Date: Mon, 25 Sep 2006 17:37:51 -0400 From: Captain Swing Subject: Worth Every Penny This story contains explicit scenes of sexual contact between males of various ages, including teeenagers. It is intended for the entertainment of adults who wish to read it and are permitted by law to do so. It is wholly fictional. The author does not advocate or condone the actions or the opinions contained herein. ___________________________________________________ I always got a kick out of imagining what the other customers in the Mcdonalds thought of us. Oh, I knew that 99% of them paid us no attention at all. But there, that black lady with the stroller. She let her eyes linger on us for a few seconds as she idly scanned the room. What did she think? A thirty-eight year old white guy in casual but expensive clothes sitting with three young teenage Puerto Rican boys. Was I their teacher? A counselor or social worker of some kind? A minister? I was probably too well dressed to be a cop or probation officer. What was the story? I smiled to myself as i pictured the look on her face if I were to lean over and tell her that at that very moment the french fries I was eating were joining the thin tasty loads of the two younger boys in my gut and the older boy's thicker deposit was slowly dissolving deep in my ass. ___________________________________________________ Every three or four months the itch came over me. I led a life that was one of the more enviable versions of the American Dream. A high- six-figure job on Wall St., often seven-figure with year end bonuses. A multi-million-dollar house in Darien , Connecticut. A beautiful, smart, understanding wife and two terrific kids. Hell, I even had a great dog. But when that small undeniable urge began to form itself in my mind, that irresistable hunger for some young brown dick, there was nothing to do for it but to call Miguel. I first met Miguel almost seven years ago, in a video arcade near Penn Station. I had a little time to kill before catching my train to Washington and popped in to see if I could find something interesting. There was the usual assortment of streetscrapings: menacing black thugs, hollow-eyed white druggies, desperate middle- aged Johns. My eyes immediately zeroed in on the one exception: a clear-eyed, clean-looking young Hispanic guy. I caught his eye and knew instantly that he was hustling. He, just as quickly, knew I was buying. We went into a booth and I fed a five into the machine and let him pick the movie; I was happy to see he picked a straight film. I groped his crotch for a few minutes but we were both in a hurry; I started to unfasten his belt but he took over and dropped his pants and undershorts to his ankles and pulled up his shirt. I leaned back for a moment to admire what I was renting. He was, amazingly, virtually perfect, to my admittedly specialized taste. He was short, maybe five-two: I love 'em short. His smooth face was attractive, nice-looking in a Latino-boy-next-door way, without being remarkably handsome. His hair was black, of course, straight, average length. His caramel colored skin was flawless, no scars, no zits, and, God be praised, no tattoos. Hairless, too, except for a crisp curly patch above his cock. His slim torso had the light musculature of a healthy young man who worked hard for a living, not one who had ever seen the inside of a gym. His cut cock was hard already, sticking at a slight upward angle above a full, medium sized sack. It was average in size, five inches maybe,with a well-defined helmet-shaped head; no giant but a perfect size for sucking. His small frame made it seem bigger than it was. I leaned forward and took him in my mouth. (He was standing facing the screen, I sitting on the bench that lined one side of the booth.) He tasted and smelled clean and I sucked him vigorously, with no time for embellishments. Before long I could tell by his breathing and the throbbing of his dick that he was getting close. He spoke up, softly. "Coming. You want in your mouth?" I barely had time to murmur "UmmHmm" when he squirted four or five thick shots. I tasted their slightly sweet tang before gulping them down. I pulled back, swabbing the head of his dick one last time, and he pulled some napkins out of a pocket . He offered me one and began to clean himself up. He glanced down at my crotch. "You not come?" I had never even opened my pants. "No. No time." I glanced at my watch; no need to panic yet. I talked to him a bit as he straightened his clothes; his English was limited and heavily accented but we could understand each other fairly well. I dredged up some highschool Spanish when necessary. He told me his name was Miguel, he was twenty, he'd come from Puerto Rico three years earlier and he worked running an ironing machine in the nearby Garment District. He stopped in