Date: Sat, 3 Nov 2018 18:18:05 +0000 From: Tiao Wu Subject: Here Cums the Neighborhood - Part 15 This writing contains sexually explicit material, unsuited for readers under the age of 18. If you are underage, live in an area that disallows the reading of this type of material, or are offended by homosexual content, please do not read further. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, settings, and ideas featured in this series are based on fantasy. Any character that resembles someone in your reality is purely coincidental. If you enjoy these stories, please donate to Nifty so that we can continue reading. Feel free to email hjk7359@hotmail.com to give feedback or constructive criticism. Please enjoy. *************************************************************************** Chapter 15 - Repercussion "Can't believe it's been twenty-five years already." The voice of Simon George cut through the awkward silence of the breakfast table. What had once held a family of five, now just a man on the edge of retirement, and a wife, Cindy George, who had only been a stay-at-home mom. "Twenty years goes by fast," she said, sipping her coffee, wearing a bathrobe. Their triplets Ricky, Nicky, and Bobby were out of town, studying in college. All of them the first of a small group of students to make it to college. Mr. and Mrs. George were both especially proud, but now with the romance of being empty-nesters and the novelty of being able to brag about their kids being well past them, they were both aware of their fates. Long, awkward breakfast conversation, just looking forward to being alone. Boredom began to set in As Mr. George looked at himself earlier that morning in the mirror, towel around waist, he saw glimpses of the impeccable body that he'd curated from his high school and state school years. Still he had his barrel chest, his thick thighs, his powerful arms. His abdomen had begun to soften after years of block party burgers, beer, and growing complacency. The well-groomed chest hair that he once knew girls to think was "sexy", was now a tangled mess of brown and grey. He peeked beneath the towel at his limp cock. In his age, erections were growing harder and harder to come by. Orgasms were even more rare. Mrs. George suggested enhancement pills like Viagra, but it made him uncomfortable. "I'm just tired, sweetie," he said, panting with effort, "just tired." Mrs. George would smile understandingly and hang up the romantic nighty that she purchased specifically with his tastes in mind. Now, Mr. George had the early-morning rush of a new school year to worry about. A new football season. A new group of kids to teach science. It was all he could think about. "Make it a good year, honey," Mrs. George said as he moved to leave the front door, puckering her lips. "Somethin' tells me," he said, looking up into the morning clouds, "that's it's going to be the best year yet," he said with a half-faced smile. It was something he'd said every year. When he opened his classroom, it was exactly as he'd left it. Nothing had changed. He looked over his roster. All of the students on his list were names he'd recognized. It wasn't like there were hordes of new students coming all the way to Birchwood Middle. He highlighted the few names that looked different, packing them away in his brain for later. Mr. George heard a knock on the door. "Simon!" he looked over and saw Coach Scott bounding in reaching out for a handshake. "Coach!" Mr. George turned to shake his hand. "How was the summer?" he asked. "Oh it was somethin'," he said with a pleased smile. "Yours?" "Same ol', same ol'," he reached for his class roster. "Hey, you know any of these kids?" he pointed to the highlighted names. "Any of 'em that might like football?" Coach Scott ran his finger across each of them. "Nope...nope...ah, actually I do," he said, his eyebrows raised. "Smalls, Sebastian," he tapped his finger on the name. "He's in swimming with me," he said casually. "He's good." "Any chance he might be good for football?" Mr. George asked? "Haha," Coach Scott laughed. "I don't think I'm willing to share him!" he said jokingly. Coach Scott patted him on the shoulder. "Have a good first day!" he said, and bounded out of the classroom. Mr. George examined the names one more time, and got to working on his first lesson. Despite being nervous, his first day couldn't have been going better. His students were engaged, they were excited, and so far there hadn't been any hiccups. After lunch his third period came in for Health. He nodded to the faces that he knew, made small talk with some of his football players, scanned the room for unfamiliar faces. A girl who'd moved from a nearby district, Lupe Medina sat somewhat shyly near the corner of the room. He hoped to be able to meet her later. As he turned his head he saw another boy who he didn't recognize walk in with another student. He looked like a typical teenage boy: messy hair, tan skin, an awkward smile. The boy had a charm about him, and found that the longer he looked at him, the more he reminded him of his own sons. Class began and he went right into teaching mode. "Afternoon everyone. I'm Mr. George. Scientist, football coach, dad of three." He planned to do the same entry activity for his 2nd period Health class, the football covered in bacteria. Sure enough, the lesson worked well with them, too. Poor Courtney was the lucky winner of acquiring the most germs from the football. As he continued his opening introduction, an interruption came from the intercom. "Mr. George," he heard the voice say. "Yes? Voice from the sky?" he asked, making fun of the silliness of the whole situation. The class laughed in response. "Can you please send Sebastian Smalls