This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a young boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by underage boys, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.
This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.
My stories are pure fantasy. In this case, for example, in Part 1, the main character, on the verge of despair, is given a chance to change something that happened (or didn't happen, to be precise) in his childhood. How many of us have had a similar desire to change things long said and done—or undone—and how would our lives be different if we actually succeeded in changing them?
Those who wish to comment may email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
A note about editing: Having another's perspective during the writing process is invaluable. After reading Visitation, the Nifty writer, Hermes, urged me to post it, which I am now doing (and probably would not have without his enthusiasm). He has generously offered countless suggestions in polishing Visitation. For that I am grateful. Thanks, Hermes!
Also, a personal note to RG: In the past, you kindly edited a few of my stories. Due to a rather disastrous storage problem, I lost your contact information. I'd be pleased to hear from you again–if you are so inclined.
Part 2 of 2 parts
When I finally recovered, it was almost nine o'clock. "Hey," I said. "I think I'm hungry. You want something to eat?"
He nodded. We got dressed and went downstairs.
As I heated up the food his mother had left for us—no microwave back then—we sat on stools and waited.
"Dan," he said, "after...can we...you know...do more?"
"I don't know Danny, I'm a little worried your mom might come back and find us...and well...that wouldn't be good."
"No," he agreed with a naughty grin.
"So...let's just see...I mean, I'd love to do more with you, but...we need to be careful. Do you understand?"
"Yeah." His disappointment was obvious.
As we ate, we talked about all kinds of things. It was a conversation that makes relationships truly important. Mostly we talked about little things. Music, baseball, Little League, school—the kind of stuff that becomes part of who we are. I wanted Danny to remember me for more than just the sex. I guess that's what every boy-lover wants. I certainly hoped that was what Matt wanted, because he now had become a key part of my plan.
We were silent for a while. I would have been happy to keep chatting, but Danny had quieted down. I knew something was on his mind.
"Dan," he began.
"If a man...um...does it to a boy...you know...puts his penis up the boy's...bottom...it...um...it hurts, doesn't it?"
"It can...especially the first few times, I guess. It all has to do with how well you can...ah...how well the boy can relax." He realized what I'd said and blushed, but he smiled, too. I decided I wanted him to picture himself as 'the boy' in my explanation. "The more relaxed you are, the looser you can make your anus—that the rim that's usually shut tight, except for when you're...ah..."
"...taking a dump?" he said.
"Exactly," I answered, "...or...when something's trying to get in." I grinned, and he turned red. (If he hadn't, I'd have been disappointed.) "But, there's no question, a man stretches a boy a whole lot, so, yeah, it does hurt."
"So why do they do it then?"
"Because it feels so incredible...eventually."
"For the man, right?" Danny asked.
I grinned. "For sure, for the man..." I reached up and ruffled his hair. "...but for the boy, too!"
"Even if it hurts?"
"Even. Those incredible feelings just sort of overpower the pain."
I watched as he processed that information. He was silent for a long time. I knew exactly what he was thinking. I pulled him closer to me. I pulled up the back of his shirt, then slipped my hand down the back of his shorts, and felt his smooth, hot butt.
He sighed and seemed to melt into my hands. He looked up into my eyes, and I watched as a look of frustration replaced the dreamy look that had been there. "I wish Mom wasn't coming home tonight!" He gave me a smile that belied just a hint of hope.
I grinned. Yeah, I guess I did know what he'd been thinking. And then, a vague, dim memory crept into my consciousness: I remembered this night. I hadn't been there as an adult, but a lady from the church choir had been. I remembered, because the phone had rung, and something had happened, and my mom wasn't going to be coming home—not that night, not for the whole weekend.
"Well," I said, suddenly feeling a new lease on life, "maybe there'll be time to mess around a little."
"A little?" He shot a look at me that was tinged with frustration.
"Wouldn't be cool," I said, "if your mom decided to stay over night?"
"Yeah," he murmured, "but no way she'll do that. But can we do it...um...fast."
I laughed right out loud. Now that he'd been exposed to the idea of anal sex, he had to have it. "Sounding a little desperate there, Champ, eh?" He blushed. "Tell you what. Maybe we can do some things to give you a little taste...get you ready. And maybe there'll be time some other day." I raised my eyebrows three or four times.
He grinned, but I could also see he wasn't totally satisfied with the plan. Still, he wriggled about a bit, and was obviously wanting to get things underway. Oh, the joys of being with a youngster who's just been introduced to the sexy things he can do to his body.
"Hold on, sport," I said. "I hate to sound like a grown-up, but I think we better get the kitchen cleaned up before we do ANYTHING else. Your mom won't be very happy if she comes home and finds this mess, right? She'll want to know what we've been doing all this time!"
Danny's eyes widened and he actually gulped at that. "Yeah," he mumbled, sounding like every other boy in the world who's just been told he can't play yet.
By 9:45 we were headed back upstairs. Danny, I could tell, was hungry for sex.
We'd gotten halfway up the stairs when the phone rang. It was the call I'd been waiting for.
I ran back downstairs—Mom only had one phone in those days—and answered.
"Dan," the voice said, "It's Marian."
I could hear the tension in her voice. "Is everything alright?" I asked.
"Well...no...Dad's had a bit of a setback. They've been in there with him for an hour, and now they're saying he's going to have to have more surgery. It's scheduled for tomorrow."
"Oh, Marian, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"No, I don't think so, except...Helen and I are going to stay overnight, and...well...I hope you don't mind being saddled with Danny. He's a good boy and shouldn't be any trouble." Saddled. Hmmm... What a delightful image!
"Don't think another thing of it, Mrs. Devlin. He is a great kid. We've been having a fine time."
"Is he there? I'd like to let him know what's happening."
I could see the look of concern flood over Danny's face, but then I could see it fade as his mother assured him his grandfather would be fine. Once she did that, I saw him slowly realize what that meant. He was beaming! I put my finger to my lips. "Shhhh. Easy," I whispered. I certainly didn't want Mom wondering why her son was celebrating under the circumstances.
By the time we'd gotten to the top of the stairs, he couldn't contain himself anymore. He'd already grabbed me by the hand; now he rubbed over my package and whispered, "We can do anything we want, can't we, Dan?"
I answered back, "Yes, Danny we can...anything. Anything you want."
