WARNING: This story -- a fictional one - contains sexually explicit parts involving sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

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All rights reserved. All parts of these documents are © Copyright 2012 John T. S. Teller, and may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Nifty.org have permission to reproduce it on their website.

A small sermon. Nothing in life is free. Everything costs, and Nifty is no different, so please send them a couple of $'s/£'s to cover costs and stuff. They're very discreet, and you won't get your name in lights if you do.

The only one smiling.

By John T. S. Teller.

Part 1.

Like countless others, Greg Littlejohn was a lover of boys. Always had been: always would be, but like most BL's, he always tried to live a life of normality. He'd learned early in life about not revealing his true self - when he was just fourteen years old and told a twelve-year-old boy that he loved him. The boy rejected him completely, told his classmates what Greg had said, his classmates told others in the school, and in no time Greg Littlejohn was known as a `Peedo'. That didn't stop Greg from falling love with many other boys, but never again did he reveal his affections.  So Greg toed the Party Line, married aged twenty-four, and was divorced at thirty. He didn't blame his wife. Like most women, once the newness of marriage has worn off, they become pragmatic and look after themselves. Greg's crime was that he was diagnosed with Klinefelter's Syndrome, was unable to reproduce, his wife found herself another guy who could, and Greg moved over. She even made their parting amicable by paying Greg on the dot the equity they had in their home, and because he had a well-paid job as an engineering draughtsman, Greg was able to start again on the housing ladder. But it left him on a limb, not really a lame one, because having being married, it added a bit of respectability and he was treated as a normal guy who was divorced, and that secrecy of being a BL was buried beneath yet another layer of society's acceptable practices. But that still didn't mean he could suddenly go touring in search of boys. No, what Greg did do is admire every good-looking boy in the neighbourhood and masturbated away to his dick's content whilst fantasizing about them falling in love with him and wanting his body as much as he wanted theirs. Sort of look but don't touch. And Greg went on with his life, hoping and praying that he'd meet the perfect boy in the perfect circumstances: a window of opportunity.

Greg had some friends, David and Sophie, who he'd got to know when he was married. When they first met, the couple had a little boy named Chris, aged three, and a little girl, Jane, who was a babe in arms. Of course, being a BL, he was attracted to the little man. Not in a sexual way, because Greg's age of attraction was for boys approaching or just reaching puberty. Chris was a lovely little fellow; really bubbly and outgoing; always pleasant and affectionate. He was Greg's pal. My Greg, Chris called him. Then, after his own divorce, a year later the shit hit the fan in Sophie's's family, and David went off with another woman. Sophie was devastated for a long time. Greg was always there for her and the kids, but there was nothing going on between them. Eventually, Sophie found another chap, Tony, and married him. Greg was at the wedding -- a great do in an ancient church on the coast in South-West England. Chris never left Greg's side that day. He was about seven by then.

Seven years old. Still too young for Greg. But Chris was a handsome boy, and he fitted Greg's visions of attractiveness in that he was rather tall for his age, and slim and coltish. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, and a lovely little bottom that Greg often patted just for the pleasure of touching him. But no touching if you know what I mean. But let me tell you more about Chris to help you understand better why he was different than most kids. Aged seven, he'd lost all his baby teeth and had a full set of beautiful secondary teeth, and he acted more like a ten-year-old than a boy so young. But he was even more advanced in other ways. Greg, being an engineering draughtsman, loved playing with Chris because the young boy was especially gifted when it came to constructing things with his extensive Meccano sets. Christmas and birthday presents were easy to get for Chris; just another more advanced Meccano set each year. The beauty of their relationship was that Greg would spend some of his spare time making drawings of all sorts of things for Chris to build, and the little boy would painstakingly study the drawings and construct whatever Greg designed for him. And they spent hours together sitting on the lounge floor putting them together. At school, he got all the top grades. Easily. He was one intelligent, advanced kid, and as Greg was to discover one day, in more ways than most.

Greg was invited to Jane's 4^th birthday party, and as would normally happen, Chris ended up sitting in Greg's lap, sort of spooned into him while he watched the goings on. Nobody took any notice. Why should they? Greg was a family friend who Chris had grown up with; a sort of favourite uncle. Greg had his arms around Chris as they sat on the sofa, when suddenly, Chris put his right hand behind his back and grasped Greg's dick. Of course, without making a big fuss of it, Greg just took Chris's hand off his dick, placed it in his lap, and held it there. Nobody seemed to notice, and at the time, Greg just passed it off as being one of those silly things that kids do. However, by doing that, Chris inadvertently made Greg change the way he thought about him. No longer was he just a super kid who Greg enjoyed being with; he was becoming a boy in the sense that Greg was aware that he might be as sexually advanced as he was bright, and when he got home that night, even though Chris was about four or five years younger than his age of attraction, when Greg wanked, he did it thinking about Chris's gracious little body, and what pleasures it could bring him when he got older.