to the principal's office?" That name. He remembered it from earlier that day. "I'll send'm to you! Sebastian Smalls, who's that?" he asked the room. "That's me," the new kid raised his hand and stood to his feet, and moved over to the door. Mr. George followed him outside. As he stood close to Sebastian, he found the his chin reached just above his belt. "Just go through those double doors, and he's in the building in the very middle by itself," he explained, holding his arm out. "Godspeed, sir!" he shouted as Sebastian walked away. He observed his slumped walk, and thought what could the kid have done already on the first day to have to go to the principal's office? The class continued as planned. But he couldn't help but continue glancing at the empty chair where Sebastian was supposed to be. Eventually the class was over, and still, no sign of Sebastian. The class filed out, and it was time for Mr. George to head over to the field to get things set up for practice after school. As he rifled through his bags to make sure all of his equipment was where his equipment was supposed to be, he heard his classroom door open and close and a series of small footsteps. As he turned, he saw Sebastian heading toward his lab table to pick up his things. His hair was matted with sweat, and his back and chest had patches of sweat marking his clothes. "Sebastian!" Mr. George called. The boy jerked in place and widened his eyes in Mr. George's direction. Suddenly, Mr. George felt something come over him. A sharp instinct that something was wrong. "Oh, hey," he said. His voice was noticeably more hoarse. His eyes were glazed over as though he'd been put through an intense workout. The boy headed to the exit, turning to leave. "Whoa, whoa, everything okay?" Mr. George asked, hurrying over to him. "Huh? Yeah, everything's fine!" Sebastian tucked his things under his arm. "Really?" he tried to get a better look at him. "You look like you just ran a marathon," he said with concern in his voice. "Bye, Mr. George!" he said upbeat and left. Mr. George looked around his room, as if he would find other kids hiding under desks. When he saw that he was alone, he moved over to his desk, and wrote a note on his desk. "Check on Smalls tomorrow." At home, he and his wife watched a couple of shows on TV before going to bed. His wife was passed out in minutes, and Mr. George was tired, so he had no trouble falling asleep. In the middle of the night, he tossed to sleep on his side, and in the dark blurriness of night, he swore he could see something standing in the darkness of his bathroom. His eyes blinked awake, and slowly he rose from his bed to investigate. He flipped on the light, and to his surprise, Sebastian, the boy from his 3rd period health class was standing in his bathroom, completely and entirely naked. "Hi, Mr. George!" he said effervescently. "S-sebastian," he did a double take to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Wh-what are you doing here? Where are your clothes?" His eyes darted from body part to body part. Unsure of where to look. His golden skin almost made him glow in the dim bathroom light. "I was wondering if I could get caught up from class, since I missed, and all. I was hoping that you could show me the human anatomy." "I...it's the middle of the night, son," he responded. "Why don't you go back to bed?" "Aww, but I really want to know," he said, approaching Mr. George. "I really want to know." The boy's hand tucked inside of the waistband of Mr. George's briefs. He felt the tender hands of Sebastian feeling him. Suddenly, Mr. George's eyes shot open. He was still in bed, still laying next to his wife who was fast asleep. He sat forward in bed. He shook his head, in an almost bemused stupor. He wondered why on earth he would have a dream like that about a student. He wondered if he was having some kind of internal feeling about the student, or if he just missed his boys. He glanced at his digital alarm clock: 2:25, the numbers glowed back at him. He made an exasperated sigh and leaned back. As his head hit the pillow, he felt a familiar firmness beneath his waist. His hand ran across his pelvis, and felt a firm bulge growing beneath the fabric of his briefs. He grasped his now throbbing cock. Puzzled, aroused, confused. * As Mr. Grisham rounded the turn to the main road, his legs powered the pedals of his bicycle. The wind whipped through his blond hair, and sweat flicked away from his eyelashes. It had been almost a month since Mr. Grisham had prayed with Sebastian Smalls, helping him accept Jesus into his heart. It was also almost a month since he defiled Sebastian, having sex with him in his private office at church. Images of the metal crucifix that had been sitting on his office coffee table, sliding in and out of the boy's hairless asshole had not ceased to flash through his mind. Despite all he prayed each night, he still found himself distracted. As he would prepare a sermon, his mind would drift, and he would imagine being Sebastian again. Tickling the inside of Sebastian's hole with his tongue, feeling his warm mouth around his long dick, and even getting to fuck Sebastian's ass eventually. His weekly trips to the bathroom to masterbate without his wife knowing, became daily, became twice-daily, became thrice-daily. The magazines that he once used were no longer needed, as he would rub load after load out of himself, thinking about the sinful acts he'd committed with the boy who lives across the street. As his hand would rub himself raw, he would picture Sebastian's face squinting with pleasure as he pressed on his prostate with his finger. He would imagine him gritting his teeth in ecstasy, as his precious cum would seep from his boy