For those of you who think that this story is true, please be aware that what follows is nothing more than words on a written page (or screen), the sum of which is a narrative. Any narrative is not reality, merely a representation of reality. It is up to the individual reader to believe what he wants.

If by chance you do think that what follows is true, then this means I have succeeded in my goal, which is to appear as authentic as possible. I personally prefer "first time" stories or ones that seem. I'm posting the kinds of stories that I would like to read myself. But that's what the "freedom" of Internet is all about, isn't it?
Introduction

I have now been living in Paris for ten years. I will spare you the how's and the why's related to my being here. What I will tell you, though, is that Paris is a beautiful city and - as those of you who have visited will surely agree - an expensive one. For this reason I ended up living in an immigrant district, one of the cheaper parts of town.

It is a melting pot of North Africans, Eastern Europeans and Asians. Before moving here, I enjoyed taking walks through this neighborhood because I found it so different than the rest of Paris. The streets were always teaming with large noisy families, and there were many kinds of ethnic restaurants, Muslim butcher shops with sheep heads turning in sidewalk rotisseries and souks, those little Arab markets that sell everything from batteries and shampoo to fresh mint. The colors and food smells and the chatter of so many languages made it much more exotic than, say, the Champs Elysees or the Louvre Museum.

I was also attracted to the mosaic of beautiful faces. I admire French boys and European boys in general, but there is something very appealing to me about African and Arab youths. I'd observed that groups of boys often congregated at one particular square where they played soccer. During my walks, I never failed to stop there, to admire and envy these dark-skinned kids who seemed so uninhibited in their play and showing of affection toward each other. I often wondered what it would be like to live in such an area.

After several years of living in the same place, I was obliged to move. As fate would have it, the apartment I found was on the very street with the square where I had so often lingered, although I didn't realize it at the time because I'd approached the street from the opposite direction, where my walks never took me.

The building I now live in reflects the ethnic mix of the neighborhood. On my floor there are Portuguese and Iranians, and in the other apartments are Algerians, Serbs and Moroccans. I fit in because I, too, am an immigrant.

On the first floor lives a Moroccan family of five. Aisha, the mother, along with her daughter and three sons are stuffed into a cramped two-room apartment. Fatima, the girl, is now nine years old. Soufiane, Abdel and Ramzi, the three sons, are eleven, fifteen and sixteen years old respectively. When I met them, though, they were six, ten and eleven. Abdel and Ramzi are both very dark skinned, with brown eyes and straight jet-black hair. Ramzi is stocky with well-developed muscles from years of karate. Abdel is wiry and as thin as a rail, and despite attempts at lifting weights and eating high-calorie foods, remains so. Soufiane, on the other hand, has green eyes and curly, dirty blond hair. His skin is also much lighter, and he looks so different from Abdel and Ramzi that they teasingly call him "blondie." I have watched them evolve from little kids to teenagers experiencing the thrill of independence brought on by maturity yet suffering from the usual growing pains.

I befriended them shortly after moving in. The kids often kicked a soccer ball around in the courtyard and occasionally invited me to return a pass. Aicha was usually stationed at the window and greeted me whenever I walked by. When they learned I was American, they became very intrigued and started inviting me for mint tea or couscous. Soon I was helping the kids with their homework, accompanying them to the swimming pool, and when their dad was put in prison on a drug charge, I took on all the family's paperwork and become a sort of surrogate father. But I am getting ahead of myself.

A deep and complicated relationship has developed between the boys and me over the years, with many ups and downs. For one thing, Ramzi and I have been lovers for four years, from shortly before his thirteenth birthday until now. We've had sex hundreds of times, and I was beginning to wonder whether he was gay until things dramatically fell apart after he'd met a girl named Celine, and although this is not the first time he has dumped me for a girl (as you will learn), at the time I was expecting it to be the last. I was feeling much loneliness and sadness, but an odd side effect was that many good memories were released, perhaps due to some emotional distance. I would like to share some of these memories with you as they continue to float to the surface, including some involving Abdel, Soufiane and a cousin named Rachid.

What follows is not presented chronologically, as my goal is not to write an autobiography. These chapters are thus ordered as they are, random like memory, with all the censure and exaggeration that memory allows.
Chapter 1- The End (?) and How It All Started (Ramzi)

It is a Tuesday evening in April, and Ramzi and I are sitting on the couch holding hands. I am reminiscing about the first times we had sex, as well as some of the crazier places. All of this now seems like eons ago.