the arcade once or twice a week before taking the subway home to the Bronx. I gave him the twenty we had agreed on and a five-dollar bonus and said I hoped maybe I'd see him again sometime. He said he was usually there on Fridays, sometimes Wednesdays. I thought about him most of the way to Washington, neglecting the paperwork I should have been reviewing. It had been, I decided, a nearly perfect encounter: I had gotten exactly what i had been looking for. I didn't want a "lover" or a ""relationship." I had a wife for that. I had wanted to meet an attractive young man and give him a quick, anonymous, no-strings, no-reciprocity blowjob. If I had to pay, that was perfectly OK, in fact it was probably even preferable. No strings. Miguel and I had both gotten what we wanted and walked away satisfied, without looking back. The fact that he was, physically, my ideal man, made it that much better. I don't know how I came to be so attracted to his "type"-- short, smooth, straight , ordinary, Latino-- but I had been for a long time. Sue me. I also liked that fact that he was apparently only a semi-pro hustler. He had a regular honest job and only stopped in the arcade now and then to get his rocks off and pick up a few extra bucks. Of course, everything he told me might be a lie; he had no reason to lie to me, but no particular reason to tell the truth either. Ordinarily I'd go a month or more between hook-ups with other guys; my sex life was primarily shared only with my wife. Nevertheless, the following Wednesday I left work early and went to the arcade. I waited almost two hours with no sign of Miguel. I wasn't too disappointed: we didn't have a "date." I knew there was a good chance I'd never see Miguel again, and if I didn't I'd get over it and find another available cock the next time. The whole beauty of our connection was that there was no emotional component to it. Still, he was so much my ideal I wanted to enjoy him as much as I could until he inevitably drifted away. Friday I tried again, and there he was. He brightened slightly when he saw me, though he didn't quite smile, and he willingly joined me in a booth. It was a virtual repeat of our previous encounter, with a few differences: he watched the movie, I fondled him, he dropped his pants, I blew him, he came, I paid. We didn't have quite the same time pressure, so I was able to stroke his smooth chest and rub his soft buns, him uncomplaining, while I sucked his cock. I unzipped and pulled out my own hard cock, jerking myself off and splattering my thick load onto the dirty floor shortly after he was squirting his down my throat. He glanced down at my dick with mild curiosity as I masturbated but didn't say anything. Before we left, I made a more-or-less firm appointment to meet him again the following Friday. We did. Lather, rinse, repeat. A pattern was set that, amazingly, lasted for almost three years. After a few meetings, Miguel sheepishly raised his price to thirty dollars and then to forty. I grumbled a little, for form's sake, but I would have, without a second thought, paid two hundred. Maybe even five hundred. I came to realize that he was, for me, the perfect hustler. Besides his physical perfection, he was always polite, respectful, cooperative. It might be a stretch to call him friendly, but he was always pleasant. If he felt a straight man's underlying contempt for me as a cocksucker he did a good job of keeping it hidden. My meetings with him were always completely stress-free, with no hurt feelings or emotional complications. I could leave the arcade and return home to my wife with no worries and no loose ends. Our relationship was strictly a commercial one; it was almost six months before he even asked me my name. When Christmas came around I bought him an expensive sweater and gave it to him in the booth. He seemed genuinely touched and thanked me sincerely, but he still expected his forty bucks. I didn't care. There were some changes as the months went by. Miguel's English gradually improved and I found out he was taking night school courses three times a week. I was very pleased he was improving himself, even if it meant he might one day decide to give up hustling. Occasionally he wouldn't show up for our meetings and I would always wonder if I'd seen the last of him, but the following week he'd be there, sometimes even with a faint apology. I bought him a cellphone, which weren't quite as ubiquitous then as they are now; he was thrilled, in his low-key way. I couldn't keep leaving work early every week and suggested that instead I call him to set up a mutually convenient time to meet. He hated the idea, and without coming right out and saying so, indicated he didn't want me calling him for any reason, even if I had bought the phone. We settled into a rough routine: no longer did we meet every