Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2008 20:19:20 -0700 From: Kevin Subject: Salvation of a Boylover, Part 1 SALVATION OF A BOYLOVER Part 1 This story may contain material of a homosexual, and more specifically a man-boy nature. If you are under 18 you are supposed to exit this story and this site. Apparently the lawmakers, the psychiatrists advising them, and a portion of the general public feel that you're unable to discern between good and bad, right and wrong, predatory and nice, as well as deeming you incapable of having true feelings for someone. If you're over 18 and do not wish to read this type of material, you are advised that you should leave this story and this site. It is also possible for the area you live in that reading such a story would be against your statutes, laws, or codes. Please be aware of the laws governing your area. Additionally, this is as fictional as I can make it. No characters contained herein are intended to represent any real world person. All that being said, read on. The truly beautiful thing about boys is that they are, indeed, beautiful. I have always found that their mannerisms, nuances, acting abilitiy, personality, expressions, and about a thousand other things were priceless, precious, as well as cute. And for those of you out there reading this who aren't just about banging the boy, I am sure you know what I mean. Oh, don't get me wrong. Boys, for a boylover, can be attractive, alluring, attention-grabbing, and a host of other equally wonderful things. On the flip side, what's good for the boy is good for the boy, and what's good for us is not always good for the boy. Across my life I've been mentor to scores of boys, tutor for some in various parts of their school work, and just a good friend for others. Thankfully, in there also were a some boys that became very close, intimate, and whose company mutually benefited both of us physically, mentally, and spiritually. You savor those, remember those, and wish probably almost daily that one of those boys saw a life together with you, and stayed. Perhaps for a very special few of you this has happened. The rest of us, well, we nuture the boy, support him, love him, and if its a special relationship, hold him, make him feel good, and he does the same for you the best that he knows how. And, eventually, the boy moves on because his family has to go where the jobs are, he graduates from middle or high school, it was a phase and he's now into girls, etc etc. We know that a man/boy relationship of the special kind rarely happens like most of the stories depict. Sometimes, yes. Most are, however, developed over considerable time involving great effort, energy, and tremendous love. It is quite difficult and painstaking to initiate. They are even worse when they end. A few years back a special boy had moved out of town with his family at the end of his sophomore year of high school. It had been nearly six years I'd known him and over four that he and I had shared more than sitting on the couch watching dvd's. He was a special sort of guy, acute perceptive ability ahead of his years, and able to fairly well speak what he thought. He was probably one of the least judgemental people I've ever known, quite unlike some strata of our 18-and-above gay community. His name was Tommy. He truly liked my company, help, advice, and humor, and the same was true of him for me. Before his family had to move, he'd just turned 16 and I'd even had a hand in teaching him how to drive. It was a hoot, after all the years I hauled him around for him to be able to drive me somewhere. He was gay and he knew it. We talked about his thinking other boys in school were cute, but he didn't trust their ability to keep a secret (evidenced by all the stories he heard about others' sexual encounters that were supposed to have been kept secret). To my knowledge, I was his first and only across those years, from his first induced dry orgasm, to the last real one before he left. Yes, he was drop-dead gorgeous, having dark blonde hair that he wore long, short and spikey, faux-hawk, and a dozen other ways including "just got up", and also once so short he looked almost bald. At 16 he was about 5'5" and 135#, with your usual 16-year-old body tone (he played baseball). And a smile to match or surpass everything else, as impossible as that seems. He joked that some day we'd have to come out as a couple to everyone, or move to avoid the whole issue. When his mom and dad announced that they needed to move to Ohio for his dad's job, he cried off and on for weeks in my house. There was no way to tell everyone he wanted to stay with me without letting the cat out of the bag in a huge way, which meant alluding to the fact that things not only were going on between he and I, but had been for some time. There was no way. So we made love one last time the night before he and his family left, and then he was gone. He said he'd come back as soon as he graduated high school, or before if he