy. Like this..."

He picked up his own violin and demonstrated. The sound was beautiful. His
instrument had a deep dark tone like a viola. His notes sounded strong,
full, penetrating. I watched his bow arm and fixated on his smooth muscular
peaked bicep and how his bicep got taller and flatter as he moved the bow
back and forth. His arm muscles were both powerful and flexible, strong but
fluid. God his instrument sounded good. And fuck me he knew how to move; he
knew how to play.

"Now you," he said.

I tried to imitate him. He put down his fiddle and stood in front of me. He
moved his right arm in the air, showing me how to relax, how to hold it up
higher, how to relax my wrist so it could move freely.

"You need to relax your arm more and lift it up higher. And your shoulders
need to be lower. Here, let me show you."

He stepped behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. He massaged them.

"You're tight, buddy. We'll have to loosen you up."

He went on massaging my shoulders and my neck as I held my violin.

"Put down the violin for now. Let's start on your posture. Got to get you
to stand upright, with shoulders down and relaxed, with your head centered
over your spine and your spine centered over your hips and ass."

Fuck me, no teacher had ever talked about my ass before. I started
breathing faster. My heart started racing. I put the violin down and stood
in front of him.

"Let me show you how to stand, buddy. You have to be relaxed but
confident. No bending over, no pulling in your chest."

He put his large hands on my shoulders and started to knead them.

"Need to get you more relaxed. Your shoulders are tight and so is your
neck. You can't pull the sound out of the fiddle if you're all tight and
constricted."

He moved his hands apart and held my shoulders, pulling them back a little
so my chest pushed forward towards him.

"That's it. Shoulders back and wide. Chest forward and open. Proud,
confident. You're a good looking act. You have to stand like you know it."

Fuck it, what did he just say? The only adults who had told me I was good
looking were my parents and grandparents. That wasn't something grownups
said. Holy shit. This good looking stud thought I was handsome. My cock
twitched and throbbed. HIs strong hands held my shoulders. I was in awe of
him.

My eyes were right in front of his pec muscles, his nipples right in front
of my mouth. I realized I was staring at them again. I looked up into his
face. He was much taller than me.

"That's it Guy, head up and neck tall and relaxed."

He put his right hand under my chin and made me look him in the eyes as his
left hand caressed my neck up and down with increasing pressure.

"Have to elongate those muscles."

I was looking right into his bright blue eyes. As I looked, he licked his
lips as he fondled my neck and held my chin so that I was looking right at
him.

"Good. Now look at how I'm standing."

He took his hands away and stood straight and tall. He was magnificent. He
was beautiful. He was manly. He was everything I had ever wanted or dreamed
about. Fuck me, he was going to be the guy I thought about every time I
jacked off at home from now on.

"Feel where my shoulders are."

Holy shit, was he giving me permission to touch him?

He took my hands and put them on his shoulders. I had to reach way up to be
able to touch them.

"See how far back they are? See how it expands my chest and gives me more
room to breathe?"

Goddam it he took my hands and moved them down onto his massive
pecs. Fucking A, he was making me feel his chest muscles. He was letting me
touch them... He squeezed my hands, making me squeeze his pecs.

"See how the muscles expand as I stand tall and relaxed, shoulders back?"

I had a fucking huge boner. I looked back and forth from his face to his
chest. He kept his hands over mine, directing where they went and what they
did. His hands felt hot and a little sweaty. His chest was moving up and
down as he breathed. I realized I was breathing fast, like I was
running. My heart was pumping hard like it was trying to escape from my
chest.

"Now let's make sure you're standing right."

He took his hands off mine. I did not know what to do, so I left them on
his chest, his smooth muscular pecs. His skin was warm, it was smooth, it
was hard and muscular. I felt his chest expanding and contracting as my
hands lay flat on his chest.

"That's it," he said as I felt his muscles move. "Feel how broad my muscles
are, how they let me breathe. Let me see how you're doing, buddy."

He reached took me by my wrists and placed my arms by my side. He reached
over and held my shoulders, pulling them back, squeezing them, pulling them
apart, making my chest stick out. Then, oh my God, his hands slipped down
my chest and moved to my sides under my arms. He moved his thumbs so they
were on my pecs. Fucking A, he placed them right over my nipples. He began
to massage my nipples.

"Need to loosn those chest muscles," he said as he massaged my nipples.

Oh God, my cock was leaking precum.

"Good. Now let's see how you're aligned."

Before I knew what happened he had taken my shoulders and turned me
around. He brought his body right against mine. Oh God he was hugging
me. Fuck it he encircled me with his left arm which rested on my right
pec. His right hand was pressed against my stomach. He was making me stand
straighter. And there I felt... I felt...

Holy shit, he must be bending his knees because I feel him pressed against
my ass. There was something... something hard pressing on my... fucking A,
he was hard and he was humping my ass as he held me up.

"Standing straight like this is the only way to get enough power to pull
the tone out of the instrument, Guy. An erect relaxed torso is the only way
to play powerfully, to get the sound to erupt out of the instrument."

He was holding me tight in his arms, teaching me how to stand. His left
hand still clasped my right pec pulling me back against him while his right
hand on my stomach slowly moved down to pull my stomach in.

