Stories of an Old Boy

Written By: xpud  2016-2017



Standard disclaimer: This story depicts sexual acts between minors. There is also omorashi (desperation/urination) in it. You've been warned.


Author's Note: This is still my erotica series, so I'm always interested in constructive feedback. If there's a path you'd be interested in seeing this go, or if there's anything else you'd like to say, I'm all ears!


Editing Credit goes out to JD for helping with formatting, editing, and suggestions.


Support Nifty: Please remember readers, without the generosity of Nifty, we would not have this great place to have for these stories. Please donate whatever you can to keep this great place open and running for years to come!


Disclaimer to readers of Chapter 1: I don't typically write completely gratuitous smut; expect story elements. If that's cool with you, read on! If you would rather skip to the sex scene, hit Ctrl-F on your key board, and search for `Truth or Dare', and that should get yourself going.




Chapter 2


          Gym goes by surprisingly quickly, up until the very end. We play "Hot Foot," which is basically dodge ball but with bean bags slid across the floor, for the first 30 minutes. The rest of the time is spent in individual or small-group activities, such as Four Square or basketball. Since Akronis Middle School is 6th through 8th grade, the P.E. class has all three grades; the kids usually segregate into their respective grades automatically, though Matty, a 7th grader is over with a group of the smaller 6th-graders playing a round of Four Square, inventing rules up as they go. I can't blame him & the 6th graders are still not full of themselves like the 7th and 8th graders seem to get.


          Speaking of which, as I'm just walking around the gym (I've never been a big sports fan), the 8th-grader Rodrigo 'Rod' Juarez sneaks up behind Matty and nabs the ball from him before he has a chance to catch it. "Sorry, but I can't let pants-pissers play with the gym equipment. It's the rules."


          Matty's face contorts in a mix of anger and embarrassment, but he fights back. "Give me the ball, you jerk!"


          Rod smirks, "Whaddya gonna do about it? Cry? Piss yourself? Drown me? Get out of here." He takes the ball and starts walking off.


          Long story short, I'm a patient guy, and have literally all the time in the world, so I do a little... shall we say, research: I go back in time to a point where I can befriend Rod, play as a jock for a while, ingratiate myself with him, learn his secrets, and then redo it all again exactly this way; it's a lot like saving a video game, trying something new, and then loading the old save. It's a trick I've done a few times to make myself look psychic, and let me tell you, it works wonders. For a demonstration&


          "Whaddya gonna do about it? Cry? Piss yourself? Drown me? Get out of here." Rod takes the ball and turns around to find me right in his face. I take a step closer, causing him to take one reflexively back.


          I lean in threateningly and speak where only he can hear me above the noise of the gym. "You wet the bed almost every night until you were 10." I walk forward, herding him toward the back wall. "Your brothers still make fun of you for it." His face goes from angry and smug to confused and afraid. "Your mother spanked you for it every time, too." Panicking, he looks around for answers in the empty air. "You hated wetting your bed, and you could have stopped bedwetting, but you didn't." His breathing signals that he's feeling like a cornered animal. "You know why? Because you liked it when your mother spanked you. You like being spanked. You wouldn't want everyone else to know, would you? No? Then I suggest you give me that ball and walk away."


          Suddenly, his brow furrows, and a sneer contorts his lips; I recognize that face and instinctively spin out of the way of him trying to punch me. "Fuck you!" Rod yells before roaring animalistically and diving at me. I dodge, leaving him stumbling past where I was. He lunges again, and I simply duck and shove my shoulder up under his gut, sending him flipping over me and onto his back. He may be 25 pounds heavier than me, and he may work out, but I have had a lot of practice in previous life iterations at this kind of thing.


          He tries a few more times to take me down, each time either being dodged or flipped, before Coach Rigby finally sees the commotion and interposes. "What do you think you two are doing?!" he shouts.


          Before I can even answer, Matty and his three friends bust in with the entire story, how Rod was bullying Matty, how I told him to stop being mean (wow, now they're making stuff up for me?), and how Rod tried to fight me but I never hit him back, only stopped him from hitting me (okay, that part's true). Rod gets immediately sent to the principal, yelling "Fuck you! I'll kill you!" to me until he's nearly dragged out of the gym. I know he'll ask me later how I knew all that, but I think I'll let the mystery eat at him. Coach Rigby looks me over with a suspicious air, but checks his watch and blows the whistle for the end of class.