week, but when I could I'd go to the arcade on a Wednesday or a Friday and more often than not he'd be there. I often wondered if he had other customers on the days I wasn't there, but never asked him and never found out. I never saw him entering or exiting a booth with someone else. Since our meetings weren't as frequent, I voluntarily upped his pay to sixty dollars, hoping in part it would discourage him from seeking other Johns. About three years after we first met, Miguel didn't show for three weeks straight. I figured our run was over for good; I was disappointed but truly I was surprised it had lasted as long as it had. I might have thought he would tell me goodbye, but, again, it wasn't that kind of relationship. I decided to give it one last try on the following Friday and to my happy astonishment he was there. He explained that he had quit his sweatshop job in Manhattan and found a better one in the Bronx, closer to his home. He'd come down that day to pick up his final check and, he implied obliquely, to see me. As I sucked him for all I was worth I tried to think of a new arrangement; I didn't want to give up that beautiful dick if I didn't have to. Plus, I genuinely, after a fashion, liked Miguel. After he filled my mouth for what I hoped wasn't the last time I gave him a hundred dollars and told him that if he was willing to make a special trip downtown, I'd pay him a hundred each time, but I'd have to have a way to contact him to set the time. He thought for a minute, then gave me his mischievous smile. For a hundred and fifty he'd do it. I instantly agreed. He gave me his phone number and we set up a new arrangement that worked smoothly for the next year or so, though our meetings were less frequent. Three years ago, a whole new element was introduced. In our usual post-blowjob conversation, Miguel mentioned that he'd celebrated a birthday that week, his twenty-fourth. I gave him an extra hundred ( which was probably why he'd mentioned it) and joked that he was getting to be an old man and that I'd have to find somebody younger. He said maybe I'd like to start seeing his cousin instead. I knew very little about his family and asked how old his cousin was. "Thirteen." I realized he was joking too. We both laughed and went our separate ways home. Even though I knew he was joking, Miguel's suggestion stuck in my head all the way back to Connecticut. I pictured how cute Miguel must have been at thirteen, how small, how smooth, with his newly- sprouted pubes and his newly-grownup dick spurting out his first shots of thin boy sperm. I'd never had sex with a young kid, not even when I was kid myself. I'd fucked a few girls in High school, but had been in college the first time I had sex with another male. I'd never even considered the possibility of fooling around with somebody as young as thirteen. I was reminded, though, of something that had happened a few weeks earlier when I'd taken my family to the movies. There had been a boy in front of us in line innocently flirting with his date, both of them no more than fourteen, perfectly ordinary looking. They hadn't paid any attention to us, of course, but as we waited I idly looked at them and was suddenly struck with the vivid image of them fucking. I could envision the whole scene: them going home to an empty house after the movie, beginning with a few awkward kisses, gradually getting hotter and hotter, stripping off their clothes in a frenzy, and ending with him frantically ramming his fresh young cock into the girl's virgin cunt., his smooth pale ass flexing and dimpling as he made his desperate thrusts. As the line finally began to move I shook my head, amazed at the intensity of the fantasy. I didn't see them again and had almost forgotten the incident, until I started thinking about Miguel's cousin. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of having a shy, inexperienced young boy to play with, to feel him up, open his pants, fondle his young dick, get him hard, give him his first blowjob, swallow his sweet load. If the cousin was anything like Miguel, he was no sweet, innocent little babe in the woods, but he might at least look the part. I was instantly obsessed. Like a lightning bolt, the thought struck me that maybe the reason I was so attracted to Miguel was that his small stature and smooth hairless body made him look younger than he really was, look like a kid in fact. The idea of having a real kid was irresistable. I knew there were a host of obstacles to overcome before it ever happened though. I had no idea if Miguel would be willing to set it up. I didn't know if the cousin would be willing. Even if they both were, I didn't have a clue where we could do it. The employees of the arcade didn't check ID's and couldn't care less what went on in the booths, as long as the dollar bills kept