Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.gay From: an242915@anon.penet.fi (O-twist) Reply-To: an242915@anon.penet.fi Date: Thu, 21 Mar 1996 02:50:09 UTC Subject: Teaching Phillip (Mb,Love,cons) This story was not written by me. It was submitted to me anonymously when I made inquiries about Man/Boy Love being beneficial to all involved. The writer assured me that it is in fact a true story, as well as his desire for me to post it, never the less for the purpose of vague legalities and for the protection of my rapidly eroding rights please consider the following disclaimer. Do NOT read any further if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are easily offended by a real life situation that goes against your particular upbringing or beliefs or if you are a member of the radical religious right who is not open minded enough to consider merit in any other living relationship other than those within your specific parameters. So if you are offended by narratives of intergenerational love, do not be a hypocrite by continuing to read. Teaching Phillip My story is about the things I taught Phillip, the things I taught him in these last four years of eleven through fourteen. Before anything, I must say that meeting Phillip was a dream come true. As a boy lover, I don't necessarily think being a mentor AND a lover are mutually inclusive. I think a man can be a men- tor without being a lover, and indeed some boys (and men) wish for nothing more, but you can't be a boy's lover without being his mentor. Some boys desperately require both. I've always seen making love as the culmination of being IN LOVE. Making love to a boy was a constant but distant dream that I thought might possibly be unobtainable. More importantly at the time, was my desire to teach things to a boy. Not just any boy, but a boy that needed me. I wanted to teach things that would make life easier, and make him happy, things that would last a lifetime, things that I thought were important in my life. Maybe it was the closest I thought I would ever come to being a big brother or father, those roles that most boy lovers are cheated out of by society. I guess I wanted to leave my mark on the world and let one single boy know he was truly loved. Thus came Phillip, a boy to carry on after me, and it's great to feel so proud of another person and put their life before yours. Before this boy I lived in melancholy regret that I would never get the chance to teach the boy of my dreams, never- mind make love to him. I was wrong on both counts. You never know what roads life will take you down, and I'll never know why I was so lucky to find a boy like him. When I first met him, he wasn't used to being noticed by an adult. In fact he was a camouflage expert that seemed to blend with his environment. I taught him he was special, because he surely was. I taught him to stop apoligizing... "it was fine the way you threw the ball,.. You're not too skinny,.. I don't think you're weird" He didn't think much of himself. I on the other hand thought he was wonderful. He had a certain sparkle in his eyes, and he seemed to be in constant vigil, listening to every word around him. He seemed very reserved for one so young. At eleven years old, I couldn't help but get the impression that he seemed to be waiting to make his mark on the world. I couldn't help but get excited about his lean body, perfect skin, and those beautiful eyes, but as I got to know Phillip that first year, I resolved that our relationship would never be sexual. He seemed too insecure to handle something so complex, or so I thought. Time would prove me wrong. I have observed first hand the complexity of emotions boys must deal with to love a man, and I bitterly resent society for making it so. It's such a waste of love. I taught him to preserver, even if he didn't get it right the first time, or the fiftieth time. He developed a truly ac- curate fast-ball for a twelve year old. He lost much of his shy- ness with other adults and older kids as time progressed. I en- couraged his interactions. He also learned how wonderful a real shoulder rub was, how just the right pressure after a long hard day could just about make you melt. Some might think me a cun- ning opportunist, but I'm not a stone. How I could I be so close to such a beautiful boy without being physical in some way, be- sides, after the first, he asked for those shoulder rubs daily. I taught him to be honest. He asked me about his friends, (he was making more every day with his emerging self esteem) why some of them bragged so much and told obvious lies. I told him, If they were happy with themselves, they wouldn't need to impress people. I also taught him that he was responsible for the words he said to other people, and I reminded him about the hurtful things his parents often said. We talked about things said, that could leave scars for much longer than say, a black eye. I taught him to say what he means, and mean what he says, to be a man of his word. I taught him that the greatest gift he could give himself, was "Integrity", that is, Doing what's right despite temptation, to follow the dictates of his conscience, what he REALLY believed despite what others thought of him. He learned for himself that it wasn't always easy. There was the time he became a one-time shop lifting look-out, but despite an occasional back slide, he was a very good boy with a keen sense of right and wrong. He yearned for praise and wanted to be good, and that's the best thing for any eleven year old. I was fiercly proud of him. We talked about people with integrity who fought for what they believed was right, people like Martin Lather King, Mahatma Gandi, even Ryan White. I taught him that it was all right to show his emotions to someone he trusted. He learned he could cry on my