          We all dress back into our regular clothes; Matty stares at his pants on the bench, too embarrassed to dress out without underwear after what happened. I tap him on the shoulder and point to the bathroom stall; he gets the hint and scurries off to change. When he comes back out, he is still in his gym shirt (thankfully not that sweaty) but otherwise looks fine for school. Most of the other boys avert their eyes from him, either embarrassed for him or unwilling to cause another stir after what happened with Rod.


          Coach comes in to remind us to clean up the area and that we would be doing our fitness checkups on Monday; the bell, and subsequent stampede of kids, drowns out his last few words. I get up to leave as well, but Matty tugs my sleeve. "Can we talk real quick?" he asks quickly, shifty-eyed. "Outside for a second."


          "Uh, sure." He and I exit the gym and hook right, toward the exit instead of toward our next class.


          Just outside, he looks back through the glass door to see if anyone was watching, and then practically corners me as I did to Rod. "I don't get you," he says with squinty eyes, half from the sun and half from suspicion.


          "What do you mean?" I ask innocently.


          "Why? Why are you protecting me?"


          I want to ask him why he's asking me this question, when it dawns on me: nobody else came to his rescue earlier, and I don't think anyone really ever has. I don't care how many years I've lived; seeing a bullied kid this young already losing faith in humanity just hits me in a spot that has never lost its sensitivity. I stare him down, and sigh. "You know I'm not one of the cool kids, right?"


          He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? You never get bullied, though."


          "That doesn't mean I can sit and watch it happen."


          "Yeah, but& " He pauses, then bites his lower lip, obviously frustrated with trying to get his thoughts out.


          I interrupt him with my own vulnerability. "Hey, about what happened in the shower & I'm really sorry about that. I was just gonna show you this one thing I learned that feels really good, and I got a little carried away, and, um... "


          "That's okay. I know what sperm is and all that. I mean, I spermed, too & well, I mean I, y'know, came. Not much comes out yet, but I already know about that stuff." Matty shrugs.


          "That's not what I'm getting at. I know why you, well, I mean, I'm sure the massage felt really good and all, for you, but that's not what I'm trying to say." Wow. I sound like a fucking idiot. Jesus Christ, hormones, cool it down, wouldja?


          Matty puts the pieces of my mangled attempt at conversation together rather quickly. "So, what, are you gay or something?"


          The sun decides to warm my face a whole lot more than the rest of me at that moment. "Yeah." Do I rewind this? I'm losing control of this situation. I should just take it back and be prepared for&


          Matty quickly blurts, "Hey, that's cool," and then stammered, "Um... we need to get to class, but, um, do you want to come over after school and play Black Ops? I got the new one."


         Oh, fuck it. Let's see where this goes. I haven't felt this alive in far too long. "That sounds really cool. Hey, what's your schedule? I think we're only in Gym together."


         "Uh, hold on, I have it right here," he says, fishing a crumpled piece of orange paper out of the front pouch of his backpack. "Just give it back tomorrow, I gotta go." And with that his darts back into the building and scampers down the hallway. I study the schedule a moment; sure enough, we're only in one class together, and that's just not going to work for me. He's in mostly Remedial classes... that's interesting.


         Welp, time to go back a bit, I guess. I head back to last year, flunk my Math and Science state assessments but pass the classes with a high C, and though my mother is surprised at my grades, I make sure to blame it on "these stupid guys at school that always bother me and I was depressed and there were a couple of friends that always distracted me and I mean really, 6th grade is HARD, right?" Whatever. It worked, mostly& I had to rewind a few more times to make sure all the right events happened the way I needed them to, and here I am, standing in the same spot, holding the same schedule, except now I see that we're in the same Gym, Math, and Science classes. Excellent & that means the second half of the day is ours.