cock. He would lick his wedding ring, hoping it would have a slight flavor of Sebastian still on it. In his office at church, he even tried using the crucifix on himself one day. He could barely work it even a couple of inches into himself before the pain being too unbearable, he would give up, left to pumping out another frustrated load. "Mr. Grisham," he could hear Sebastian's voice ringing in his ear. Like a ghost. A demon that wouldn't leave him. After that day, he had a conversation with Paul, one of his twins, about how he and Sebastian couldn't be friends anymore. "But why, Dad?" Paul asked, still wearing his church clothes. "I just don't think some of the things he likes to do are appropriate for a boy your age," Mr. Grisham responded politely. "I don't think he would be a good influence on you." Mr. Grisham was lying to his son. Just another of the many sins he committed that day. The truth way, Mr. Grisham was afraid of the influence Sebastian would have on himself. Not his son. Now, all he could do to keep from masturbating was riding his bike, trying to distract himself from the poisonous thoughts he was having. Desperate to forget, hoping that in time, these memories would fade, just like all others. As he turned down Knottingham back to his house, he felt the euphoric rush of a long ride sweeping through his muscles and radiating in his joints. He glided to his driveway, skidding to a halt outside of his garage. As he took his helmet off, he saw Gary Small's truck pulling up to their house. Immediately, Mr. Grisham darted behind the family car, as to not be seen. He saw first Gary and then Sebastian hop out of the truck. Mr. Grisham headed inside and ran up the stairs and to his bedroom. He made his way to the window where he could see the front of the Smalls's house. He observed the way the wind kicked up Sebastian's hair around his eyes, and imagined himself gripping a fistful of that hair and forcing him to gag on his raging erection. Perfunctory, he found himself reaching into his biker shorts and pulling out his sweaty cock and balls to get some air. Sebastian undid the tailgate of the truck and pulled out a few bags. Mr. Grisham imagined Sebastian kneeling before him, begging to taste his juicy dick. Pleaded Mr. Grisham to smear his musky ballsack across his face. "Oh, Mr. Grisham, your penis is so big and tasty," he could hear his voice ring in his ears. "Sebastian," Mr. Grisham whispered as he tugged at his cock. "Mr. Grisham, do you like how my mouth feels on your penis?" Sebastian asked. "Oh, God, yes," Mr. Grisham whispered again, moaning aloud. "Oh, Mr. Grisham, please fuck me. Fuck my ass. Fill me with your seed. Inject me with your sinful juice. Pump me full of the devil's fiery blood," Sebastian whimpered. He watched as Gary pulled Sebastian toward him for a hug, and he wished it was his own body pressing against Sebastian. "Oh, Sebastian, your hole is so warm and soft. Do you like how my penis feels inside of you?" he imagined Sebastian riding his pole like a carnival game, the smile the he could see from his window, planted on the imaginary Sebastian that he was fucking in his dreams. "Are you ready for my hot cum, Sebastian? You want it?" "Oh, please, Mr. Grisham," Sebastian said politely with good manners. "Please shoot your sperm in my ass." "ANNNNGH!" Mr. Grisham trembled, as spritzes of cum splashed against the glass of his window. Covering this micro-sized version of Sebastian that he was watching from his window in his crystal clear shower of precum, before white jizz began oozing from his lengthy cock. Waves of pleasure surged through Mr. Grisham, as his muscles knotted and contracted through his orgasm. "Mr. Grisham," he felt Sebastian's voice inside of him, almost as though he felt possessed by him. The boy was part of his blood, his bones, the cum that expelled from his cock. Sebastian was more part of him than God was, he felt. He tasted the excess cum that remained on his hand, and watched as Sebastian and his father went inside. After a quick shower, he went to his son Paul's room. He was working homework, which Mr. Grisham felt proud to see. Only two days into school, and Paul was already working hard, which was more to say for Paul than it was for his daughter, Sarah, who was more focused on making friends and causing trouble in class. "Hey, son," he said approaching Paul. "Working hard?" He walked over and sat on the bottom bunk of Paul's bed. The place where Sebastian last slept in their house. He couldn't help but feel Sebastian's presence everywhere. More powerfully, and more real than anything he'd ever felt as a priest. "Yeah, Dad," he responded. "Everything okay?" "All good here," Mr. Grisham said. "All your friends back this year?" "Yep," he said with a small smile. "Is...Sebastian in any of your classes?" he asked cautiously. Paul's eyes perked up a bit. "Oh...yeah, I think he might be in a couple. Why?" he asked nonchalantly. It was an odd question. Why should he care what classes Sebastian was in? Why would he want to know that? It wasn't like he was going to memorize his son's neighbor friend's schedule, and go to the school, and pull him out of a class that he and Paul didn't share together, and bring him back to the church and fuck his brains out. "Oh, I was just wondering," he said shrugging. He thought long and hard about how to bring this up. How to bring up that the boy he no longer wanted his son to associate with. How to say it's okay for them to be friends. How there was a selfish reason for this conversation. "Son, there's something I want to talk to you about." * "Hi, this is Coach Scott. Just calling to confirm that we are still on for our meet with you guys next Saturday?" "Coach Scott, yes. We're