Date: Mon, 06 Jan 2003 11:38:11 +0000
From: justin scott <scott_justin51@hotmail.com>
Subject: Boy on the Bus (part 3): Michael's Soccer Shorts

Thanks to those who have asked for more of this story, and apologies for
the delay in getting round to it!

BOY ON THE BUS - 3: MICHAEL'S SOCCER SHORTS

By JUSTIN SHORTS (scott_justin51@hotmail.com)

Several days passed.  I surprised myself I suppose in not immediately
trying to get in contact with Michael.  He had, after all, passed me his
mobile number on a scrap of paper, concealed from his friends, so it was
pretty clear that he wanted me to initiate another meeting.  But I delayed.
I'm not sure that I know the reasons for this.  One could be that I didn't
want things to go wrong - that things are sometimes better in the
expectation than the reality.  Whatever the cause, the days went by, but I
never stopped thinking about him, wondering if he was as up-tight as I was,
waiting for a phone call.  Maybe that was part of my wanting to delay,
hoping that it would make him all the keener.

Of course in the end I phoned, as I always knew I would.  But it was very
nearly a week before I rang from my office (but using my mobile), nervously
punching in the numbers with my thumb and waiting for the connection.  It
was about 4.00 in the afternoon.  After school - just.  I thought that
there was going to be no answer and I would get the recorded message, but
at the last minute he came on the line.  'Yeah?'  As I wasn't in his
phonebook he obviously didn't know who was calling.

'Michael?'

'Yeah?'  His reply was as questioning as my checking that I had got through
OK.

'Michael, it's Justin.  Last week, remember, you gave me your number?  I
guessed you wanted me to contact you?'

'Err, yeah, umm, it's a bit, err...'  I heard voices in the background.

'A bit difficult to talk at the moment?'  I tried to help him out.

'A bit, yes.  Ummm...'  He was waiting for me to make a move.

'Where are you at the moment?'

'On the bus.  I'm going home.'  Yes, of course he was.  I hadn't planned to
catch him like that, but it seemed curiously fitting, bearing in mind that
my first meeting with his mate Joe had been on the top deck of the bus,
when he too had been heading home from school.

'Oh, sorry, Michael.  Not best timing I guess.  Are you alone?'

'Not really, but Joe and Jason aren't here.'  I took it that there was
someone next to him in the bus.  Not the easiest place to have a relaxed
conversation with a guy who was going to try to persuade you along to his
place so that he could get your trousers off and suck your dick.

'OK, understood.  Look, any chance of us meeting shortly - I can you give
you my address?  Or if not today, how about tomorrow after school.'  I
liked the thought of the after-school bit.

'Umm, well, tomorrow would be best.  Yes, that would be good, tomorrow.'

'Right, great, look tell me which bus stop you get off, and I'll hang
around with my car nearby and we can go somewhere - my place that is.'

There was a pause.  Was he going to chicken out?  I was confident that he
wouldn't.  'Yeah, fine.  Tomorrow then at the Baker's Arms.'  I knew the
stop, and confirmed the time with him: soon after 4.00.  He rang off before
I had a chance to say goodbye.

I was getting used to this anticipation, of the 24-hour waits between
confirming details and the assignation.  So much to imagine, God and in how
much detail.  Not just all the things that could go wrong, but all the
things that could go very, very right.  Somehow I wasn't worried about him
not keeping the meeting - he would turn up, I was certain.  But despite
that, he was very capable of telling me to fuck off.  Most of all, I
thought about what he was wanting to get out of the session.  If he wanted
to see it as a never-to-be-repeated one off, that was fine (in principle)
with me, because it meant that he would be up for anything.

That evening, unusually, I didn't wank.  I wanted to, badly, but I made
myself hold off.  Partly I wanted to bank the spunk for the next day, but
mainly I knew that it would make me even randier during the following day
so that by the end of the afternoon I would be gagging for it.  Instead, I
spent some time working out what I would wear (the usual preoccupation for
me in advance of these little encounters), knowing that I had the
opportunity at the office to change before setting out to meet Michael.  I
put a choice of things in a sports bag, leaving the final decision until
the last moment.