         Speaking of which, in Math class later that day, I overhear one of Rod's friends muttering to his bud about "that fucking freak fag over there." I know they're talking about me, but an elephant couldn't care less about an earthworm than I care about them. I just want the day to end so I can pick up my cellphone from my first period teacher, tell my parents I'd be home late, and go hang out with Matty. Math class is as boring and easy as it ever will be (though at least now that I'm in a different level class, the assignments aren't the same ones I've done over and over again), and the bell finally rings. Matty always walks home, so I grab my stuff, zoom by Mrs. Robinson's class to pick up my cellphone, and follow Matty to his place. We discuss the math lesson on the way home; he's not the best at numbers, it turns out, but it's a simple misunderstanding, easily corrected.


          "Why are you so good at math?" he asks, slightly petulantly.


          "I'm in the same class as you; I'm not THAT great. Practice, I guess."


          "Ugh," he groans. "I'm not good at school. I mean, I thought I was, but this year already looks like it's gonna be hard."


          "Sure," I say, "but you're good at other things, right?"


          He gives me a skeptical, sidelong glance. "Like what?"


          Like turning me on. Like being fucking adorable. Like somehow taking me, me, by surprise. Like...


          "Like already being cool enough to invite me over when nobody else ever does."


          He smiles at this, but tries to play it cool. "Well, y'know. I mean, you helped me out today, I thought I could, well, y'know. Anyway, my house is just over this way." We cut across the freshly mowed grass between the baseball field and tennis courts, and head past an area of undeveloped woods to a wooden fence attached to additional chain link fences. It's pretty clear that this wasn't intended as a pathway to school. Regardless, Matty walks up to a pair of slats on the fence, looks over his shoulder quickly, and pushes the bottom of the boards. They swivel easily upward, leaving plenty of room for his lithe body to slip through. I'm not exactly heavy at this point in my life (later on, I usually end up putting on weight), but I'm not nearly as slim as Matty; it takes a bit of sucking in to shimmy through the gap.


          We're suddenly in the back yard of Matty's house; a modest one-story complete with swing set, back porch full of potted plants, and a tool shed the likes of which I think every middle-class suburban white dad has. I don't have much time to take it all in before Matty beelines to the back door. I hustle to keep up, small doesn't mean slow in Matty's case, and enter into the kitchen.


          "Mom! I have a friend over!" Matty yells into the middle of the house.


          "Who is it?" a voice replies over the blaring sounds of soap operas on the TV.


          He introduces me to his mother, who gives just enough attention that she'll probably call me Paul or Fred when I leave; she doesn't even comment that Matty is wearing a completely different shirt. Matty appears to find this utterly normal. I quickly find out that he's an only child and gets away with damn near anything & I love it.


          We make our way to his room, which is bedecked in video game posters and action figures posed on shelves. This I did not expect, for some reason. Come to think of it though, I have no idea what I would've expected; I'm not sure if I'm just being willfully ignorant, but I'm thrilled with the unpredictability of this whole little adventure.


          "So... " Matty stammers. "Black Ops?"


          I shrug. "Sure. I'll give you the fair warning right now, though."


          "What, you'll just win every time?"


          "If by 'win' you mean 'bleed out and give everyone else a high score,' sure."


          He giggles; my heart soars. "Oh, come on. You can't be THAT bad."


          It turns out that I am, in fact, that bad. Half is because I've never been into shooting games; the other half is because I pay way too much attention to the scrunched-up face of determination he gets when he's actively hunting me in hidden corners of the map.


          About the time his mom pops her head in to ask if I'm staying for pork chops, I realize that I haven't called home. I call up quickly to hear the voice of a less-than-pleased mother who's 'quite concerned since I normally call' and 'would really appreciate it' if I 'didn't just stay out without calling,' etc. Eh, not worth fixing it; I'm allowed to be imperfect. "Sorry, Mom. Hey, I'm at a friend's house; is it cool if I have dinner over here?"


          "You're lucky I'm making spaghetti, so I can save some for your dinner tomorrow. Don't be surprised if Kate and Gina get more than you, though."


          My sisters can go stuff themselves sick, for all I care. "Okay. Sounds good."


          Suddenly, Matty yells down the hall after his mother, "Is it okay if Phillip spends the night?"


          Wait, what?


          "Sure, honey. Dinner will be ready in about 25 minutes."


          Well, all right then, "Uh... hey, Mom? Can I, uh, spend the night over here?"