sliding into the slots, but they'd draw the line at a thirteen-year-old. I couldn't bring him home; my wife was understanding, but not that understanding. I couldn't see any Manhattan hotel being very tolerant either. I'd just have to wait until the next time I saw Miguel, to feel him out on the idea and see if he had any solution. I was pretty sure he'd cooperate---if the money was right. If his cousin was anything like him, he would too. There was only the problem of where to do it that might be unsolvable---that and the much more important problem of how to do it without getting caught. I knew what I was considering was highly dangerous, and highly illegal. If my trysts with Miguel were ever discovered I would be in deep shit, caught in a major scandal. My job and my plush suburban lifestyle would be threatened. But I wouldn't go to jail. Life would go on. Being found with a thirteen boy was a different story. I could look forward to God-knows-how-many years in Sing Sing, a stay likely to be cut short by a cell-made knife in the hand of a convict with an aversion to child molesters. The fact that the boy was a willing teenager getting his dick sucked for money and not a screaming seven-year-old getting raped in the ass wouldn't count for much. There was no doubt that the risks were immense. But so was my sudden need. I wasn't so gone that I'd be a complete idiot about it, but if I felt the risks were manageable, I was willing to take a chance. After a week of almost constantly thinking of the possibilities, I called Miguel. He was surprised to hear from me so soon, but willingly agreed to meet me the following day at the arcade. I waited until I'd given him my best efforts and swallowed his usual thick load before broaching the subject. "Hey, Miguel. Last week when you mentioned your cousin, you were kidding, right?" "Yes." He looked surprised, but saw through me instantly and gave a small sly smile. "Why? You wanna suck my cousin's dick?" I tried to sound casual. "I don't know. Does he do that kind of stuff?" Miguel shrugged. "I don't know. Not that I know of. He probably would, if you paid him enough." My heart leapt. Not only was there a possibility I'd get to suck the kid's dick, there was a chance I'd be the first. "Where does he live? In the Bronx with you?" "Not with me, but the Bronx, yeah. Not far from me." "And he's thirteen?" "Thirteen, yeah. You like to do it with thirteen year old kids?" I felt a little sheepish, but there was no point in being coy. "I've never done it before, but I'd like to, I think." A thought struck me. "He's old enough, right? I mean he can come and everything?" Miguel thought a moment. "I guess so. His voice is starting to change so he can probably can." He grinned. "I never asked him. But, yeah, I'm pretty sure he can." Now the kicker. "The thing is, Miguel, I've got no idea where we could do it. He sure as hell can't come here. You got any ideas?" "No, he can't come here." Miguel thought for a few minutes while I fed in a few more bills to buy some more time in the booth. Finally he brightened. "You got a car?" I'd never thought of that. It wasn't ideal, but it might work. "Yes, I have a car. I never thought of doing it in a car." "No, not in the car. If you got a car, there's this motel out on Webster Avenue you could probably go. All kind of shit goes on out there." "They'd let me go in there with a kid? They wouldn't call the cops? I mean, is it safe?" He grinned again. "I wouldn't say 'safe'. You might get shot. But they ain't gonna call the cops. They don't care what the fuck you do, so long as you pay up front. Shit, you can probably score some crack while you're there." It didn't sound like the kind of place I'd want to spend a lot of time at, but it just might be perfect for what I had in mind. The image of a young kid sprawled out on a bed in a sleazy motel room while I slurped away between his legs was irresistable. I probably wouldn't really get shot, would I? Even if I did, that was still better than being arrested. I was still nervous, but pressed onward. I took a deep breath. "Okay, Miguel, sounds good. How do we go about setting this up? Do you think you can do It?" He raised his eyes questioningly. I knew what he was asking so I asked first. "How much?" He shrugged. "How much is it worth to you?" I was tempted to say "How's half a million sound?", but we settled on five hundred for Miguel and two hundred for his cousin. We set a tentative date for the following Saturday; I'd have more free time on the weekend and the boy would be out of school. I'd call Miguel in a few days to firm things up, after he'd talked to his cousin. As we left, I had a few final questions. "Miguel, what does your cousin look like?" He shrugged."I don't know, he looks like a kid. Nothing special." "Does he look like you?" Another shrug. "Not