Tasty & bouncy. There is a God! Copyright 2003 by Soaringtoad, who has placed a single copy in the Nifty Archives. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission.


Well, it was after 12. Time to get Joel home. Joel was sort of an asshole, but he was my debate partner, so I picked him up on my way to the teen center on Friday night, when he asked me to. Joel had to be back by 1 AM, but my folks were a little bit looser. His dad "worked for the Defense Department," which meant the NSA. But in those days, all they were allowed to say is "My dad works for the Defense Department." So I always said "Oh, the NSA?" and made him choke. He and his dad put on this sort of snooty "British officer" act and fenced pretty seriously and stuff.

Well, anyway, he was riding shotgun in this Olds station wagon, that my folks always made me take, and...

Well, earlier, I met this really cute kid, Peter, at the Teen Center. About 2 years younger. That made him 14? Barely 15, maybe? Solid and round and very deliciously a boy. Beautiful thick head of child hair: bouncy and chestnut and shiny. Expensively cut. He somehow looked comfortable in his blazer and tie. I guess he wore it almost as a joke, but it really looked cute on him. Made him look so young and clean and innocent and... toothsome.  He held those red lips just a little bit apart, flashing perfect white teeth and a ready grin. Rosy-cheeked downy-succulent and sweet. And he smelled like cinnamon.

Somehow, I didn't feel any barrier to touching him. Somehow, I knew I could, but I didn't dare quite yet: certainly not at the Teen Center. So I was thrilled when he needed a ride home. Joel seemed jealous and insisted on riding shotgun and trying to compete with this new boy, Peter.

Well, anyway, so Peter starts with this song about "Do your balls hang low? Do you drag them in the snow," and Joel gets really PISSED all of a sudden, and just starts berating the fuck out of him. I try to make a joke of it, 'cuz I knew it was Pete's way of raising the topic of dicks and stuff. And Peter was so cute it hurt my soul. But I guess Joel knew it too, and didn't care to "share" about dicks and stuff. So, well, he made his feelings pretty damn hard to miss. And made me unhappy, so I dropped him off first, which was sort of awkward. But fuck him anyway, I wanted Pete.

Anyway, so we pulled away from Joel's, and I asked and Pete said he was in 9th at this other school and we were heading toward his place in Chevy Chase.

"So do they?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"You know. Do you drag 'em in the snow?"

"Shit! All the time!"


"More like fuckin' freezing!"

"Mine would hide and wouldn't come out 'till spring!"

"Crept out on me window sill," he sang.

"God, I was thinking the same thing!"

"My Fair Lady: I was 'Enry 'Iggins in the bloomin' spring play last year," the cutest cockney boy voice.

"Cool: I always liked that song." He looked at me for a moment. Sweet and rosy-cheeked. Tender. Downy. Beautiful. His eyes so clear.

He looked forward at the road and sang on:

"Sum won's 'ed restin' on moy knee," He looked back at me, so I looked over, and his face got dreamy serious.

"Wowm and ten-der as 'ee cood bee," He sang it right to me. I knew Peter had meant "he," when he sang it. I could feel his longing. My heart leapt.

"Ooo tikes goood cay rov mee,

"Owoooo-din-it be loverly," we howl in unison.

"Loverly... " I respond, hopefully;

"Loverly... " his voice some delicious chocolate icing;

"Loverly... " I warble.

"Loverly!" we finish, together, laughing.

I pull the station wagon over smoothly, stop and kill the lights.

"So do they?" I ask, reaching over to touch him, my heart pounding, terrified. Reaching over to feel the roundness of his thigh. He's there. Available. He scoots toward me.

Sliding to touch and to cup his fullness. Find and hold and squeeze his dick and make him smile. Hard, already.

"They're all scrunchy at the moment. Ummm! Ummm!"

I almost nuzzle him: "Wanna crawl into the back, together?" My heart pounding, painfully. Making my hands pulse: lust winning out over the fear. Desire over shame. No shame. Singlemindedness. Desire. Blind need.

"Oh, God yes," he breathed. Sweet breath. Soft teen rasp: "C'mon."

Him crawling first, perfect round young ass in my face. Lines of his briefs showing through, and a hint of what nestles beneath. Just knowing how full and perfect and young and eager he is under there. Craze of lust, rising. Certain I will explode with desire before I can ever get back there. Before I can get there and be with them and be with him and be with his cuteness and touch him and have him and have him completely and eat him and make him cry with desire. Before then, I... I must... it is.... just... so... far... to get there. Everything in slow motion and my body weighing nothing and him waiting for me and slipping next to him and nothing to do but kiss him so lightly and cup him and feel his fullness complete me, and feeling him pulse. Feeling it in the center of me: the fullness of him. Him. Him. Boy.

Pressing to hear his little groany whimper and ask him. The words are sweet vanilla frosting: "Do you wanna suck each other?" The idea madly intoxicating. Lust, an itch inside my head.


The word frozen in time.

Different now, after: "Yes."

Yes: a benediction. My soul saved. My fate assured. I heal, knowing his fullness is for me to touch and know..

Peter fumbling frantically at my belt and us helping each other, his starchy white boy shirt parting to reveal his crinkly boy-tit and his rounded smoothness. Until finally we are naked in the cold station wagon, oblivious to any discomfort. Panting with my urgency to feel beautiful boy flesh asserting. Tough, beautiful, magnificent, boy-tender maleness, between my worshipping lips stopping thought and  head filled with singing pleasure, my heart with painful, mindless worship.

Groaning, bone deep dick-joy. Achey-right: the completeness and the searing boy beauty of his snug young balls. Sawing away at that one... last... thing... holding me back from flying to my completion. 'Till we both shudder with the unbearable joy of inevitability. Cream sliding to fill the hot, sweet, get-ready place.

Filling, filling, itchy ecstasy. Athletic, sweet and clenching joy. All arrived! Surrendering: the bolts, the bolts, the bolts of pleasure, bursting, bursting, bursting... creamy completing.  Receiving the exultant force of each-other's first hard shot. Grateful joy-pulsing after. Being with the beautiful sex of a boy, a boy... a boy... a boy. Sex of a boy.

Unselfconscious young teen beauty: he twists around and slides to hug me gratefully, leaning on me, pecking me on the lips and holding his cheek briefly to mine. Downy. Eyes droopy and tender. Lips parted.

Something too big, too good to wrap your arms around: I shiver.

"Can we do this again? I gotta get home or my folks will kill me. Can we do it again, for sure?"

I almost choke on the words: "Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely. Huh! You promise?"

"Yeah. Definitely. I want... uh... it more." His voice cracked. "My balls almost kinda hurt. But it's good, too."

"Me, too. A kinda good hurt. Like all empty for once. Man, that was strong!"

"Next time, why don't you, like, just dump Joel off, somewhere?"

"Joel?  So, who the fuck is Joel?"

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