"That's it Guy. Stomach inn, chest out. Erect."

Erect? I thought. Is he talking my posture or his penis? My own cock was
throbbing with the feel of his hands on me. And, fucking hell, his embrace
not only forced me to stand up but pressed my butt against his crotch where
I felt his manhood pressed against me.

"That's right Guy. You're doing great. Let's try the scale again standing
like that."

He released me and stepped away. My cock was so hard it pushed my pants
out. It was fucking embarrassing. I saw him look down at my
bulge. Amazingly, he said nothing; he acted as if nothing was out of the
ordinary. And fuck it I could not stop myself from looking at his
crotch. Holy shit, rubbing against my ass had made him rock hard as
well. HIs boner was visible under his tight pants. But he was not
self-conscious about it. He acted as if nothing was unusual about sporting
a hard on in front of a 16 year old boy in his care. He was my teacher,
showing me how to stand like a man, showing me how erect I needed to be in
order to play. If he wanted me erect, fuck me, who was I to argue? My cock
was fucking saluting him in every way it knew how.

I picked up my violin and faced him, trying not to stare at his
crotch. Instead I looked at his chest and those muscular arms right in
front of me. I stood the way Mr. de Luca had taught me, shoulders down and
back, chest forward, head centered over my hips. I started the scale.

"Broad strokes son," he said after I had played a few notes.

I moved the bow farther. I loosened up. It sounded better. The sound was
fuller; it was louder; it was clear and focused.

After I had played the three octave scale up and down, Mr. de Luca clapped.

"Much better, Guy. Much better. But you tightened up when you got up very
high. You need to keep the same erect, loose posture no matter where the
notes are. You have to let your muscles elongate and relax. Let's do it
again and I will help you assume the position."

Holy shit, I was only 16 but I had heard the jocks at the high school use
that phrase. I wasn't entirely sure what it meant but I thought it had
something to do with getting on your knees to suck a stud's cock or bending
over to take it up your ass. My cock was leaking precum now. He was going
to teach me to assume the position? Fucking A... Really?

My heart was racing. I was sweating like crazy. I was scared shitless. I
fucking wanted more than anything in the world for Mr. de Luca to teach me
to assume the position.

While I stood there lusting after him he moved behind me. Once again he put
his left hand around me and covered my right pec. I was still holding my
violin under my chin. His right hand now went to my stomach where it had
been before. He held me erect and once again I felt his hard cock pressing
against my boy butt.

"You need to feel what it's like to have your body elongated and free from
tension," he said as his right hand moved slowly down my stomach toward my
crotch. "Can I show you, buddy? Can I?"

I said nothing as his hand slid over my hard on. I was gasping for breath
and thought I would drop the instrument.

"I need to hear it, buddy. I need you to give me permission to teach you
the right position to be in for a man to play. Tell me I can teach
you. Tell me Guy." His hand now covered my cock and balls and his fingers
pressed against the place between my nuts and my asshole. "Let me teach you
how a man plays. Tell me you want to learn. Please Guy, tell me you want to
learn." His voice was earnest, tender, his lips on my ear as he spoke, his
cock moving slowly over my teenage ass.

"Yes Mr. de Luca," I whimpered. "Teach me how to play like a man."

And with that he kissed my ear and lifted me up into his arms. Holy fuck,
my feet left the floor; my legs dangled and stretched with gravity pulling
on them; my torso elongated; my shoulders widened so I felt Mr. de Luca's
chest muscles against my back and his cock pressed on my butt, my head high
with my right cheek pressed against Mr. de Luca's left cheek, scratchy with
a five o'clock shadow.

"Now play, son," he said. "Play."

And with the feel of his cock on my ass, his hand holding my pec and his
other hand squeezing my trhobbing penis, I drew my bow.

The sound was incredible. It was full, it was beautiful, it was loud, it
was piercing, it was tender.

I kept playing and it continued to sound rich and deep.

"That's it son. That's right. Play like a man."

I couldn't help it. I was 16 years old for God's sake. This hunk of a man
was hugging me close, humping my boy butt and squeezing my crotch. As I
moved the bow, I began to rock in his hands, pressing my cock against his
right hand that was holding me in the air and my ass tight against his
rigid dick. The sound continued to be broad and full.

"Stroke it son. Stroke that fiddle," Mr. de Lucas said as the notes got
higher and higher. As my left arm reached under the instrument to get to
the high notes, his hand squeezed my pec muscle in rhythm to my bow strokes

"That's it buddy, you're getting the hang of it now. Your shoulders are
wide, your chest is open, your ass is where it should be, your legs are
relaxed. Can you feel the difference?" he asked as he humped my butt and
squeezed my cock.

"This is the way a man stands when he's playing. Upright and relaxed."

I was so fucking turned on. I was so fucking confused. Was he teaching me
to play the violin? Or was he teaching me how to play with a grown man? Or
was it both?

Shit I was reaching the point of no return. The feel of his muscular thighs
behind mine, his thick cock moving up and down against my butt cheeks, his
hand on my chest squeezing my pec muscle again and again, his muscular hand
on my crotch, his fingers pressed into that space between my nuts and my
asshole, squeezing my cock, squeezing my pec, squeezing my cock, squeezing
my pec, humping my ass, as the notes got higher and higher.

