Dear Reader: the following story is considered adult fiction and as such may not be viewed by persons under the age of 18.

I welcome comments. Please address them to waynetelfer@msn.com.

Some of you have expressed your enjoyment of some of my other works, and I appreciate your kind words. I have enjoyed responding to your messages, and will always do so.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's worth mentioning that the reason we can enjoy all this material is because someone was willing to take a chance. The best part is that this site is free. But it still costs money for it to remain so. So, please, consider giving a small donation to keep this awesome site in operation.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *




WHEATON                 by Wayne Telfer


I've been a Star Trek fan for most of my life. Ever since the original series back in the sixties. And now this New Generation comes along and turns out to be really great.

Because of the new series, I started going to the Star Trek conventions around the area. What a gas they are. And can you believe, I actually won one of the door prizes at one of these conventions. This was a
looloo, too. I got an all expense paid trip to visit the set of the Next Generation and got to watch a taping.

Troy, Picard, Crusher, Worf, Ricker, Tasha, Data. They would all be there and I'd actually get the chance to talk with them. Oh yes, and let's not forget Wesley Crusher. Cute kid.

Now this was back during the shooting for the second season. This just gives you a frame of reference for what is to follow.

So anyway, I show up, all a jitter with excitement. My favorite show, and I was really there to see how they did what they did.

The morning was fabulous. I got to talk with all of the major characters. All but Wil Wheaton. He was off with his tutor and was not to be disturbed. But I was promised that I'd get to meet him after the lunch break.

So I watched intently all of the goings on. All the takes, all the different angles from which they shot each scene. And the highlight was when Patrick Stewart offered to give me the grand tour of the Enterprise
bridge. It lasted nearly an hour. I got to play with a few of the control stations and see what the cast got to play with on a daily basis.

I was simply overwhelmed by the courtesy and friendship that the cast and crew showed toward me. I was let in on every detail of the day's activities. Hell, I even got to eat lunch with the cast! It couldn't have
been a better day. Or so I thought.

It was about one o'clock when one of the crew came up and led me to one of the cast trailers and told me that Wil Wheaton was now free and had asked if I would come to his trailer.

I knocked on the door and the reply was instantaneous.

"Come in."

Yep, that was Wesley Crusher's voice alright.

He was sitting at a makeup table in the middle of the trailer, wearing a bathrobe and, it appeared, little else. Wil was cute as could be at sixteen. Clear complexion and just the nicest kid. He brought out a couple of sodas and sat on the couch with me and we chatted about the various episodes that I'd liked and that he'd been particularly fond of.

I noticed during this conversation, that Wil was wearing mostly nothing under the robe. I could just make out a pair of red bikini underwear. But I couldn't make out anything else. Besides, I was having too much fun just talking about my favorite subject, Star Trek.

After about half an hour, Wil got up.

"I guess I should probably get ready. Give me just a second to get into my uniform."

Now these trailers were small and there really wasn't anywhere to change in private. So he unashamedly shucked his robe, his back to me, and reached out to grab his uniform pants. And that was when I saw the marks.

"That's a nasty rash you got there." There was a red rash about three fingers wide running from under his bikinis to just above the ankle.

"Oh, that's not a rash. I got scraped up yesterday during one of the scenes." He looked around his side at it. "I'm glad you mentioned it though. I've got to put some of that ointment on it before I get into these pants."

He started to apply the ointment, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. He missed all kinds of spots.

"You're missing quite a few spots with that stuff."

"I never was very good at putting this stuff on. Would you be willing to give me a hand?"

Would I!!! But I was cool and nonchalant with my response.

"Sure. Why don't you come lay on the couch where the light's better and I'll be sure to get it all."

As he turned toward me, I discovered that despite what may be seen on the TV, this boy was fairly well packed in the crotch. About seven or eight inches of cock and a fair set of balls to accompany it. Nice.

He handed me the ointment jar and lay on the couch.

