EULA: The following shall constitute the sole license agreement between The party of the First Part, hereinafter known as "Author," or "Me," and The Party of the Second Part, hereinafter known as "Reader," "Wanker," "Pud Knocker," "B-b-b-b-bad To The B-b-bone," or "You." The Author has placed a single copy of this file in the Nifty Archives. No other copying, posting or distribution is permitted without the express written permission of the Author. This license permits you to engage in acts of pleasure with, by, between, within, upon, next to, about, uhh... in the vicinity of, and/or while electronically in contact with yourself and/or such others as may, from time to time, from place to place, for good reason, for no particular reason, and in consideration of, or in the absence of such valuable consideration, let you. So there! Click the "X" in the upper right hand corner to signify your agreement to the terms of this End User License Agreement... agreement.

Cubic Rubes

El Segundo, a.k.a Pubic Tubes


El Segundo: not a bad place, ak-shully, if you don't mind that huge stinking sewage plant and the huge stinking airport, and the huge stinking lady next door and her huge stinking Rottweiler. A.k.a., her "Jerry Springer Spaniel."

I call it Squattweiler's Equation: 125 minus weight of largest dog = owner's IQ.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, lovely El Segundo. After three days in Mexico, it smelled like Glade "Spring Meadow." God, it was good to be back in the Land of the Clean.

In Body, that is...

(As the man said: "Smut, I'm glad to say, is in the mind of the beholder... ")

This here's the story of a kid called Just,
Yanks it so much, someday it's gonna bust,
Well, we all gots our tastes and we all gots our likes,
But the one that I craves is the one called "Mike's."

Pud, that is...

Bone Weasel,

Lizard o' Love...

"Hey, Mike!"

(God Damn you're cute! Now, don't you need to leave so I can look at that log?)

"Hi, Justin. Hey, look, I got a flat and the bike shop can fix it today if I can get it there in, like, 22 minutes and my mom's on her way to pick it up and oh, shit, there she is. So you wanna do something later? Bye!"

And -- sshh-whit! -- out the door he goes.

Nothing to do but fire up ol' Byte Muncher and have a gander at ye olde log file...

(eh?)

Yeah, yeah I know. Hey, actually, I know this one kid from Vancouver who's pretty normal. Doesn't wear suspenders or anything, even though his dad does have these  mega-sideburns from, like, 1977. Groovy, eh?

Okay, okay: the logfile.

Now I have this theory:

Once the doggy gets the floggy
and the hanky gets all soggy...

Dontcha figure the ol' picture game gets a little less interesting, there, at least for a few minutes? The navigation sorta ceases, there? Wooden-cha say?

I call this phenomenon "The Proof of the Pudding." So, while the various random visual wanderings of ye cream-crazed teen pud-knocker may be interesting and all that, the PROPER way to read a logfile of this sort is start from the end and go earlier.

Not much earlier, ak-shully.

Which is exactly what I did.

They were all pictures of guys' balls. From the rear. All 17 of them.

Seventeen.

Seven. Teen.

Ahem: Do the math, class! 17 "final" pictures divided by 3 days = 5.67 "losses of interest" per day. Ouch!

Fucking ouch!

Ol' Mikey musta damn near ripped that reptile right off the front of him! Even assuming that he did some simple exploring, it was still right there in the bitmap: Mikey likes to look at de boyz' gear fum de rear when he whacks de weasel. Pay dirt!

Now them's some metrics a guy can put to good use!

Hey, Mike! Mom says I gotta clean the pool while she's gone. Can you help?

Shit, my suit's still in the car.

Here, I'll just wear these snug white y-fronts I happen to have on.

Just let me lean over the side with my nuts sticking out back like this and clean the filters and stuff. Damn, why am I having so much trouble? Here, let me lie down in the puddle, here, to get a better angle, here. Ummm, warm. Warm water on my nuts.

Okay, that's better. After all, white shorts do turn transparent when they get wet, don't they? But then, I can't see that from this angle, can I?

But you can, can't ya, Miguel ole buddy?

"Having any luck with that hose, Mike?"

"Hunh?! Oh! Uh, yeah! Here."

"Thanks, Man. Hey, ya wanna sleep over tonight?"

"Ah Y-ya-yeh, shure!"

Oh, Lawd, I'm All Shook UP!

I took my shower first. That way, when Mike came out, I could be sprawled out "dozing" with just a corner of the sheet to preserve my "modesty" (puh-leeze!).