"That's it buddy. Let the tension go. Let your body relax. Let it come out
of you. Release those muscles. Let it flow. Let it flow. Let it come." His
lips were on my ear, his breath was in my ear canal, his whispered words
penetrated my soul.

God in heaven he was humping my ass in earnest now as he held me suspended
in the air encased in his muscular arms.

It was too much. It was too fucking much. My cock exploded in his hand. As
I did my bow strokes, I shot, and shot, and shot, and shot, and shot, and
shot, and shot. And fucking hell, I felt him do it too. He was humping me
and humping me and humping me, and I felt it, the first feelings of wetness
on the back of my pants. He was soaking me with his daddy cum. Holy fuck he
was shooting his grownup cock and the wet cum was passing through the
material of his pants and onto mine. His humping kept going and going and
going as my own cum leaked through my pants onto his hand.

And then it was over. I had finished the scale. My cock had stopped
erupting with my teenage cum. Mr. de Luca's cock had stopped spurting
manjuice onto my ass. He continued to hold me. HIs lips against my ear. God
in heaven, he kissed my ear. I was in a daze.

"That's how a man plays," he said.

I felt out of breath. I felt overcome with satisfaction.

"So son, do you think I have things to teach you?" he asked, as he kissed
my ear.

"Yes sir," I said.

"Mmm," he said. "I kinda like it when you call me sir."

I was still encased in his hands, pressed against him and up in the air. He
continued to talk.

"And you like working with me?" he asked, and as he did so, I could feel
him squeeze my crotch.

"Oh yes, Mr. de Luca. Oh yes," I said very quickly.

I heard him chuckle.

"Good."

And with that he set me down on the ground.

I turned around to look up at him. He looked at me and then at his
hands. His right hand was wet with my cum that had leaked through my
pants. As I watched he wiped his hand on his shirt right over his left pec
muscle which became wet with my cum. He looked down and saw the wet spot on
his crotch where his own cum was seeping through. As I watched, he passed
his left hand over his own crotch. He looked at it. It was wet with his
cum.

"You're a man now and it's time to learn how to play like a man. Miss
Zelenka is a great player and a great teacher but she plays in the old
European style -- sweet and pure and thin. You're becoming a man, Guy, and
it's time to play like a man. I know you like the Russian players,
Rostropovich on cello and Oistrakh on violin. Your teacher told me. I'm
going to teach you how to play like them with strong tone and rhythm and
power. No more sweet waltzes. It's Slavic power. You need to play louder,
stronger, wilder. You need to play like a real man."

Oh God he had moved his left hand up to my face as he talked. He put his
hand on my left cheek caressing my face. Fuck me, he was wiping his cum on
my face.

"Is that what you want son?"

I shivered, feeling his wet cum on my hot teenage cheek.

"Yes sir," I said. "That's what I want."

"I've decided to take you on as a student, Guy," Mr. de Luca said. "I have
decided we are compatible. You know how to follow directions. You know how
to let your inhibitions go. You're willing to follow my lead. That's how a
boy should be. That's how a boy should listen to a man."

I shivered with excitement. His thumb was on my lips rubbing them in
circles. The cum on them coated my mouth like lipstick."

"I have a lot to teach you about how a man plays. Do you want to be my
boy?"

God in heaven, was he asking me if I wanted him to give me violin lessons
or if I wanted to suck his cock?

"Do you want me?"  Mr. de Luca asked again, quietly, with an intense
expression on face.

My cock was still hard. My briefs were soaked with my sperm. His cum coated
my lips.

"Yes," I said eagerly. "Oh God, yes."

His thumb entered my mouth. I had no choice but to lick his cum off his
muscular finger.

"That's good, Guy. That's really good. I want to work with you. You passed
the audition. You have talent. I think I knew the moment I saw you at my
door that we would fit together like a hand in a glove. I have a lot to
teach you. I'm glad you want me. And you know what, Guy?" he asked as I
sucked his thumb.

I trembled. My heart raced as I looked into those deep blue eyes. I sucked
his finger as if were oxygen I needed to breathe. And then he said it, the
thing that almost brought me to another orgasm.

"I want you too."



Play like a man part 2


It was time for my second lesson and Mr. de Luca greeted me with no shirt
on and sweaty from his workout. This time however, he was in his skimpy gym
shorts instead of pants. And fuck me if he was otherwise completely
naked. No socks, no shoes. Just huge bare feet with a long and thick big
toe, muscular thighs and calves, and those magical manly chest muscles. And
shorts that barely covered his large cock. I had a hardon before he even
opened the door. Seeing him almost naked, feeling his hand on my shoulder,
seeing his nipple right in front of my eyes, I almost came before we
reached the living room where he taught me.

"We're going to work in here today," he said, walking me down the hallway
and into his bedroom.

He had a stand already set up and indicated that I should put my case down
on his desk.

"Hope you don't mind if I don't get dressed. Kinda hot after the workout."

I looked at him, sweaty, muscular, handsome. I remembered listening to the
sound he pulled out of his instrument and how much I admired the way he
played. I remember the way he had coaxed the cum out of my cock.

"No problem, Mr. de Luca, sir. No problem at all."