"Oh, Danny boy..." I started singing the old Irish melody, and Danny grinned and actually blushed a soft pink. He was a shy, innocent, delightful boy, and I was in awe because he was in my hands. It was awesome enough that I was back with him, but it was he—that sweet boy—who was truly awesome, and he was just beginning, I think, to get a hint of that. He was understanding who he was in a way I was never able to. I stopped my flawed rendition, and pulled him to me and kissed him. When we'd caught our breaths again, I started undressing him: his t-shirt, his shorts, and then he was nude. (He'd worn no undies when we'd gone downstairs.) I longed to have his body captured in the hands of a sculptor: a Michelangelo or perhaps an artist like da Vinci. He would, I am sure, make their hearts melt—and their cocks harden—as he was making mine.
Now he was stripping me. I helped him with the shirt, but it was clear he wanted the trousers all to himself. Like him, those were the only two articles of clothing I had on. When he dropped my trousers, I stepped out of them, and he tossed them into the chair with the rest of our clothes. Neither of us was fully hard, though he was well on his way. He leaned down, grasped my growing swollen cock and planted a wet kiss on its head. Then, still holding it in his grasp, he straightened up and gazed into my eyes, and smiled. He continued to keep his small hand around it, and slowly pulled it to full erection. When he felt it start to harden, he looked back down at it, studying it carefully, as if it were a science project.
At the same time, I couldn't help but notice he was becoming erect, too.
As I hardened, he grew more serious. Finally, he appeared to have become so sullen, I was afraid some monstrous guilt had settled down upon him.
"Danny." I lifted his chin so that we looked at each other as equals. "What's the matter?"
"Nuthin'. I'm just thinking, that's all."
"What about? You seem so serious." I smiled.
"About...you know...what we talked about...before. You know...what it would feel like."
I stroked his back, and let my hands drift down to his cute little bottom. "What would feel like?" I knew, of course, but I wanted him to say.
"You know...if we did it..." He swallowed hard. "If you...um...put it in me." He waited for a response, and when none came, he clarified. "...in my bottom."
I pulled him to me and hugged him. "Oh Danny," I whispered. "That has to be your decision. You're the one who has to invite me in."
"I want to...except...I don't want it to hurt."
I smiled. What boy didn't want it both ways. I stroked his warm, smooth butt. "I'll be as gentle as I can," I said.
"I know...but it's still going to hurt, isn't it?"
I looked into his eyes. "Yes," I said. "It will. You stretch when you poop, but your anus expects that. It's not used to opening up when something is coming from the other way. And I'm going to stretch you something awful. You can do it—your anus can do it—but it'll hurt until you get used to it."
"You said you had to get me ready," Danny said, showing he'd thought a lot about this. "What do you do?"
"Just things to help you stretch."
"So...are you saying you really want to do this, Danny?"
"Yes." He seemed almost tearful.
"Okay, my sweet boy." I leaned down and kissed him on the top of his head. "Then we will."
He looked quickly up into my eyes. I saw a whole mix of emotions: longing, fear, uncertainty, hunger, excitement, passion. Layered over all of this was pure, raw, sexual energy. I leaned down and kissed him on his mouth. He opened and pulled me in. Where many of his kisses had been almost delicate and dream-like, this one was desperate and needy. It was almost as if he kisses were a sort of "visualizing"—taking me in there, to convince himself he could take me in elsewhere. It was in response to a deep need—his need—and he was driven like a wild man.
"We need something to make us slippery," I said. That seemed to stump him but only momentarily. "How about some Vaseline?" He was off like a shot. "And get some bath towels, too," I called.
He was back in no time. I patted the bed and he hopped up. I looked at the clock. If all went well, before the sun rose, the boy would no longer be a virgin. I trembled at the thought.
"Hands and knees, sport," I commanded, and in a flash, he'd assumed the position. His cute little butt was just inches from me. It was probably all of ten inches across, hip-to-hip, and divided perfectly by a deep, sharp cleft in the center, running from a tiny plain of smooth skin just above his cheeks and disappearing under him. I sighed. His small melons were smooth and ovoid, deliciously round and slightly pinched in on either side. They were firm and warm, and my hands settled on them with only the lightest of touches. It was as if my hands knew they could never properly savor that which was utter perfection, so instead I lowered my face, and let my cheek savor his. I shuddered at first contact. He was incredible. His touch warmed my skin.
I rolled my head slightly and planted a kiss on his bottom. I felt him tense.
I slathered my fingers with grease, and with my other hand, I spread his delicious cheeks, revealing his sweet, little bud, the bud of the rose in Ganymede's vision. I was mesmerized. Periodically it winked, and when I touched it with my slicked up finger, it pulled in more. I let my finger just rest there. Eventually, I felt it relax. "That's the way," I whispered. "Good boy." I applied just a bit of pressure, and my finger slipped in up to the first knuckle. He gasped at the unfamiliar intrusion, then shifted slightly and trembled. He was tight, and as I held my finger still for long minutes it seemed, I could feel him spasm again and again—the slightest little quavers. It was as if his anus wanted to hold my finger tightly, to possess it fully, but then even that smallest of contractions caused discomfort, and he froze. Eventually, mystically, he began to loosen.
"Deeper," he whispered, and I complied, forcing my finger deep inside his tight little body. He stiffened again, and tremors passed through him. "The most important thing is to relax," I said. "Stay loose." Danny twisted around and looked back at me. He wore a concerned expression, but nodded.
Now I began a slow in-and-out movement. His firm little body contracted each time, and I knew he was preparing himself as best he could for what was about to happen, something he could scare imagine, let alone understand. I wanted to help him that process. He had to believe he could do it. "You're going to give yourself to me, aren't you Danny?" He nodded uncertainly. "You're going to let me get inside you." Again he nodded. "It's going to hurt, but you still want it, don't you?"
He nodded and let out a long, slow hissing "yesssss".
All the time I'd been talking to him, I was running my finger in and out, twisting, and bending, feeling, savoring, stretching. Oh ye gods of the Greeks, how I wanted that boy!
After nearly twenty minutes of that (and my other hand exploring his folded legs, torso, and all the way up to his soft hair, his hole was much looser. My action was driving him wild, and once or twice I stopped to allow him to come down a bit off his imminent orgasm. Now I pulled out, and an involuntary look of loss flooded across his face. "Now, two fingers," I whispered and slowly reinserted my hot digit, this time with a second finger beside it. He actually winced with the first insertion of my two fingertips.
He gasped once again and he issued a murmured command: "Slow. It's tight."
"I know, honey," I said, "but it will loosen. Concentrate on your anus. Make it relax. That's your assignment." I smiled reassuringly. "I'm going a little deeper now." And I pushed past his defenses. He gritted his teeth and froze as my two digits probed his hot little hole. For the moment, I was only interested in his anus—in getting it looser. I felt it spasming nervously, clamping down on my fingertips. I stopped pressing into him and once again waited. Eventually, I felt him loosen, and I pressed deeper into him.