          There is a short silence over the phone line; I've almost never asked to sleep over at a friend's place this go-around. "Sure. Are you going to be home in time for going to the pool with your sisters tomorrow? It's Saturday Splatterday!" The neighborhood pool basically holds a water gun fight in the park nearby; I'm really not feeling it. "Maybe? Depends... I think Matty& he's my friend & might be going to the movies tomorrow." He gives me a funny look, but I just shake my head and wave the lie away.


          In short, "Yes, Mom. ... No, that's fine. ... Yes, okay! ... Okay. ... Good night."


          "Yay!" Matty cheers. "A whole night of killing you in Black Ops!"


          "Oh, come on, it can't be THAT exciting. Why not just kill practice dummies? They put up more of a fight, am I right?"


          We give it a few more rounds before dinner is served. The conversation is mostly small talk, discussing how school is going, what classes do we share, Uncle Jim is coming to town on a business trip and Matty's cousin James will be in next weekend, and other business. I tune most of it out, just watching the dynamics between Matty and his mom; I haven't seen a father around, nor do I find it worth asking about at the dinner table. The food itself is decent: not a 4-star restaurant, but I didn't have to pay for it, either. I drink a glass of whatever red Kool-Aid flavor they have, and Matty has a very tall glass of water. Near the end of the meal, his mom looks at his half-full (or half-empty, your choice) glass of water and says, "You know the drill." Matty rolls his eyes and downs the rest of the glass before excusing himself from the chair.


          We clean up and head back into his room. "So I've played enough video games for now," he says suddenly and a bit forcefully.


          "Okay..." I say slowly. "What did you want to do now? I mean, we have all night."


          "Yes! Um, so there's this fun game called "Truth or Dare."


          Oh, shit. This is about to happen, isn't it? "Oh, I've played it before. It IS fun!"


          "Oh, cool, so you already know! Want to play?" His eyes are practically shining with anticipation.


          "Sure, but only if I get to ask first. So... truth or dare?"




          "Okay. Hm. What's your favorite subject?"


          "What? That's a dumb question," he scoffs.


          "Hey, I hardly know you! I think it's perfectly fair."


          "Okay, fine. I really like science. I can't wait until next year when we get to dissect a frog."


          Fair enough. "Oh, cool, cool. Your turn."


          He asks me; I'm feeling impulsive. "Dare."


          "I dare you... to wear your shirt inside-out over your head. With your arms still in it!"


          "What? I& how do I even do that?" Eventually I manage, with my arms sticking out like dead branches. He starts giggling at the ridiculousness, so I play it up, flinging my arms around, complaining that I can't get free, knocking things around in the room. In a moment or two, we're both laughing like fools.


          I fix my shirt, and ask him. "Truth or dare?"


          He hesitates. "Truth."


          "Have you ever messed around with anyone?" Matty goes silent. I push the advantage, "Either you answer or you have to take off a piece of clothing."


          "What??" he yelps.


          "That's how you play, right? We've always said that if you don't want to do a truth or a dare, you have to take off a piece of clothing." This is patently untrue, although I'm totally going to make it true tonight.


          He sighs, and takes off his shirt. Surprisingly, either due to good genes or a lack of body fat, he has the faint outline of a six-pack & I hadn't noticed while standing behind him in the shower, staring at his prick. It's fucking sexy. Then he throws the question back to me. I respond, "Truth."


          "How long have you known you were gay?"


          Well, that escalated quickly. "Hard to say," I reply utterly truthfully. "I mean, I guess I've known all my life, kinda."


          "But how did you know?"


          "Uh-uh-uh," I chide. "Only one question. It's my turn to ask. Truth or dare?"


          He gets a mischievous look in his eye. "Dare."


          A few minutes later, we both run down the hallway and into the living room, right in front of the TV. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" I cry out, "The wonderful Whitney Houston!"


          Matty, wearing a dry mop head and holding a carrot, immediately busts out, "AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII... " and can't even get to 'will always love you' before he breaks entirely and collapses in laughter. I can't even help but crack up at the scene. His mother even tried her best to look annoyed that we interrupted her crime drama shows, but she couldn't stop the smile from creeping up onto her face.