Three days earlier we had broken up, or rather I had pushed him to admit that he had a girlfriend and that perhaps the time had come to rethink our relationship. Because of his age, I had begun to wonder about his sexual orientation. Here he was, sixteen and a half years old, and we continued to have very reciprocal sex. But then the tell-tale signs started appearing: he was less inclined to kiss, he arrived late for our meetings, and then one day he showed up wearing a bracelet with "Celine" written on it. The day I had been fearing had arrived, when the heterosexual urge becomes the dominant one. But we are still in love; this is obvious in the way we hold hands and sit facing each other with our legs entwined.

"I have lots of good memories," I started off. This is the second time we were alone after our very serious talk where he admitted his relationship with Celine. I was feeling very low and needed some sort of affirmation of what we had experienced together. "What about you?"

"Of course I do," he replied.

"Which ones are your favorites?"

"Probably the same ones as you." I sensed he didn't really want to talk about this, but I insisted. There were certain things I wanted him to admit.

"Do you remember the first time?"

"Yeah. It happened when I came up here to bring you that videocassette."

"That's right. And you couldn't imagine how surprised I was when you started feeling me between my legs."

"You mean I started it? I forgot about that," he said, without the slightest embarrassment.

"And what do you think was the craziest place?"

"I don't know... maybe that time in Fountainebleau Forest."

He was right. Having sex in the forest was a crazy, and, because of that, very exciting. It was not long ago, shortly after his sixteenth birthday. The day was cool and overcast, so there were few visitors. Abdel was "it," and Ramzi and I hid behind a giant boulder nestled in a clump of trees. My hand strayed to his crotch, and through his sweat pants I felt he was hard: we both had the same idea. We pulled our pants to our knees and started jacking each other off. I pulled his face close to mine for a kiss but he gently pushed me away, saying there wasn't time. He was right. Although we were hidden from view, we were in a popular forest and there was still the possibility of being surprised by a hiker. Ramzi leaned back against the boulder. His dick was very hard and I put my mouth around it. His cock was seven inches long and thick enough to stretch my mouth. It was much darker colored than mine, and the piss slit even darker. His balls were big and hairy, and although hairy balls are a turn-off, because it was Ramzi and because I had seen them go from the small, hairless ones of a child to that of an adult's, it didn't bother me. We then traded places and he took my dick into his mouth and started jacking it up and down. His hands crept up under my shirt, and he grabbed my tits and squeezed them. I was getting close but he stopped and told me it was his turn again. I got on my knees on the rocky ground and swallowed his cock and jacked him with my right hand. After a couple of strokes he moaned and his juice squirted into my mouth. A minute or so later, we heard Abdel call our names. He was getting close so we quickly pulled up our pants.

"How about the time when all your friends were over and we were jerking each other off under the blanket. Or even the time I sucked on your toes right next to your cousin. Do you remember that?"

"Oh yeah," he said, his face lit by a silly grin.

I will never forget those very early days and my shock the first time he rubbed my crotch through my jeans and then pulled down my zipper. He had come to my apartment alone to have me make a copy of a cassette tape, and shortly afterwards his mother called to explain what she wanted recorded. She was in a talkative mood, but I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying because I was distracted by her son who was feeling my cock. I had never expected this from Ramzi, who acted the most macho of the brothers and who, several months earlier, had proudly informed me that he'd had sex with a girl in Casablanca during the summer holiday (substantiated by an older cousin). He was hardly twelve years old then, and now it was only a couple of months before his thirteenth birthday.

When I was finally able to hang up the phone, I unzipped his pants and pulled them down along with his underwear and grabbed hold of his dick. It was very hard, probably four inches long with just a couple of hairs at either side but none in the middle. With my right hand I slowly jacked him off, and with my left I felt his balls. They were marble sized and loose in velvety skin. My own dick was pointing at a ninety-degree angle. Too quickly, though, he sucked in his breath and a few clear drops of cum dribbled out of cock. He grabbed onto my hand to hold it in place and squeeze the head and then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped, he zipped up his pants and said he had to go. He left me there - literally - with my dick hanging out.