He smiled at me, and as he did so he reached his left hand to cup his right
pec and started rubbing it. I stared at his hand and his chest muscle as it
flexed and as his hand rubbed it.

"Both men here. I knew you'd be cool," he said smiling as he felt his own
muscle. It was as if he was making love with his own chest. "Let's try the
Bach."

I put my music on the stand and took out my violin. The stand was
positioned so that when I played I would be looking straight at Mr. de
Luca. I began to play the first movement. My sound was already better from
what I learned from the first lesson. Mr. de Luca was smiling, happy with
the improvement in my sound.

He stopped me and we worked on some intonation issues, fixing notes that
had been flat or sharp. We worked on shifting my left hand from low on the
instrument to higher up so that the movement was smooth. That's something I
had a lot of trouble with.

Mr. de Luca got up from where he was sitting on the bed and stood behind
me.

"Put down the bow, son," he said. I put the bow on the stand.

He took my left hand in his and showed me how to slide up the fingerboard
in a smooth relaxed manner.

"You have to stroke it, son. Just like your smooth bow movements, the left
hand has to caress the fiddle. You have to stroke the fingerboard as if you
love it."

His hand was strong and hot. His biceps moved and touched me as he
demonstrated how to shift smoothly.

"Now try that passage again," he said.

I took up my bow and tried it. It sounded better. The shift was
smoother. But still not perfect; there was a slight jerk in the motion
upwards that interrupted the sound.  Mr. de Luca sat back down on the bed.

"Once more," he said. "Remember your smooth bow strokes. Try to make your
left hand relax and move gently but firmly. Strokes."

I played the passage over and over. And beyond the music stand was Mr. de
Luca sitting on the edge of the bed in his gym shorts.

I nearly had a heart attack.

Mr. de Luca's cock was sticking out of his shorts, emerging from the right
pant leg. I stopped playing, staring at his cock. The head was beautiful,
large, and thick.

"Remember to stand straight, son," he said, ignoring the sight of his
emerging cock. "Like this."

He pulled his shoulders back and sat up straight which only made his cock
emerge two more inches out of his shorts.

I licked my lips, staring at his cock. My heart raced. It was getting
bigger and bigger. He acted as if nothing was wrong.

"I think I know how to teach you how to stroke like a man," he said,
quietly.

Fuck it, I almost shot a load at those words.

"You're 16 years old. You must have a lot of experience stroking your own
dick, right?"

I gasped. I couldn't believe he had just said that.

"I'm right aren't I?" he asked.

"Mr. de Luca, I..." I stopped talking. I did not know what to say.

"It's OK Guy. We're both guys here. You're 16. You probably jack off five
times a day. I know you're becoming a man. But it's my job to teach you how
to play like one. Let me show you."

And with that, he stood up and slipped down his gym shorts. His cock was
full and semi-hard, about five inches long.

"It's easy to stroke yourself, son. It's harder to stroke someone
else. Think of the fiddle as your buddy. Think about stroking your buddy
with your left hand."

I was in full panic mode now. This was the most exciting thing that had
ever happened to me. It was also the most frightening. I was so fucking
attracted to Mr. de Luca that it hurt to look at him. But I was so fucking
scared about anyone finding out I was into guys that I didn't know where to
look or what to do or what to say.

Mr. de Luca was approaching me fully naked.

"Here son, let's practice your stroke," he said.

He took my hand and led me to the bed and made me sit on the edge. He
turned and stood in front of me with his naked muscular ass right in front
of my face. He reached his left hand back.

"Give me your hand, son."

As if in a dream I put my hand in his. And before I knew what was happening
he put hand around his hardening cock. I cupped it from underneath as if I
was holding the fingerboard of the violin. He was holding my hand and
showing me how to stroke his cock back and forth, back and forth, the
thickening cock of this hunky baseball player, the tool of my teacher.

"That's it son. Smooth and sure, smooth and sure."

As I continued to masturbate him, he let his hand fall away. He reached
over to the side table and got some baby oil. As I stroked him, poured some
oil onto his cock and over my fingers. His cock was slippery now and my
stroke got smoother and longer. Sowly he moved back so his ass was closer
and closer to my face. Soon I had no choice but to press my lips against
his muscular left ass cheek. Holy mother of God I was kissing his muscular
ass. I couldn't help it. I licked his ass. It was smooth, muscular, soft at
the same time. I tasted sweat, manhood. I pictured him at bat and how his
ass would move when he hit a ball. I felt dazed. I continued to stroke him
as he continued to give me instructions.

Now I was stroking faster and faster. I continued to lick his ass
muscle. As I did so he moved to hte left, forcing my face between his ass
cheeks. Oh God in heaven, I was licking that place between his ass
cheeks. I was kissing his ass, Mr. de Luca's ass. I continued to stroke
him.

"That's it son. Fuck yes..." he said softly. "Faster
now. Faster. Faster. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke."

And with that, my teacher shot a load that traveled so far it reached the
open case where my violin was resting. I moved my face away from his butt
so I could see that sperm fly through the air. Fuck me, his cum had landed
on my violin! Again, and again, and again. He coated the strings and the
keyboard and some landed on the wooden top of the instrument.

When it was over and the last spasm had come and the last drops of semen
had shot from his silky cock, he moved away from me. He looked down and saw
his cum on my instrument. He picked it up.