He gasped, and seemed to contract, but his body betrayed him, and rather than pushing me out, it actually seemed to suck my fingers in deeper.
I leaned over him and kissed every little knob of his spine. I breathed in his scent. My lips and fingers savored the sweet, soft smoothness of his warm skin. He whimpered again, sounding in every way like a boy half his age. I slowly twisted my fingers around inside his hot hole. Again past his ring of anal muscle, there was little resistance.
It was his ring, of course, that was the focal point of his discomfort. Little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. This sweet boy was working so hard to accept the pain, to open himself to me. He would, eventually, but not without sacrifice.
He was getting looser, and it was clear he was becoming aroused, but "aroused" hardly describes what was happening to him. He was ratcheting up toward orgasm, as clearly shown by his thumping heart under his taut chest, his flushed face, the tremors, his goose-bumpy flesh, his glistening skin.
I worked his anus gently but firmly, constantly stretching him, opening him. Every one of my moves was punctuated with a little gasp from Danny's sweet mouth, buried now in my pillow. I kept one hand on his little rump, steadying him because despite his apparent discomfort, he was squirming constantly, even at times, pressing harder onto my fingers. He was definitely looser, so much so that it sounded sloppy as I reamed his sweet, little ass. After another 15 minutes had passed he was looser than I'd ever imagined he could be—and he was about ready to crescendo in a massive boy orgasm. I slowly withdrew.
I leaned down over him and whispered in his ear, "Now three, my love."
He twisted around to look at me. "Do we have to? Isn't two enough?" he moaned.
"Sweetie, I know," I said softly. "I don't want to hurt you. We can stop."
"Nooo," he whimpered again. "Don't stop." He sounded just like an eleven-year-old boy. Wanting, but not wanting. Wanting, but on his terms. "You need to stretch some more."
"It will hurt," he murmured.
"We can stop," I offered.
He held me in his steady, knowing stare. He knew his fate. Even now he was choosing it. He wore a look of disappointment. He was unmoving as he seemed to ponder all the doubts that now filled him, and all the needs. "No," he finally whispered, "Put them in."
I sighed, and pulled back, and his tight little anus wasn't so tight anymore. It gaped open enough for me to see inside a bit. I leaned down and kissed him right on his parted bud. "Such a good boy," I breathed. I wiped the Vaseline from my lips and slipped in three fingers, just to the ends of my fingernails. He seemed to steel himself for what he knew was coming.
From the very start, the three fingers were more difficult for him. "Open up, Danny," I whispered. "Feel your bottom. Feel how you're resisting me. I know you can relax more. It will be better for you," I added.
The boy gritted his teeth. His face glistened with sweat. He was working hard. Eventually, he did loosen some more. I only hoped it would be enough. My three fingers were like the iron wedge a woodsman uses to split wood. They drove into him and split him, and his little anus rebelled, squeezing down on the intruders. His lithe body shuddered, and he struggled to hold back the tears. But I felt his anus alternate between tightening against my three fingers and loosening. Each time he loosened, I pressed in a little more.
After ten minutes or so of patient assault, I'd pressed in close to my three big knuckles and he was stretched as wide as I thought I could get him without tearing him. His eyes brimmed with glossy wetness, but a tear had yet to spill down over his cheeks. He bit on his lower lip, and his breaths came in short, sharp, shallow pants. I let my fingers rest there. "How does it feel, Danny?"
He trembled. "Okay," he breathed with a shaking, raspy voice. It was clear, though, just how "not okay" his stretched little hole was.
"Are you ready?"
He looked at me, sweating, heart pounding, tremors coursing through his body. He swallowed. He nodded slowly. His brain was saying yes, but his small, firm body wasn't so sure.
"I'm going to leave my fingers inside you a little longer, so you need to get me ready. Make him slippery, so he can get inside you. Okay?"
"Mm-hmm..." He trembled, but reached for the Vaseline. Then I felt the cool grease on my cock. His soft hand slipped up and down covering my dripping tool with lube. His hand seemed to quake, and it shook as it traveled up and down my shaft.
"Remember, the more you can relax down there, the better it will be, Danny." He nodded. I thought it would be a better "fit" if he were laying on his back, so I rolled him over and folded his legs back and out, struggling all the while to keep my three fingers embedded. With each movement, he'd wince. His small, pert buttocks were spread open, and at the center, the stretched, thin-lipped opening that would soon be experiencing something that the little boy had only recently realized was possible.
I bent my seven and a half inches downward, leaned in, and traced lightly up and down his split and now shallow furrow. He was watching my every move, his eyes gazing down past his heaving chest and his firm, flat tummy. When my glans first touched down on his crack, he stiffened and froze. I pulled my fingers out. He was still tight, but definitely looser. I slid my cock down and let the tip lodge where my fingers had just been. His hole had closed up tighter again, and as I pressed down, I felt it spasm even tighter, then like ripples in a pond, a massive shudder spread throughout his body.
"Danny," I said. "Do you want me to do this?"
He stretched his neck upward, slightly tilted and cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. "Uh-huh," he squeaked. If ever there was a little boy who was uncertain, it was this little boy. He wanted it so bad...and yet...somehow he knew he'd never be the same again. He'd be submitting to me...but he'd also be submitting to something else, to a secret life, to an acknowledgment that he was different from other boys.
"Why? Tell me why you want it, Danny."
That seemed to confound him, and he scowled. "I...I dunno," he replied. "Just when I think about it, I get a funny feeling deep inside me, and I have to have you inside me. It's like I'm supposed to do this." He paused, still deep in thought, still with my three fingers resting in his chute. "It doesn't make sense, does it, Dan?" he said. "But I need you inside me. Ever since I found out a boy could do this, I've had this feeling that you needed to do it to me."
"Then tell me what you want me to do," I said, running my fingertips over his pulsing cocklet and smooth body. "Tell me."
His faun eyes opened wide and he swallowed. "Put it in me." He bit his lower lip.
