From: FCPHAW@news.delphi.com (FCPHAW@DELPHI.COM) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: FCP: Stephen (m/m,minors) Date: 20 Aug 1995 10:04:03 -0400 ********************* W A R N I N G ! ! ! The following story contains adult sexual material. If you are under the legal age to read such stories, exit this file now. ********************** FAN CHA PHAW PRESENTS: STEPHEN A SHORT MAN-BOY STORY The following story contains sex and sexual situations between an adult man and a minor boy. If you are offended by this type of story, exit now and do not continue reading. If you are under the legal age to read adult sexual stories, exit now an do not continue reading. This story might have appeared in other publications in the past. Fan Cha Phaw does not condone the activities of the actors in this story. Fan Cha Phaw does not advocate the breaking of any laws known to mankind. This story is totally fictional. None of the characters exist in real life. Ishmael Wilkins STEPHEN By Chris Foster We met in September, three days before the yellow busses would begin roaring past my front gate once again. He was eight-I was twenty-eight. Never had I thought, not even for a moment, that anything would come out of our first chance meeting. He would retrieve his ill thrown ball from my yard, we would exchange a glance, then off he'd go. A fouled ball, or two, each summer was sent soaring over the eight foot high stockade fencing that surrounded my property. I'd become accustomed to seeing one or more of the neighbor kids come sneaking in through the gate, hoping not to be caught in the act. The sight of them, as splendid as it was, was not at all unusual. It was about 10:30 am when through my kitchen window I first spied the ball come rolling under the gate. I followed it until it came to a halt at the side of the doghouse just outside my perch. It wasn't that I actually had a dog, I simply never got around to taking down the house. I remember thinking how soon it would be before the mornings were once again devoid of the delightful wails of children playing. Then, lifting my eyes from the ball, I focused my attention on the gate, hoping to catch the accustomed glimpse of the child that would inevitable appear. It had taken longer than usual that morning for the grand entrance. Usually, after a quick glance to be certain they would not be caught, the gate opened and one or two school age children scampered in to retrieve what was theirs. As the moments lingered on, I can remember thinking "I must fix that gate." Who ever was at the other side was having great difficulty getting in. As the moments turned into more, I found myself getting anxious for the poor kid outside. I could stand it no more. Leaving my coffee to cool on the window ledge, dressed only in my robe and shower shoes, I went out to offer assistance. Once outside, the clatter of the gate being banged against the posts struck me as odd. Whoever stood on the other side was certainly not afraid of my catching him. From the sound of the racket, I surmised that whoever it was, he wasn't the least bit concerned about disturbing anybody. No sooner had I lifted the latch than the gate was whipped wide open and a blonde kid, perhaps four feet tall, wearing faded jeans and a Mickey mouse Tee-shirt tore by me in an indignant fury. Amazed, I stood back as he stormed across the lawn to retrieve the ball. Turning, with the ball securely grasped in his tiny hands, he defiantly stared me down. As he scurried back toward me to make his exit, I stared back into his fawn-like brown eyes with equal intensity. I stopped his descent by asking, "Well, don't I get a thank you?" Stopping in his tracks, the boy responded in a voice as angry, as his pouched lips were red, "Your fence is broken." His attempt at vocal power only made me laugh-which made my young visitor even more agitated. "Didn't you hear me? I said that your fence is broken. What're laughing for? You like having a broken fence or sumpin?" Almost unable to contain my laughter, I smiled and prodded the imp for his name. He answered by asking me what mine was. "My name is Chris." I answered. "I live here. Where do you live? I've never seen you before." Settling down, he answered, "I'm Stephen. We just moved in over there." Stephen pointed toward the gate, which didn't provide a clue to the actual location of his house. Then suddenly he added, "I'm hungry. You got any cookies?" I burst out laughing once again. This time Stephen joined in. "What?" he giggled, his eyes squinting like a China doll. "You laugh a lot don't you?" "Do you always go around asking people for food?" I mused, staring down into his nearly closed eyes. "No," he laughed. "But I'm hungry." As Stephen worked relentlessly to resume his once serious pose, it became obvious that this child was toying with me. His coquettishness became even more apparent when he tenderly mumbled, "I'd like some milk too, if you got any." Without so much as another word spoken, I turned