"That was good practice, son. And this lube should help you slide over the
strings."

Fuck me, did he mean...? Was he suggesting...? Holy mother of God, he
wanted me to play my violin covered in his cum.

I picked the violin and put my left hand on the keyboard. His cum was still
hot. He was right. It was slippery.

"Now play," he ordered me. "Play and remember to stroke the keyboard like
you want to draw something out of it."

I looked at my music and began to play. The cum made the strings slippery
but it also helped me to slide up and down. The passage was the smoothest I
had ever played it. The experiment was a success.

"Yes!" Mr. de Luca said after I had finished. "You learned to stroke the
fiddle the way a boy should. That's it little buddy."

And then he slid his finger over the violin top taking some of his own cum
onto it. He looked into my eyes and slowly moved his finger toward my
mouth. As I stared at him, he rubbed his cum over my lips. I opened my
mouth to speak and as I did so he slid his finger into my mouth. It slid
over my tongue. I tasted his cum. I sucked his finger. I looked into his
eyes as he fed me his manjuice. And as I sucked on his finger and drank his
sperm, I shot my own load without even touching myself. I shot and sucked
his finger. I shot and sucked, shot and sucked, shot and sucked, shot and
sucked.

And when my penis stopped its spasms, his finger moved over my tongue,
caressing it as I continued to suck on it.

"That's it. That's how you stroke," he said. And as I swallowed his salty
man milk and sucked on his finger, he smiled slowly. He stood before me
naked, sexy, beautiful, manly.

"That's it son. That's how you play like man."


Play like a man part 3

It was a good thing my Mom and Dad let me use one of their cars to drive to
my violin lessons. I didn't need someone to pick me up and it meant I could
stay as long as I needed. Mr. de Luca and I had a routine now. Whenever I
arrived, he had just finished his workout and would greet me almost naked
and sweaty at the front door. And each of my lessons involved the usual
violin stuff -- deciding on fingering for the passages, getting the
intonation perfect, practice with bowing techniques, and dynamics.

I loved it when he would stand behind me and guide my bow arm. The feel of
my right hand encased in his strong muscular baseball player's hand and his
left hand encircling me in a hug would always make me hard. But he also
made me feel loved. He would touch me with such gentleness, despite the
muscular power in his hands. It slayed me to feel engulfed in his hands,
his arms. Of course it didn't hurt to feel the pressure of his hardon
against my back, my side, my teenage ass.

It was my tenth lesson and each one had ended with me practicising my
stroke on Mr. de Luca's thick penis. Sometimes I would use my left hand to
practice sliding up the fingerboard by feeling Mr. de Luca's hot, throbbing
cock as I stroked it. But sometimes he wanted me to practice my bow stroke
by using my right hand and standing to his side and going forward and back.

But when I put my case down on Mr. de Luca's desk in his bedroom this time,
something was different. I turned around to look at him and nearly
fainted. He had taken off his gym shorts and was standing in front of me
naked as the day he was born. Those smooth, muscular pecs stood out in
front of him and his hard cock pointed straight forward, angling upwards
just a little toward my mouth.

Fuck me, why did I think that? His cock pointed toward my mouth? I realized
that I had been thinking about sucking his dick but had suppressed those
thoughts. Stroking a man's cock was one thing. But sucking it was something
else. That was a step I had not taken. I did know that he had fed me his
cum. I remembered his finger in my mouth. I remembered what it tasted
like. I remember how salty it was and how thick and how warm. He didn't
always make me lick his fingers and swallow his cum but when he did, fuck,
it got me thinking...

But what was going on with his standing there totally naked?

"There's something else we need to work on, you and I," he said in his
gruff, manly voice. He said nothing about his nakedness. It was as if he
took for granted that I would not object or tell my Mom or Dad how my
violin teacher was molesting me. He knew I adored him. He knew I got hard
at the very thought of him. He knew I would do anything to be with him. He
knew I wanted to be a man. He knew I wanted him to be my man.

"What's that, Mr. de Luca?" He smiled slightly. I know he loved hearing me
call him "Mr. de Luca." It meant he was the teacher and I was the pupil. It
meant I looked up to him. It meant I respected him. Fuck I respected him
enough to swallow his cum.

"Breathing," he said so softly I almost couldn't hear him.

"Breathing?" I asked, confused. I play the violin after all not a flute or
clarinet.

"Breathing."

I was mesmerized by his maculinity. I kept looking down at his large hard
cock. I'd look up into those blue eyes and then down again. That man cock
drew me like a magnet, like it was the center of the world.

"We worked on your posture," he said, as I remembered him holding me by the
crotch and squeezing me until I shot a load in my pants as I was humping
his powerful bow hand. "Now watch me breathe."

I looked him in the eye. He moved his right hand to his right pec, his left
to his stomach. I looked down to see how his hands moved as his body took
in air and expelled it.

He was so fucking beautiful my mouth dropped open.

"You have to breathe slowly and deep," he said. "And through your nose. You
can't be lifting up your head to breathe through your mouth when you're
playing the fiddle. And you have to have long breaths and slow."

As I watched, he moved his right hand down his stomach, down, down, until
he was holding his cock.