During the day I worked on a report that I had to prepare, but it was hard
going.  The concentration wasn't there.  Instead I found myself constantly
trying to remember exactly what Michael looked like.  On our previous
encounter I had spent all the time working on Joe and Jason, and Michael
had been there in the background, having his own private wank.  I had been
aware of his dark good looks, of a lightly-muscled teenboy rather than a
cutey.  I clearly recalled the shaved black hair, which I always think
makes a boy look younger but, paradoxically, tougher too.  Yes, a handsome
young tough, that's how I best recalled him.  It was an erotic image.

I packed up at about 3.30, and spent some time in my private washroom
getting ready.  I changed out of my suit into pall blue jeans and an
open-neck white shirt, and as I was carrying a sports bag anyway who wanted
to wonder would have guessed that I was off to the gym.  And then I was in
the car and off, heading for the bus stop.  By the time I got there it was
a few minutes after 4.00, but there was no sign of Michael.  I parked the
car across the road from the stop, and sat and waited.  No sign of a bus.
And then, I saw it approaching, got out of the car and stood by it.

A lot of people got off the bus, and then, last of all, there he was.  In
uniform.  Dark blazer, white shirt, school tie, black trousers.  The works.
Fuck.  He saw me at once.  The faintest of blushes.  But without hesitation
he crossed the road and smiled, opened the passenger door and climbed in.
How could I have been in any doubt about his looks?  He was certainly not
the pretty boy type that I usually go far, but something far more enticing
and challenging; he was more the fit young stud that girls would kill for,
a combination of physical hardness and smooth features.

'Good day at school?' I asked, for want of something to say, and realising
at once that it made me sound like a relative whose turn it was to meet him
from the bus.
  Maybe his uncle - now that was a fantasy I was prepared to play out a bit
further!
  The question was hardly deserving of an answer, so I went straight on
with 'Shall we go straight back to my place?'

'Yes, please.  I've got about two hours.'

'That's good.'  Two hours!  I was amazed that he was prepared to commit
himself to that bit of information.  It sounded like he wanted to make
clear that there was no rush, that he wanted time for more than one quick
wank.

Ten minutes later I was pulling up in the road in front of my house, in a
quiet suburban London street.  It's a small house, but with a good sized
garden at the back.  I love the garden, as it's totally secluded, with
quite high old brick walls and not at all overlooked from any direction.  I
once arranged for some filming in the garden, on a hot summer's day, when a
few mates of mine got together and we did a homemade video of us getting it
on in soccer kit.  Maybe I'll tell you about that some time.

Anyway, when Michael got inside the front door he began to relax a bit,
tossed off his blazer and loosened his striped tie.  'How about a drink?' I
said over my shoulder as I walked towards the kitchen.  'What d'you want?'

'Lager if you have it, please.'  I opened two bottles and brought them
through.  He was sprawled on the sofa, and I sat opposite him in an easy
chair.  But then I thought better of it and joined him on the sofa - it was
large enough not to be embarrassing.  then that he pulled his shiny
polyester tie off and threw it to the floor, unbuttoning the two top
buttons of the white shirt.  I wondered if I was in for a striptease, which
would have suited me fine, though to be honest I prefer to get involved in
the undressing.  And my unspoken wish was granted, as he stopped at that
point and lay back with his lager and took a swig.

This was always the most difficult moment - when to make a move.  But even
this Michael made easy, as to my amazement he lent forward and pulled me
quite gently towards him.  He wanted to kiss!  Well, the old romantic, I
thought, as I moved in and pressed against the sweet fullness of his lips.
His skin was perfectly smooth, not a hint of even boyish stubble, which
probably annoyed him as he was the type to want to develop the sexy
fuzziness as quickly as possible.  He kissed as eagerly back, with eyes
closed, and I slipped my hand between us with a view to unbuttoning his
shirt all the way down to his flat tummy.  But I wanted to take it easily,
so that he would become gradually more and more excited with the attention
I wanted to lavish on him.  He parted his lips and our tongues pushed
against each other, each wanting to gain access.  I let him in, and enjoyed
the sweetness of the boy's smooth probing, then returned the favour.

By now I had managed to undo the third button, so it was possible to slide
my hand inside the open white shirt.  I was expecting to feel his
nakedness, the tautness of the boyish nipples, but I was surprised and at
first just a bit frustrated to feel cotton.  Then I looked down and saw the
clean whiteness of a tee-shirt.  That made sense - this dark young hunk
enjoyed the hug of white cotton against his developing muscles.  I would
need to wait before seeing the smoothness of his chest, which I guessed was
perfectly hairless.

