So, the first time I see Bob, he's naked. A gorgeous 18 year old blond tennis player from California with a swimmer's build, a smooth fine-featured face and a beautiful cock. It's the first month of school and I've dropped by their room one morning. Bob's sitting on his bed, facing away from everybody, while he changes into tennis clothes. To everyone's astonishment, Bob suddenly comes out with, "I feel so... sexy!" His room mate slowly rolls his eyes.
He stands to reach his dresser and turns, displaying that he is a boy, and that he is... delectable. His body is beautiful and clean, just the right mix of soft and muscular, yet still smooth and boyish, with smallish nipples. A soft, cut cock lies atop generous nuts, the sweet head pale, somehow virginal. A cute, tan innocent, ripe for a little "mentoring." The unexpected display and the beauty of this boy's package incites a pang of desire in my... heart. I often celebrate that memory, when I'm with myself.
Just after Christmas break he shows up at my door with a bag of weed and I let myself be talked into going outside with him. There's this huge vacant lot next door, overgrown with weeds and bushes tall enough to hide in. So out we go and furtively find ourselves a hiding place and sit and begin to stealthily get high. After a few minutes, we start hearing all these little coughing and giggling sounds coming from every bush around us. It's amazing we hadn't sat in somebody's lap. Ten minutes later, the noise from the surrounding bushes has reached full-on party level. We're getting a little chilled, and a little paranoid about the noise, so we decide to split.
Halfway back, Bob confides to me in that same distressed tone, "I'm so horny!" I'm tempted to say something vague and flippant like, "Aren't we all?" But I can feel him over there, and I remember that sweet, voluptuous package. Besides, he's wearing these soft, clingy corduroys. And he's radiating warmth. Truth is, I crave him. Whether it's the weed or what, I suddenly crave intimacy with him. Not just to get off, but to get close to him, crawl into him, merge, permeate, know him, have him, be with him.
Throwing caution aside, "Let's go up to my room," I say, moving toward the door to a back stairwell. As I open it, he moves closer to follow me in. The stairwell lights are out and I hesitate momentarily. He bumps into me. Warm. The moment stretches out, the heat and solidity of his body peculiarly intimate. He bumps into me, but he stays there, in contact. Desire rising, craving to merge with him, I turn, bringing our faces tickle-y close. I hesitate, then surrender to the buzz of weed and cute boy, touching smooth faces, putting my arm around him, hand on the small of his back. Touching faces, touching lips, sweet tongue, hands on his butt. Picturing his body. Surrendering to his warmth. Pulling our bodies together. Hand on his butt and pulling bulges together. Oh, the fullness: Boy. Twinges of boner pleasure. Pressing into his bulge, hungry for the fullness there. Against the wall, bodies pressing together, deep urgent kissing, learning his tenderness, mounting hunger for him, for the fullness he has there, for the merging, the having, the tender touching.
I breathe all shaky, "Let's go upstairs." Running. Breathless at my room, fumbling keys, entering unseen. Door closed, locked. No lights. Breathing each other, a shaky tender kiss and pressing our bulges again. Oh, that delicious fullness, exquisitely filling some empty place in me. I groan my need, and he responds.
"Let me take your clothes off."
"Then it's my turn."
Still kissing, I pop his waist button and start the zipper down, I kneel to pull the cords down, off one foot, off the other, inhaling him as he moves. Magnetically drawn, I briefly mouth the cotton-covered tube, joy mounting as I discover the sticky wet proof of his desire, then up for more boy kiss. His turn to unbutton, to pull down my 501's. His turn to copy my actions, to hum approvingly into my package, find my own wet spot. He reaches up to cup my sack.
"Let's suck," I moan. He pulls me to my bed, lying back and pulling me after, pulling me on top of him. At first I hold myself up, to bring our undy-boners together, then down for more deep kissing, thrusting, moaning our need. Thrusting, trembling with each sharp pang of boner joy. I rise and swing about: I must possess him, have his boyness, pull down his briefs, liberate his eager weeping penis, fully inhale the fragrance of him, be enveloped by it. I kiss his soft bag, touch the sweet, sweet head with my lips, touching the place the cream comes from, harvesting his boy nectar and rolling the sweet liquid back over his shape, as he enters my mouth. The shaft slides silky past my lips, in to fill me, to complete me. His nectar coats him, coats my mouth. A deep tickle of sucking pleasure thrills me. Cock sucking joy sings in my head. I feel him take me into his soft mouth, tender lips caressing the ridge, sliding to embrace the very base, to make me pulse sharp and sweet.
Intoxicated with penis hunger, I hold my breath and impale myself eagerly upon him, lodging him deep in my throat, swallowing repeatedly around his delicious young dick head, taking deep visceral satisfaction from having him there, from a big mouthful of teen dick, deep satisfaction from swallowing around his fat sweet dick head. Knowing I will soon have his cream.
Full of beautiful, aroused boy, I breathe again, inhale the perfume of his chubby nuts, my own self buried deep in his eager sucking, my own cream rising. His hand reaches to caress, pluck at the soft skin behind my nuts, pulling softly at it, cupping, making my bag sing, my cream come closer. I surrender to his sweet tentative touch, returning it, fondling his soft, musky bag: boy.
His finger wanders to my hole, touching, caressing, barely suggesting penetration, and with no warning, I'm rising into the fiery sweetness. My cream is here, unstoppable: I'm sliding over the edge. Mindlessly, I'm sucking boy and creaming sharp and sweet. He's creaming too and I'm eating from him, thrilling in the volume and the texture of his boy load, the amount. The moment lasts and lasts, I swallow his cream as he gives it, taking him completely, gulping, feeling, tasting boy, consuming him, eating his sweet load, deeply thrilled with the eating, the smell of his beautiful nuts, the singing afterglow, the intimate final pulsing of each other.
Knowing each other now, gentle, we turn and cuddle. Softly embrace, postponing the return of thought.