much. Maybe a little." He smiled. "He's Puerto Rican too, if that's what you're asking." I laughed. "No, I figured that. What's his name, by the way?" "Carlos." Carlos. Perfect. If all went well, in a week or so I'd be sucking thirteen year old Carlos's Puerto Rican dick. I saw the two figures sitting on the bench where Miguel had promised they'd be. It was a relatively quiet street bordering the Botanical Gardens, but not near an entrance. I had no trouble finding a place to park and approached the pair, a knot of excitement in my belly. The two stood up and I felt a surge of disappointment. Carlos was nothing like the miniature Miguel I had been picturing. He was tall for one thing, already a few inches taller than his ten-years-older cousin, and skinny. Except for the coloring, I could see no family resemblance at all. Carlos was far from handsome, not ugly but at best "plain." A few small pimples dotted his chin, and he wore a sullen, unhappy expression. But at second glance, something else struck me: he looked his age. He was unquestionably a thirteen year old kid, with a thirteen year old dick hiding in his baggy jeans, and it was soon to be all mine. I felt my own cock begin to stir and an almost giddy excitement displaced my disappointment. I tried to speak calmly. "Hey, Miguel." I turned to the boy. "You must be Carlos. How are you?" I held out my hand. "I'm John." Don't laugh, it really is my name. Carlos glanced up at Miguel and then grasped my outstretched hand for an instant, muttering something that might have been "Hello." His obvious discomfort bothered me. I asked Miguel "Is everything OK?" "Yeah, sure." "Your cousin doesn't seem too happy." "He's OK. He's just shy." The boy avoided my eye, then whispered something to Miguel, who answered him so quietly I couldn't hear. Carlos still looked uneasy. My heart sank; I wasn't going to do this if the kid was reluctant. I turned toward the boy. "Are you sure you want to do this, Carlos? You don't have to if you don't want to." He shrugged. "I guess." This wouldn't do. "What's wrong? You don't act like you want to." He shuffled for a moment and then apparently got up his nerve. "You really gonna give me two hundred bucks just to suck my dick?" I smiled. "Sure. Absolutely." "Really? Just that? You're not gonna try nothin' else? I don't gotta do nothin' to you?" Miguel stepped in. "I told you a million times, dipshit. That's all he does. Maybe he'll jerk off if he wants, but he ain't gonna try to fuck you. Jesus! How many times I gotta tell you? You never had two hundred bucks in your life and now you're trying to fuck it up." Miguel's quick dissection of my sexual proclivities made me a little uncomfortable, but it served its purpose. Carlos looked at me, still a little wary but apparently almost convinced. After a long pause. he spoke. "All right, I guess. We can go if you want." I heaved an inward sigh, smiled goodbye to Miguel, and ushered the kid to my car. Carlos fumbled a bit with his seatbelt, happily, which gave me the opportunity to help him, grabbing a quick feel of his skinny thigh in the process. Once settled in, he looked around the interior of my BMW wide-eyed. "Like my car?" I asked. "Yeah! I never been in a car like this before." His enthusiasm encouraged me. I guess he really was up for what I had planned, once he'd been reassured that I was only perverted, not dangerous. I couldn't wait: I reached over, put my hand on his leg and rubbed the inside of his thigh. He shot me a quick panicked glance, but didn't flinch or say anything. I continued to rub, but was overwhelmed by lust. Fuck it! What if we were hit by a bus? I didn't want to die without at least feeling his young stuff. I moved my hand upward and cupped the soft mound between his legs. He gave a single heavy breath, but otherwise didn't react. I squeezed gently and felt a very promising mass waiting for me inside his pants. It was only about two miles to the motel. I'd stopped on the way down to book a room, following Miguel's suggestion. The motel wasn't quite as bad as I had expected; I didn't really feel I was likely to be murdered there. The office was pretty grim, the fat Indian clerk sequestered behind bulletproof glass, a condom machine prominent on the wall. I was prepared to give a fake name but he didn't ask for any name at all, merely sliding out a tray to collect my payment: cash only, of course. He seemed slightly surprised that I opted for the 24-hour rate, a 2- or 4-hour stay being more common, but otherwise was entirely indifferent to what I wanted the room for. He merely grunted when I asked for a room in the back, but I ended up with a room that was at least out of view of the road. I held my breath as we drove around back, hoping there would be no one in the lot to notice Carlos. I was in luck; I reluctantly took my