I decided to continue unbuttoning him, and we were still kissing, now more
hungrily, as I did so. There were about three more buttons before I reached
the waist band of his black trousers.  An electric charge seemed to surge
through me as my fingers brushed the thin black belt at the top.  He too
tensed momentarily, then sank back relaxed.  The warmth of his young body
surged through the tight white tee, and the hardening nipples showed
clearly through the cotton.  A gold medallion hung from his neck.  Very
sexy.

'Why not get your shoes off' I whispered, and he reached down and pulled
them off.  Great - thin white sports socks beneath, a startling contrast
with the vivid black trousers.

We resumed the kissing.  He sank back into the softness of the cushions,
and I pressed against him.  The shirt had come completely free from his
waist, and I pulled it right open so that it fell wide open either side of
him on the sofa.  His tee was tucked inside the top of his trousers, but I
gently pulled that free so that I could slide my left hand up and under the
white cotton, and as we kissed I touched for the first time the warmth of
this teenager's smooth, hairless stomach, firm and resistant.  The fingers
of my hand reached up and moved towards the proudness of his chest, and
then my right hand got to work too.  The buckle to his trouser belt was a
simple affair, and I flipped it open in a moment.  The kid instinctively
opened his legs wider, thinking I suppose that I was going to go straight
for his packet, but that was not my intention.  I wanted slowly, so slowly,
to undress him, to open up those schoolboy trousers and gently explore the
hidden treasures.

The trousers had a zip, rather than buttons, and I toyed with the top of
it, before easing it slowly downwards.  Even now I waited before slipping
my hand inside him, imagining the hot hardness of the growing young manhood
and anticipating caressing him into the fullness of his schoolboy erection.
In fact I decided to feel him through the shiny black polyester of his
black trousers before going inside, as I wanted to feel the rub of his
underwear beneath the thin fabric, hoping that I could make out what he was
wearing.  There is an art to this, gently massaging a boy's mound through
his trousers so that the slight resistance of the fabric of the underwear
beneath the tight trousers gives away telling information.  Almost always
teenagers wear cotton briefs or boxers.  Just occasionally I have been
rewarded with something more exciting.  I cupped the firmness of his
pressing bulge, and lightly rubbed in a circular motion.  The wonderful
fullness of the boyish bulge, firm yet giving, entranced me.  And more
exciting still, there was a slipperiness, a gliding sensation, beneath the
trousers.  It puzzled me, as I could not for a moment work out was under
there.  What was this kid wearing?  Silk boxers perhaps?  Certainly not
briefs.

I stroked him rather more firmly through his trousers in a circling action,
working over and around the front of his bulging packet, enjoying the
sliding feeling of whatever lay beneath the polyester trousers.  He smiled,
teasingly, then said quietly 'we had soccer this afternoon.'

His kit!  He was still wearing his soccer shorts, which felt like gossamer
silk beneath my touch.  This tough young stud had left his shorts on,
knowing full well that they would send me wild.  I began to rub him through
the trousers with more insistence now, loving the feel of the shiny shorts
slipping and sliding beneath, and his burgeoning boymeat pressing firmly
against my hand through two layers of sheathing fabric.

'Quick, stand up!' I said.  Michael jumped to his feet and stood, legs
astride, as I dropped to my knees to worship the young god.  My face closed
against his gaping fly, through which I could now see the shiny
satin-textured nylon shorts, in a soft sheeny light blue.  I pushed his
tight little buns so he pressed towards me, and my mouth closed first over
the black trousers.  I disciplined myself from going straight for the
fantastic shorts package, and even managed to zip his fly back up so that I
could enjoy the pleasure of opening him up all over again in a few moments
time.  Then I began to suck his throbbing bulge through the black
polyester, lost in the luxury of mouthing the boydick trapped beneath.  I
pressed him gently into me, and then released the pressure on his bum, and
then pushed in again, so that he began a regular rhythm, and each time he
came inwards I sucked hungrily on the stretched trousers.  I slipped my
hand back upwards to guide the boy's sheathed cock, which I could feel was
very hard and positioned straight upwards, and then slid the hand downwards
to the softness of the ballsack.  I rubbed at his pouch, massaging his
silky- feeling balls through the dual polyester and nylon prison.  God this
was so horny.