A few days later he and his brothers and a Malian friend of theirs named Moussa came to my apartment to watch a movie. The lights were off. Ramzi sat next to me on the couch and put a blanket over both our laps, saying he was cold. I was afraid to make the first move, but I didn't have to wait very long for him to make one. He put his hand on my crotch and gave my cock a squeeze. So I put my hand on his lap and slowly and quietly worked his zipper down. I then reached into his pants and wrapped my hand around his cock. It was hard and he flexed it a couple of times. Moussa, who was sitting on his other side, didn't seem to notice anything. I was pumping his cock with my hands and suddenly I felt something slippery. When I turned and looked at Ramzi, I saw that his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He pushed my hand away but didn't finish me off. The next night the same thing happened again, once again in a room full of people. If anyone noticed a slight up and down movement under the blanket, no one ever said anything.

It wasn't until the following weekend that we had our first real chance of being alone. He came over and said that his mom had taken his brothers and sister to his uncle's and had left him alone, which meant that there we would be undisturbed for several hours.

No pretext was needed. We went to the bedroom and laid down on the bed. I started unbuttoning his jeans and he did mine. I pulled them and underwear down in one tug and then pulled mine down. I lifted up his tee-shirt and caressed the smooth skin of his chest and belly. We were facing each other and feeling each other's cocks. With my left hand I pumped his shaft and with my left hand I caressed his balls. I found their smoothness very exciting. There wasn't even the slightest trace of fuzz on them. He played with my balls too, first holding the right one and then the left one. He was doing everything I did. I scooted closer to him and pressed our dicks together. I jacked both off at the same time. This seemed to excite him even more. He pushed himself against me. My free hand caressed his shoulder and held him close while I rubbed both our cocks together.

His face was pressed into my chest. His breathing quickened. My dick was leaking, providing extra lubricant, and I rubbed faster and gave his neck and cheeks little kisses. He was panting and his mouth was open slightly. I nibbled his lips. He did not turn his head away and I kissed his lips and then I kissed him straight on the mouth. I put my tongue right in and our tongues were pushing hard against each other. He opened his mouth wider and stuck his tongue into my mouth.

And then he groaned. It was stifled because his mouth was pressed against mine. His small load provided enough lubrication to make it easier for my hand to go up and down both our dicks. My larger load splattered over his stomach. He pulled his mouth away and groaned again. He grabbed hold of my hand and made me stop jacking him. I let go of our cocks and pressed our bodies together. I was lightly caressing his back under his tee-shirt, starting at his shoulders and then down his back to his smooth ass and then back up again. His eyes were closed.

No words were spoken, no "Gee that felt great," or "I really love you," and nor would they over the upcoming years. They didn't need to be. We both new how wonderful it felt and, as our relationship developed, what we felt for each other.

Chapter 2 - Meanwhile... (Soufiane)

I am chasing Soufiane (pronounced soo-fee-an) around with the vacuum cleaner, poking it at his crotch. He is giggling but doesn't try to avoid the sucking hose all too much. He pulls down his sweat pants, and when I approach the hose, the intake of air tugs his penis upward like a pin drawn to a magnet but when it gets too close and really starts to pull, he backs away. But without the vacuum cleaner, his dick continues to rise toward me. This game has excited him, and even after I turn off the machine, he is still holding down his sweatpants.

"Hey," I tell him. "You've grown a hair."

He looks down and concurs.

"And look," I continue. "Here's another one as well."

A close inspection reveals that a fine black hair has indeed sprouted at either side of his dick. A soft nearly invisible blond fuzz had appeared on his balls a couple of months earlier. He is circumcised, of course, and there is a birthmark on his shaft. Erect his dick is three inches long.

Despite these signs of approaching puberty, he is still unable to produce any kind of liquid when he orgasms. At least, not since the week before. I've actually never seen him orgasm - I've only felt it in my mouth, with him holding my head with both hands and grinding himself into my face and then the pulsing along the entire length of his penis once, then a second time, before he pushes my head away "because it tickles too much."

He used to merely breath loudly when the ticklish feeling hit him but lately there has been a build up and now he actually grunts, and there is nothing more exciting to me than the extreme pleasure of a grunting boy.