could, and we kept in touch as closely as possible considering the distance and separate lives. But, he was a beautiful boy and he was swept off his feet by another man before his senior year was done. Truly, I was happy for him and he seemed to really like the guy he'd fallen for in Ohio. But it was textbook as far as boylovers go: the boy had gone away, never to come back. Necessarily I got on with my life, and even began online courses in college to get going on my education again. After all, I was getting older, and smarter had to be better. In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself that of course there could / would be another boy. There had to be. But in back of that thought was this haunting idea that Tommy was the last. I was too old now. Not as attractive. I wasn't THAT old, but you know what I mean. You get down on yourself, see all the bad points. Oh yeah, I still saw cute boys, and still thought boys were the salt of the Earth. Yup. Still talked to them, offered to help when / where applicable, tutored one or two on math (my strong point), included a boy on a project I was doing whenever I could, etc. But the haunting thought.....kept haunting me. Now, in a story you expect there to be a "....but then...." or else there wouldn't be much to the story. But truthfully, I only half-heartedly hoped. Fortunately, there is a little bit of Anakin Skywalker in all of us, some more than others. There was quite a bit, as it turned out, in a boy that came to live with his grandmother next door to me. Tommy (I know, I wasn't expecting it, either...) was just short of 13 when he moved in next door to me. I'd moved to an apartment building, so if you're familiar with how that goes, there's either other kids in the complex or close-by, or there's not. There wasn't. So, with me being pretty outgoing, it was natural that my new young neighbor would gravitate toward someone fun, involved in camping, and a host of other things that an early teen would love. Alright, to be honest I was so busy hoping that the new Tommy would be like the old one, I did very little to establish whether it could go that way or not. Which is to say that although I did associate with Tommy, help him with homework (he was in Geometry, which I loved), have him over for movies on occasion, etc, I didn't particularly make any forward gestures. It came up that I was gay, and it was just as quickly water under the bridge. He either didn't care, it didn't register that he was hanging around a gay guy, or it didn't matter. But again, I didn't pursue the issue. I usually left things lie where they were, so to speak. Was he cute? Yes, (the new) Tommy was good looking. Sandy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, not slender but almost, great demeanor and sense of humor, quite a nice boy, to say the least. He even knew I had really liked a boy before (although at this point I hadn't told him the previous boy's name was Tommy), but he never made any issue with it. One day later during the week he'd been over helping me ready some camping equipment for that weekend, and his grandma had said it was ok to stay over and help me and have some pizza for dinner. Now up to this point, Tommy hadn't stayed very late over at my place, but this week he had Thursday and Friday off so he got the go-ahead to stay up a bit later to help out and to hang. We'd finished pizza and had popped in the Star Wars episode where young Anakin Skywalker fixes up the pod racer in order to win the race. The movie had been in awhile, and the young hero of the movie had made his debut and began to dominate the plot, when... "Who do you think is cuter, Anakin, or me?" Tommy asked. I paused. Um, okay. "Well, I think Anakin's probably cuter, but you're better looking," I said. "Cool," he smiled. "I knew you thought I was good looking." "Tommy, I..." He had been laying back on my couch with his head propped up on the couch back and his feet on the coffee table. And....he had sweat pants on and apparently nothing else. Not totally stiff, but not soft, either. I couldn't help but notice. Boy smiling. He had apparently made me notice his ... What in the world.....? I was not quite as laid back as he was, but I was pretty unable to sit up on an immediate basis. This is important information, because what Tommy did next was push "Pause" on the remote, get up, and straddle my legs with his ...semi... poking out in my direction, facing me. "Ok, let me see if I have it right," he began, over-emphasizing / acting out each word, as though he were on a stage explaining something to the audience. "You think I'm good looking... (he counted off on his fingers)..." "You're gay... (another finger counted)... "You like boys... (and another)... "We've been hanging out for weeks, months now, and you haven't said a word to me about anything...