NOTICE: This story contains scenes of sexual activity between an adult man and a minor boy. These scenes are an important part of the plot and necessary for the story. While some may find it erotic, the story is intended to be a serious literary work. It is fiction, a fantasy. The author does not condone or encourage illegal activities between adult men and minor boys. If it is illegal for you to read such material in your jurisdiction, for any reason, do not do so. Do not access this story in the presence of a minor as defined by law in your jurisdiction. If you will be offended by this story, please read no further. This story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Eric the Red, and cannot be posted on any site other than the Nifty Archive without my permission.
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Secrets and Dreams
by Eric the Red
As Gloria, My Evil Stepmother, leads the way, we walk out of the Doctor’s Building as I looked desperately behind me at the beautiful man who passed us as he enters the elevator. With a feeling of desolation and knowing it is impossible for me to have a friendship with a decent man, a beautiful man, I follow The Evil One to her yellow, wood-paneled Ford Country Squire station wagon in the parking lot. I know that after my weeks with Scotty, no decent man would want anything to do with me. What decent man would want to have sex with a nasty boy like me, a boy who would do the things I did for two nightmarish weeks, a boy who can’t control himself when it comes to beating off, a boy the school would threaten to expel, a boy who would try to kill himself? No man would, unless he was another Scott Denton. Perhaps that’s all I can hope for. Perhaps that’s all I’m worth. Perhaps the only men who would want to be with something as vile and disgusting as me would be perverts like Scott.
My life is hopeless and as we walk across the parking lot outside the Doctors Building, I think back just a few short weeks before to that week with Scott Denton.
When I enter the back door after my “visit” with Scotty, The Hateful Witch is sitting at the counter between the kitchen and the family area, smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of wine as she thumbs through a trashy Hollywood gossip rag. She turns her nose up at me and declares, “You look like hell. What the hell happened at Scott’s?”
I can feel my face turning every shade of red known to man and struggle to think of something to say. I know I am still tipsy from the peppermint schnapps and I struggle to keep the panic under control that is rising inside me. But, by the time I think of an explanation, I have already walked past her and started down the stairs to my bedroom in the basement. I thank the God I am no longer sure I believe in for sparing me an interrogation that I know I couldn’t survive in my current condition.
When I get to my bedroom, I close the door and collapse on my bed. I feel dirty, filthy, soiled. I see the framed picture of my Daddy on the nightstand and I am overwhelmed with horror and shame. I knock it over and burst into tears as I bury my face in my pillow.
After a long, miserable cry, I straggle off the bed. I can’t take it. I feel physically dirty. I strip off my clothes and walk into the small bathroom Daddy had built for me when he converted this part of the basement into a bedroom. I turn the water on and wait for it to get hot and then climb in. I turn the water up as hot as I can stand it and then soap myself all over. I scrub my skin until it is raw in places and then stand under the water until it turns cold and then continue to stand under it until I can no longer take it. Only then do I turn it off, dry off, and walk over to the sink to brush my teeth. I want no trace of Scott Denton on or in my body. And, yet, as I rinse with mouthwash and spit it into the sink, my wiener is getting hard again as I think back on what has just happened and how it felt. I leave the bathroom and dress in my pajamas. I can smell dinner cooking upstairs, but I have no appetite. When My Evil Stepmother calls me to dinner, I forlornly climb the stairs and tell her I feel like eating only the salad. I don’t think I could swallow a bit of pork chop or mashed potatoes without throwing up. When I finish my salad, I excuse myself and return to my bedroom and climb into bed.
I’m not sure how long I slept at first, but at some point I awaken with my wiener as stiff as a nail and feeling overwhelmingly like I needed to rub. Hating myself, but putting it aside, I remember Scott touching me, rubbing me, kissing me, making me so good, so much better than I have ever felt. I stop just before I make The Big Feeling and then continue. I delay The Big Feeling two more times, knowing that once this is over, the remorse and self-hatred will return. Finally, meaning to stop but passing the point of no return before I can, I explode and then rollover before crying myself back to sleep.