"I know how to teach you how to breathe."

He was stroking his daddy cock now.

"Do you trust me, son?" he asked, walking slowly toward me.

My eyes were fixed on his hardening dick. He was right in front of me
now. His left hand was now lifting my chin up to look him in the eyes. His
cock was touching my crotch.

I took my time answering. He let me take my time as I gazed into those blue
eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his hand under my chin, his sexy gaze,
and his cock as it slid up and down against my crotch.

I said the only thing a boy could say who was in love with his teacher.

"Yes." I paused, looking up at him. "Yes Mr. de Luca, I trust you."

He smiled.

"OK son. Here's how you learn to breathe slowly and deep."

HIs left hand moved to my right shoulder. He squeezed it gently. And then
he pushed. Ever so slightly. He pressed down as he gripped my shoulder. My
knees felt weak. His eyes bore into mine. He did not break eye contact as I
felt my knees give way and my body sink to the ground. I was on my knees
before my teacher, looking into his beautiful eyes. His hand moved to the
back of my head. HIs cock moved closer to my lips. His gaze never left me.

I knew what he wanted me to do. I knew what he wanted me to learn. I felt
his wet cockhead against my lips. I felt him moving it back and forth
between my lips. I felt the pressure of his hand pushing me forward. His
eyes hypnotized me.

"Time to learn," he said, and he pushed his cock into my mouth.

Mr. de Luca was gentle, he was skilled, he was patient. But he was
determined. He had made up his mind. I was not leaving his house until I
had sucked his cock.

"You will breathe better if you suck. You understand son? You need to
suck."

His eyes were locked onto mine. His penis was on my tongue. It moved
forward toward the back of my throat. My wet lips gripped his cock. I had a
sudden thought that this was what cocksucking was. I had heard about it but
was not sure exactly what it meant. I reacted to his hot, throbbing cock
the way any gay boy would. I treated it as if it were medicine, liquor,
candy, water to quench my thirst. I had a built in instinct to suck, the
way babies do with their mother's tits. I worshipped Mr. de Luca and he was
giving me his manhood, his powerful dick, his pulsing, throbbing, vibrating
cock. He started pushing it in and out of my mouth, very slowly, very
gently. His hand behind my head was pushing me forward. His right hand
caressed my cheek. Together his hands took control of me.

"Remember to breathe," he growled as he fucked my mouth. "Deep breaths, in
and out, in and out, in and out." With each "in and out" he moved his cock
into my mouth and back out. I felt his cock getting stiffer and hotter. I
felt his semen tube on the bottom of his shaft thicken and throb.

My own cock was harder than the Rock of Gibraltar. My saliva made his cock
wet and slippery.

"Look up," he said.

I looked up. His muscular pecs were above me, massive and powerful. His
eyes bore into my own. HIs nostrils flared. Goddamit it, he was so fucking
manly, so incredibly handsome.

His cock was moving faster now. Faster. Faster.

And then it seemed that he was talking to himself.

"Oh God yes. Oh God. So fucking sweet. Look at you. You're just a boy. Just
a boy. Your lips stretched. Your mouth full. Your eyes locked on mine
worshipping me. I knew from the moment I saw you. I knew what kind of boy
you were. I knew you'd be a good student. I knew you'd follow my lead. I
wanted this to happen. I needed this to happen. I brought you on. I brought
you along. I groomed you. I made you my boy."

I was looking into his eyes the whole time as he kept talking about the way
he had seduced me.

He shouted in triumph: "Oh God you're doing it, you're really doing
it. You're sucking my cock. You're sucking Daddy's cock!"

His cock was pistoning in and out of my mouth faster and faster.

"That's it son. Take it. Take it all. Suck my fucking dick."

And then it happened, the thing I was waiting for, the thing I was worried
about.

He shot his cum into my mouth. I felt it at the back of my throat. It was
hot, it was thick, it was gooey. It tasted salty and sweet at the same
time. I coughed, I gagged. He shot again.

"Breathe!" he shouted. "Breathe!"

He shot again. And each time he shot, he told me to breathe.

He was holding my head on his dick, stopping me from backing away. I was
gagging on his sticky cum.

"Swallow," he said. "Breathe and swallow. Breathe and swallow."

I followed his instructions. He was my teacher. I trusted him. I was in awe
of him. He was my hero. He was my dad.

So I swallowed. I breathed. I swallowed. I breathed. I swallowed. I
breathed. I swallowed. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed and
swallowed.

And I continued to breathe. I was taking long and deep breaths through my
nose so I wouldn't suffocate while he was forcing me to blow his cock. My
nostrils flared and I saw his did as well as he filled my mouth with his
sperm.

And then his cock gave its last spasm. A trickle of cum was released onto
my tongue.

I swallowed. I breathed.

He kept his cock in my mouth as I continued to breathe through my nose,
deep and strong.

I thought of his cum sliding down my throat to my stomach. I thought of the
fact that he had shared his manhood with me, that I had gotten it right
from the tap, so to speak. I thought about his sperm racing to fill my
belly. I thought about the protein he had fed me.

I looked up at him, my mouth filled with his man cock as it started to
relax. He caressed my face as he watched me breathing through my nose, long
and deep, long and deep.