Fast forward two years to when Greg was thirty-four and Chris was nine-years-old; taller, and his coltish legs even longer and more beautiful. His face had changed from that of a young kid to one of real boyish beauty, with gorgeous, full, rosy lips that seemed forever moist and kissable. Perhaps even feminine? Well, the walls of Chris's bedroom were filled with posters of Madonna, and when he wasn't building things out of Meccano from even more highly advanced drawings that Greg did for him, Chris did love copying his heroine's dance routines, and he would have made a beautiful young Madonna had he not been born with balls and a dick. Even his long, blonde, wavy and silky hair was styled as a sort of boyish Madonna.

Since that day at the party, Chris had never grabbed Greg's dick again, but every time they met and had a chance to cuddle, Greg never missed an opportunity to feel at Chris. Not his privates, of course! No, just gentle stroking of any available flesh; kiss the lobes of Chris's ears and the nape of his gorgeous, long, slim neck; and rub his soft thighs with his thumbs. Since he was a baby, Chris had always kissed Greg. Not sexy kisses, just quick kisses on the lips. But Greg noticed that the kisses had become more intimate as Chris got older; kisses that made his dick swell. And so he got to thinking what was happening. Although he'd had no sexual experiences with boys, Greg was no fool. He'd had those fleeting Boy Moments in life when a boy looks at you in a certain way and you just know there's more to it than just a look, and he was firm believer that boys know who are attracted to them that way. If they're not averse to the admiration bestowed on them by a BL, they react by looking directly into your eyes, which is not a natural human reaction. Eye contact comes after all the other things that occur when humans meet. Direct eye contact is either a question or a statement. Are we compatible? I like you. Not only were Chris's kisses becoming more meaningful, but he was now kissing Greg whilst looking into his eyes with a certain naughtiness in them. Greg wasn't complaining, and neither did he reject them, because he was beginning to think medium term; a couple of years and Chris would be in his AOA. And then who knows what might happen with their relationship?

      One late autumn Friday evening, Greg had a phone call from Sophie. She and Tony had been invited to a party that probably wouldn't finish until the wee small hours. Normally, her mum did the babysitting, but she'd just moved away to a village over the County border, and it was too far for her to travel unless she stayed the weekend. So Sophie asked Greg if he minded babysitting for them if he wasn't doing anything special. He was actually. He played darts for the local pub team, and they had a match on that night. But he didn't tell her that. The lure of spending a full evening with Chris was enough for him to say he was free. Not for one minute did he expect anything to happen between them, but just being with Chris had become special to him. So he said he'd do it with pleasure.

      He drove over to their place -- a nice three-bedroomed bungalow - and arrived at eight. The moment he walked in, Chris, wearing jeans and a t-shirt but no socks, ran to him and gave him a massive hug. Because Greg had been to Japan on a course of designing for the automotive industry for three months, he hadn't seen Chris during all that time, and the last time he saw Chris, he'd put on a bit of weight, but it must have been because his body was preparing for a growth spurt. Chris had grown at least three inches since he last saw him, and was now about five foot tall, just a foot shorter than Greg's six feet and a bit. It was amazing! But the thing that really amazed Greg was that Chris's lovely, wavy, long blonde hair was no more. He'd had it cut, and styled in a sort of crew-cut, but with longer hair on top that was spiked up with gel. Greg adopted a puzzled look, pushed Chris to arms length, looked at Sophie, and said, "Where's Chris?"

Sophie laughed. "Your little boy isn't a little boy anymore. Have a smell at him!"

Chris was giggling when Greg leaned down and sniffed at his neck. Then he looked into the boy's laughing eyes, and asked him, "What's that you've got on?"

Chris opened his neck for Greg to sniff again, and said, "Brut for Men. Do you like it?"

Greg laughed. "You'll fetch ducks off water with that stuff."

Chris just giggled, and as soon as Greg had taken off his coat, instead of them setting to building a complicated drawing of a working model of an Indy racing car that Greg had brought with him, Chris dragged him by the hand to the sofa to watch a film, which had already started. Jane, being only six, was already tucked up in bed. Greg then got his instructions. Because it was Friday and Chris didn't have to go to school in the morning, he had special dispensation to stay up `till ten, and then he wasn't to argue and go to bed. There was just one thing to remember. Chris had a small rash on his leg, and the doctor had prescribed steroid cream, which he had to apply before he went to bed. There were beers in the fridge, and Greg was to eat whatever he could find if he was hungry. That was it, and Sophie and Tony went off to enjoy their night out. They hadn't been gone five minutes when Chris said, "Do you want a beer, Greg?"