I took a bit into my hand and noticed that it was a little cool, so I rubbed it between my hands to warm it up. Then I placed my hands on this leg, just above the knee and began to work the ointment into the bruise.
I took the opportunity to caress every inch of his body that I could safely negotiate.

It took three handfuls of the stuff before I had finally worked my way up to the leg of his bikinis.

"If you want me to get it all I'll have to get under those sexy bikinis of yours." I was taking a hell of a risk, wording my statement the way I did. But by this time, I had a raging hard-on and was less concerned with the possible consequences than I was with the prospect of getting my hands on those small, tight buns of his.

He never flinch or gave any indication as to his response to my remark. He simply lifted his butt in the air and held it there.

"You might as well finish what you started."

Yeow! I didn't waste a moment. I reached up and took hold of those sexy drawers of his and gently pulled them down his legs to just above the knees. I noticed as I gave the initial pull that there was some resistance from the front of his body.

`Could it be?' I thought. `Could this boy have a hard-on?' It was just too good to be true.

But I went on about my business as though I'd noticed nothing. I fondled and caressed those tight teenage buns as much as I felt that I could get away with, in the interest of applying the ointment.

When I'd gotten all of the bruise that I could find, I was reluctant to quit. But I had more than enough sensory information about this boy that I'd be able to really pound my pud that night. So I placed the ointment jar on the table at the head of the couch.

"Well, that's all of it. There's nothing more that needs to be done."

"Yes there is."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

Wil rolled over, revealing his hard eight inch tool. There was a small damp area at the head of it that was ample indication that he had really enjoyed the rub down.

"I think that since you are the one responsible for this situation, that you should be the one to fix the problem."

I looked into those eyes and could detect no hint of joking or anything other than sincere desire to be touched.

Well, I'm not one to deny the wishes of a big Hollywood star, so in I plunged.

I grabbed that teenage tool and began stroking it to renewed life. It grew even bigger in my grasp. And then the precum started to flow with a vengeance. Puddle after puddle had to be licked up by my tongue. And each time I licked the head of that beautiful cut meat, he shuddered with delight.

I soon felt his hand on my crotch where he began rubbing my hard meat through my clothes. Oh I desperately wanted to rip off my clothes so that he could touch the real thing, but I was too involved with what I was doing to really care about it.

I worked that cock until Wil was really breathing heavily. His balls began to pull in close to his body. I just had to have all of him. So I leaned over and swallowed that luscious dog. All the way to the base.
And then I pumped it over and over again.

I could feel myself getting nearer and nearer to the bursting point. The excitement of what I was doing and the rubbing that he was doing had me so close to the edge that there was just no way that I was going to stop it.

And then it happened. He arched his back and pumped his juices down my throat. And just as he let loose, so did I, right into my clothes.

We both came for what seemed an eternity. And when we had both finished, I made sure that he was good and clean and then released his slowly softening cock, and he removed his hand from where it lay in my lap.

"Oh, thank you," he replied as he reached down for his shorts. "It's been nearly a week of hard shooting, and I haven't been able to get free long enough to spend any time with my girl."

This shocked me. And it must have shown.

"No, I'm not gay. But hell, a blow job is a blow job, no matter who delivers it. And I could tell by the way you were trying to get a peek inside my robe that you were interested."

"And the ointment?"

"Oh, that really was medicine. But I wasn't due for another application until this evening."

Sly kid, this Wil Wheaton.

"You're not mad, are you?" he asked.

"Not a bit," I smiled. "It was a treat and a pleasure to have been able to help you out. I enjoyed it."

"Good!" he said as he got up from the couch and headed for his uniform. "Now I'll get dressed and I'll go show you the rest of the sets. The medical lab is great!"

And that was that. Not a word was spoken nor any hint given that anything had happened that day in the trailer.

But as I have watched that show since, Wesley Crusher always seems to enter the scenes naked as a jaybird, his cock hard as a nail, winking at me as the adventure continues.