Ramzi and I have been lovers for several years. There was - is - a deep bond. I consider Soufiane, however, in a different light. He is a very sweet boy, whom I will always love, but because of his age, it is just not possible to expect the same kind of passionate, emotional involvement. And I know he loves me in his own way. He is very affectionate and wants to do everything with me, whether it be shopping, jogging, even accompanying me to the office on weekends. I help him with his homework and when he has a problem he calls me on the phone to talk about it.

What may come as a surprise, though, is that our little sessions have been going on for over five years, much longer than with Ramzi, and the fact that I have brought him off probably five hundred times gives our relationship a certain intensity all the same. As opposed to Ramzi, with Soufiane is not easy to pinpoint that first moment, though, the one where you make that dangerous leap and try your luck, when there is no looking back. (Either you know what I mean or you don't. There is no explaining it.)

He had never been afraid of displaying his body. From nearly the first time he came to my apartment he showed no modesty at all. When he went to the bathroom, he would leave the door wide open, and, like most little kids, let his pants drop to his ankles, and then either stand in front of the toilet bowl or sit down. I saw his chubby circumcised cock right from the start.

Believe it or not, it was Aicha who gave me my first glimpse of Soufiane's penis up close. One afternoon she showed me the videotapes of her sons' circumcision ceremonies. It was oddly exciting, and although all three boys were there at the time, they showed no embarrassment at having me watch their foreskins pinched and then sliced away followed by their tears of shock and pain.

One time Soufiane came to my apartment alone. He was wearing a pair of old gray sweatpants that had a hole in the crotch, and as he was not have on any underwear, his dick peeped now and then through the hole. I was surprised that Aicha would let him outside like this, but if he had dressed himself, she may not have realized it. I playfully grabbed his dick, which made him giggle, but he did nothing to prevent me from continuing. Instead he dangled it in front of me and said "See? See?" I did not resist his provocation and grabbed him a couple more times but, feeling apprehensive, did not dare go any further and soon sent him home.

The next day he returned to my apartment unaccompanied once again. He told me he was wearing the same sweat pants but that his mom had sewn up the hole.

"No show today?" I asked.

"You can still tickle me if you want," he replied.

Through the thick cotton fabric I grabbed hold of his dick. Was it possible he was getting hard? I reached into the sweat pants and gave it a quick squeeze before with withdrawing my hand. Yes, he was. He peeled down the elastic band and showed me his two-inch erection (later verified by a ruler). His scrotum was small and held his pea-sized balls tightly against his groin. He was more developed for a six year old than I'd imagined.

"I want to see you" he said. He unsnapped my jeans and pulled them down a bit. My dick, which was already hard, had stretched beyond my underwear. He grabbed hold of it and moved it up and down.

"It sure is big." Then he let go and pulled his sweat pants up. I zipped up my jeans and thought that he was through with his experimentation. Shortly afterwards, he went into the bathroom to take a dump and announced that there was no more toilet paper. He walked into my bedroom with his shirt pulled up and his pants around his ankles. He was pulling on his cock. I don't even remember what we spoke about while I was searching for another roll of toilet paper in the closet. I finally came up with a roll, and after I handed it to him, he called me over to take a look at the turds floating in the bowl before beginning to wipe.

When he finished, I told him it was time for him to go home because I was going out later that evening and needed to bathe. He begged me to let him take a bath with me. Despite all the drawbacks, I caved into his demand. It was the first time he was going to see me completely naked, and I was afraid that my size would frighten him. I turned on the bath water and removed my clothes. As it turned out, he was fascinated by my hard cock. While waiting for the tub to fill, he reluctantly reached out for it and ran his fingers up and down the shaft. I showed him how to hold it and move his hands up and down. His cock was sticking straight out, and I rubbed it up and down with two fingers.

We both climbed into the bathtub, and I began soaping him up. I lathered up his cock and balls and rubbed the soap into the crack of his ass. I warned him that I was going to "bite his dick" and he told me to go ahead. When his cock slid into my mouth I began sucking on it instead of the promised bite. He pulled away and said, laughing, "That's not biting, that's sucking." I tried to get his cock back into my mouth again, but he wouldn't let me. I was afraid that his brothers or dad would come to the door to retrieve him, so I lifted him out of the tub and dried both of us off.

Over the following week, I was not able to get together with him alone. One time, when his brother Abdel was in the kitchen and he was lying next to me, I began to caress his ass.