It was time to get that zip back down, and get him to shuck the trousers,
so that I could enjoy the tented heaven of his nylon shorts.  The thought
of this lad's hard young cock pressing into my mouth through the satiny
nylon of his school soccer kit was sending me crazy with lust.  I knew that
I was making quite a lot of noise by now, not just the sound of my sucking
on his trousers, but doubtless some pretty audible groaning and sighing.
It was the thought of swooning in the heady tang of his silken precum, a
treat that awaited me.  My fingers fiddled with his zip once again, eased
it free, then downwards, and the trousers parted as before.  This time I
continued to tug at them, pulling them gently but insistently downwards,
down his smooth thighs and lightly muscled legs, to his white-socked feet.
The light blue, shimmering nylon shorts, catching the gleam of the natural
daylight came fully into view now, pressing out at the front with the
teenage boy's thrusting erection.  As if uncertain how to stand whilst
preparing to have his cock sucked through his shorts - I assumed this
wasn't something that happened to him every day of the week - Michael put
his hands lightly on his hips and just waited, a smile playing across his
face, and let me get on with it.

I moved in close again, and gently pressed my hand against the blue nylon.
His shorts felt as good as they looked, the slippery texture warm beneath
my touch.  My hand moved to the centre of him, to that thrusting hot cock
which surged out at the front.  I grasped it for the first time, and
thrilled with the hardness of this youth.
  He gasped audibly as I touched him through nylon, and began slowly, so
very slowly, to slide my hand up and down the shaft.  As I did so, the
first drops of precum made a delicious central wet spot, inviting me in to
a tasting session.  I hovered with open mouth for just a moment longer over
this delightful sight, then closed on him, and my tongue flickered over the
blue nylon.  The taste of him was of the smoothest honey nectar, the
sweetest flavour imaginable, boyhoney sieved through hot nylon.  I took the
well- defined mushroom head and its sensual nylon sheath into my mouth and
drank hungrily, my tongue bringing more and more precum to the surface as I
gently bobbed on the teenager's cockhead.

I hope you will appreciate the self-discipline of all of this.  I had still
to set eyes on the full glory of the boy's naked teenmeat, the fullness of
the spunk-filled balled, the tangle of hair.  All of that was the final
prize.  I felt pretty sure that he was not about to cum his load - that was
the only thing that would have hurried me along.  Provided he could hold
back - and this boy seemed to know a few tricks about delay prolonging the
pleasure - then I was keen to keep Michael's shorts on for as long as I
dared.  Sucking that big knob through the tangy blue fabric was as intense
an experience as the final frenzy of orgasm for me, and I began to realise
that he was getting as much turned on by it as me.  I felt his shaft with
my right hand as I guzzled greedily on the now flooding precum honey,
stroking the full length of him down to his tender ballsack through the
shimmering soccer shorts, pressing and rubbing, mixing firmer wanking
stokes with more gentle caresses and fondlings.  This went on for about two
minutes.  Then I thought that I must stop, or there was a real danger that
he would let go.

I lay down on the sofa and pulled him down by me.  'How about helping me
out a bit?' I said, indicating with a nod my own tightly-packed jeans.  He
nodded, but seemed nervous and uncertain.  So I took his hand, and guided
it downwards, to my fly, pressing him against my bulging hard packet.  'Go
on, open me up' I whispered.  'Have a bit of a feel, please.'  With that,
he slid my zip downwards, and I helped him out my opening the button at the
top of my jeans.  I lay back and looked up at him, smiling broadly,
encouragingly.  He pushed the zipper all the way down, and I felt myself
open up.  'Good boy.  Now slip your hand in and feel my hot cock.'  At
first I thought he wasn't going to, but he was so excited by what I had
been doing to him that he lost any final constraints and I felt the
youthful fingers push exploringly inside my fly, followed by the flattened
hand.  My own hand guided his, and he covered my damp erection trapped
inside the pair of thin white nylon Kiniki briefs I had chosen for the
occasion.  'Oh yes, yes.  That's good, Michael.  Rub my cock in my briefs,
go on, give me a hard rub.'

And now the kid needed no further encouraged or instructions, as he started
to cup and stroke my tingling cock and aching balls.  My nylon briefs were
already sodden with the precum I had been leaking for the last ten minutes,
warm and sticky, and as he massaged me I made sure that I delivered more
into his exploring fingers.