      Greg nodded. "Yes please. Don't let me forget to remind you to put that cream on your leg."

      Chris grinned. "I won't. It's in my bedroom. I'll get it now so we won't forget." And off he went. When he came back, Greg almost fell off the sofa. Chris had an opened bottle of beer in one hand, and the tube of steroid cream in the other, but the reason Greg was disturbed was because Chris was now wearing only a pair of white, Y-front underpants.

      Greg took the beer from him, and asked, "Where are your clothes?"

      Nonchalantly, as Chris sat on the sofa right next to Greg, he said, "I was warm. Besides, we won't forget to put the cream on my rash now." Then he opened his legs and showed Greg the rash. It was just a small patch on the inside of his thigh, about two inches below the edge of his underpants, and just below his surprisingly well-formed balls. Greg was looking at the rash, but he was also looking at the rest of Chris. Greg wasn't a stranger to Chris's body. He'd watched him grow up, and had often seen him naked when he was younger. The one thing Greg had always admired was Chris's dick. It was like the rest of him: long and slim, and he'd often thought that when Chris got older he would have something to boast about. But he hadn't seen him in a state of undress for a long time. Even when he was displaying the rash, although Greg couldn't see Chris's dick, he could make out the shape of it in his underpants, and because it was folded upwards, he could make out at least four inches of it, and that wasn't counting the lower part, and he was pretty sure that unless it had had a disproportionate growth spurt from the rest of him, it was half aroused. But Chris didn't seem to care, and made no attempt to disguise it. When he sat down, he tucked his folded legs half under him, snuggled close to Greg, tucked his right arm around his left bicep and laid his head on his upper arm. Greg rewarded him by kissing him on his gelled hair. Chris decided to reward Greg, lifted his head, puckered his lips, and waited for a kiss, so Greg leaned down and gave him one of their more intimate kisses. Chris grinned, and then began to watch the TV again.

      Greg was only pretending to watch the TV. The reason for that was simple: Chris was gently rubbing the fingers of his left hand over the rash, but it was pretence for rubbing the rest of his hand and wrist over his dick. Greg could clearly see what he was doing, and he felt his own dick getting excited. Then, as bold as brass, Chris began fondling himself. But boys will be boys, and unlike once before when he was younger and was naked in the lounge and was doing it, and Sophie had whispered to Greg in the kitchen that Chris was always fondling his Willie and she didn't know what to do about it, and Greg just smiled at her, went back into the lounge and told Chris he was now a big boy and he should only do that in the privacy of his bedroom (which earned him a big grin), he decided to let him get on with it. Why not? Watching a boy playing with his dick is one of the Seven Wonders of the World to a BL. Greg's peripheral vision was working overtime watching Chris run his fingers along the length of his dick and then squeezing his knob a few times. The only thing wrong is that Greg was wishing it was him doing it.

      So there they were; Greg drinking his beer, and Chris playing with his dick. Greg couldn't have been happier. Well, at the time he thought so. After about fifteen minutes, he finished his beer and was about to lean down and put it on the floor because the occasional table was too far way to reach without disturbing their position, when Chris looked up at him, and said, "Have you finished your beer?"

      Greg looked down at him, and smiled and nodded. Immediately, Chris got up, took the bottle and put it on the table. Greg expected him to return to his previous position, but he didn't. Chris was still looking at the TV behind him when he came back, his left hand outstretched to feel his way to Greg, and then as if what he was doing was the most normal thing in the world, still looking away, he hiked himself up onto Greg's thighs and put his hands on his shoulders. Only when the part of the film he didn't want to miss had ended did Chris turn his head towards Greg. Then it was if the TV didn't matter. Greg had become the object of his full attention, and while smiling into Greg's eyes, he ran his fingers through Greg's hair, stroked his face, and said, "You like kissing me, don't you Greg?"

      Greg sort of grinned back. "Of course I do. I've always kissed you."

      Chris screwed up his nose and stroked Greg's cheek. "I know that, but I didn't mean that. We do it different now, don't we?"

      Greg shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose. Don't you like it the way we do it now?"

      "Of course I do," Chris snorted. "I was just making sure you do. Can we do it now?"

