Copyright 2003 by Nicholas6996@hotmail.com
This is a fictional story of loving between friends, young and old. If you don't like friendship, don't read it. If you don't like love, I'm sorry for you. If you are not old enough to legally read this, find your friend and have him read it to you.
The website at 81x was down most of Saturday, they seem to have it fixed, so please feel free to visit Stephy's friends.
Thanks to Teglin and Mal and Ted and Beachkid for continuing to inspire me to try and write my best. Kev, this chapter's just for you.
Stocking Stuffer Part 21 Spring Break Part 11
WKE and I managed to stumble with our precious load across the sand and Brian, Tommy and Gene each took a boy and guided us to their group of lounging chairs. Soon another beer was occupying my hand, while Stephy and Scotty occupied my mind with a data dump of all the wonderful things they'd done and how Tommy and Brian were going to take them sailing. Seems as if WKE was getting the same treatment from Tommy and Mikey. Gene and Brian just sipped a beer and beamed with pleasure at the love these boys were shedding all around the beach.
I vaguely watched as several other families walked past on the sand. I saw a father reach out to a son and an older brother picking up a little one. Again our boys had started what I could only pray would be a life long chain reaction.
Steph couldn't seem to get the words all out for how much fun they'd had. Seems they'd been swimming, played some beach volleyball, splashed in the lake, had a morning snack! of hot-dogs and ice cream, been out on the paddle boats, played sand tag with some other boys, eaten lunch at the beachfront grill, gone down the pool's waterslide about a gillion times, and on and on! I was amazed that Brian, Gene and Tommy were still able to move. They must have covered a million miles keeping up with all that energy.
"But I'm glad you came!" Stephy said into my shoulder as he nuzzled in my chin. "I need more suntan oil and we don't have enough hands to do everyone!" By the conspiratorial grin he shot beneath my chin at Scotty and Mikey, I knew that we were toast.
Sure enough, looking round I found the little boys had paired up with a dad and none of us the wiser. Steph with me of course and Scotty with Gene, but the interesting chess moves had gone on at WKE's lounge chair. From starting with Mikey in his arms and then Mikey and Tommy telling him the day's events, he now was left with just Tommy at his side. Mikey had moved across to Brian. This more than convinced me Stephy could move his army around without the aide of chocolate chip cookies. Sure enough, he surveyed the troops and satisfied, he jumped off me and ran over near the beach umbrella. Bringing back two bottles of Bain de Soleil, he handed one to WKE.
"Here, you do Tommy and then Brian can do Mikey. Gene can do Scotty and then Nick can do me!" His grin would have shamed the Cheshire Cat.
Suitably arranged, Mikey twisted Brian around and Steph crawled into my lap so we were cuddling in the sun and watching the other boys be oiled.
Except the few times in the past two weeks, I hadn't really spent much time around Tommy. To me he was the grown up son of one of my dear friends. A high school senior involved in sports and other grown boy pursuits. We'd seen him of course with Brian at the store and several times at Donatello's, but he was just kind of the very young uncle who played with the boys and always was polite.
Seeing him these last few days I'd come to realize what a truly nice young man he was. He'd taken charge of all three little ones several times and although relieved to pass them back, he'd never complained to us, or raised his voice to them. Seeing him last night going to supper in his handsome magazine-ad clothes I'd seen how good he looked. His long lean frame hinted at the boy he recently had been, the boy echoed in his little brother Mikey. His silver hair and slightly golden skin showed he was of the athletic type. Not a jock really, I doubted that he played football, but an athlete like a runner or a swimmer. He had the look of stamina without looking like he worked with weights. His outsized hands and feet were not a flaw, but hinted that he still might grow a goodly bit beyond the 5 foot 10 he probably stood in stocking feet. Seeing him wear that not-quite-thong as if he'd been born a classic god I knew he had a strength of character and personal worth that must make Brian proud. Not many American boys would wear underwear so scant, yet Tommy seemed to wear it as if it wasn't there. I wasn't sure he shared Steph and Scotty's choice for eau natural, but if he did then Brian. or maybe WKE, was surely a lucky man. Watching Tommy blush and giggle 'round WKE this morning, I'd understood beneath the "new" young man he was still a schoolboy too. Then seeing him atop the Hobie Cat and now turning slowly to present his back for oiling up, I knew he was an enchanting, sweet young prince.