"That's right son," he said, his dick still encased between my wet
lips. "That's the way to breathe."


Play like a man part 4

Mr. de Luca's breathing lessons continued. Now instead of jacking him off
as part of every lesson, I was sucking his cock. I wasn't perfect at
it. Often I gagged. Sometimes I spit some of his baby juice out. But my
breathing continued to improve as did my capacity to swallow his penis. He
had told me that my breathing would get even better if my throat was filled
with something that forced me to take deeper breaths. But he was
patient. He was kind. He never forced his cock down my throat. He got me
worked up, horny, eager. He worked on my gag reflex until it was almost
gone. He got me transfixed by his handsome face, his mysterious eyes. He
started stripping me so he could see how hard my cock got when I sucked his
fucking dick. And when my cock was leaking, when it was jumping up and down
in eagerness, he would slide his cock into my throat, he would control my
head so it would not be expelled, and he would make me swallow his sword.

The feel of his cock throbbing and pulsating in my throat as he fed me cum
would make me shoot my load immediately as if it turned me on like a
switch. That throbbing baseball bat in my throat just make my dick spurt my
boy cum hard and fast.

I was playing better both with Mr. de Luca's penis and with my own
violin. My performances were improving. My technique was getting
better. Practice, he said, makes perfect. I could practice fiddling at home
on Bach or Beethoven. A his home, I could not only practice violin
concertos; I could practice sucking cock. I improved. I was a born cock
sucker but now I was turning into a good one.

One day, Mr. de Luca surprised me answering the door in a tuxedo. What the
fuck was this?

He invited me in and took my hand, leading me to his bedroom where we had
our sessions.

He held my hand as I put my case and music on his desk like always. Then he
moved back and sat on his bed pulling me to him. I stood before him. He was
so much taller than me that his face was at the level of my face as I stood
before him.

"Today we need to work on expression. Playing tenderly, powerfully,
lovingly."

He held my hand and his other hand lifted up to caress my face.

"You brought the Mendelssohn, right?"

"Yes, sir," I said, gratified to see him smile as I called him "sir."

"Play the slow movement."

I got set up and faced him to play.

"Just a moment son," he said.

He closed the curtains, making the room darker. He put a stand lamp on my
stand and turned it on. Then he turned the other lights off in the room. It
was dark except for the light on my music stand. Mr. de Luca took some
matches and lit a half dozen candles placed around the room.

He was creating a romantic setting. He was a beautiful man, in a tuxedo
that showed off his athlete's physique, in a room lit by flickering
candles. He was fucking seducing me.

Instead of sitting on the side of the bed like he usually did, he sat
against his pillow, his back against the wall, and his legs spread forward
on the bed. He ws sitting where he slept every night. Slowly he put both
hands behind his head, making his large pecs clench and push out the fabric
in his tuxedo suit. My God he was beautiful.

"Now play. And think, Guy, think about what you are playing. Think about
the music. And if it helps..." he paused looking into my eyes. "Think about
me."

Holy shit was this hot! I put the bow on the string. I looked at him and
started to play. I had memorized the piece. I actually did not need the
music. I played while looking in his eyes. The music was sad and sweet at
the same time. The melody was haunting. I remembered my lessons. I
remembered to stand tall and relaxed my head centered over my boy butt. I
remembered the feel of his arms around me as he taught me how to stand like
a man. I remembered to breathe. I remembered the times I had practiced
sucking his cock as I gazed into his eyes. I remembered to relax my throat
the way I did when I swallowed his penis. He had taught me so much. Mr. de
Luca had taught me so much about being a man, about playing music, about
playing with a man.

When I was finished, there was silence. Mr. de Luca said nothing. A minute
passed. Then he stood up and walked over to the case that held his own
violin. He put it under his chin. He lifted his bow. He spoke no words. He
just played. He played the Mendelssohn as he gazed into my eyes. He played
with sorrow. He played with sweetness and light. He played with heartbreak
and hesitation and eagerness. Fuck me to heaven and back, he played with
love.

I stood there listening, lost in his eyes, lost in the music. The melody
soared and receded; it built and relaxed. Mr. de Luca licked his lips as he
played, as he gazed into my eyes. He was trying to tell me something. He
speaking in the way music speaks. He was speaking without words. And my
chest grew large, my heart grew warm, my whole body trembled, as his
playing continued.

And without realizing it, as his playing continued, as the melody made me
feel sadness and longing, my cock grew and grew until it was pulsating
straight upwards. Mr. de Luca was reaching the climax of the piece. It was
so beautiful and his eyes were so deep that tears fell from my eyes. The
notes got higher, the melody suspended, the notes poised before the final
resolution, the climax was almost here. His stroke was long, his tone was
full, his sound was penetrating. His eyes bore into mine. I felt tears
streaming down my face as the music approached the climax. His bow switched
direction, hesitated and then landed on the climactic note, which erupted
from his muscular right bow hand. The climax was earth shattering. And fuck
it all to hell if I didn't shoot a hot load of cum from my teenage cock at
that exact moment. The climax had made me climax. The music continued, my
cock continued to spurt cum. Mr. de Luca was looking into my eyes and his
playing was piercing my heart. I submitted. I was overcome. I shot and shot
and shot and shot. I had not even touched myself. But Mr. de Luca, he had
touched me. He was not playing music. He was fucking making love with me.