"Okay, Danny," I breathed, "push out gently, you know, like you're pooping." He did and I wasted no time in pressing in. I pressed against him. I felt him stiffen. "Try to relax down there," I murmured. Holding his hips to lock him in place, I pressed against his tightly closed pucker. He drew in a breath and held it. I continued to press against him. His eyes closed and tremors spread out across his sleek body. Then, ever so slowly, I felt his defenses wavering, and my cockhead slipped in, not much, maybe 1/2 an inch, maybe a little more, and he gasped and his body locked in rigid fear. I ignored the look on his face. It would get worse soon, and maybe there'd be a point where we had to stop, but not yet. "There, there, good boy," I whispered. "Get ready for more, Danny. This is a grownup thing that you want to do, you know that, don't you. This is something only big boys do, so you have to be brave. I know you can do that, Danny, because I know how bad you want to do this. Right?" I knew I was talking to him as if he were a young child, but just at this moment, he really was.
He nodded, gulped, and snuffed once. I reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek. His tight little anus was squeezing my head until I thought it would pinch it off. It was the most exquisite pain. I could feel him quivering—his hole—and every time, it would make my cock pulse in defiance.
I got a better grip on him, holding him firmly by his sweet, smooth hips. There was only a hint of "pad" there. I could feel the bone beneath his skin. My cock throbbed again. And he winced again.
Everything about his small, compact boy body and the quaking of his anus, ratcheted me up toward something unimaginable. It was paradise. His breathing seemed to ease now after several minutes. I felt him loosen a bit, and I seized the opportunity to press in more. I slowly spread him and I could almost feel him giving away. He whimpered once, and the rapid rising and falling of his chest returned.
"Just a little more," I said, "and the hardest part will be over." My cock throbbed hard, and he felt my swollen head open him even more. Suddenly, my rim slipped past his. It was like a lock had latched shut and he gasped and shook at the pins-and-needles pain in his anus. But for me, it was as if we suddenly had found the right fit—two parts meant for each other finally mated. I still had a good six inches to plant inside him, but I reasoned the hardest part was over. I gently leaned through his folded legs, and planted a kiss on his sweet, red lips. I kissed away his tears, whispering when my lips weren't brushing against his: "Oh God, Danny, you're so good. You're incredible. It's so tight. I can't believe how hot you are."
"It hurts," he whimpered.
"I know, sweety."
"Awful. It hurts awful."
"I know. But it will get better."
"When?" He sounded like a four-year-old.
"When your muscles loosen up down there. In a little while." My cock throbbed once and he gasped in pain. "We'll just wait." I kissed his forehead, tasting the salty beads of sweat that, like a fever, had broken in the throes of his suffering.
He dared now to look down between our bodies to find my stake impaled in him. "You're not in all the way." I could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
"No, honey, I'm not, not yet. But the worst part is over."
"Will it always hurt like this?"
I looked down at him, and knew this was a critical moment. "No...no...Danny. The hurt will go away in a little while. It will still hurt a little, but the feelings that come will make you forget the pain. You've never felt anything like it...never."
"When?" Again, he wanted to know how much longer. I think what he really wanted to know was if he could take the pain, or would he fail: fail me, fail his dream, fail himself.
"Soon," I said, and lovingly kissed his smooth, unblemished face. I ended up planting a little peck on his sweet button nose, and smiled reassuringly at him. "I promise."
He trembled, but tried to smile back. His eyes slowly closed, then opened again. "Good," he whispered.
As gently as possible I toyed with first his left nipple, then his right. Each in their turn stood at attention. Little trembles coursed through his smooth, sweet body. It seemed to excite him and relax him at the same time. And finally, I did feel his anus wink open a bit more. "Good, boy," I praised. "See how you've loosened up?" He looked up at me. I smiled, and I could see he knew what was coming.
"Here we go. Danny. A little more." I pressed into him. For a moment, his stretched, thin rim seemed to cling to my cock, and then I began to slid past his defenses. He shuttered and stiffened. I moved slowly, but deliberately. At one point I felt more resistance, but this was deep inside him. I didn't know if I'd reached a place where his bowel was filled or if I was bumping up against another organ deep in his belly. I stopped. I was probably in about five of my seven inches. He trembled. My hands moved across the landscape of his glorious, smooth body. Such warmth and softness, I'd never even imagined. It electrified me, and my cock pulsed, causing my boy to wince, and yet, a gasp of a different sort tore from him. His eyes widened, he shuddered and panted like a dog.
"What was that?" he asked dumbly. "What happened?"
Suddenly I realized what indeed must have happened. I'd hit the boy's acorn-sized prostate gland. I smiled and flexed my cock again, and again the boy jumped and slammed his head back into the mattress. "That," he whispered in trembling breath.
"It's your prostate, Danny," I said, "a secret place deep inside you. Most boys never know it's there. Now, you do." Slowly I drew back.
"Don't," the boy whispered with a sudden urgency. "Don't take it out."
My rim bumped up against anal ring. "Silly boy," I muttered, "I'm not going to take it out."
"I'm just going to fuck you, my sweet. Make love to you, my god." My hands floated over his smooth body, delighting over the pin-point nipples, the warm firmness of his thighs, the exquisite softness just behind his ear. "And this is how we do it." I firmly but gently shoved back into him. Again I flexed my cock at just the right spot, and again he quaked as if a explosion emanated from his very core.
He groaned and his head thrashed from side to side. His little body filled with tension. His tummy muscles tightened and above, his skin stretched taut over his ribs as his torso arched upward. His little boymeat had wilted, but now it rolled lazily to the side, signaling renewed life. His hole quivered, spasming tightly around my tool as I pulled back. He seemed looser now, and as I moved in and out in a testing way, he seemed to have moved through the pain. Something else was now at work, something else demanded his focus.
Slowly I increased my pace, each time moving just a bit deeper. Once or twice a little dribble of urine—golden and syrupy—oozed from his meatus as I plunged deep into his insides, bumping his bladder. All the while his perfect boytool pumped up stiff and proud. It throbbed there as if it were a metronome marking the rhythm of his life.
There was no doubt about it now, he was looser, and he met each of my thrusts with a grunting hump of his own. I was going to pour forth my pearly treasure very soon now, and I hoped he would find it as thrilling as I knew I was going to.
Now my piston was driving into him faster—full, deep strokes. He hung on my tool and seemed to draw energy from it. Each plunge lifted him higher. His eyes seemed unable to focus and his face reflected a sort of deep, consuming concentration. He existed now only for one thing: to reach the climax that both of us so desperately needed.
His whole body worked to meet my thrusts with equal force. I held his legs wide open with my shoulders. His body glistened with perspiration. I doubted he'd ever worked so hard, and yet never had he received a reward like the one he was about to get now. My hands grasped his narrow hips, and helped him press onto me each time I drove into him. With just my thumbs, one on the top, one underneath, I toyed with his little tool. That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back.