all lined up. Hope your boys are ready. We're not holding back this year." "Ha, you wish. I've got some secret weapons of my this year." "One of your kids gonna shit in the pool to cancel the meet?" "More like your boys are gonna cream themselves after they get a beating from mine." "Haha, raunchy as ever. Good t'hear from you Scott." "You too, Masters. Take care." "Buh-bye." I tossed the phone onto the hook, and sat back against my office chair. I was killin' it this year. My boys were working hard. The eights are firing up the sevens. My two pieces of meat are fightin' over me--Mayo and Smalls. Things couldn't be better. I reached over to my desk drawer and pulled out my black binder. My special black binder. I turned it to the back and saw Sebastian's name. Stuck to the paper were pictures I'd taken in secret. Sebastian bent over picking up his Speedo, showing off that sexy pink hole of his. Sebastian toweling off with his picture perfect prick flopping in the air. It wasn't as though these pictures were necessary. I'd seen much more with this little fucker. I've been face to face with that sexy pink hole in the picture. I've tasted the cum that's spurted from that perfect prick. The boy was mine. And I would never give that up. Suddenly I heard a knock on the door. "Coach?" I heard a familiar voice say. Standing before me was last year's piece: Cole Mayo. "Mayo. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?" I liked playing tough with him. I've met his dad. Total hardass. Swimming is everything to him. Expects Mayo to be the next Spitz. I knew there was no way. His body wasn't built for it. He responded to tough. These past few weeks with Smalls here getting all of my attention has been driving him nuts. Sure, it might be sad, but it's been making him work harder. "I-I...I was just wondering if you were free this period." "What does it look like, kid? I'm up to my nose in paperwork. I've got a lot to do today. What do you want?" I asked. Cole pushed the door closed. "I want you," he said, feebly. "I've missed my time with you." I continued scratching my pen across my paper, pretending to ignore him. "I...I know that you're with that sevie...Smalls." "He's a good swimmer. He's worth spending my time with," I said, punching some numbers into a calculator. "Better than me?" he asked, stepping closer. His haircut folding over his eyes. His pouty lips parting a bit, a glimmer of his piano-key teeth glimmered through. "Better swimmer? He will be," I said, flipping a paper over on my desk. "No question." I glanced and saw his adam's apple move up and down, as though stifling a sob. "Better than me," he said approaching me closer. "In that other way?" he asked, sliding against my desk. I tossed my pen onto my desk. "Look," I said, staring him in the eye, ignoring that cute way he bit his bottom lip when he wanted me to look his way. "You want extra time with Coach?" His eyes widened, and he nodded his head. "Then you're gonna have to work harder. Or...I don't know, change your body shape. Make yourself move better in the water." He stepped back, looking almost heartbroken. "You are great for the team," I said, trying to build his spirits. "Not quite the best, but you're great." He backed away from my best. A pouting scowl on his face. "Okay. Fine. I'll do better." Cole turned on his heel, and trudged over to the office door. He rested his hand on the door handle. "I will beat him," he said, eyes locked onto the dirty, translucent window. He pulled open the door, and left. At the sound of the click of the door, I reached into my sweatpants, and yanked out my floppy cock and instantly started beating my meat, as though the door closing was a signal for me to start jacking. Images of Smalls cut through my mind at a flip book's pace. The small of his back, bouncing against my stomach, my cock swallowed by that perfect hole, that muscle in his neck that bulges when he's cumming, and ohhhh his cum, his sweet sweet cum. My fantasy whirled in my head. Stretching and pulling and molding Smalls in my mind. "Oooooongh," I groaned, squirming in my office chair. Suddenly my mind filled with all the boys I'd ever felt my skin against. Cole, Mikey, John, Anthony, William, Jessie, Justin, and Sebastian. Rolling their bodies against mine, kissing me just as hard as I was kissing them. Tasting their dicks. Rolling their balls in my mouth. Watching their knees tremble as I ran my lips against their assholes. "UNNNnnngh, yerrrsh." But only one kept flashing through my mind: Sebastian. * "So you're telling me, nothing happened that night?" "I-I...No, sir, nothing. The call for the missing kid came in. I was patrolling near that neighborhood. I stopped and looked where kids mostly hide, and found'm" "Nothing else?" "No, Chief." "Really?" "..." "..." "Really." "Well, why did I get calls just around that very same spot about shouting?" "I...I don't know." "Did you hear any shouting where you were?" "I don't remember." "Did you see any patrolman where you were?" "I...don't know. I don't remember." "Well god fucking dammit what do you remember?" "I took the boy home. That was it." "A neighbor saw you draw your gun." "...w-what?" "You drew your gun." "N-no...no I---" "You held the gun at apparently...the boy's father? What were you thinking?" "I...I was..." * My wife and I sat at the dinner table. She'd set a nice plate for us. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans. Water with lemon. After a long day, I was starved. "How was your day?" she asked. I can recall exactly how the day went. It was crystal clear. Until I saw him. I saw him being dropped off by his mother outside. Sebastian Smalls. The Boy Wonder. I remember the firmness of his bulge as I ran my face along his crotch. I remember the smell of his hair hitting my face as he stooped over me. I remember the taste of his lips. I remember velvety perfection of his hole wrapping around my tongue. I remember the feeling of my cock jamming the back of his throat, the furthest depths of his ass. And now, something horribly beautiful burned inside of me. "Day was fine," I responded. I folded my table napkin and tossed it onto the table. "I'll be right back." I stood up suddenly and walked briskly to our bathroom. As soon as the door closed, I dropped my pants and yanked my meat out of my underwear. I could swear I could still feel him on me. I could feel the silkiness of his hole on my cock. "Hooooof," I grumbled, strangling my meat. Dried semen stuck in my pubes from the last times I masturbated that day--in the faculty bathroom, in my office, in my car on the way home. No matter how many loads I busted, I couldn't lose my lusty buzz that I had shooting through my body, my skin, my veins. Something I hadn't felt since I was a teenager. It could only be because of Sebastian. The euphoria only came when I was spilling my seed into that boy's mouth and hole. After jacking off into a sock, I could be hard again within minutes. His voice tickling my eardrum, the ghost of his breath on the back of my neck. It was almost as if my body demanded it. And if I was kept by myself too long, images of Sebastian would cycle through my mind. Driving me insane with lust. "Nngh...nghhhhh...mmmmph," I whimpered. "Brian? Are you okay?" I heard the sound of my wife cutting through my head. A soft knock thudded against the door. "UNgh, uhhh, yeah! Fine!" I shouted back. "Be out in a minute!" My hand continued strangling my dick, precum spattered against the toilet seat. "I'm...I'm coming!" A surge of cum spewed from my thick cock, dripping into the clear toilet water. Sweat stained my brow. My knees quaked under my weight. After the waves of orgasmic pleasure receded from my body, I stuffed my cock back into my briefs and shoved my pants back up my waist. I washed my hands. Slicked the wisps of hair I had on top of my head back into place. Pushed open the door and headed back to the dinner table. I sat back down across from my wife. "Sorry," I said, scooting my chair forward. I shoveled mashed potatoes into my mouth, tasting their salty starchiness. "A bit cold," I commented distantly. * "Thank you all for attending this discipline meeting," Mr. Sands organized a stack of papers neatly in front of him. "Not sure why we're here," said Ms. Ensalada, a young-ish art teacher in her fifth year of teaching said grumpily. The rest of the teachers also looked a bit drained. The first Friday of the school year, and already the strain of the workload was taking its toll. Perhaps only Mr. George looked awake and attentive. "Yeah. How long is this gonna take?" another teacher Mr. John said exhausted. He was an elderly history teacher, incapable of keeping up with the new youth of the world. Video games, grunge music. It frustrated him. "It shouldn't take a long time," Mr. Sands responded. "It's just to point out some early troublemakers. It's helpful for me to know." "Where's Mr. McCook?" Ms. Lewis chimed in, as though she weren't listening. "Is he too good for this meeting?" "No, no, Ms. Lewis," he reassured her. "I'm sure he'll be here any moment." Mr. Flores squirmed in his seat. He didn't want to be rude, but he had a soccer game that was starting in thirty minutes and needed to leave. "Now," Mr. Sands passed around some papers. Reminders of the school rules for teachers to reference when calling out students' names. "Anyone giving us trouble in class?" "Anyone have Perez? Eighth grader? She's a nightmare," Ms. Ensalada chimed in. "Oh, yeah, she's like a little tyrant in my class," mentioned Mr. John agreed. It went like this for a while. A student's name would be mentioned, the room would erupt with agreeing stories, and Mr. Sands would take notes. After about forty-five minutes, Mr. Flores asked if he could excuse himself, after saying that he wasn't having any discipline issues in his class. The older teachers rolled their eyes as he left the room. "Alright," Mr. Sands continued, "any others?" As he asked, Mr. McCook pushed through the conference room door. He appeared to be clammy, flushed, glassy eyed. "Sorry, I'm late," he said in a puff of air, taking a seat. "It's okay," Mr. Sands continued. Their eyes met and had a sort of strange message that splashed together in an odd way. Like two rocks being tossed against each other. "As we were discussing, and I think we were just wrapping up, are their any other students giving us a problem?" After some silence, Mrs. Lewis spatted the name "Sebastian. Sebastian Smalls?" The room seemed to shift in her direction. Mr. Sands and Mr. McCook glanced at each other again. "Okay," Mr. Sands began writing notes, "what are you experiencing with Sebastian Smalls, Ms. Lewis?" "Well, he's constantly distracted. Never pays attention. I find him disrespectful," she said. "Yes," Ms. Ensalada said slowly. "Now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever witnessed his eyes on anything but what's happening out the window." "And I," Mr. George spoke up for the first time the entire meeting, "I would just like to have him in class for once." He looked at Mr. McCook directly when he said this. "Seems like he's spending a lot of time in your office." "Yes," Mr. Sands spoke up before Mr. McCook could. "He's been having a hard time staying focused. Staying in class. That's mostly what we're concerned about." "Where's Coach Scott?" Ms. Lewis chimed in. "Isn't he his swimming coach? Couldn't that be a motivator? No grades he can't compete." "Yes, something