(and another)... "Why?" he asked, looking me directly in the eye, smiling ever so slightly. I am sure it took me a week to speak. "Can we shift positions first?" I asked. "No," he smiled. "This is pretty good." He cocked his eyebrow at me questioningly. "Tommy, I..." "Come on. I'm really asking," he said pleadingly. "I know you like me or you wouldn't invite me over all the time. I know you're gay and that you've really liked ... REALLY liked (he winked) at least one boy very much..." I stuttered. "You trusted me enough to tell me about the other boy, right?" I nodded. "Right. I'm 13, I know what's what. What is done between friends stays between friends." "Which means?" I smiled. "Which means that you trust me. And for the record, I trust you. You've been nothing but nice to me, helped me, and been a friend. You've given me no reason not to be able to trust you. Make sense?" Again, I nodded. "So, I'm asking you haven't said anything to me about ... certain stuff?" He waited a moment, then he shrugged, "Sorry, I understand about guys getting with boys, and that all hell breaks loose if anyone finds out anything..." "Yeah..." I answered tenatively. "...so it's pretty for sure you aren't saying nothing, and neither am I," he followed up. "About what?" I asked, genuinely curious at this point. "This," and he leaned in and gave me a kiss on the chest, turned his head to the side and rested it there, and hugged me tightly. All the while his stiffening boyhood pressed against my stiffening member. "Tommy... " I began, "this is serious stuff." He nodded. "But it feels good." "I'll tell you what's serious," he said. "Trust." "Ok..." I answered. He looked up at me with his Tommy eyes, "You like boys in general, I'm a - by your own answer - a good looking boy." He smiled. "And, I don't think you're a mean person who would hurt someone on purpose." "True," I said. "Which is why I trust you, hang out with you, and am sitting here.... on your legs like this," he beamed, quite proud of himself. I could feel his pulsing boyhood with mine. "So you want to be close friends," I said. He nodded. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Sure? I've been sure for weeks! You just haven't said or done anything to get the ball rolling!" he laughed. "I thought that was your job," grinning. Now I laughed for real. "I just didn't want to do anything to hurt you, or our friendship," I said honestly. "You didn't, you haven't, and you wouldn't anyway," he replied. "No, I wouldn't," I returned, "I couldn't." "I know," he smiled. "I've read about a thousand boylove stories, and when all those writers wrote their stories about the good guy who really cared for the boy, put the boy first and wasn't just there to make the boy do stuff, well, it was like they talked about how you really are." I smiled back, "Thanks." He looked up at me with a funny grin on his face, and moved his torso around a bit, causing ample friction on both my penis and his. He took in air sharply between clenched teeth. "Can I do something?" he asked. "Um, I dunno..... Tommy...." "Please? It's probably not even what you think." I sighed, "Ok." He lifted his pelvis off me and pushed his sweat pants down. I couldn't see anything at all. Then, he undid my belt and shorts, and opened them. The next thing I felt was his boyhood sliding into the fly of my boxers, right along side of my sweaty, erect member. He put his laid his head on me and began to pump, effectively masturbating us both at the same time. His warm penis sliding along mine was rapidly bringing me to ejaculation, but apparently he didn't need quite as much stimulation. "Oh!" he exclaimed. He looked up at me so I could see his face, and he could see mine. "Now...!" was all he could say, and he pumped and grunted, squirting and rubbing warm boycum all over my nearly sperming dick. That was all it took! I held him tight and pumped as he had, causing ample lubrication for our pumping and thrusting. He either continued cumming some more, or came again right after I did, grunting harder and with greater ecstacy, if that was possible, than the first time. "Sometime other than now, remind me to tell you what the best part of that was," I told Tommy. He smiled, "Ok." He thought for a moment and said, "Then I'll tell you what the best part of that was for me, too," and he laid his head back down onto my chest. I chuckled. "Touche', my friend." "Hey," I asked, "have you ever watched Laurel and Hardy? They were some old comedians on when TV was just black and white." "Oh, you can't be THAT old," Tommy joked. "No," I laughed, "but I've seen them on TV now and again. They were a pretty good team, one skinny guy and one kinda bigger guy." "Oh yeah! I have seen them, on Nickelodeon, I think. Yeah, they were pretty funny," Tommy said. "Why do you ask?" "Well," I explained, the bigger guy, I think he was Oliver Hardy, always told the skinny guy 'Another fine mess you've got me into'," and I wiggled our deflating dicks around a bit, smooshing around in our sperm. Tommy laughed, "Funny one. Well, you can't say 'another fine mess' until next time. Ha!" All I could do was smile back. Comments to kevroc54321@tns.net