on my heels and headed toward the kitchen door. Two can play the same game, I thought with a grin. "Where you going?" Stephen called after me in a voice ringing of disappointment. Without turning, nor missing a single step, I offered, "You want some milk and cookies, don't you?" "Yeah." His voice quivered at my back. "Well, C'mon." Before I could reach the first step of the door, Stephen's tiny frame was at my heels. Once inside I seized the opportunity to lay my hand gently on the nape of Stephen's neck. His hair was as soft as silk threads. His skin was as smooth and downy as velvet. Sitting him down at the table, I poured glasses of milk for the tow of us, and set out a dish of the remaining stale Oreos I'd had in the cupboard. A thin white mustache drew itself across Stephen's upper lip as he guzzled the contents of his glass. Then placing the emptied vessel back on the table, he reached for a cookie. He informed me that he had recently moved from "Rose Island," and now lived with his mom in a "partment" two streets over. As he spoke, I detected the slightest hint of a lisp. His chatter was delightful. Stephen was as precocious a young boy as I'd ever encountered. He also seemed especially bright for his age, which he relayed to me as, "just became eight." When he laughed, and otherwise invisible dimple carved his delicate chin. Having finished his morning treat. Stephen rose from the table and began an exploration through the rooms of my house. "This is all yours?" he asked in amazement, as he entered the dining room. I assured him I indeed lived alone. Upon entering the bedroom he stopped and stared a moment before chiming, "You got a big bed for just one person." Then a devilish grin swept across his face. "You sure you don't got a girlfriend that sleeps with you?" Amused by his extraordinary observation, I assured him that I didn't have a girlfriend. Taking things a step further, I assured him that I didn't like girls. As he pranced past me out to the living room, he informed me that he didn't like girls either. "Girls are stupid." He grimaced, obviously at the thought. Then romping into the dinning room he announced, "I gotta piss." With both hands clutching his crotch, he squirmed by the dinning room table. His voice revealed a delight at having used this word. I as well found myself delighted by his use of the expression. I showed him into the room at the kitchen's edge. Stepping inside to turn on the light. Stephen had given me a surprise. Before I'd even had the light on, he had pushed his jeans to his knees, and stood contentedly peeing into the bowl. His head lifted to catch my eyes fixed on his tiny sprig. His smile widened, seeing my mouth agape, and the front of my robe standing straight out at the crotch. As he peed, I could see that his small bud was also becoming stiff. My heart began to pound. The blood in my veins surged steadily to my head. A moment later he had his pants pulled up, and was again frolicking through the house. In the course of the half hour Steven had opened every door, every drawer, and every cabinet in the place. His inquisitiveness amused me endlessly. As he happened upon any small shiny object, or coin, he begged to take possession. For the most part I snatched back my belongings. Each time having to wrestle back the object from his tightly fisted hand. In the end he managed to fill his pockets with seven very shinny quarters and a NYC subway token. Finally, tiring of his relentless exploration, Stephen came to my side at the sofa. Resting one fragile hand on my knee, he gazed up into my eyes, and in a voice bordering on a whisper asked, "Will you be my friend?" Infinitely touched by the offer, I assured him, "Yes, I would love to be your friend." At this he pounced up to my lap, unknowingly sliding his knee under my robe to my groin, wrapped his willowy arms around my neck, and kissed my lips. The blood rushed once again to my groin. Holding him close to me, I slid my hand slowly under the cotton of his shirt, and caressed his thinly muscled back. "That feels good," he whispered in my ear. My hands still under the fabric, tickled his sides. Wriggling in a fit of laughter, Stephen slid from my knee and my touch. As he rollicked to the floor, the cloth of my robe was accidentally separated, exposing my loins to his wide opened eyes. Before I had a chance to fix the cover, Stephen had already caught a fair sight. Kneeling before me his fawn brown eyes had again caught mine. "You got a big one!" He said, truly amazed by the vision. Feeling my heart beat furiously in my chest, I bent over and lifted Stephen once more to his feet before me. All of a sudden my entire body began to tremble. I held his slender waist with my hands. I could feel the whole of his seventy pounds in my embrace. "You're shaking." he quickly observed. "Yes I am," I thought, "But you don't know the half of it." "We're friends, right?" My voice stumbled over every syllable. "Yeah," he assured, oblivious to my anxiety. "We're friends." He smiled. "Well," I continued uneasily, "sometimes friends have secrets, right?" For a moment a look of genuine concern swept over Stephen's angelic face. My heart was pounding louder and more steadily. Then, his concern disappeared, and was replaced by a grin. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't tell anyone I saw your dick." As though a cool wind had suddenly found its way through my body, I blinked in amazement at his uncanny ability to read my thoughts. The nonchalance of his voice stunned me. My first thought was that this was not the first time he witnessed such a sight. When I inquired, he assured me that he had "seen his friend Billy's once, but never a big one like mine." I felt my body temperature rise by ten degrees. My face and chest grew increasingly warmer. With my hands still on his tiny waist, I snatched a breath before asking, "So what do you think?" His smile grew wider still, as he responded, "I really didn't see it, you covered it up before I could look." After some hesitation, carefully measuring the weight of my words, I gathered the strength to ask, "Do you want to see it again?" Stephen's eyes opened wide with surprise, before falling back on his boyish coquetishness. "Yeah, OK." He responded, in a voice softer than his usual. Short of breath, I further added, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Steven's smile broadened to display a full set of pearly whites. "OK!", he giggled. As he spoke, his tiny hands separated the fabric of my robe. "It's all hairy," he blurted out before running his tiny fingers through the coarse strands. "You'll have hair someday too," I assured him. Steven's eyes caught mine with a look of disbelief. Eclipsing Stephen's tiny paw in my own much larger hand, I directed him up the length of my stiffened shaft, and over its swollen head. "It's soft," he observed with a giggle and a shudder. I laughed as his small frame wriggled. "Now it's your turn." I said, feeling my own body shudder and wriggle. Taking one step back, Steven clumsily pulled apart the waist of his jeans, and quickly lowered them to his knees. Standing erect and pink from its hairless base. Steven's tiny penis twitched in the air before him. Again he shivered. His minuscule, scrunched scrotum pursed beneath him, wrinkled and tight. To my delight, Steven rocked his delicate hips, sending his pinkened sprig swaying back and forth before him. Reaching out with both hands, I hoarded the melons of the boy's firm buttocks, and pulled him in between my spread legs. I kissed his delectable red lips, while my hand investigated the silken skin of his loins. I held his velvety-smooth crocklet between thumb and forefinger, and gently-slowly stroked up and down its length. With his tiny hand now wrapped firmly around my own throbbing rod, Steven followed my lead. For several moments we remained this position, Steven's head came to rest delicately on my shoulder, his soft inaudible mews, music to my ears. After a time, with nary a word spoken, I maneuvered my way to my knees. With the full grip of my hands massaging the firm, ripe cheeks of his buttocks, I took his tiny boy's cock into my mouth. His lithe body shivered at it's ascent. I remained there, sliding his delicious fruit in and nearly out for some several moments. Suddenly I felt his entire body stiffen. His buttocks contracted as he pushed himself away from my grasp. I looked up to catch a glimpse of his half closed eyes, and devilish smirk. "I gotta take a piss," He breathed. My heart stopped. Pulling his pants back up over himself, he dashed-skipped out of the room. I followed him, my cock still bobbing in front of me, to the bathroom, and watched him pee from the door. He smiled, then lifted his pants and headed into the kitchen. "You got some Coke?" He asked. "Yes." I responded. Removing the plastic jug from the fridge, I poured the both of us a full glass. Watching him guzzle the liquid I could feel my body quiver. My legs became weak beneath me. "Is anything wrong?" I prodded. Looking bewildered by my inquiry, he breathed a deep and satisfying breath. "No, why?" "I was just wondering." I said half heartedly. "Oh!" He again gulped at his glass. A moment later Steven was at the door. He turned to me, and with a big toothy grin said, "See ya to-mmora Chris." The answers to my questions were in his voice. I stood in the doorway and watched as he retrieved his ball, and with a wave of his tiny, skillful hand, disappeared into the street. That same afternoon I attached a long thin wire with a ring at the end to the latch on the gate. No one ever questioned the reasoning behind this act, and I never offered. Every day that fall my routine included putting out an afternoon snack of cookies and milk. I still do, except now it's a serving for one. THE END ---------- The following story was presented by Fan Cha Phaw. Please remember that all discussion belongs on alt.sex.stories.d, and not on the story thread.