The next day, Tuesday, I am a zombie at school. Several times, Mrs. Jankowski has to chide me for not paying attention. I can’t stop thinking about how much I hate myself and how much I want to stop at Scott’s house again.
As the three o’clock bell rings at the end of the school day, my teacher calls me up to her desk. As I rise from my seat, I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants to hide the hardness within and nervously approach. She has a look of kindness on her face, but I am still afraid.
“How are you feeling today, Eric?” she asks softly.
I shrug and reply, “Fine.”
She nods doubtfully and says, “Well, I just worry. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Losing a father is a horrible experience. My own father died last year and I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it must be when you’re only nine. I want you to know that I understand if you’re having trouble concentrating in class, but I think school work might be a good way to fight your grief. If you would like, I can call on you tomorrow during Arithmetic and you can come up to the board and work some problems for the class. You’ve always been one of my best students, Eric, and I’m very proud of you. I just want to help you. I certainly don’t want to see your school work suffer too much.”
Oh, God. I can’t take it. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand why I’m so zombie-like today. She thinks it’s because I’m mourning my father. She has no idea of the truth. Oh, God, what would she do if she knew the real reason for my staring out the window? What would she do if she knew that the worst, the dirtiest, the most disgusting boy in the world was standing before her?
Somehow, I manage to end the conversation without bursting into tears or running out of the classroom like an idiot. I thank her for her concern and promise I will try to do better tomorrow. She gives me a sweet smile and I feel like looking for the nearest sewer to crawl into as I am leaving the classroom.
The weather is still beautiful today and the other kids are still avoiding the usual taunts that I used to experience after school before Daddy died. I walk most of the way home in a trance, refusing to think until I near the corner that Scott lives on. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to go in. I want to go home. I want to be a good boy. My stomach aches with anxiety.
“There you are!” Scott calls from the front porch. “I was so worried, Little Prince! You’re late!”
What does he mean ‘I’m late?’ We didn’t have an appointment. Did he know I was going to come back? With a sickening feeling, I realize, yes, he knew. Just as I knew.
Slowly, my heart sinking, but my wiener throbbing madly in my pants, I step off the sidewalk and start across the lawn, past the dogwood trees, and up to the front porch.
“Ah, my sweet little Eric!” Scott exclaims. He tries to wrap his arms around me and I stiffen. He notices, though he forces me to accept his hug. He kisses my cheek despite my trying to turn away. Scott gives me a knowing smile and I blush as I feel as if he is reading my mind.
“You know what you need?” Scott declares with a satisfied smile. I don’t answer. I simply stand beside him and look away, waiting for his answer. “You need something to drink. I think we can skip the cocoa today. Do you like orange juice?”
I nod silently and Scott turns and walks into the house as I robotically follow. Once inside, he closes the front door and leads me to the back. At the counter between the kitchen and the family room, he pulls out a bottle of vodka and then walks to the refrigerator before returning with a pitcher of orange juice. In a moment, he hands a glass of vodka and orange juice to me as he asked, “Did your stepmother say anything about you spending time here yesterday?”
“She asked me why I looked like hell.” I replied quietly, as I examined the glass.
Scott frowned and said, “Hmm. We might need to be careful today, but I think this will do the trick.”
I take a sip and cough. Scott grins and replies, “I might have made it a bit stronger than I normally would, but I think you need it today. Don’t worry, just drink it and you’ll get used to it.”
I nod. It its stronger than the peppermint schnapps I had yesterday, then maybe it is what I need. If it’s going to make it easier for me to get through the next hour or so, then I want all I can get!
Scott pours himself a scotch, though I can smell that it’s not his first. He accompanies me back to the couch with his arm around my shoulder. I don’t flinch away from him this time. I also notice that he’s moved his coffee table so that it’s not in front of the couch. What’s he planning to do this afternoon?
We sit down, but Scott isn’t sitting right next to me. In fact, he doesn’t even have his arm around me. I’m glad; it makes it easier for me to relax. I settle into the plush cushions and take another sip, a bigger one. I know what to expect this time and I’m able to swallow without any trouble.