needs to be done!" Ms. Ensalada said, frustratedly. "I've met with Mr. Smalls," Mr. McCook said. "He's just like most new kids we receive. He's having trouble adjusting. Otherwise I think that he's doing just fine here at Birchwood." He finished his sentence as though it were the final word. And as the boss of the room, it would be. The teachers all looked around at each other, their postures deflating, realizing that nothing would come of this meeting when it was over. * Dave walked into the office thirty minutes late. He punched his employee ID number into the clock. The sign Solus Solutions above the time-clock matched the label on his badge, which matched the logo on his pen. He navigated the maze of cubicles. He made his way to his and sat down into his rolling chair. His brain was like a zoetrope lately. Distracted. Rambunctious. He glanced at a picture frame that he had set up next to his desktop computer. His wife and two girls. He remembered taking this picture. His daughters Stephanie and Hannah were kicking and screaming the entire way there, but they managed to snap a moment of peace--his eyes soulless, his teeth gritting. Dave flipped on his computer, and took solace in the five minutes that it took for the screen to boot up and for each of the programs to load. He stared at the faint reflection of himself in the computer screen. The small hint of stubble that had sprouted on his face was turning into a patchy and scraggly mess. The bags under his eyes were growing more heavy with fatigue. His skin which at one time had a positive glow to it, was becoming pasty, almost grey. His mind drifted to the boy that he'd met at the restaurant, Louie's, just two days ago. All his life, he felt as though he had control. He worked hard in college. He met his wife. He had two kids. He was able to pay for anything that he might need or even want. Everything was working out perfectly. Now, he had no idea. Now, all he could think about was that boy. That boy whose name he didn't even learn. But by now, he had his angelic face burned into his memory. He could feel his erection throbbing in his work slacks. He couldn't remember a time when his cock had been so hard. Maybe in his teenage years where he'd jack off twenty times a day if he could. But as a man in his early thirties, those days of fun were over. His computer was taking extra time to load than normal, so he thought he'd rub one out real quick so that he would be able to get to work. He tucked his erection to the side of his thigh and awkwardly got to his feet. "Hi, Dave," he heard the familiar voice of the assistant manager behind him. Instantly his muscles tightened and he tried to empty the thoughts of the boy from his mind. "Morning, Mr. Degner," Dave said awkwardly. "Noticed you got here a little late," he said tipping his coffee mug lightly. "Traffic?" "Yeah," Dave said dumbly, "traffic was pretty bad. Sorry about that." "Well, I've just noticed that...traffic has been pretty bad...quite a lot lately," he said, a tinge of passive aggressiveness in his voice. Dave clenched his teeth. "It won't happen again," he said, "I'll get up earlier." "I guess that's what'll have to happen," he said his voice trailing as he turned away to stop by the next cubicle. He watched as Mr. Redgar stepped further away--Dave's lateness, not really causing his boss grief. Mr. Redgar just wanted to have some kind of control over him. And control was something Dave could feel slipping away. Dave glanced back at his computer, seeing it still loading. He began walking briskly to the restroom. As he pushed the door open, he found himself alone. He stepped into a stall and locked it, frantically dropping his pants, and sitting on the toilet. His cock flopped into his hand. The soft smoothness that had come with years without doing any kind of physical labor was like a puddy around his cock. He gripped his shaft, sending jolts of pleasure through his muscles. "Ahhh," his voice sang, echoing into the empty facility. His stroked himself more eagerly, with more fervor, imagining the boy taking it in his mouth, just like before. "Oh yes, suck me," he whispered. His legs stretched, his right leg jittery and jumpy. His heavy balls tightened against his shaft. "God, your lips...so...imph...perfect," he whined. "Your mouth...like heaven." He rolled his free hand across his body, imagining it was the boy's lean body running against his. He grasped onto memories of the boy as though they were sand, being yanked away from him in the tide. He could still make out the petit ass that swayed only inches from his face. He could still hear the sounds of his throat gagging as he swallowed Dave whole. "Oh, god, you're gonna make me cum...I'm cumming baby-y-y...ENGH!" Wads of jizz oozed from Dave's cock, pooling in his navel, coating his dick in semen. The electricity of his orgasm had never been more powerful, and he could see nebulas of color shooting through his vision. His thighs tightened as he squeezed the last of his euphoric dream from his body. He let the remaining feelings of his orgasm drift away from him like a satin sheet being slowly removed from him. When he opened his eyes and saw the cold fluorescent light above him, his whole being shook with disappointment. A familiar knot of depression clogged his throat as though he could cry. He'd felt this feeling before. Love. Poisonous feelings of love. That obsessive need to be with someone that rattled his ribcage and made everything else in his periphery a blur. Disappointing. Hazy. Useless. All he wanted was another moment with that boy. Dave took a strand of 1-ply toilet paper and dabbed up his cold sperm and tossed it between his legs. He stood up, buckled his pants back around his