His eyes rolled up into his head, and his body now stiffened impossibly. "Ahhhh....Ahhhh...Ahhh..." Each gasp, sparked by my relentless pounding sounded at a higher pitch, and then suddenly he screamed out in ecstasy, shuddering like a soul caught in the rapture.
I felt his hole convulse on my tool in a series of endless tremors, and I felt my cock swell even more, and then a massive, involuntary spasm sent my manhood plunging to the hilt deep inside him. A hot, thick bolt of cum shot from my tool, and then another, and another, eight in all, the sum of it filling his void.
He whimpered now, and a series of tiny tremors seemed to help him withdraw from his impossible high. He reached up to me, as a baby might would wanted comforting. I carefully leaned over him and he wrapped his hands around my torso, pulling me close to him. I carefully rolled him over, until he lay on top of me. I felt my cock pulling out of him. I didn't want that to happen. I wanted to stay inside him, but I could do nothing to stop it with him hugging me as he was. I knew his need was more important in that moment than my desire.
Something deeply profound had just happened. He'd wanted it, that much was certain, but he couldn't have imagined, couldn't have understood, how profoundly changed he would be. He was physically different, for sure, but he was, a some level deeply and forever sated of some hunger he had heretofore thought impossible to name much less satisfy. But now he had, and he was totally spent, having given his all. He slept like that, nuzzling his sweet head on my chest, unmoving for the rest of the night. I did not sleep. Like a parent caring for a feverish child, I held my baby securely. I savored his perfect body, endlessly running my fingers over his smooth skin, counting the nubs of his spine, luxuriating in the firmness of his tiny butt.
I felt the effluent of our efforts ooze from his body and drool down onto mine. I reached down at one point and scooped some of the frothy mixture onto my fingers. I could smell my cum, but there was another smell, too, the smell I'd only read about in the stories on the Nifty archives until now, a smell like that of a bake shop, the smell I remember from my grandma's house on bread day. I looked upon the evidence of our joining. It had a strong pinkish tinge and a shudder passed through me. Our victory in love had not been entirely bloodless. I patted the firm, smooth globes of Danny's sweet, sweet bottom. He'd be a sore little boy when he awoke. Tomorrow...or more properly, today.
Then as I lay there, a burning misery grew from within my very soul, a deep emotional pain that confounded me for just moments earlier I had felt such bliss. Then I understood the source of this agony. It was time, simple time; it was running out. I would have to complete my plan this day, for tomorrow I'd have to leave, and I knew Danny would be devastated.
When the boy finally stirred, I was dozing. I came to feeling something exquisitely soft and warm brushing against my lips. I opened my eyes and saw skin filling my vision. It was smooth and soft and hairless, with a small, pert inny navel at the center. I dropped my eyes and found a hard little spike brushing back and forth across my lips. I sucked it in and went to work. A low groan tore from the boy's throat. With one hand, I reached underneath and fondled his two little cherry-sized balls. The other hand drifted around to his bottom. I ran my hand lovingly across his two muscled globes. Sucking hard on his tool, I let my fingers drift down into his tight crevasse. When I touched his hole, he shuddered and stiffened. "No," he moaned. I pulled off and looked up at him. "Not yet," he said.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. I was devastated. "Maybe I shouldn't have done that last night."
"No," he responded. "Don't say that." He sounded as angry as I'd ever heard him. "I'm not sorry. I'm glad we did it. I want to do it again. I just need to wait a while."
I pulled him down and kissed him on the lips. He stayed there, and kissed me back. "I'm glad we did it, too, but I'm sorry I hurt you."
"But you were right, Dan. It is incredible. When it happened, it was like I'd exploded—like I was a fireworks rocket, shot into the sky, and then I was slowly drifting back to earth...thousands of sparkling parts of me! I never...I...I...didn't think you could feel anything like that. It was awesome!"
"For me, too, sweety." I lifted him up, and pulled his little tool into my hungry mouth. I went to work and he shuddered as I felt his stiffie pulsing against my tongue. In no time he was there, and I felt him press up into me, tremble and stiffen. He was experiencing yet another orgasm in his young novitiate's life.
Then he had to do me, sucking with abandon. Twice, I felt my cockhead drawn into the tight confines of his throat, and twice, he had to pull back choking, but he was a game little cocksucker, and I knew the men and boys in his life would lay back amazed as he worked them into an orgasmic frenzy.
Then we showered. We both needed to rinse the leavings of our efforts from our bodies. When I cleaned my boy's bottom, he winced again. Once we'd toweled off, I had him lie down and spread his legs. He was badly bruised. I touched him, to open him a bit, but he whimpered, so I stopped.
"Danny," I whispered, "I want you to try to go to the toilet. See if you can have a bowel movement." I could see the fear building into him like a storm raging in from the west. "You need to try, honey. While you're doing that, I have to make a phone call."
After fifteen minutes, he reappeared. I looked down at him. "I tried, Dan...but I...I couldn't," he said, worry showing in his tear-filled eyes. I knew it hurt too much.
I felt a twinge of guilt for the pain I'd caused, and for what I was about to do. "Danny, we need to talk."
We carried the dirty linens to the laundry. I hoped the stains-the evidence of our joining-would be washed easily away. I knew the other evidence—that bruised and battered boy-part—would not be so easy. "Danny," I said as the washing machine began it's work. "I have to tell you something, something I just found out, something that makes me sad, but you need to know."
"What?" the boy asked. "You're not going to stop doing it with me!" Now more tears flooded down his cheeks. "You don't like me!" he bawled. Now tears poured down my cheeks as well. I pulled him to me.
"No, no, no, sweetie," I cried. "No, of course not. I love you." He snuffed back his tears and looked up at me. "But...that phone call," I began. "You know I've been looking for work. Well I found a job, and the man wants me to start on Wednesday."
"That's great, Dan. Really!" Then the boy realized something wasn't great at all. Something was very wrong.
"Danny," I sobbed genuine tears of grief. "I have to go to Chicago."
"Chic...that's...halfway across the country!"
"I know, Danny. I have to go. I need that job."
He looked up at me. I knew he wanted to tell me not to go. He wanted to tell me to stay, to love him forever, but he loved me to much to say that. He knew he had to let me go, and that only made me feel worse.
We hugged each other for almost an hour, sharing our tears. Finally, I spoke again. "Danny, I think you've discovered something very important about yourself, something most boys your age don't have a clue about. And even though I'm leaving, I'll always treasure what we've discovered together in these days. I love you, Danny. You know that, don't you."
"But, I think I know something else, too. I know that I don't want you to be alone."
"I've got my mom."