“So, Eric, sweetie, did you have fun yesterday?”
I look down at my drink and ponder what to say. Scott leans over and says, “I want you to tell me the truth. When two men do what we did yesterday, it creates a special bond between them. I want you to know that you can tell me anything you want. You can tell me to fuck off and go to hell if you want to, because you’ve earned the right to. Or you can tell me that you loved every second of it. Or something in between!”
He chuckles and I can’t help but grin. I don’t think the drink has started to affect me, but his words have. Yes, Scotty—yes, he’s Scotty now, not just Scott—seems to understand. I take another drink, a bigger one, and look at him as I reply, “I felt really bad after we did it. I felt dirty. But... I couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt. It felt so good and I couldn’t stop thinking about it at school today, too.”
Scott nods and says, “I know. I knew you’d feel that way. You still feel a little guilty about it, don’t you?”
I nod and take another drink.
“Well, Eric, it’s like this. There are men and boys who are a little different from other men and boys. We were born liking other men and boys instead of women and girls. It’s just the way we are and it’s not wrong. A lot of people think it is, but they just don’t understand. We’re special, you and me, Eric, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy being together and kissing and touching and making each other feel good. And, it does feel good, doesn’t it?”
I smile, the guilt drowning in the half-glass of vodka and orange juice that I have already drunk. I am definitely feeling it now and my wiener is going crazy inside my pants, throbbing and jerking and pulsing. I need to do it. I need to get naked. I don’t care about anything. I just want to get naked.
I take another drink and then hand it to Scotty as I ask, “Can you hold this?”
Scotty raises an eyebrow and replies, “Certainly, Little Prince. What are you going to do?”
I grin and kick off my loafers before I struggle to my feet. Scotty is grinning and watching with amusement as I giggle and pull my shirt over my head and twirl it around before sending it flying toward the kitchen. Scotty whistles and giggle as I slowly unfasten my felt. I pull it out of the loops and then twirl it, as well as Scotty starts to sing the melody from The Stripper, a song by David Rose from a few years before. However, I’m getting too excited to continue my act. I unzip my pants and shove them down with my underwear. My stiff wiener pops up and bobs in the air before me, pointing rigidly upward and outward. Scotty cheers and declares, “You are the sexiest boy I have ever seen! You are A Number 1!”
I grin as I pose for him and Scotty adds, “You’re the cat’s meow! You’re the bee’s knees! You’re.. you’re mine!”
Scotty sets my drink down, gulps down his scotch, and then grabs me. Giggling hysterically, I fall on the couch and Scotty kisses me wetly on the mouth. I wrap my arms around him as he hugs me tightly and shoves his tongue into my mouth. His hands hungrily slid all over my body as he takes possession of my mouth. Scotty is much more energetic today than before. It’s almost like he can’t help himself. His hands, though smooth and soft, handle me roughly, holding my torso, sliding over my hips, manhandling my thighs, holding my face as he presses his mouth down on mine. I’m almost afraid, but it’s exciting at the same time.
Scotty pulls back and is panting as if he’d just run a marathon. He gazes down at me and exclaims, “My God, you’re like a drug! I’ve never had a boy like you! You’re amazing!”
Inside, I feel dismay at his words, but at the same time, I feel my excitement grow. His hungry, almost crazed look is like pouring gasoline on the fire of my excitement. Scotty rolls off me and sits beside me. I look down at the front of his pants as he picks up my glass and hands it to me. I’m gazing at the gigantic lump under his zipper and I can’t believe my eyes. That’s Scotty’s wiener, his big, huge man-wiener! I can’t believe it’s that big. Holding my glass in my left hand and taking a huge gulp, I reach over with my right hand and feel the hardness inside his slacks.
“Oh, God,” Scotty gasps. “You want my cock, don’t you, Little Prince. You want Scotty’s big cock.”
Cock. That sounds so... dirty, so nasty, so deliciously exciting! So, that’s what a wiener’s really called. A cock!