waist, flushed his load down the toilet and went back out into the office. As he was met with the grayness of the space. The cacophonous sounds of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, recited speeches about consultations, marketing, sales, pitches, buzzwords, "consolidate", "diversify", "synergize", "upswing". The glow of screens painting each of the faces of colleagues who he didn't even know. He walked up to his cubicle to see that his computer screen had finished loading, and now had his login information ready to be input. He saw the picture of his family. An old memo pinned to the walls of his cubicle. A fresh stack of files, of phone numbers to call. "Dave?" Mr. Degner approached him. "Is something the matter? I haven't seen you log into your system yet." Dave turned to face his boss. He appeared irritated. His body had grown soft with complacency, just Dave had noticed his own body changing in his thirties. He looked at his work space, and back at Mr. Degner. "I quit," Dave said, the words coming out of his mouth easily, with hardly any issue. "I'm sorry." "Ah-uh-I....wh-what..." Mr. Degner sputtered in confusion. Dave left his office with a box full of his personal items. As he sat back in his car, a huge relief swept over him. Images of the boy shot through his brain, and he knew what he had to do. He was going to find him. Find him and do whatever he had to do to spend the rest of his life with him. As he drove back into town he went through all the places that the boy might be, and hope that somehow he could see him again. See him, and hopefully if he was alone, make love to him. He spent the afternoon in a coffee shop writing notes. Timelines hypothesizing what his schedule might look like. Where he might go to school--Birchwood Middle was the closest school that would fit his age and was the closest school to the Louie's where they first met each other. In a letter, he wrote letters to the boy. Letters that he may or may not ever find a way to deliver to him. "I could adopt you," he found himself writing. "I have a family already, but they'll be fine on their own." "We can start our own life together. I'll take good care of you." His eyes widened with hope and excitement at this possibility. He imagined he and the boy living in a house all to themselves. Dave imagined holding the boy in his arms as they watched TV. He imagined playing with the boy's stiff cock all night, and then driving him to school in the morning. He shook his head wildly to contain himself. He dashed to the coffee shop restroom and rubbed another load out before sitting back down with his work. After another hour at the coffee shop, Dave drove to the bank and opened a private account. He deposited all the savings that he had accumulated into it so that it would just be his. He drove to a hotel, positively rushing with excitement. He paid for a room that would be his for a week. He hoped that this would be enough time to find the boy, ask him to be with him, and then start a new life with him. He was sure this would work, and he was excited about the new chapter in his life. At about 2:30, Dave got back in his car and drove to Birchwood Middle. He knew he wouldn't be able to approach him while he was at school, but at least he would be able to get a good look at him. To at least see him once again. When he pulled into the parking lot, a flood of emotions swept over him. Nervousness, excitement, anxiety, lust, a frustrating mix of joy and fear. He found a parking spot near the exit where students would be leaving in about ten minutes. He put the car in park and waited, his eyes shifting around from place to place, as though he knew it wasn't okay for him to be there. He heard the distant sound of the school bell ring, and within minutes, students were filing outside. His eyes perked up and he straightened himself in his seat. His eyes darted from kid to kid, looking desperately for the one that was "his." He watched as students socialized and then would see their parents' cars. As teachers supervised them to keep them from being too wild. Sweat began to form on his forehead from the heat of summer. His cock raged in his pants as his heart swelled with hope. Suddenly, from the double doors he saw the boy step into the sunlight. The hair that he remembered being a slightly dirty blond, shone radiantly in the afternoon sun. His glowing skin gave him this heavenly aura. He lusted over his bare legs and watched as his loose shorts would flutter revealing more of his skin. Dave's heart began to race. He gripped the steering wheel. It was all he could do not to jump out and start running toward him. He knew he could not make a scene. Not in front of all these kids and their parents. Tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped them away, only so that he could have a clear look at this boy. He watched him as he looked around for his parent's car. Dave imagined the boy finding him and just coming into his car. He imagined him sitting in the passenger seat and just stripping all of his clothes off. His tan skin sticky with the summer heat. Suddenly the boy moved toward a blue pickup truck. Dave watched him with fear in his eyes as he began to disappear into the car. "No," he whispered. He started the engine of his car. He had his eyes fixated on the blue pickup. Dave waited for the blue pickup truck to pass him and then quickly he backed out of his spot, cutting off the person behind the truck. The car slammed on its breaks blaring its horn at Dave. Dave gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and then urgently tried to follow the truck. His heart raced as his eyes connected with the back of the truck, trying to memorize everything about it in case he