He continued playing as the music settled into sweetness and sadness and
resignation. And then it was over. The last note reverberated in the air.

I was completely overcome. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever
heard. It was the best orgasm I had ever had.

Mr. de Luca put down his violin. He turned to his night table, which held a
flower pot with a dozen red roses. He carefully took one out. He looked at
me, as he put the flower under his handsome nose. He breathed deeply the
scent of the rose. He breathed as he had taught me. His glanced down to see
my pants wet with my boy cum. He smiled and approached me. He handed me the
rose. He handed me the fucking me. His face approached mine. He was inches
away.

I saw his lips move.

"The point, my son, is to play with love."

He moved forward slowly, steadily, confidently. And then his lips were on
mine. He was kissing me. Mr. de Luca was kissing me. This masculine,
muscular, tall, strong baseball player violinist was kissing me, a sixteen
year old boy. His tongue entered my mouth. I enveloped it and I began to
suck. He had taught me to suck, Mr. de Luca had. I knew how to do it. I
knew what to do. I knew how to breathe. I sucked Mr. de Luca's tongue. HIs
hands cupped my face. He was teaching me. He was teaching me how a man
kisses. He was teaching me how a man makes love. He was teaching me what
music meant.

He moved back, his lips fluttering against mine as he spoke.

"Now, son, you play it. Play it with love. Show me love."

He moved back so he could gaze into my eyes.

"Show me love," he said again.

And you know what? I picked up the violin. I played the heartbreakingly
beautiful movement from memory gazing into Mr. de Luca's eyes. I played the
way he taught me.

Halfway through, as the music dripped with sadness and longing, Mr. de Luca
lowered the zipper on his tuxedo trousers and he fucking took out his
large, thick cock. It was already hard. His penis was was jerking up and
down. I looked at it as he took it in his hand and started to stroke. I
looked up into Mr. de Luca's eyes four feet away from my own. He continued
to jack off as he stared into my eyes, as I played a love song. He was
telling me, without words, to play it the way he had taught me, to play it
to show my deepest feelings, to pull him in, to draw him into me, to bring
out his own feelings of longing, of seeking, of wanting, to show him what I
felt about him, to show him what he meant to me.

Fuck it all to hell! It was the most exciting moment of my life. I played
the lines beautifully, tenderly, with all the longing in my heart. I saw
every detail as the candle light flickered around us. I took in Mr. de
Luca's throbbing cock, the way he stroked his penis with his flexible,
muscular hand like he was holding a bow, the way his gaze never left me.

I started approaching the climax of the movement. The notes hesitated and
soared, hestitated and soared. I saw him breathing faster. I saw him
stroking faster. I saw his mouth open. The climax was almost here. My bow
arm stroked my instrument. My left hand slid upward and upward, remembering
the way his cum had made me slide smoothly to new positions. I played with
yearning. I played hauntingly. I watched in astonishment as tears fell down
Mr. de Luca's face as he listened to my strokes, as he gripped his penis
and made his own long and powerful strokes. I watched him stand up and walk
toward me. He was next to me now, slightly to my right, stroking his cock
just as I was using my bow to stroke the strings. I looked up into his face
high above me, I gazed at the man that I admired, that man i would do
anything for. I saw his bright eyes in the candle light as I played. I
watched as his tears poured down his face. And as I reached the top note,
as the climax came, I heard Mr. de Luca sob, and at that moment, that very
moment, his cock shot a wad of cum so far that it landed on my face. He
shot again, and coated my violin. He shot again and his hot wet cum landed
on my bow hand. I played. He shot. I played. He shot. I played. He shot. I
played. He shot.

His cock throbbed as the last drops of manjuice dripped out of his mushroom
head onto his shiny dress shoes. The tears glistened on his face in the
flickering light.

I finished the last notes of the piece. The last note was suspended in the
air. The silence descended.

I lowered my instrument. Mr. de Luca stepped forward and took it from
me. He placed it in the case on the desk, his cum dripping down from it. He
stepped toward me. His cock was still out of his pants. The tip was wet
with the last of his cum. His face was wet with tears. My face was wet with
his cum.  He moved his head down and kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"Yes, my son," he whispered. "That is the way you play with love."

And then I could not believe what he did. He licked his cum off my cheek
and my forehead and he plunged his tongue into my mouth. My heart was
racing. My head felt hot. He held my head with his hands. I couldn't
move. So what did I do? I did what Mr. de Luca taught me. I sucked his
tongue. I swallowed his sperm. I showed him how much I loved him.

After I had swallowed his cum and cleaned his tongue, Mr. de Luca moved his
face back. He gazed into my eyes as he enveloped me in his strong arms. He
lifted me into the air, his right hand on my ass, his left hand on my back,
my legs wrapped around him, his naked cock between my legs.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, you are my little guy. You have learned it. You have
learned it."

I knew what he meant. I knew what he felt. I knew what I felt. I felt
grateful. I felt overwhelmed. I felt loved.

"Yes," he concluded. "That is how you play like a man."



Short Guy Stories

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/driving-instructor

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/office-hours

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/will-you-be-my-buddy

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/encounters/daddy-issues