“Yeah!” I reply. “I want your cock! I want to see it! Pull it out, Scotty. I want to see it. Can I feel it? Can I feel your cock?”
Scotty grins at me and says, “You’re such a naughty boy! I’ve never known such a naughty boy! I love it!”
Scotty unzips his slacks and fishes his cock out from within his underwear. I gasp as I stare at it! It’s so much bigger than mine! It’s fat and hard and... it’s shaped almost like the wiener on The Laughing Runner! It’s smooth, but actually, he had some extra skin that’s behind the cone. I realize that the skin goes over the cone.
“Scotty, your cock is so big and cool,” I breathe, “but why is it different than mine?”
Scotty smiles and pulls the extra skin back and asks, “Now does it look like yours?”
“Oh, yeah! It does.”
Scotty nods and explains, “You were circumcised when you were born.”
Scotty pulls the skin over the cone and it now looks like The Laughing Runner’s cock. I am growing hungrier and hungrier to touch and feel it. He smiles at me and says, “All boys are born with this. It’s called a foreskin, but some religions and some doctors think it’s easier to keep your penis clean if they cut the foreskin off.”
Scotty kisses my forehead and replies, “The extra skin is called a foreskin and penis is the correct or formal word for a cock or a dick or a prick. The doctor circumcised your cock when you were born.”
“Oh, man,” I breathe. I want to rub my wiener, my cock, my dick, but I want to touch and feel Scotty’s cock, too. I sit up and suddenly I feel a rush to my head. I start giggling and I look up at Scotty, who’s grinning and asks, “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“Oh, yeah. I feel so good. I feel... fucking good!”
I giggle at my use of the f-word and Scotty grins at me. “You look fucking good, too!”
I reach over with both hands as Scotty unfastens his belt. I tentatively touch his cock with my index finger and then lay all my fingers on my right hand atop his cock. It’s so hot and hard and soft and smooth and I can feel it pulsing and throbbing. I wrap my hand around it as he unfastens his slacks and opens them up. Now I can see lots of blond hair around his cock. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. It’s thick and looks soft and silky. It’s a little darker than the white blond hair atop his head, but not by much. I move my hand up and lay it atop the hair, then run my fingers through it, twining ,my fingers through his hair. It feels so cool and I love it. I look up at Scotty and grin and he smiles at me as he asks, “You like that?”
“Oh, yeah,” I breathe. “I love it.”
“God, I can’t believe you,” Scotty whispers in awe. “You’re fucking unbelievable. You’re the perfect nasty boy. Just fucking perfect. I love you.”
My eyes open and I look up at him in shock. He said the magic words to me. He loves me. Scotty loves me.
“You love me?” I ask. “You really mean it? You love me?”
Scotty looks into my eyes with surprise. He seems to be thinking and then, after a moment, a strange kind of smile comes over his full, red lips and he nods.
“I love you, Eric. I love you. I love you.”
I feel tears forming in my eyes. Scotty loves me! He loves me! I wrap my arms around his pudgy torso and I bury my face in his chest as I cry, “I love you, Scotty! I love you!”
Scotty leans forward and nudges me back down to the couch. His eyes look into mine. They’re different now. They’re more serious, but there’s something else there. I don’t know what, but I don’t care. Scotty loves me and that’s all I need to know. Scotty’s right hand reaches over to my penis, my cock, my dick, and he wraps his hand gently around it. I moan loudly as he holds it and leans over me. I reach out with both hands and take hold of Scotty’s hard penis. It feels slightly rubbery and I like that. I love it. In fact, I whisper, “I love your penis, Scotty. I love your cock. I love you.”
Still holding my cock in his warm, smooth, soft hand, Scotty leans in close to me and begins to whisper in my ear, “I love you, Eric. You’re the perfect boy, just the fucking perfect boy. You’re so beautiful, you’re so willing to play, to do anything. You’re just precious and I love you. You’re pretty, Eric. You’re so pretty. I love you so much.”