          Matty's eyes suddenly go wide. "Oh sh& " he yelps while scrambling toward the bathroom, holding his crotch. I follow quickly, to hear the familiar sound of extinguishing a forest fire in the toilet; damn, that boy can pee.


          He comes out of the bathroom, red-faced. "Sorry."


          I try my very best not to laugh, and manage to stop all but a quick snort. "It's cool, it's cool. That was hilarious." I notice that there is a somewhat sizable wet spot on the front of his khakis, but say nothing.


          We head back into the room, closing the door, and he points the carrot at me. "Truth or dare?!"


          "Truth, your honor."


          He looks to the side, and puts the carrot down. "So, um. When you, y'know, spermed, was it just because you're gay? Or... "


          I think I know where his question is going. "If you're asking if it made you gay to have an orgasm, it doesn't work that way. It's what or who you're attracted to that makes the difference."


          "Yeah, but... how do you know? Like, really know if you're gay or not."


          "Do you like looking at girls?"




          "Naked girls?"


          "I don't know! I don't really think so?"


          "Well, tell you what. Why don't you worry about what to call yourself later, and just forget about the whole thing for now?"


          Matty's lips purse as he chews his cheek thoughtfully. "I think I might like looking at you, though."


          Ah. So it begins. "Like I said, maybe you should just not worry about a label just yet. But I mean, if you like looking at me... " I trail off as I remove my shirt. "So. Truth or dare?"


          Matty stares at my chest for a moment before meeting me eye-to-eye. "Dare."


          "I dare you to take off your pants."


          He hesitates, and looks down, eyeing the wet spot. His face turns crimson again.


          I see his emotions working up, and offer, "Hey. That happens to me sometimes when I get tickled. It's no big deal." It's also a HUGE fucking turn-on, but I'm just going to conveniently leave that out for now. "But a dare's a dare. Come on."


          After another slight hesitation, he abruptly stands up and drops his khakis straight off; I had already forgotten that he had not put back on his underwear after the previous incident, so there was suddenly a button and balls staring me in the face. He must be a grower.


          Speaking of growing, it didn't take any more than that to stiffen me up. "Well, hi there," I say to the new conversation partner.


          "Hello!" Matty replies, swinging it back and forth in a 'wave,' which really consists more of the tiny little bit of jiggle that his tight sack and Little Limpy have. He laughs at his silliness, and sits down, asking me, "Okay. Truth or dare?"


          "Hoo boy. Um... Truth."


          "Aw, come on," he cajoles me, "do a Dare."


          "You just want me to do this." I mirror his previous actions, I spring up, shove my khakis and briefs off of my legs, and wag my erect pecker in his face. In almost no time, I see his button growing into its full three inches, bracing against his abs. "Oh, I see that you have come out to play, as well."


          Matty looks down and laughs nervously. "Yup." He stares back at mine, dangling half an entrancing foot from his face. It actually makes him cross his eyes a bit, and I struggle not to laugh.


          "Hey. Eyes up here," I say, pointing to my own with a huge trollish smile. I plop down in front of him, breaking his concentration. "I said 'Truth,' you know."


          He looks around the room, either as if he were breaking out of a reverie, or possibly just to find a lost or hidden thought. Without meeting eyes, he asks, "Have you ever... had sex?" After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he looks up at me.


          I pause to think of a response. "A few times."


          His eyes light up as he jolts up to his knees. "Really?! Was it with a boy or a girl?"


          "Both." Yeah, I tried women more than a few times, but it never really did it for me. Older, younger, big, thin... meh.


          "Which one was bet& " he begins, and then catches his obvious mistake. "Oh. I guess boys, 'cuz you're... y'know. But & but you're only 12, right? When did& "


          "Truth or dare?" I ask him quickly. Not ready to answer that next part.


          "Truth," he answers after he reels slightly from the change of subject.


          "Who taught you about what sperm is?"


          He looks at me with a guarded expression and a terrible poker face. "What ... do you mean? I learned it at school."


          "We haven't had that stupid sex-ed class, "Our Growing Bodies" or whatever, yet, and I have a feeling you found out first-hand. So who taught you?"


          Matty spaces out for a moment. "I learned it at school," he repeats hollowly.


          "All right, I believe you." Not one bit, but I'm not about to push the issue. "Your turn."