were to see it at the store, or at any other public place. At a stop light he admired the outline of the boy's head, seeing the frazzled hair flutter in the air conditioning. He tried to imagine the smell of it. He couldn't. He promised himself the next time that he encountered this boy, he would take in every sense of him that he could. The smell of his hair, the taste of his skin, the sound of his voice. That way he would never forget it. He found himself entering a neighborhood, making special care not to follow too closely. He memorized each of the street signs that he would always remember how to find this house if he needed to. Finally they turned onto a street--"Knottingham"--that seemed as though it would be their home street. The truck pulled into a driveway with a cedar fence that was erected diminutively in the front yard. He slowly continued driving, watching the boy hop out of the truck with his backpack. If only he could call out to him. If only he could just reach out and grab him. He coasted slowly past the house, trying to store every detail he could possibly imagine about where he was. Suddenly, the boy shot a look in Dave's direction. His eyes cut into his skull, and perhaps out of fear of being spotted, Dave stomped the gas and drove away, his dick throbbing painfully beneath his pants. Back at the hotel, Dave scribbled a makeshift map of the neighborhood where the boy lived. He made sure that if he wanted, he could get their by heart. Thoughts of the boy rushed through his head until he was blind with lust. He tossed himself onto the queen-sized hotel bed and strangled his cock into a spewing orgasm. The typical euphoria of the ejaculation was lesser than he'd remembered, despite the mess he made on himself was just as large. He could already feel himself growing less satisfied with masturbating. He needed the boy now. It wasn't a matter of wanting him. Growing hungry, Dave went back to Louie's. As he parked, he was disappointed to not see the blue pickup truck anywhere near the restaurant. He sat in a booth by himself, eying the door, hoping that maybe his family would be walking through the door any moment. He ordered a plain hamburger with fries. Dave glanced at the table where he remembered seeing the boy sitting with his mother. He could still feel that drilling sensation of the boy's gaze. The eerie feeling of overwhelming lust that he had not expected to experience that morning. That haunted him for two nights, and stuck with him still. Dave got up from his table and moved quickly to the restroom. Empty, thankfully. He found the stall where he and the boy first met. He stepped inside, feeling the boy's presence guiding him there. There was a palpable warmth that made him feel as though the boy had been there recently. As though he could still feel his skin on his own. Dave sat down on the toilet, and revelled in the sensation of the walls of his stall growing around him. He pulled out his cock and started to slowly stroke himself off. He peered through his squinted eyes and could practically make out the shape and figure of the boy standing in front of him. "Hi, Daddy," a voice penetrated his skull. "Unnngh," Dave groaned. "I-it's you," Dave whimpered. "I've missed you so much, Daddy." The soft yet sensual voice snaked into his ears. "I've missed you and your big, big Daddy dick," he hissed. "Oh, I've...ingh....missed you too, baby," Dave hummed. "My beautiful baby," he cringed as his balls twitched in his hand. "Here, Daddy. Why don't I suck your tasty cock," the boy offered. Dave could practically feel the boy's hair tickling my thighs. He could practically feel the boy's warm mouth engulfing his shaft. The tip of his cock punching the back of his throat. "Oh baby, your mouth is so good," he grunted. "Yeah, suck Daddy's dick, baby. Suck me," he encouraged. He could hear the gargling squeaks from the boy's lips eking out into the empty restroom. "Oh fuck yeah, boy," Dave whimpered. "Oh I wanna fuck you so badly. HUnngh... I wanna feel you on top of me." Dave reached into his shirt and clamped his hand around his nipple, feeling the hair on his chest tangle with his fingers. "Oh, you wanna fuck my ass, Daddy? Don't you think it'll hurt?" he asked. "Ooooooongh! Please let me fuck you, boy. I'm dying to fuck your perfect ass." "Then come find me," the boy's voice trickled in his head. "I'll be waiting." "OMMMMPH!" Dave wailed as rope after rope of cum surged from his dick. Even more than before. His soft stomach painted in pure white cum, sweat fell from his rosy neck. Tears welled in his eyes as his orgasm only lasted for a few seconds, even though felt practically five pounds lighter from the especially virile load that he just dumped onto himself. His breath slowed as he tried to gain control of himself. He opened his eyes to find himself alone in the Louie's bathroom. The ghost of his boy floated around him. His orgasm melted away from again like a soft curtain, until he just felt the dank air of the restroom stifling him. Images of the boy flashed through his mind. He wiped himself up from the load of cum he just drenched himself with and flushed it away. He found himself back at his table, the bland hamburger and fries waiting for him. He went through his plan of finding the boy over and over in his head. He would eat dinner at this restaurant everyday if he had to. He would wait outside the school. He would follow him to a family reunion in Idaho if that's what it would take. He imagined how perfectly his cock would fit in that beautifully golden ass. "I'll find you," Dave whispered. "I will find you." Chapter 16 to follow. Please email hjk7359@hotmail.com for feedback, questions, or constructive criticism. Thank you for reading.