"Of course you do, honey, but I don't mean like that. You have an empty place inside you..." Despite his despair, a twisted sort of grin suddenly stretched his lips. "What?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"You said an empty place inside me." His grin turned lascivious. "But you filled it pretty good last night." He blushed a deep red.
I smiled back at him. "You're right there, all right." I leaned down and kissed him, and he hugged me until I had no breath left in me. "Danny," I whispered softly in his ear, "I think I know you well enough to know you're going to need a man to be with you."
"There's nobody," the boy moaned. "Nobody who'd understand."
"I think there is. I need to have you trust me. You have to try."
And so it was twenty minutes later that we pulled up in front of a simple ranch-style home. The yard was neat and well-cared-for as was the house. I'd been by that house a thousand times as a boy, and always I was torn: to stop or not to stop. Sadly, I never found the courage I needed, and I never fulfilled my need. This day I/we would.
I stood before the door with my hand on Danny's shoulder. I knocked.
It took a few moments, but finally the door opened. The man wore loose shorts. I did not fail to detect a more pronounced swelling in the front than one might expect—unless... His face was flushed, and both Danny and I had a pretty good idea what we'd interrupted. When he saw Danny, and me, his expression changed. Fear and uncertainty flooded across his face.
"Matt," I said quickly. "Danny's told me a little about you, and I wonder if we could come in for a moment. We'd like to talk about something."
The handsome man looked out past us as if expecting to see "backup", but agreed—warily.
It was probably the most extraordinary conversation 30-year-old Matthew Walters had ever had.
"Relax, Mr. Walters," I began. "We're not here to accuse or make trouble. We're here because Danny..."
Now the boy spoke. "because I...want..." He looked up at me for encouragement. I nodded. "...I want...to be...to have you...for a friend." He looked up at the man's handsome face. The man actually reddened like a little boy. "I want...to...be...with you."
"I...I don't know what you're..." Matt began to protest.
"Matt," I interrupted. "Stop. Danny told me what you did with him at the Y. And that's okay. Really. I know."
"Because," Danny added. "he did that...and more." Danny looked up into Matt's big, brown eyes. "I know everything, now, Matt. And I'm not afraid anymore." Danny reached out and touched Matt's bare thigh. Tremors flooded across the man's tight body. Danny looked at me and grinned knowingly.
Matt looked confused.
"Mr. Walters...Matt...I've just started boarding at Mrs. Devlin's, but Danny and I have become...good friends. Close friends."
"The closest," Danny added, and stepped next to me. He leaned against me, and let his hand drift down over my soft package.
Matt swallowed hard and his eyes bulged. "I...don't understand..."
"I just found that I have to leave. It's complicated, but I don't have a choice. But..." I turned to the boy. "But it's almost more than I can bear."
Danny wiped away a tear and turned back to Matt. "So..." he said. The swim instructor squirmed in his chair. His eyes were locked onto Danny's hand that caressed my hardening tool. He licked his lips and swallowed again. I lifted Danny up and urged him forward, toward the other man. If I hadn't spent years fantasizing about being with Matt, I might have felt a twinge of jealousy, hell, I think I did anyway, but I knew making this happen would make Danny/me the happiest person in the world—next to Matt, perhaps.
Danny stepped to his idol, and moved in between his legs. "I..." He turned around and looked at me. I nodded. "...I want to be your..." Danny swallowed. "I want you to love me, Matt."
Tears spilled down Matt's cheeks. He reached out and swept the small boy into his arms, hugging him tightly. Danny put his arms around the man's neck and tilted his head up and in a magical moment, kissed the man of his dreams on his lips. Matt let his right hand drift down to the boy's butt. He slipped his hand under the boy's shorts. I could see the outline of his middle finger diving in between the boy's cheeks. Suddenly the boy gasped and shuddered. "Owww..." he said, stiffening.
Matt lifted away and looked down at Danny, and Danny again looked back at me. I nodded, urging him to tell Matt all.
"I'm afraid, Dan."
"Danny," I said. "Lovers have to be honest, Danny. If Matt cares about you as much as I think you care about him, he'll understand.
Matt nodded is agreement. "You can tell me anything, Danny. I love you. I have since the first time I saw you walk into the Y. And then I saw you with only your swimming trunks on, and I loved you even more. And then I got to know you a little bit, and my love for you grew so it hurt." Matt stole a glance in my direction, then gazed back at the love of his life.
"Um...Dan...fucked me last night. It's pretty sore down there."
Again Matt looked in my direction.
"I'm a little worried about it, actually," I said. "He couldn't move his bowels this morning."
Matt grinned. "Not surprising," he mumbled, then to Danny, "Would it be okay if I looked...back there, sweetie?"
Danny stole a glance at me. I nodded. "Okay," he whispered. Matt effortlessly picked the boy up and we walked into the bedroom. He laid the boy down on his bed, knelt and slowly removed the boy's trousers and underpants. With his clothing bunched around his ankles, the swim instructor bent Danny's legs up over his chest. "Hold them there," he instructed. I did. He parted the boy's cheeks. He looked up at me, then between the boy's legs at Danny. "First time?"
"Yeah," breathed the boy.
"Well...this may hurt a bit, but I need to see in a little more. It that okay, Danny?"
"Okay," the boy whimpered.
Matt moved closer and with his thumbs, opened the bruised and swollen hole. The boy winced. "Can you hold your legs back for me, Danny?" he asked gently. The boy nodded. "Dan, take a look here."
I knelt beside Matt. "See that little tear?" I nodded. Guilt flooded in on me. "No, no," Matt said sensing my discomfort. "You were as gentle as you could be. I've seen a lot worse. It just takes a boy some time to learn to take a man's cock. It will heal before too long, but it's going to be sore for a while." Now he looked back at the boy. "When was the last time you went to the toilet?"
"You mean like pooped?"
Matt smiled. "Exactly."
"Day before yesterday."
Matt looked up at me. "Well," he said, releasing the boy's cheeks and standing. "let me get a few things." He went into the bathroom and in a few minutes returned with a rubber bag and a long rubber tube. "I'm going to give you an enema. Have you ever had one before?"
"No," Danny answered.
"It's gonna' feel a little strange, but some people even like it."
Slowly Matt inserted the tube, and then let the warm, soapy water flow into him. "Now we wait." When you can't hold it anymore, tell me, and we'll get you on the can."