shoulder, he did, (five times in four years). He hugged me freely and told me I was his best friend, and.. the best thing that ever happened to him. I followed his honest example and told him the truth about me, (that I was attracted to boys, and that I had special feel- ings for him). His love and trust made it was easier to say than I thought. He told me he suspected, but that it didn't matter. He sug- gested that maybe that's why I understood him so well,..because I love boys. First I clarified his statement; I am Attracted to boys, but only love ONE. He gave me the most loving look in response. I told him that I believed in the way I felt and that real honest love shouldn't be condemned. If I thought it was wrong I would never have revealed the way I felt to him, but he already knew that because he already knew me. He eventually learned he could discuss sex openly with me. He admitted to me that he had just started masturbating. He said they talked about it in health class so he thought he'd try it (he was 12 at the time). He made a point to tell me that he didn't think of girls or boys, only "that tickling rush when it's like at the best"...a description I would never forget. Over the weeks he started asking openly pointed questions, about how I felt and what I liked. "what do you think looks the sexiest?, my bulge, or my butt?" I couldn't escape the humor in his directness. I told him the truth as I always did, that I found his eyes the most attractive and that I loved the compas- sion he showed toward others. I told him matter of factly, that he was indeed sexy. He took a slow breath and asked with a slight hesitation, "If you could do anything with me, what would ya do?" My heart raced. I had always been straight forward with him. I mustered the strength to finally say, "I'd like to suck your dick to give you that 'tickling rush' you were talking about". I saw him blush slightly as he smiled. It took him three whole seconds before he laughed it off and mumbled, "maybe someday". I would secretly hold that word "maybe" to my heart. He actually said "Maybe someday!" I taught him to pity people less fortunate than himself. We talked about street people, retarded kids, and people with aids, and the sadness of it all. He learned to love the truly unlov- able and despicable-ME (that is, by society's standards, and those of his middle school peers). Of course HE knew and loved the real me. He knew I was incapable of molesting anyone. He knew I had never pressed him beyond what was comfortable, in con- versation or deed. I taught him that school was his key to being anything he wanted to be. I praised him to no end for his good grades. He was six months from his thirteenth birthday when at his idea, he arranged to spend weekends with me. I was excited at the prospect, but made arrangements for him in the spare bedroom as my prudence dictated. He spent the first two weekends sleeping in the spare bedroom. The sight of him in just his underwear walking to and from the bathroom burned in my memory those weekends as I broke masturbation records. He was gorgeous. I longed to kiss him full on the lips. A million things around my apartment indicated a boy spent the weekends with me. There was toothpaste in the sink, soap in the tub drain, fruit-loops and Apple-Jacks in the cupboards, and scattered comic books. I even loved doing dirty boy-laundry. He lit up the room he was in as well as my whole weekend. I found myself working just for the weekends when we could be together. We worked long hours on extra credit projects for science and social studies. They were models of Atoms, Volcanoes that erupted, a greek building from styrofoam, and the mask of King Tut. When we weren't working on school projects, we were making rabbit snares and tree forts. I loved his ambition and taught him to feel proud of his finished accomplishments. I longed to make love to him. I put much effort into hiding my passion not wanting to risk him being uncomfortable. Oc- casionally he teased me with a comment, being only curious about my reaction. "I had to pee so bad, you should have seen the boner I woke up with" I'd smile and say something like, "Yeah, I should have", or "You don't still have it do you?",..and we'd a laugh it off together. After the third weekend in the spare bedroom he asked if he could sleep in my bed with me. He said, "Just so we can talk as long as we want.., so I don't fall asleep in the living room again..(he never actually did),.. so I'll get up when you get up"..,cause your mattress is thicker". He said a million good reasons in a row why he should, and finally ended with "Don't worry I know you won't get touchy with me unless I ask ya" My brain clung to the last words. Did he really say that?. There goes my heart rate again. We prepared for bed. I wore shorts, and he his underwear. He made a joke about me finally getting to see him in his underwear, (I was sure he deliberately took his time going to and from the bathroom those other weekends). I couldn't believe that the boy I loved was half naked and in my bed!. As we lay there we talked about the depth of our friendship, how we were luckier than most friends, about all the projects we did together, and finally re-telling every great joke we could remember in the past just to laugh again. Our laughter lulled and eventually conversation took a serious turn and the subject changed to sex, ".. and how do you know if you like girls, or you like boys?". I taught him what I believed, that sex without love was shallow and cheated both people involved. I told him that sometimes gay people made love to the opposite sex, and that didn't mean they were straight, (I have) and on the other hand, I told him that sometimes straight people had homosexual experiences. I wanted him to decide for He asked if I thought