'Let me get out of these jeans' I whispered, and he stopped rubbing for a
moment as I pulled them down my legs.  When he saw the nylon briefs, and my
hard cock showing clearly through the thin material made transparent with
my precum, he seemed transfixed.  I slid my hand down inside my briefs and
grasped my shaft and wanked it as he watched, putting one leg up the back
of the sofa and the other on the ground so as to stretch as wide as
possible and give him the hottest view I could manage.  With my free hand I
managed to unbutton and lose my shirt, leaving me only in briefs and white
socks, matching him in his soccer shorts and similar white socks.  His
white tee-shirt was pulled high up above his nipples.

'Why not press your shorts against my briefs' I suggested, and at once we
manoeuvred into a classic 69 position to do just that, the full bulge of
his blue nylon shorts pushing up against my throbbing white briefs, soft
nylon packages gently agitating against each other.  'Hey, that feel really
good' I muttered, and he seemed to agree, as if anything he increased the
motion and pressed more firmly against me.  We started to kiss again,
really hungrily now.

It was time to see his cock in all its teenage glory, so I put my hand back
down and for a few moments resumed stroking him, and then my hand travelled
to the waist of his shorts.  I teased myself my waiting just a moment more,
then slipped my hand down inside the shorts, meeting the tangle curly mass
of hair and then the rearing cockhead beating against my fingers.  With my
other hand tugged at the front of the shorts and they slid downwards, and
the glorious young teencock sprang outwards, the foreskin fully retracted,
the glistening head slick with precum, the skin of the shaft stretched
tight to show every vein and vessel, the surprisingly fat balls swinging
gently in their silky bag.  Perfection.  It had 'suck me' written all over
it!  So down I went, gazing longingly at the juicy rigid shaft quivering
proudly, the damp blue soccer shorts tucked sexily under the boy's balls.
Then my mouth closed over his nakedness, and I nearly swooned as at last
the fleshy tip entered my mouth and I drank again on the nectar which
heralded his approaching orgasm.  I stroked the silky balls, lifting and
gently massaging them in their teensack, and then probed gently at the
glove-tight arsehole with my finger, so warm and moist.

Michael's hand found my briefs again, and he wanked me through white nylon.
I was now myself very close to cum heaven, but wanted to make sure that he
got there first.  I head-bobbed him with greater urgency now, working him
towards that point of no return, and could feel the large teencock tensely
throbbing in my eager mouth as I massaged his boynuts.  He groaned loudly
with the expectation of approaching bliss, and I knew he was just a few
moments away.  And then he was there, with a last bucking and throbbing the
first gobs of warm teenspunk burst from him and I plunged tightly over his
cockhead so as to catch every drop.  Pulse after pulse of the boycum filled
my mouth, creamy and silky soft, and I feasted on his delicious spunkload.
Even in the heights of orgasm the boy did not abandon my own cock, which he
wanked more feverishly in my nylon briefs.  And then it was my turn, and I
arched my back, held still, and then tumbled over the edge into ecstatic
orgasm, filling my tight bulging white briefs with bolts of spunk.  As I
came he agitated my spunking cock the more, so that some of it could not be
contained in my hugging briefs but oozed through the micromesh and covered
his fingers.

It took us some time to calm down after all this, but about twenty minutes
we had cleaned up and dressed.  I was intrigued by the question which
Michael then asked me.  'When did you first do it with an older guy?'

'When I was about your age, I suppose.  Well, a bit younger actually.  It
was with a teacher.'

'A teacher?  Fuck!'

'Yes, in his car.'

Michael was excited by this, clearly, but said nothing for a few minutes.
In fact, it wasn't until we were getting in the car again as I prepared to
drop him off close to his home that he spoke again.

'Fancy showing me what happened with you that time in the car with the
teacher?'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, you could be the teacher and I could be you.'

'Mmm, into role play are you Michael?'

He flushed.  'Well, not if you don't want to.'

'Want to?  God, of course I want to!  Before he got out near his house we
had made a tentative arrangement for meeting on Saturday afternoon, when I
agreed to drive us out somewhere secluded.  He had wanted to know exactly
what he should wear, so as to duplicate my own school experience, and I
gave clear instructions.  And then for the next four days I went into my
usual mode of deciding that he would not go through with it, that it was
all too good to be true.  The days passed cruelly slowly.  But they
passed...


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