hand off his crotch and hustled him into the room with no one spotting us. The room was shabby and tacky, of course, but I'd stayed in worse on my post-college, $10-a-day trip around Europe. Carlos looked around in wonder; to him the cheap motel might as well have been the Pierre. I watched him until he sensed my stare and turned to look at me. I smiled and he answered with a small shy grin. I realized that with the anxiety gone from his face he was actually kind of cute. He looked sweet, and guileless, and above all young. I wanted him so badly I couldn't wait another second. I guided him to the bed and gently sat him down on the edge. I knelt down and untied his ragged sneakers., then lifted each foot to remove them and the clean white socks. I've never been into feet, but I briefly rubbed his, marveling at their soft smallness and how pink they looked compared to the skin on his upper body. I stood up and motioned for him to slide back on the bed. I laid down next to him and placed my hand on his stomach, rubbing slowly to try and put him at ease. I couldn't go too slowly, though, or I'd shoot in my pants before I even got him undressed, His teeeshirt was already untucked, so I pushed it up to bare his midsection. It was as caramel-smooth and flawless as Miguel's, but less developed; he had yet to begin his adolescent muscle growth. I had him take the shirt off and noticed that his underarms were as hairless as a baby's. He laid back down and I caressed his bare skin, leaning in to rub my cheek against his chest. He giggled nervously. Like a child. I couldn't wait; I reached down and cupped his crotch, massaging him gently. Within moments, i felt an unmistakable stiffening under the cloth. With shaking hands I unfastened his belt and undid the button. Ever-so-slowly I eased down the zipper. I glanced up at his face; he looked a little uneasy, but not frightened or unhappy. I opened the jeans completely and raised up to slide them off. He lifted up his butt without my asking. I pulled the pants completely off, leaving Carlos wearing only his small, new- looking white briefs. I went back to fondling him, feeling his warmth through the thin cotton. He was definitely hardening, and it felt that he was packing a more-than-respectable-sized weapon. I stuck my fingers down under the waistband and quickly felt what I was seeking: a thin fringe of hair. Enough. And enough was enough. I pulled the undershorts down and threw them on the floor. Carlos was naked, stretched out, waiting. All mine. His penis, a near-twin of Miguel"s though slightly smaller, lurched upwards with a series of throbs and then flopped backwards onto his abdomen, pointing straight toward his face, pulsating. I took it between my fingertips and pulled it upright again, feeling the tension of his strong erection. I stroked him a few times and watched a small bead of fluid pop out of the slit. I licked it off with the tip of my tongue. I gripped the burning rod with my fist and masturbated him firmly, watching the pink head become covered with a glistening slime. I wasn't sure how long it would take him to come, but I figured it wouldn't be long. I leaned over and kissed the very tip of Carlos's dick, tickling it with my tongue. Slowly I let it slide through my lips until I had its full length filling my mouth. It wasn't long enough to reach my throat, but I might have gagged if I weren't such a pro. I let it rest quietly for a moment while I worked up a quantity of saliva, then slowly drew back until just the head was left in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the rim, then teased the sweetspot on the bottom of the knob where the sensations are the most intense. With one quick motion I plunged to the base again, my wet lips keeping firm pressure on his rigid shaft. I bobbed up and down at a moderate pace, twisting my head from side to side to add some sideways motion to the vertical. A single small noise escaped from Carlos's throat as I resumed my tongue action on the head. I glanced up at his face: he'd thrown his forearm across his eyes and his mouth was slightly open. I reached up to gently feel his scrotum; its skin was as soft and delicate as a newborn's, though it had definitely begun its pubescent growth. When I increased the speed of my stroke, while continuing my tongue action and my soft fondling of his balls, I could tell by Carlos's ragged breathing that he was very close. He gave another single sharp cry as his dick pulsed and spurted out three quick jets of watery sperm. I maneuvered my tongue around to get as good a taste as possible, while my lips kept a tight grip on the shaft, to prevent any of his emission from dripping out. His cum was thin and rather bland in taste, with little tang but a slight hint of sweetness to give it some flavor. As his dick slowly deflated in