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By Chris Carr
Copyright December, 1999
He doesn't say much, my little boy. Just one of the things that makes him so charming.
Walnut brown, silky smooth skin.
Almond shaped, hazelnut-brown eyes and a smile that lights up the room.
Gets hard as a rock, anytime he's 'round. Helpless, he smirks, his willful, 6 1/2 inches pointing north.
Thought I was going to devour him, body and soul, our first time. Four hours, non-stop we conjoined, twisting and tasting.
"Photograph your group?" I petitioned, that fateful day. I'd just watched their performance at the Metropolitan African Art Festival, and was hell bent on seeing more of him.
"Leave me your card," Obasi, the band's leader replied.
Throughout the entire performance, I'd drooled, his tall, teen, form adorable. With a charming, lilting demeanor, he expertly pounded his dundun drum. Just how much of this astounding youth I'd eventually see, was beyond my wildest dreams at the time.
The Djembe, the Tama, and of course, the dundun, their various drums all combined to create the rich, melodic rhythm of their entire ensemble. Clad in their festive, bright red and yellow West African pants, they paraded barefoot onto the stage, their electrifying beat reverberating across the crowded park.
Captivated, the assemblage cheered as they danced and pounded, their performance like none they'd seen before. They've traveled abroad, this wondrous troupe, playing for audiences worldwide.
"Our organization provides structured, coming-of-age activities for local junior high and high school teens," Obasi explained.
Well, that explains my little boy's participation, I thought.
He eventually called and arranged for them to stop by. Schedules conflicting, the youths trickled in, one by one, my heart anxiously awaiting my little angel's advent.
"I'm with Tey Sa Tisanne," he breathlessly explained, a little haggard from his run over.
Like a apparition in the dark, he'd finnally shown, eager to start his photo session.
He spoke little more than that first line, obediently following my directions as we worked.
Flushed, I gazed with passion as he donned his festive pants and embroidered vest.
Regally adorned, he was a vision of delight, from his royally feathered cowl to his erotically bare feet.
His rigid dick the treasure I like most, it soars relentlessly, rebounding with each release, insistently demanding I stroke it once more.
A breeze in the air, or brush of his clothes, he develops a bulge that tents his pants with abandon.
His budding teen libido, constantly dialed to a fevered pitch, it effortlessly drives his randy willingness.
The air super charged with sexual tension, he lingered long after his appointment. Demurely, he followed as I developed the black and whites I'd taken, the soft pitter-patter of his bare feet alluring.
In the cramped confines of the darkroom, we negotiated, his solid, budding form constantly against me. Reaching for toner, or squeezing past him to hang up a print, I could literally sense his round ass, 'neath his sheer attire.
His visits are a common occurrence, now. When least I expect, he darkens my door, that familiar smile on his face. Both instantly stimulated, the moment we see each other, little to nothing is said as we imbibe.
So many memories, so many hot times. On my couch, the darkroom, my desk, and most recently, my home. He discreetly sneaks away, telling no one of his ravenous need. Virtually insatiable, he guards his time with me, jealously.
When I look in the audience and see you there, I get hard, he wrote once.
Painfully shy, he'd rather die than tell me these things. Insidiously leaving notes behind, I find them tucked in some obscure corner of my desk, detailing his true feelings.
I don't wear underwear when I play, anymore.
I can feel it dripping, down my legs with every beat
Now, when I watch him perform, I do so with the envious realization that behind his drum, he's no doubt sporting a terribly rigid erection.
His legs spread, I hungrily lap at his hairless hole. My tongue dragging across the sensitive bud, I love to watch his taut six pack as it convulses in ecstasy. His dick literally stands at attention when I hit the right spot, it's painfully hard length dripping sticky hot, boy juices on his quivering stomach.
Held him there for over an hour one time, licking from his wide splayed asscheeks, to the tip of his oozing dick. He was a quivering mass of flesh by the time I tortuously lapped at his dick, bringing him off.
Softly he sighed, the first time I touched it.
That first day, tucked away in my dark room, I could hardly believe it was happening. Desperately striving to conceal his excited state, he hovered close to the workbench. The silence deafening, I still don't remember how I caught site of it.
Words were unnecessary, his stiff offering sufficient. A smile, that sweet, nervous smile of his was enough. Untying the neck strap to his costume, I denuded him, there in the dark.
Swooning, I gasped as I beheld his salaciously developing boy chest.
"You're stunning," I whispered, kissing his nipples softly.
To the couch in my studio office I led him, naked as the day he was born. The blinds drawn, the door locked, I descended upon him, thrilling to the touch of his squirming, lithe body.
Deeply, I kissed him, savoring his innocent mouth as he moaned and writhed. From his precious head, to his wiggling toes, I tasted of him, his redolence, intoxicating. A kiss here, a suckle there, he was deliriously aroused as I traveled.
He struggles as I mount, even a year later. Astride his wiry physique, I must hold him tight, less he slip away. Though I coo in his ear, and nuzzle his neck gently, he still tightens, every time he feels me breaching his passage.
His darting ass futilely attempting to avoid my advancing dagger, he grunts as he feels me fill him.
Such sweet satisfaction.
Such heavenly delight.
How he contorts and squirms until
My searing 7 inches, scraping that spot deep within, he melts beneath me, fulfilled.
His body willingly offered
His legs widely splayed
His asshole a treat to relish
His feet so soft and supple
His dick so rigid and ready
Spurts of hot love, emptying beneath his thrusting hips.
He doesn't say much, my little boy, just finds me when he's ready, his dick telling it all.