His words enflame me. Daddy is dead and my stepmother hates me, but Scotty loves me and he wants to show me he loves me. I know it. I am loved. I’m not alone!
Slowly, as his lips brush against my cheek as they move close to my mouth, he whispers over and over, “I love you, my sweet Eric. I love you, my pretty, sweet Eric. My precious Little Prince! I love you.” As he whispers this, his hand begins to slow work my cock. Up and down and twisting his hand back and forth, so slow, but so good, he is making me feel so intense I can hardly breathe.
As his lips brush mine and he keeps whispering, “I love my sweet and sexy Eric. I love you more than any boy on earth. I love you,” I am feeling and squeezing and rubbing Scotty’s big, hard man-cock. I’m feeling a man’s cock, a man’s hard cock!
Suddenly, it all hits me, Scotty’s lips, his words of love, his hand on my cock, my hands on his cock, my nakedness... It all hits and I suddenly feel myself stiffen all over. I throw my head back and thrust my hips up and The Biggest Big Feeling of my life hits. It hits and lasts and lasts and won’t stop and I’m twisting and squirming and screaming and pumping my hips and desperately feeling Scotty’s cock and crying into his mouth as he moans and loudly exclaims, “Cum, baby, cum sweet Eric! Oh, God, I love you, Eric. Cum baby! I love you!”
My cock is too sensitive, but Scotty won’t stop rubbing it. He’s still whispering his words of love to me as he softly kisses my lips and chin and cheek and nose and I’m bucking like crazy because it just feels too good and I can’t stand it. I’m trying to twist away from him. I need to stop and breathe and rescue my cock, but I’m trapped and he’s forcing me to let him rub my cock and I can’t stop him and it feels so good and I love and hate that he won’t stop and his tongue pushes into my mouth again and its exploring all over and it feels so good. I love his tongue sliding across mine and his left arm is wrapped around me as his right hand won’t stop working my super-sensitive boy-cock and I’m still fondling his big man-cock and I’m moaning and whimpering and squirming as his hand keeps working my cock and working it and working it.
Suddenly, Scotty’s tongue pulls out of my mouth and his lips pull away from mine. I’m gasping for breath as I open my eyes and look frantically at him. He grins at me as my legs kick about and my butt squirms on the couch as his hand pumps up and down on my cock. Then he groans and seems to dive for my throat like a vampire. I squeal and jerk about, twisting my head down to protect my sensitive throat because it’s just too much for me. But, Scotty is a man and stronger than me and he forces his mouth down on my sensitive throat and I’m crying and begging him to stop and my dick is just so hard that I think it’s going to break off and...
I scream again as the Feeling everywhere is just too much. Scotty has brought me to the point where I have no rational thoughts. My cock, my throat, my whole body is just one gigantic BIG Feeling.
“Cum, baby,” he’s moaning as he licks and kisses my throat. “Cum, sweet Eric.”
I have no idea what he means by cum, but I am going crazy and it’s all just too intense and insane and I’m screaming and then...
...I collapse. I’m gasping for breath and Scotty has released me. He’s sitting beside me as I lie naked on the couch, my legs hanging off and he’s grasping his penis now and pumping it like a madman and moaning as he stares at me with wild eyes, his gaze moving up and down my body and all around until he throws his head back and a frightening strangling sound escapes from his throat as suddenly his whole body stiffens and...
I’m shocked and horrified to see streamers of white goo shooting out of his cock into the air, two or three of them and then more oozing out of the end, lots of goo, falling on his slacks, flowing over his hand, oozing and seeping down his fingers and into his soft, silky hair at the base of his cock.
He stops pumping and simply holds his cock as he—and I—lay back on the couch, desperately gasping for breath.
“Oh, my God, Eric,” he moans, “you make me feel like a boy again! I feel like I’m thirteen all over again. You’re like the fountain of youth. My God, I love you!”