I watched mesmerized as WKE sat up, legs astride the lounge chair and gently guided Tommy in between to sit, their bodies less than a foot apart. Then as WKE poured the oil in the palms of his hands, Stephy sighed in my lap and we watched as if our eyes were glued to WKE's fingertips.
They started on the shoulders, cupping oil and gently spreading it quickly across the muscles and softly down the upper arms. With this first spreading of the mass of oil, those fingers climbed back up the arms and began to work it in. First across the rigid muscles of the neck, long finger tips torn between pointing forward round the neck to caress the velvet throat or upward into the fringe of hair. Gently kneading the cord of tendons rising from the back into the head we watched them top the ear, then gently tweak each sensuous lobe in three delicate circuits of that tender track .
Then catching drips attempting to escape down toward the small of Tommy's back, those fingers must have spoken directly to his body-mind, because in completely opposite motion, but in perfect harmony, WKE rose from the chair and Tommy turned and lay face down. Now WKE was seated on the edge of the lounger and his hands could spread the oil without the risk of drips.
Spread they did, first adding more glistening oil in a small puddle in the bowl of Tommy's back, then circling it upward and around. Long smooth flowing lines following the tendons of the back and then return by sliding down along the spine and repeated once again. Then upperward strokes topped with an outward spreading brush across those perfect shoulder blades. Each downward glide across the back of ribs intent on common ground. Intent on meeting in the middle of the back. Intent on pushing down across the deep concave of the hollow of the spine. Intent on rising up along the flawless mounds of buttock cheeks. Intent on following the emerald demarcation line and outward toward the sides, fingers turning ever in then out until they girdled hips and softly grazed upwards once again, across the sides, across the back to begin the pattern's recurring trace.
I found my own hands rubbing Stephy's back in silent empathy.
Those fingers sometimes flat, sometimes erect, kneading flesh, spreading oil, caressing Tommy's precious skin. I watched them walk across the line between the suit and skin. I watched them walk beneath the line. I watched them move the line in simple downward steps. The shinning whiteness underneath, first dulled with captured water's chill, now glossy as the oil spread out, now glimmering with the rising capillary flow. I watched them lifting up again and raise the line back to its former place.
I watched them gather some more oil, not in a puddle now, but spread upon their own bright surface. I watched them skip completely 'cross that line and start to coat the thigh. Tommy's flesh there was more supple, more movement prone. The fingers spread their oil first down across the top of thigh then splitting up some traveled on the inside path, some traveled out. Again they met, they rose together and the outer hand crossed the crease where buns meet thigh and once again traced an emerald line. This time upward along the curve, along the full cheek's face. I watched this pattern too repeat, the outer hand now slipped beneath the green of suit; fingers following along the boundary's nether side. I saw them bump out across the thrust of bone. I imagined I could watch them slip beneath the hips, beneath the boy and trace the inner vee where legs met at that glorious junction. I sighed to Stephy's head as this too played repeat.
Trailing back from one such hidden gambol, they went down around the knee. Again, one hand inside, one out, the fingers seemed to meet and pause. The thumbs took up the slack and softly stroked that most sensuous of soft boys spots. To watch them in the hollow behind the knee pushing up, then circling and back around and pushing upward once again almost made me cry.
Then finger's tension just released, they trailed down barely touching skin. Trailed down past the calf, trailed down across the Achilles tendon inner arch. Trailed down and underneath the foot.