"No, not like that," he said. "Stick you finger inside." He was wearing sweat pants as usual, and it was easy for me to insert my finger into his tight little butt hole. "Now twist it around." This went on for a couple of minutes until Abdel returned from the kitchen.

A couple days later he showed up at my apartment alone. I patted his rear with my hand and he grabbed hold of my hand and pulled it to his butt hole. I stuck my finger in as before, but he soon told me to stop. He then pulled down his pants and got on his knees. His cock was sticking straight out. He told to stick it in again. I was afraid of hurting him, so I inserted my finger in only a little bit. He told me to stick it in further, so I wet my finger with saliva and then pushed it in to the first knuckle.

"Do you dare me to bite you?" I asked.

"Go ahead," he replied.

With one finger twisting in his ass, I took his hard cock into my mouth and began sucking. He didn't push me away this time. After a moment of this I stopped and asked if he liked it. "Of course!" he replied.

I was still completely dressed, and after a couple minutes of sucking his dick, I asked him if he wanted "to see mine." He did, so I pulled my pants down to my knees. He grabbed hold of my cock with both hands and twisted it around.

"I bet you can't even kiss," he said

I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. I wrapped my lips around his cock again and began sucking. The doorbell rang. We quickly pulled up our pants.

It was Abdel and Ramzi, who had come over to watch TV. I put in a cassette and we settled down to watch the movie. Soufiane said he was thirsty, so I went to the kitchen to get us all something to drink. He followed me. He pulled down his pants. His dick was hard. I bent down and began sucking him again. He grabbed onto the back of my head and pulled it against him and began humping into my mouth. After a few moments he started breathing hard and stopped humping. He held onto my head, smashing my face into his groin before finally pushing me away. When I stood up, he unzipped my jeans and pulled out my cock. He gave it a kiss on the side. I was nervous and expected one of his brothers to arrive any moment. I told him to wait until we were alone again.

The next time we fooled around we were not alone either. We were in the kitchen again, while one of his brothers was in the other room watching TV. He pulled down his pants and told me to stick my finger up his butt again. I spread his ass cheeks apart, and instead of sticking my finger up, I jammed my tongue up his tight hole and jerked off his hard cock. He bent over and spread his cheeks apart to give me better access. I stuck my tongue up as far as possible, and I felt his sphincter muscle give way to my probing. I stood up. I was wearing sweat pants, and he pulled them down a little bit and first caressed my ass with his hand and then rubbed his face against it.

The following weekend, we were finally alone. I pulled his pants down and he pulled mine down. I had him lay down on the floor. I first licked his balls then put them both in my mouth. He told me to stop because it was too ticklish. "Only my zizi," he said. I started by sucking up and down. His whole cock fit easily into my mouth, and with my lips I started at the base and worked my head up to the tip and then ran my tongue along the head. "No, put the whole thing in and suck only," he said. Then after a moment he was breathing faster then gasping for breath. He grabbed hold of my head and held it tightly against his cock. He pushed himself off the ground hard into my mouth.

"Stop," he said, and then, a moment later, "No, don't stop. A little bit more." He grabbed hold of my head once again and ground his dick into my mouth for another orgasm. I was sucking it and swirling my tongue on the tip. Then "Okay, now you can stop."

A few minutes later he asked if he could pee in my mouth. I told him no. "Come on," he insisted. I refused, and finally he couldn't hold his pee any longer and went into the bathroom.

When he came out I held him tightly and told him he was my grand copain and he replied that he was my cheri and hugged me tighter. We kissed and I tried to stick my tongue in his mouth. He said not his tongue but we kissed some more.

And now, five years later and for the third time that day, he was ramming his cock in and out of my mouth. The vacuum cleaner game had excited him, and having his dick sucked to a dry orgasm was something he never tired of, nor me.

I knew both Ramzi's and Soufiane's bodies by heart, their birth marks and their circumcision scars. I'd followed the development of Ramzi's pubic hair, from an absolutely smooth body to growth above his dick, under his arms, and finally on his balls. And now I'm following Soufiane's as well.

Soufiane picked up the pace of his thrusting and I supported him by putting my hand under his ass. He grunted and held my head in place for a moment before pushing it away. His cock was sticking straight out. It was red and wet from my saliva, and we both stared at it with parallel yet different interest before he pulled up his pants.