          Matty seems to shake off whatever was occupying him. "Okay, Truth o& "


          "DARE," I shout.


          He jumps, and reaches behind him to throw the pillow from his bed at me. "You scared me!"


          I take the pillow smack in the face like a stone pillow-fight training dummy. "Yes, but it's still your turn to give me a Dare."


          "I dare you... " he begins, and trails off, scheming, " close your eyes and lay on the bed."


          "Okay," I say innocently. This is so about to happen.


          I lie down and close my eyes. I feel him climb up on my legs and sit, where his beautiful butt is just above my knees. Then, I feel two sharp jabs as he plants his fingers into my armpits. My voice cracks like shattered glass as I screech in surprise. I open my eyes to see a thoroughly sadistic expression on his face as he wiggles his fingers in farther.


          Over, around, and other prepositions fly as we tumble about on the bed, when suddenly one of my legs goes over the side. I yelp and pull him off the bed with me, landing on my back with him sitting smack on my sternum, pert little dick in my face. He has this triumphant expression on his face like he's won. So he thinks he has the best of me? I'll show him!


          My tongue darts out and flicks a few times across the bottom of his balls. This sends a jolt so fast through his little body that he squeals and falls sideways off of me, just long enough for me to pin him to the ground underneath me. He struggles for a moment, but I lean in and plant my lips on his for a full two seconds. When I pull away, he is staring at me in complete shock and awe. "You... just kissed me!"


          "Yeah, I did. What are you going to do about it?"


          He struggles a bit more, and then looks down at our dicks, so close to touching. He bucks up his pelvis and brushes his right across the underside of mine; the feeling is electric, making me shudder. I stare deep into his eyes as I grind back. "Truth or dare."


          He breathes in quickly and closes his eyes as I rub across his shaft. After he opens his eyes, he stares me down with determination. "Dare!"


          "I want you to kiss my dick." I release my hold on his arms and lean back, placing my butt just between his knees.


          He sits up, looks at me with a riled passion, and leans forward to kiss my head. "It's salty!" he says, a string of precum still connected to his bottom lip.


          "That means he's happy to see you." I flex my dick a few times, wiggling the string until it snaps, trailing across my scrotum. "Do you want me to greet yours, too?"


          "Yes! Kiss my dick!" he says, sounding a little silly in the process. He leans back to give me access; I slowly approach the target, pucker my lips, and shove the whole thing in my mouth. His lungs fully inflate with the gasp he takes, but I don't stop. I swirl my tongue around the head and rasp my tongue alongside the bottom of his shaft.


          He takes ragged breath after ragged breath, almost hyperventilating at the stimulation. It takes less than a minute, though, when suddenly he tenses up and lets out a strangled, shuddering sigh as his dick begins to pump in my mouth. I hold still, counting the throbs; he twitches in a mostly dry orgasm for a good eight throbs before collapsing to the floor, popping his dick out of my mouth. "Holy shit," he says breathlessly.


          This, of course, sends the message straight through my body, turning me on to 11. I whip upright, grab my dick, and pump furiously as I almost immediately begin spewing ropes of cum across his chest, the last ones draping themselves over his still-hard dick and tight sack. When I can see clearly again, I realize that I accidentally missed a bit. "Um, Matty? I think I came on your dresser."


          He looks back over his head and sees the gooey string hanging on his bottom drawer. "Dude! You spermed over my head!"


          "Yeah," I say sheepishly. "I do that, sometimes. So... I think we're done with Truth or Dare for the night, right?"


          He giggles. God DAMN, he's cute. "Yeah, I think so. Wanna go take a shower with me?"


          Thinking about the showers doesn't even give me a chance to go soft. "Of course I do."


          But first, I definitely rewind about three times to feel the throbbing of his dick in my mouth, and blasting cum across my new little infatuation.



End of Chapter 2


So! This is still my first piece of erotica, so I'm always interested in constructive feedback. I mean, if you need to send me hate mail, you may consider other, more fulfilling uses of your time, just sayin'. If there's a path you'd be interested in seeing this go, or if there's anything else you'd like to say, I'm all ears: xpud (at) yahoo (dot) com.


Until next time!



Description: Description: Description: web counter
web counter