I smile at him as I am fighting for breath. An occasional shudder passes through me as I gaze lovingly up at the man who has told me over and over that he loves me. I don’t feel guilty or remorseful this time. I feel joy and peace as I lie on the couch, gazing up at his soft, blue eyes and his sweet man-smile and... I want to lie in his arms and drift to sleep now. It’s hard to keep awake after the glass of vodka and orange juice and all the physical exertions.
“What’s that gooey stuff?” I ask sleepily, pointing to Scotty’s hand.
Scotty smiles and says, “It’s semen, or sperm. It’s the stuff that makes babies. When a man and a woman have sex, the man inserts his hard cock into the woman’s vagina and he ejaculates the semen and there are millions of tiny sperm cells in it that swim up the vagina and into the uterus, where they try to penetrate the egg cell in there, and when one of them does, the egg slowly begins to grow and turn into a fetus and then a baby.”
“Oh, my God,” I cry out in horror. “That’s how babies are made?”
Scotty smiles and says, “Regrettably, yes, it is. And, the gooey stuff contains the male cells, one of which must fertilize the female egg.”
“Nasty!” I cry.
Scotty grins and says, “Actually, it’s not bad. Some boys actually love the taste.”
“They eat it?” I ask with revulsion. I can’t think of anything worse unless it’s drinking pee or eating poo! It’s a horrible thought!
“Well, maybe tomorrow,” Scotty says as he starts to put himself back together again, “we will do something new and exciting and you might decide that eating sperm isn’t quite as disgusting as you thought.”
“I’m not gonna eat it!” I declare firmly.
“Well, never say never,” Scotty replies as he zips up. “Nonetheless, I think our time is up now.”
Where have I heard this before? It appears that Scotty is dismissing me. I wasn’t actually ready to leave yet, but now, as Scott rises from the couch and adjusts his shirt and slacks, I start to feel dirty again. I thought Scott said that he loved me! He said he loved me. Was he lying? Was he just saying that? I feel as if I’ve been used and suddenly, I’m overwhelmingly self-conscious about lying on the couch naked. Blushing horribly, I rise and quickly dress. As Scott leads me to the front door, he says with fake jocularity, “See you tomorrow, Eric!”
“So, what do you talk about with that quack doctor when you’re in there?” my stepmother demands as we climb into the station wagon.
“I don’t know,” I answer evasively as I shrug nervously. I don’t want to talk about this with her. Especially not with her.
“Well, I want to know if I’m wasting my money or not!” my stepmother replies as she starts the engine. “I want to make sure you’re not going to pull another one of those stunts again!”
I might. I just might, I think to myself, but I don’t her that. To be honest, I don’t think the shrink is doing me any good. I really don’t. I still hate myself. I still want to die, and I still think of ways to do it better than before!
We pull out of the parking and head out of the University Hospital complex. Once we’re on University Avenue and heading toward home, my stepmother looks back over at me. She examines me for a minute and then says, “If you do pull another stunt like that, I will call the state to take you, because I’m not putting up with that again!”
I’m looking out the window of the car at the traffic around us as a Mercedes comes along beside us. It’s gray and the driver in a younger man in his twenties. He has jet black hair and he’s wearing sunglasses with his expensive, short-sleeved sport shirt. He’s beautiful. In fact, now that I use more advanced language than before, thanks to Scotty, he’s fucking beautiful! I feel myself popping hard again. As we stop at a light, he looks over and it seems that our eyes meet, though I can’t tell through his sunglasses. I don’t look away. There was a time when I was too embarrassed to be caught looking. Now, I don’t care. I blatantly look at him. Slowly, a smile grows on his lips before he turns his head and drives on.
He smiled at me. The man actually smiled at me. We looked at each other. I didn’t look away. He smiled at me! Wow. Wow! Fucking wow! Maybe... maybe I shouldn’t think about ending it all. Maybe I’m not really sick and disgusting. Maybe there are others out there, not men like Scott Denton, but nice men, men like the one in the Doctors Building, men like the one in that Mercedes, men who like boys like me and who aren’t dirty and nasty. Maybe...
To be continued.....
Please write to me at ericthered76 at myopera.com
Thank you for reading my story!