Then quickly oiling up again, they jumped back to the thigh. This time the outer hand stopped at the emerald line, but the inner hand grazed underneath. It seemed to burrow like for a vein of gold and then the fingertips peaked out from underneath. The outer hand still high upon the thigh seemed to lead those gentle tips back down and towards the knee. Then meeting there the whole refrain repeats.
They trailed back down along the leg, they cupped the ankle turned slightly in. They enveloped the foot, one on the arch, one on the sole and kneaded it like bread, slowly pulling down, slowly sliding down until each idle toe received its own caress.
Lifting up and dancing cross the calf, they moved to the other leg even as I saw WKE rise and never let the touching cease he moved to Tommy's other side.
This time those fingers started at the toes. First squeezing soft then almost milking each; they slowly started a journey up this leg. They cupped the foot, they reached beneath the ankle and in quick and longing strokes they lifted and slid down. The motion was like the stroking of a cat, but upside down. No! It was like the cradling of a newborn babe, like the tender cupping of an injured bird, like the outstretched offering to a worshipped god.
Moving from the foot, the calf was stroked up towards the knee, in long strong pushes, oil silently refreshed. Each stroke went slightly higher than the last. Each stroke across the back of calf and thigh returned with feather light tracings to the foot. Each stroke glistening the skin.
The final upward stroke delivering the hands to the emerald green demarcation line. Again I watched the outer hand graze along the line. I watched it send its fingers underneath, I watched those fingers twisting up and out across the wonder of that hip. I imagined once again their hidden quest, their nuzzling graze into the hollow of the vee and back down their sweet descent. I watched them circle twice, each nuzzle underneath a little farther in that secret cleft.
The inner hand began its own reconnaissance. Gently following the curve of thigh it too nuzzled underneath. It tested first, then fell back for another dash of oil, then pressed ahead again. It must have slipped beneath the emerald line, it must have touched at gold. It quested farther in and like its brother on the other side, it followed the leader back gently down the thigh.
Then both hands softly palming cheeks they must have spoken skin to skin because a little twist, a little sigh and Tommy rolled in place onto his back. As the palms guided him around, they came to rest upon his hips. WKE's strong arm lines forcing the eye down toward the hands, the gentle curve of Tommy's body drawing the eye from the shoulders down to hips, the lean smooth lines of Tommy's legs leading the eye up toward the brilliant emerald jewel caught fast inside this sixfold frame. Tommy's smooth teen body had reacted to the caress of this oiled massage. He was not hard, to him it had not been a sexual act, but he was not soft, his body had felt the tingling glow of pleasure at the embrace. His mind was somewhere in between, somewhere in the luminosity of loving, pampering touch.
The hands again began their dance. This time dribbling oil in the basin of his abdomen they danced first up and following the outside curve of standing ribs they homed in for the delicate counterpart of back of knee, they stroked the lightly haired armpits. Sifting down his concave sides they settled once again on hips. Then lifting off they met again at center just below the shimmering oil filled navel. Each thumb in turn pushed out this hidden reservoir and gifted fingertips with this sweetened essence for the sun.
This time they followed up the inside curve of ribs and nestled in the sweet defile above his heart. Pausing just for a moments rest, they continued on their rise and crossed the points of collar bone. Then drawn out to the sides they gently circled shoulders once again, this time from the front. Now sifting down they delved for more treat from the navel's horde and this time parted just below his collar bones, just atop his chest, just across his bronzed breasts. His nipples seemed to feel them come because the nubs began to push themselves up toward the fingers touch and as the hands made their second pass, they stood proudly firm and strong.
The hands then turned and starting at the same dark shimmering pool of oil, they traveled down, they traced their way along the body's vee. They turned aside and traced the line, the emerald line. They tried again and coming back upon the barrier once more they teased it gently down and then they moved out in the circling pattern once again. Next time they slipped beneath the edge as they met the palisade and trailing left and right they claimed the skin as theirs. The final time there was no pause, they slid fully down beneath yet failed to claim their prize. Departing left and right and following down the vee and underneath the nylon cloth they simply framed the jewel. Then just as quickly as they passed, they fell into retreat and pausing one on shoulder, one in the abdominal well they must have kissed the boy.