we would always be friends. I told him nothing could ever erase the wonderful times we've spent together, as well as all the talks we've had, and that I was sure we'd always be friends. I told him he'd always be a part of my life, even if I never saw him again from this moment on. Then, as we lay side by side, I looked him in the eye and told him I loved him. He responded with a big hug and said he loved me too me. That first night together was the best. Despite doing noth- ing sexual, we certainly touched each other's souls and affirmed our love. The next morning I woke up with him snuggled up against me. His face was by my shoulder off the pillows, his hand was on my chest, and his leg draped mine although his torso wasn't actually touching my side. At the time, I wished it did, for he surely must have had a morning erection, don't all twelve year olds? When he finally did wake, he yawned lazily, said "Morning" and gave me a hug before he rolled over to his side. Did I feel his erection?, I wasn't sure. I would never have allowed him to sleep in the same bed with me if I wasn't sure he wanted to. I had done my best to teach him to be assertive with me about what made him uncomfortable. He usually held no reservations about telling me what was wrong, yet the next night as we lay side by side, he didn't converse as much as the night before and I sensed something was on his mind. He loved me and he knew he could trust me, that was the main thing. I knew whatever it was, that it was just a matter of time before he'd share it with me. After a few token comments about the fun of the day, between my big yawns, (he always outlasted me at the end of the day) he said, " Are you sure if someone does something it doesn't mean that's what they are?" I hoped he was trying to say what I thought he was trying to say. I told him to forget about what people are, and are not. I told him to just do what felt right in his heart. The subject matter was still unspecified when he said, "I just keep thinking what the kids at school would say if they found out" Damn "Middle School" I thought to myself. Why did middle school have to be such a proving ground for young boys. Despite my love and support, Phillip still struggled in this school. This age-group institution made boys struggle with who could beat up who, and made kids choose between being trouble makers, or stu- dents. It forced kids to test everything good they ever learned, and yes, it made Phillip conform to some degree and worry about what other kids thought of him, even for doing things he felt was right. But then again, no matter how much I loved him and taught him, this "trying" of sorts was something all boys went through. He told me he felt bad when kids at school talked about "fags", because he thought about me, and that I didn't deserve to be treated like that. Most of all I wanted Phillip to feel good about himself and really be happy. All I could do was trust him to do the right thing for himself. I finally said, "You just have to do what feels right to you, besides it might not be something your middle school friends would EVER understand" and then I added, "besides, if you and I ever did anything together, they would never need to know" He did this nervous wiggle thing that he had done many times before, but overall he spoke very deliberately, "Would you do that thing you wanted to do" Of course I knew what he asked, but I had to play it out, I had to be sure. I loved Phillip way too much to have any doubt. "Do what Buddy?" "You know, give me a 'tickle-rush'", and then barely audible, "you know, with your mouth" I was already in that edgy state of sexual tension, but I thought I would explode with joy hearing this sincere request from the love of my life. I gently began caressing his entire body. I spoke to him softly as he shuddered to my touch. I taught him about the subtle ecstasy of foreplay with the finger- tips, how erotic chills down his spine can feel. I told him not to hold his breath, to breath however it felt naturally. I suckled his little hard nipples as I traced the contours of his warm body. His hard cock leapt up as I lightly rubbed past the fabric of his underwear. I rubbed my palm firmly over his whole cock and balls. He gasped with pleasure while his feet and hands fidgeted. He asked, "Can I touch you?" "I would love that", I said, "But do what ever feels comfort- able to you" I slipped off my shorts to just my underwear as he grabbed my straining cock. He said it was really big. I coached him through a few more minutes of foreplay until I thought the tension was getting too teasing, (for the both of us) then I lowered his underwear freeing his boyhood and swiped the length of it with my tongue. He gasped again, and I told him to relax and just let the "tickle-rush" come all by itself. I began to pick up the pace with my mouth as his tensing and fidgeting turned into bucking and thrusting. I was bringing him close, but paused long enough to say, "Don't hold back buddy, just go for it", then I sucked fast and furious. In less than a minute he let go with a cry that could only come from a young boy in orgasm. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed his puls- ing cock as far as he could. His naked body spasmed with each throb. It was over quickly, he could barely speak. He was spent, and in a sound sleep within seven minutes. There would be plenty of time to talk about what happened in the morning. I placed my hand over his chest and felt his heart beat and watched his sleeping face for half an hour. Over the course of the remaining school year and the next summer I taught him how to let go and surrender completely. He learned he could thrash about and make as much noise as he wanted. We tried all positions and variations. I taught him where all the erogenous spots of the body were, (boy spots, I call them). He learned there was no pressure or shame in saying "No" if he didn't feel like it (which was rare). We learned the intimacy of "bed talk", the meaning of a single look, the desire of a single touch. The wonderful abandon of release. I taught him that loving was much more important than making love. I shared his time with his friends and gave him space. When he needed true advice and consolation with honesty and mini- mal risk, he returned to me. I must admit, he taught me how to kiss. He loved the oral sensation of sucking tongues, licking lips, and deep prolonged kissing. I taught him that that was the quickest way to get me hard. I taught this once shy boy to be assertive and stand up for himself,..when he was short-changed by a clerk, when a classmate tried to strong-arm him for his lunch money, when a teacher chal- lenged his facts in a report. I taught him to speak up for what he believed was right. I know the irony tugged at him, that the one exception was me, that he could not speak up for me, that I was indefendable to others. No matter how right it felt when we were together, he knew all to well that I could go to prison simply because of my age. At the age of thirteen he had learned from me by instruction and example to make love with precision and complete abandon. We knew each other's physical reaction to our touch like a book. With youth came impatience, and he couldn't endure foreplay for long and demanded to release. His stamina and recovery time well made up for all the quickies. Three orgasms in a row were better than all the foreplay in the world. I learned (after he learned) that 90% of his class had divorced parents. We talked about this at length, including his parents and mine, all of which were divorced. We recounted how lucky we were to love each other so intensely holding nothing back in conversation, and love. I observed him with his younger brother and my nephews and nieces, showing the same patience, love and understanding I showed him when he was younger and needed someone so desperately. I knew this boy would grow up with a special sense of caring and understanding. I knew already from our relationship that he was a tender compassionate soul. At twelve he learned the movement of my finger in his bottom while I sucked him, could elicit an almost immediate breathless orgasm. He thought it was the ultimate until I suggested he lay his back on me, resting his head in my crotch with my nose be- tween his buns. I ate his clean tight hole out as I masturbated him vigorously. He had one of the most intense orgasms I ever witnessed. He requested this often, and usually turned his head to tongue my hard cock at the moment of orgasm. When Phillip was thirteen and fourteen we made love anally. It began when he one day blurted out, "How come we don't do it up the butt?" I told him that I didn't want to be the one to sug- gest it because it might hurt a little, and that there was a big difference between the size of a finger and a dick. He insisted we try it that night. I taught him to relax and go at his pace, that he would push and I wouldn't. I penetrated easier than I expected. This he accomplished by pretending it was my tongue. (or so he said, we also used KY). I started moving slow and was fully in him in no time. I was careful to pump very slow for the first ten minutes, using all the staying power I could muster not to go over the edge. He told me it felt pretty good and to go a little faster. He slowly got to his knees and started masturbating a very hard cock. Then to my surprise he began to get as impatient here as he sometimes did with prolonged foreplay. He began to huff and puff and between breaths came an urgent plea, "Go fast, Go faster!" I was determined to release when he did. but I couldn't, and came before him. Seconds later he gasped and moaned loudly. I could tell the moment of his orgasm because his rectum throbbed around my cock as he cried out. Two days later (because he was a little sore), doing the same thing, he ejacu- lated for the first time. A week later he made love to me from behind, need I say I loved it. He was almost fourteen when we had a serious discussion about him becoming a man. I told him his love making was top- notch and that I wouldn't be the only one he'd make love to in his lifetime, so I taught him about safe sex. I taught him every- thing they didn't teach him in middle school health class,(which was a lot) I taught him about two kinds of trust, the trust we had for each other and what I called "LUST-trust", the kind of trust you wouldn't want to stake your life on. We talked about the deadly Aids virus and honesty in love making. We made love with condoms to practice, although he insisted he would always love ONLY me. I hoped that what I was teaching him would keep him safe. From twelve to fourteen, making love to Phillip was heavenly, but it didn't compare to his laugh, or that mischievous twinkle in his eye just before he came out with an amazing fact. The physical release of orgasm didn't compare to the satisfaction of watching him do or say something that made me proud. I taught Phillip everything I could about as much of life as I could, but then, I don't know everything, and I certainly can't take all the credit. Phillip was a bright fantastic boy from the beginning, he just needed someone to make him believe it. He needed someone to believe in HIM. So, what did Phillip teach me?,.. He taught me to believe in myself enough to love him uncon- ditionally. He's a strong confident fifteen year old now and,... we're still in-love. It's too bad the world can't be taught the truth about the love a man and boy can feel for each other, but then again, Life is short and Phillip and I still have so much more to teach each other.