In a few more minutes, Danny was ready. Matt picked him up, and gently held his cheeks together. Only seconds passed after he was seated on the toilet before he was expelling his waste. He shuddered in pain and his face drained of color. Matt held a cold, wet facecloth to the boy's forehead. Clearly he had experience with this sort of thing. When the boy was done, Matt laid him over his knees and gently, lovingly cleaned between the boy's cheeks and over his swollen pucker. The boy winced. Matt pulled the boy's shoes off, and took off his levis and underpants, then stood the boy up. They walked together back into the bedroom. Matt laid the boy back down on the bed.
"Assume the position," he muttered, patting the side of his butt. Danny lifted his legs, again exposing his hole. Now Matt pulled a small tube from the drawer. He applied a small amount to his little finger, and gently inserted the finger into the boy's hole. "Antiseptic," he said, "...and an analgesic."
Danny looked up at me.
"It will help keep germs away, and it will ease the discomfort," I explained. Matt continued to probe the hole a bit longer than was necessary, perhaps, then reluctantly, it seemed, removed it. He patted Danny's tight little butt, and the boy lowered his legs and stretched out on Matt's bed. "Can I tell you something, Danny," Matt said, and then not waiting for an answer: "I think you are the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. You are incredible. I love looking down at your smooth, firm body." As we watched, Danny's little cock, as if on cue, began to throb to life. "Oh," Matt sighed, "look what's happening." He knelt down again, and leaned in, and placed a light, fleeting kiss on the boy's tiny cockhead. Danny shuddered. "I can't believe this," Matt said. "I've wanted you so bad."
"Me, too," Danny blushed.
Matt lowered himself, and sucked the boy's three plus inches into his hot, needy mouth. As I stood there watching, I suddenly felt a wave of confusion. I was remembering how I felt at a boy—that boy, the boy I now watched . But I couldn't have had that memory, because it had never happened. I shook my head trying to clear the confounding thoughts and images. It was the strangest kind of deja vu I'd ever experienced. But somehow I knew I'd accomplished my mission. Danny was a different boy now that when I'd first arrived just a few days ago. I knew he/I and Matt would have a long and incredible relationship. I hoped it would make a difference in both their lives.
"Mister." I heard the voice as if it were calling me from a distance. "Mister, wake up...are you okay?"
I squinted. A bright light seemed to surround a figure of light leaning into my car. In the background, I heard my favorite new age tracks playing on my iPod through my car's sound system.
I blinked hard. The figure was still here. It was a young boy. He shook me. "Are you okay!" he asked in a high-pitched, sweet boy-soprano voice.
"Yeah," I said. "I just fell asleep. Was having the strangest dream..."
"You sure you're okay?" he said.
"I hit a ball, and it bounced into your garage. I came in to get it, and found you." I could see more clearly now. The boy was a blond-haired, blue-eyed angel. "I couldn't see you breathing. I thought you were..."
"I'm fine," I said. "Thanks." I smiled at him. Never had I beheld such a vision. And his soft hands still held my arm in their grasp. "Tell you what, though. I'm a little thirsty. Would you like some lemonade?" He nodded, and swallowed hard, as if I'd just asked him to go to bed with me—which wasn't a bad idea actually. I got out of my car and put my hand on his shoulder. Tentatively, I felt him lean in against my hip.
"Nice car," he mumbled.
"Yeah, I was just cat-napping, I think. Man, what a dream," I answered, not really thinking, and then I looked back at my shitbox of a car...except...it wasn't. It was a current year 'Vette, top off, silver. I frowned. I stepped out into the driveway, and saw one hell of a nice house. Maybe I was fine before, but now, suddenly I wondered if I was still in some kind of twisted dream.
"You really okay, mister?"
I looked down at the boy who showed renewed concern.
"Yeah," I said.
"You were saying all kinds of weird stuff," he said.
"Really? Like what?"
My angel reddened. "Like saying you needed to have sex when you were a little kid..."
My angel boy swallowed hard. His eyes sparkled. "You did. With a man."
I shook my head. "Wow..."
"Mister...ahh...did you...you know...really want to have sex? Like really?"
"What's your name, son?"
"Well, Joey, I'm Dan, and yes, I did." Suddenly I remembered. Things were different. I'd loved myself when I was a boy about the same age as the one standing before me now. And then I'd made sure he/I had a chance to be loved by the man of his dreams. I'd always felt if I'd had the courage to go with Matt that day at the Y, things would have turned out differently for me. I looked around at my surroundings, and felt a new confidence in me. I gripped Joey tightly on the shoulder. "I wanted a special kind of love—a love only a man could give me."
The boy god looked into my eyes. He licked his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a little squeak escaped. Then he swallowed and spoke again. "Mister...I want that too. I want to...you know...do things...with a...man."
"It hurts doesn't, Joey, it hurts when you want something and you can't have it."
The sweet eleven-year-old nodded sadly. Then he brightened for a fleeting moment, then grew uncertain. "Could you love me...that way?" He leaned into me. By now we were in my backyard, walking beside my pool—my pool, a pool I'd never seen until this moment, and yet I knew it was mine. I knew that whatever had happened to me, my life had changed.
I stepped inside a screened-in sunroom. There on the far wall was a painting of a man and a boy, the two people I had just left: me as a 12-year-old, and my lover, Matt. The man was sitting, the boy stood beside him. It was a perfectly tasteful painting, but for me, it communicated what I thought no one else could possibly sense, that here were two people deeply, passionately in love with each other. Anyone who looked casually would miss it, but for me, it was in the touch of the boy: just a finger lightly resting on the man's thigh, as if that slightest of touches would steady him. Joey looked up and studied the image, then looked up at me. "That's you and the man you...loved." It was the simplest of statements.
"Yes," I replied.
"What was it like," he asked breathlessly.
"What was what like?"
"Doing...you know...sex stuff with a grownup."
"Oh...it was unbelievably awesome. You can't imagine."
He seemed almost disheartened.
I eased him down onto a loveseat, I knelt before him. I ran my hands over his smooth hairless arms and then his thighs. He sat absolutely stock still as if afraid any movement would destroy something miraculous. Slowly I let my fingertips drift up under his shorts. Now he had to move, shifting, opening his legs even more. Emboldened by his response, I lifted my fingers to his perfect face. His deep blue eyes never left mine. As I traced lightly over his features, he was one step ahead of me. I felt his legs working, then heard his Nikes drop to the floor. I smiled.
"You sure you want to do this?"