      For an answer, Greg reached up and stroked each side of his boy's face, and gently pulled him close. Their lips came together, and smiling into each other's eyes, they kissed for a long time, playing with each other. Eventually, Greg broke the kiss and gently pushed Chris's head away. The small boy frowned at him, put his hands behind Greg's head, and began again, but this time there was more urgency in what he was doing. His lips were firmer; opened wider; more deliberate as he made it plain to Greg that it was the real thing. It was a sexy kiss. Greg stopped him, pushed his head away, and asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

      Chris rolled his eyes, gave out a short, exasperated sigh, and said, "Don't be daft! Of course I do. I wouldn't be sitting on your knees without any clothes on if I didn't. And if you didn't want to do it, you would have sent me back to get dressed, so don't pretend you don't like me like this! I'm not a kid anymore. I know what I want, but if you don't want me, just say so and I'll go to bed now!" They stared into each other's eyes for a while, and then Chris grinned. "Well?" Greg grinned back at him, ran his fingers down his cheeks, fondled his lips, and then stroked his shoulders. Chris reached up, took Greg's hands and kissed them. Then he stroked Greg's hair back and stroked his face some more. He wasn't looking into Greg's eyes while he was doing it, and then he stopped and stared right into them, and said, "Do you really like me now?"

      Greg smiled. "Of course I do. Why shouldn't I?"

      Chris shrugged his shoulders. "I was worried you wouldn't like me as a proper boy. I've been worried to death that you wouldn't like me now."

      Greg realised exactly what he meant. Despite the bravado of sitting on his thighs with just underpants on, he realised Chris knew the action could have had an adverse affect on their relationship. This wasn't just about how Chris had had his hair cut; it was a much deeper situation, one that Greg knew he had to handle with great care. This was something he'd hoped would happen when Chris was a couple of years older, but he was now faced with the dilemma of a nine-year-old boy actually being forward with him. The hair cut; the hugs he'd had; Chris stripping almost naked; the exuberant kisses, and now the questions that carried more than a hint of ambiguity. Chris was flirting with him. Sexually. What to do? Greg had had no sexual experience with boys before, and what made it even more difficult was that Chris was still so young. Greg wasn't a fool, he was well aware that some boys when they reached puberty would do anything for that first sexual experience, especially with someone who they trusted. Chris's question: Do you like me was probably that first tentative step to wanting his first sexual experience. But this only happened in stories. Greg had read many of them on Nifty, but he'd always thought they were figments of the author's imagination. Wanking material. He could well believe the ones involving kids of thirteen or fourteen, but a nine-year-old? To conform, Greg knew he should humour Chris and gently lead him away from the situation, but that could have consequences. How would Chris react if he did just that? It was possible that the youngster would react irrationally, and that would be the end of them. Equally, if Greg was to follow his desires, who knows where that would lead them? Greg was a boylover, not a child abuser. But would it be child abuse if Chris actually desired it as much as he did? All these things were going through Greg's mind when he said, "You're my special boy, and of course I like you like you are now."

      The answer still wasn't enough for Chris, though, and he asked, "But do you prefer me like this?"

      Greg looked long and hard into the beautiful eyes he adored, and nodded. "Yes. You look far more grown up."

      Nail on the head. It was the answer Chris wanted, and the relief in his face was obvious when he grinned and gave Greg a really juicy kiss. Then he slumped into Greg, tucked his head into the crook of his neck, and sighed when Greg put his arms around him and leaned his head down to rest on the boy's gelled hair, gently stroked the soft, round curves his shoulders and back, and then followed the vertebrae of his spine down to almost its conclusion. For Greg, it was decision time, especially when he felt the fingers of his right hand touch the white underpants. He pushed the underpants down an inch, to the initial part of the valley between Chris's buttocks; the entrance to a boylover's Nirvana.

     The warmth of the boy in his arms was wonderful. It always had been since he was almost a baby. Greg had held the almost asexual creature as a three-year-old; and again and again as his limbs and body grew from babyishness into boyishness. And Greg had come to love him in so many different ways. First it was as a sort of father figure with a hint of appreciation of his boy beauty, and also as protector from some of the emotional shit the boy had gone through. Then the love had changed to encompass the boy's growing attraction as a sexual creature, and now as a nine-year-old he was faced with the prospect of that love being fulfilled, because he was sure it was what Chris wanted, but that love was now being overwhelmed by another emotion: pure lust. The creature in his arms was the most desirable, beautiful boy he'd ever seen or known. The pictures he'd seen of beautiful boys, and the real boys he'd seen out and about and the fantasy boys he'd read about in stories had no comparison to what he was feeling now. They were wanking material. This was reality. Decision time. Go for it and fulfil his dreams and possibly ruin everything, and maybe even go to jail; or reject it and still spoil everything. Greg breathed in deeply...

To be continued...   

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.