Tommy slowly lifted on his elbows and like the cat just up from a sunbeamed nap he stretched first through his toes and then up through his back. He sat full up with legs trailing off the other side from WKE and grasping the hands which had so gently paid him court, he held them still, then squeezed his thanks. I know his hands transmitted back the kiss he'd just received.
Stephy had my hands locked firm in his and hugged around his chest. He squeezed me just as Tommy squeezed WKE and from his sigh I knew he'd won his victory. Turning a pixie face up at me he beamed his love. I couldn't remember a single thing about those stupid interviews.
Tossing the oil to Brian, WKE kept hold of one of Tommy's hands and leading him from the lounger, leading him to the beach, they walked hand in hand upon the sand.
Mikey stood in front of Brian and began his own sweet giggle as Brian began to gently coat him down. But a nine year old body is far different from a seventeen year olds and Mikey was soon a mass of quivering, ticklish flesh. He didn't fight against Brian's touch, but his young skin was so sensitive, so alive you could tell that every stroke was almost more than he could bear.
Where Tommy's oiling up had been so peaceful to the boy, Mikey's was almost a torment. Unlike his big brother's body's restraint, Mikey reacted totally and completely to the overload of his sensory grid. His little pole was rigid hard beneath his suit and had he been another inch longer he would have poked right out.
Stephy giggled looking at his friend and hugged himself with my arms again.
Finally Brian fully coated his little squirming boy and scooping him up with one arm, he hugged him close and let the fullness of body contact soothe out the giggling mess.
Stephy hopped up and grabbed the bottle and returning to my side presented his back for my caress.
I wondered at the beauty standing there before me. I oiled my hands and started at the top. I rubbed his shoulders, cupped his ears, swabbed his throat and turning him 'round I lightly spread oil on his forehead and his cheeks. Turning him backside again I smoothed my hands down his sides to his slender waist. He was two sizes small for his age, but still in perfect proportion. His long lean legs lifted the slender waist from out of the sand. The waist formed the perfect pivot point upon which his chest and shoulders sat. I watched as he leaned those shoulders left and the hips silently, sympathetically tilted right. It was a perfect balance of line for line and point for point and between us, heart for heart.
As I rubbed his back he leaned into my hands and I oiled along his shoulder blades, those quick attachment points where I knew his angel wings must surely hide from me.
Turning him round again I spread oil across his chest and down his arms. My Tiger purred his absolute pleasure at the touch.
With him still facing me I reached behind and smoothed the oil into the hollow of his back. My fingers too slipped beneath the nylon of his suit and I made sure the tender skin just at the point where suit stopped protecting from the sun would never burn. I'd seen too many boys with the white of covered skin burnt crisp because their bodies, never still, had moved the suits aside and left them open to the sun.
Turning Steph around again I coated the backside of his thighs, I nuzzled in the soft silky back of knees, I kneaded the bulges of his calves. Reaching round his body I gave the front of thighs the same protective coat and as I rubbed his tummy with the last of the oil on my hands, Steph touched my hands and led them down beneath his suit. He was not content to let me frame the jewel, but had me cup his wonderous sac and rearrange his hardened shaft. Then just as quickly, he pulled my hands up to his chest and turning in my embrace he hugged me tight and made me lift him up.
I thought how I could hold him like this forever. How I could feel the warmth and love and sweet concern come pouring into my chest. He kissed me on the cheek, then kissed me on the ear and then whispered, "I love you, Nick."
I managed to choke out, "Love you too, Steph!" in reply.
Tanning research at http://fdpd.org/www/hardalee/
Friends of Stephy are at www.81x.com/nicholas693/edgar
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