I lifted his T-shirt. Trembling, he raised his arms, and I lifted the shirt off over his head. I drew in a slow breath. His body—what I could see of it—was sheer perfection. He stood up now and waited. His eyes never left mine. His skin was pure and smooth: unblemished, save for the one or two tell-tale scars of boys at play. His arms were strong and muscled, but his tummy, pure and light, streaked with blue veins just under the surface, was one single mound of muscle, having none of the classic six-pac of older youths. His pectorals were more developed, and each had at its center, a darker dime-sized areola accented with a tiny, erect nipple.
His shorts were hung low on his hips, revealing his satiny-smooth skin almost all the way to his pubis. He was there as everywhere else, hairless and pure, a baby's skin. I couldn't see his ribs, but his clavicle was clearly evident. I wanted to lean in and rub my cheek over his body. And so I did. He trembled when I did that, and even more, when unable to resist, I turned my head slightly and ran my lips ever-so-lightly over his chest, and then his tummy. I breathed in his scent, and I even dared to extend my tongue and taste him.
He shivered when my tongue ran down from the center of his tight chest to his navel. A little gasp tore from his mouth. "Please," he said finally, and lifted his hips at the same time. His pleading look told me he wanted me to see him completely. He was desperate to have me see the parts of him that made him a boy.
I grasped his shorts and tugged them down. Easing them past his hips, they fell down around his ankles. He wore plain white briefs—"tighty-whities". An old pale yellow stain hinted that perhaps these were last year's undies, and they'd been worn many times, each time the boy dribbling a drop or two after relieving himself. There was hardly evidence of the boy's package underneath these somewhat stretched and tired underpants. I could see a bit of tenting, but the tent pole was pencil thin.
With boys, thankfully, the size discussion is irrelevant—at least for me. A small, prepubescent boy with a little tool can be every bit as mesmerizing as a boy with a bigger one. For me, the more "petite" may actually be the more appealing.
I swallowed and grasped the boy's last bit of clothing. Slowly I pulled down his underpants. My cock twitched at the very first touch. He closed his eyes, uncertain if he could risk any sign of rejection. As his flimsy undies dropped to his ankles, I gasped. Now naked, he was truly glorious: a living statue. His hip bones gave definition to that region of his body, framing it perfectly. His pubis, hairless as a baby's, swelled gently. His scrotum was barely visible, more a wrinkle of darker skin. Its contents could hardly be seen and might not have been seen at all if his little rod had been in a relaxed state instead of the iron nail it was.
As hard as Joey was, his three-inch tool was pointing up at his chin. Any more erect, and it'd have been rubbing against his androgynous pubis. He was uncircumcised and his swollen little glans was clearly outlined under his foreskin. I wondered if he—or I—would be able to retract it when the time came. Just the very tip of his penis was hinted at where his protective little foreskin surrounded his cockhead. It was delightful, and somehow it served to ratchet my excitement up a few more notches!
The boy was looking up into my eyes searching for approval, desperate to read my expression. "Joey," I breathed, voice cracking, "you are...incredible, a perfect creation of the gods. The epitome of boyhood." I could see he was confused by that word. "That means you're the very, very best example of what a boy should be." I smiled. "You remind me of a boy from a long time ago."
I reached out and placed both my hands on his narrow waist. With little effort, my hands could have encircled him fully. I melted, like chocolate in contact with a warm surface. My hands oozed down onto his smooth hips, my fingers teased by the firm, soft, warm outcroppings of his two glabrous globes which were hidden from my view. But that was about to change.
With my two hands, I urged him around. It was as if he were on a slow-motion turntable. His back was as perfect as his front. I traced along each gentle swelling of his vertebrae, arranged like the foothills that lead a traveler to boardering mountains.
Slowly, first one, then two handsome, muscled outcroppings of boy flesh came into few. They were pert and proud, jutting out two inches from the plain of his back. They were firm and hard, smooth as polish marble—no, smooth as silk, soft and supple, inviting, riveting. They were pinched on the sides, they were hypnotic in their power. Dividing them was a sharp, firm crease, deep and hiding his most secret of treasures.
I couldn't resist. I had to touch him, and I did. Fearing my fingers would not do this perfect vision of a boy-god justice, I gently brushed over him with the backs of my fingers. I trembled, as did he. He sucked in a sharp breath, as did I. He sighed a long, slow sigh, and I was his echo.
I leaned in and breathed his intoxicating scent. I touched my lips to his sweet ass, first one side, then the other. He stiffened when he first felt my touch back there, and then he actually pressed gently back onto me. I heard him sigh once again. I nuzzled his crack with my nose and breathed in deeply, inhaling his musky boy scent. Then I planted a light kiss on his bottom. He shivered, as did I.
Reluctantly, I spun him around again, and came face-to-face with the hardest little penis I'd ever seen—any harder, and it'd have ruptured, I was sure. I glanced up at his pure, boyishly cute face and smiled.
"Please," my angel whispered.
And so I did. With my hands, I guided his penis to my lips. He gasped when my lips touched his loose foreskin...then moaned when I allowed him to slowly enter my wet, hot, hungry maw. I sucked down hard, and two trembling hands grabbed onto my head. He squealed a little boy squeal of utter delight. I used my lips to ease the skin back over his head. It moved some, but there were still adhesions, and I heard him grunt at his body's own resistance. We'd work on that. But for now, I wanted to give him the best blowjob ever.
It didn't take long. Careful sucking and tongue work, and soon my angel was virtually vibrating, his legs seizing, and his toes crushing into the deep plush of the carpet. "Ohhh...Ohhhh...Ohhh....Ohhh..." His fingers squeezed almost painfully on my head. Could it be? Could this sweet angel have never experienced an orgasm before? It was so clear what was about to happen, but if that were true, then he didn't have a clue. He just knew he'd never felt anything so exquisite before in his life.
I released his pulsing little tool. "It's going to be alright, Joey. It's going to be fine. What a good boy!" I sucked him back in, harder than ever, and after another few seconds, I felt him stiffened impossibly, arch his back and thrust his boyhood deep into my mouth. He screamed and froze. And then a series of quick tremors rooted in his penis told me he'd done it...he'd had his first orgasm. Slowly, I felt him melting, swaying. I steadied him as his legs buckled, and he oozed down against me. He rested his head on my shoulder like a baby. And I held his naked body tightly against me, protecting him in that most vulnerable post-orgasmic state. He whimpered, overwhelmed by the experience.
I carried him to my bed, and laid him down. I stripped, and now as nude as my angel, I snuggled in next to him. In his semi-conscious state, he moved to put himself in contact with my body. He sighed. He knew he was where he'd always wanted to be. I wrapped my hands around him.
I was like that boy, I realized now. Just as he was fulfilled, so was I, for at long last, I was the man I knew I was always meant to be.