my mouth I lapped up the small amount of goo that continued to ooze out. His dick became too sensitive, apparently, because in a small but urgent voice he said "Stop. Please." I pulled off of his now limp penis and swallowed the rest of his cum remaining in my mouth. I had never taken the time to undress, but while blowing Carlos I had let my poor throbber out of its confinement, lest it break in two. Quickly I moved up on the bed and pointed my cock at Carlos's belly. With four or five strokes, I let one of the biggest loads of my life splatter out onto the groggy boy. I knew he wouldn't like it, but I didn't give him a chance to complain. The warm splashes made him open his eyes in alarm and he looked down to see what I had done. "EWWWW" He was outraged. "What did you do that for? That's nasty! " I moved in close to him and gently pushed him back down with an arm across his chest. "Relax. Don't worry, I'll clean it up." I smiled but he didn't. "Why'd you do that?" "I wanted to. Forget that. It won't hurt you. How'd you like your blowjob? " He did relax a little and almost smiled. "Good, I guess." I pretended to be outraged. "You guess? What do you mean you guess? " He could tell I was kidding and did smile. "It was good." "Was that the first time somebody sucked your cock? " I asked it casually, but I was holding my breath. I wanted to hear a "Yes" so badly i was willing to risk the disappointment of a "No." He looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah." I was ecstatic. Carlos had turned out to be everything I had wanted, and the afternoon had just begun. I wanted to know anything I could persuade him to tell me about the sex life of a thirteen year old Hispanic kid. I adopted a gently teasing tone. "What? You mean your girlfriend won't suck it for you? Why? Is it too big for her?" He was still embarrassed, but obviously pleased with my flattery. "No." "No what? No she won't or no, it's not too big for her." He shrugged. "I don't really have a girlfriend." I wasn't really surprised. He was still awfully young and I could see he might not have a lot to instantly appeal to a thirteen year old girl. The shyness, the awkwardness, the overall "ordinariness" that were so appealing to me might not be big selling points in Junior High. I pretended to be surprised, for his benefit. "Really? A good-looking kid like you, with this big thing between your legs ( I cupped his damp genitals) I'd think you'd have girls crawling all over you." "Sheesh." He turned his head. He knew I was laying it on too thick, but I think he nevertheless liked hearing it. I put my arm around his shoulders and held him tight, a little surprised he didn't resist. "Never mind. I'm sure you will in a year or two. You've got plenty of time.. You"ll be fucking lots of girls before you know it." He turned toward me and smiled mischievously. For the first time i saw a resemblance to Miguel. He genuinely surprised me with what he came out with. "I fucked a girl before." "You're kidding! " "No, really. I never had a blowjob but there's this girl that lives in my building that let me fuck her." "When was this?" I had wanted to be the first to blow Carlos, and I was. I never expected him to be an absolute virgin. The idea that he'd fucked a girl, that I'd blown a little barely-teenage stud who went around fucking girls was a terrific turn-on, in the same way I'd loved it that Miguel was straight. I wanted to hear all the details. "About a month ago." "How old is she?" "She's older than me. I don't know. Fifteen, I think." "Wow. Tell me about it." His embarrassment suddenly returned, but having told me this much he couldn't stop. "Me and her and some other kids were messing around down in the basement, back behind where the washers are, and we all just kind of started talking shit, you know, like sex stuff, and the other kids left and it was just me and her, and she kept talking sex stuff and she asked me if I wanted to see her tits, and I said yeah, and she said she'd show me if I showed her my dick, and I didn't really want to but I did, and she showed me her tits, and she asked if I wanted to touch 'em and I did and she started touching my dick and I got all hard and everything and then she let me see her pussy and then I touched that and then...I don't know. I just fucked her." Jesus! Carlos's artless account was the hottest thing I'd ever heard, and turned me on more than any porn I'd ever seen. It reminded me of my fantasy about the kid at the movies. And best of all, the clueless little kid who'd wound up blindly fucking some neighborhood slut on his basement floor, the skinny thirteen-year-old stud, was naked, sprawled out on the bed beside me, his newly-broken- in cock rapidly jerking itself back to full erection. To be continued..... Comments, please. grubsnort@comcast.net {Captain Swing)