Mike came out toweling his hair and talking at me. Saw me "asleep" and shut up. Approached, gingerly: "Justin?" I continued to breathe slowly, regularly. Mike sat gently on the corner of the bed. I could feel him struggle with temptation.

I could feel him lose, too: I felt the sheet lifting, just as I felt my dick straighten out and lift off my thigh.

Mike let out a tiny moaning sigh and kept inspecting. Started to pant.

"Touch it," I said quietly, fake-sleepily, "please?"

Mike had a heart attack, but raw teen desire kept the body upright:

"Uh, n-n-n-nuh-I-I..."

Pass this chance up and it'll be another million years, Mikey.

"Touch me, please?" I moaned, hazily. Hey, whatever works.

"Really? You'd let... you'd really want me tuh... to?"

"Oh, God, yeah!" I heard myself say, "Really."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Anywhere you want. C'mere. Take your clothes off."

No sooner said than done.

"I... I've never really done anything like this before."

"Me neither. But I think we're about to fix that. I hope."

"Oh, yeah," he breathed shakily, taking my throbber in his soft hand, feeling it, squeezing me. Sending delight to my deepest places.

"Oh, yeah," I echoed. But it ended all squeaky, cuz it felt like my heart was coming outta my face. "Ohhh!"

I made him turn around with his feet at the pillow end and just looked at his beautiful meat for a second. I touched it. He was so soft and special, there, and it bounced. I buried my face in his pubies and breathed there, getting up my courage. My mouth opened involuntarily and I touched my open lips to the side of his cock. So full and magnetic. There was an intense tickling in my head and I had to close my eyes. My mouth watered and filled. I was starting to drool, is what it was, friends.

Just then, I felt Mikey's lips and breath on the bottom of my cock. The heat and touch forced me closer, forced me to push toward him, push my nuts into his hand. He moaned and touched my dick with his tongue. The moans got delirious as we both began to lick the bottom of each other's glans. It was tickly beautiful and almost hurty sharp at the same time. I had crampy twinges of raw hot pleasure. It made my lips open and surround him. Made them huge and loose and not mine and buzzy-numb, as I touched his cock and his sack and felt his boy cum-energy flow right into my lips. Felt it build as I pressed my lips into him. Until I had to feel his treasure deep inside my mouth.

I took him in and felt that magic, for the first time. The joy of boy. The taste of dick, the feel of it stiffening, swelling ever more inside me, as his lips slid to my base and touched my balls, just a little, on the sides.

Mikey moaned and sucked. I moaned and sucked. I felt a beautiful, languid sadness and joy. A hurty wonderfulness at the terrible beauty of sucking his dick. A burning need to suck him and bury my nose between his cool nuts.

I felt my stomach tighten. Tighten until I couldn't move and his sucking made me whine and scowl and jerk as he gave me the deepest, hardest cut-to-the-bone satisfaction I had ever, ever, ever, known.

One more stroke of joyous boy mouth, before it tickled too much and made me jerk back, giggling.

Mikey held me there and buried his nose into my sack and croaked "Just-ihh-ihh-ihh... uhh-uhh... ahh... ahh... Mmmm! MMMM! MMMMMM!! MMMMMMM!! MMMmmmm!!" ending on a whine.

Then he let out a huge sigh and started to cry a little.

"I'm so sorry, Justin! I just had to. I just always wanted... I just needed to see you. I just needed... ."

"Whew! Me too! Bad!" I put my arm around his neck and held him to me. He clung and cried laughing for a few moments.

"So you're cool?" he asked, wonderingly, through his tears.

"I've always been cool with this. Dude! If it means empty nuts, I'm fuckin' down with it!"

"Thank God." He rolled his eyes and he started giggling.

That got me going and we laughed our asses off for a couple more minutes, before coming face to face again. He was too cute. I took my finger and traced his face and made him relax and smile and gave him goose bumps and his tits bunched up and I kissed them, cuz they were so cute. By then I had some serious bone action going again, and so did Mike.

Hey, what's boy to do?

Two boys.

And that's how we were cured of The Plague of the Deadly Sperm Poisoning!

Send comments to: hkeylocalmachine@hotmail.com.
I hope you enjoyed this story. My apologies to Mr. Presley. I intend to answer any messages received. Please submit flames in cuneiform on fired clay tablets in a plain brown wrapper delivered by a brown-shoed square in the dead of night. Or not. Your call.