Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2023 22:14:06 +0000 From: The Paternal Watcher Subject: Scouting for Boys Chapter 5: On My Honor I met Bill when I was 16, and he was two years younger. We were both very serious about the scouting program, and took the principles of the oath and law to heart. That's why we became friends, because we each recognized a kindred spirit in the other. My frame was long and lanky, but while he was a head shorter, he had enough muscle that we were about the same weight. Since we were both smart kids, we never had a lack of things to talk about in the dark of night on camping trips, while I helped him with his paper route, or just talking on the phone after school on the days that we weren't both staying late to work on the school play. How Bill ended up in the high school play was always a bit of a mystery to me. Our school was tenth through twelfth grade, but he was in ninth. I knew it had something to do with his sister, who was a senior and much loved by the director, but Bill was always dodgy on the details. It did add one more chance to spend time together, and I really liked his company, so I didn't push the question. After all, if I kept hounding him about how he got into a high school play, he might just turn around and ask me why I liked spending time with him in the first place. Yes, Bill and I had a bunch of things in common, but the one thing I didn't want him to know is just how gorgeous I thought he was. He wore a leather bomber jacket and had blond hair, which he kept just long enough on top to flip to the side like the fighter pilot he wanted to be when he grew up. His eyes were a stormy green. He was slender, but as I mentioned before, it was a wiry, muscular body that was well-proportioned. When it was warmer and he wore short-sleeved shirts, I sometimes caught intriguing glimpses of underarm hair, something I could see on my own body only in very bright light. He also had some translucent hairs above his lip, which were not noticeable unless one was paying close attention, like I was. Because he was in a different school, I had no chance to ever being in gym class with him, so the rest I simply had to imagine. But imagining made me paranoid that it was obvious that I was imagining, so I didn't ask too many questions about how and why he was in a play at my school, because deep down I was petrified that he knew my secret and would expose me. One of the ways that Bill and I showed how serious we were about scouting was in promising to tell the truth on our honor as scouts. I don't think there was a single time either of us ever lied when with our hand raised in the three-fingered scout sign, and in time it became a bit of a game between us, like "truth or dare" except neither of us ever rejected "truth" as the option. Well, I know I never did, anyway. The longer I knew Bill, the more distracted I became around him. The warmer spring weather led to not wearing shirts, and he was even more incredible than I had imagined. His nipples were perfectly placed on pectoral muscles that had a clear dividing line between them, but his stomach was completely flat and smooth. Once I had that image in my mind, I couldn't get rid of it, no matter what he was actually wearing, no matter if we were together or talking on the phone, that beautiful chest bobbed in my imagination. One time I was so overcome while lying on my bed talking to him that I started fondling myself, and before I realized it I found myself madly stroking as he talked about his day at school. After a pause, he finally asked me, "Are you jerking off?" "N. . . no, don't be stupid." " . . . okay, it just sounded like you were breathing that way." "Whatever, man. Tell me more about Christine. Do you think you'll tell her you like her?" I thought I had bluffed my way out of that one, but maybe Bill only pretended to forget about it. A few days later, Bill called me after dinner to ask me a favor. "I need your help this weekend," he said. "If I want the pool we have to work this year, my mom says I have to fix the lining, and I can't do it alone." I was agreeable, and he laid out what was involved: first, the above-ground pool would have to be drained by hose, something which Bill was going to start that night, since it would take a few days to siphon all the water into the storm drain. Then, we would have to manually bail out whatever didn't get sucked up by the hose. Only after the pool was empty could we loosen the tops of the pool's walls, which both kept the structure standing up and kept the lining secured. Somehow, the lining had fallen out of its fastenings at several points, making the pool unsafe to be used, because it would swamp the yard. It sounded like a lot of work, but the reward was obvious: a pool to swim in, meaning more chances to see Bill in less clothing. I immediately agreed. "What time?" I asked. "Can you get here by 10 on Saturday?" he asked. It was 9:57 when I rolled up on my bike. I walked into his house -- I was there so often no one expected me to knock -- and his mother directed me to the back yard, where Bill was apparently already hard at work. As I came out onto the back porch, I could see that he'd done a lot of preparation. A hose snaked out over the wall of the pool, and had nearly drained all the water out of it and into the street. Bill, wearing only cut-off jeans, was fiddling with some plastic bags. "You're right on time," he said, handing me some of bags, and gesturing to a pile of rubber bands on the nearby picnic table. "Take off your shoes and shirt -- it's really disgusting in there. We'll put the bags on our feet so we don't have to walk in it." "It" was the couple of inches of algae-riddled water left in the bottom of the pool, which we would be bailing by hand. It wasn't deep, but it was still so many gallons that we couldn't move the liner back into position without getting it out first. We were sweating almost immediately, and my muscles were burning by the time we had finished to Bill's satisfaction, about three hours later. Because it was impossible to avoid getting the green slime all over ourselves, his mother brought out some sandwiches. "I'm going antiquing," she told us. "Bill, the two of you have got to shower when you're done. No excuses." He gave his mother a snappy salute, to which she threw up a hand of dismissal in return. "What do we have left to do?" I asked as she headed towards her car. "Now we just take the tops of the frame off, pull the liner back where it should be, and hammer it all back together," he said. "It should be easy." I laughed. Neither of us actually thought it was going to be easy, and it was close to two hours later when we finally got the job done. Bill turned on the hose on to start the days-long filling process, and then said, "We should shower now." We? I thought I had said it out loud, but he didn't react so I probably didn't. Instead, I just nodded. I followed him inside to his room, which was in the basement, along with a bathroom. Bill said it was because his mother didn't really want to see much of him, but I thought it was pretty sweet for any reason. Grabbing a towel he said, "I'll go first," dashing my really tenuous hopes for a soap-crazed love fest. I sat on his bed, all alone, until he returned with a towel hung low around his waist and his hair brushed, but wet. I caught the fresh, clean smell coming off him as he handed me a towel to use. I didn't allow myself the luxury of taking care of business in the bathroom. I was convinced Bill would be suspicious, and I was too nervous anyway. I washed up, dried off, wrapped the towel around me and walked back to his room, closing the door behind me. What I saw when I entered just about took my breath away: Bill was standing with his back to me at his dresser, completely naked, his towel on the floor nearby. I cleared my throat so as not to surprise him, and then he surprised ME by turning around, letting me see him in all his glory! "I'm trying to find you some underpants," he said, holding out a pair. "Hand me your towel." I obeyed before I let it sink in that we were both naked, alone in his room. As he turned to toss the towel into his hamper, I watched his butt cheeks flex, the right one dimpling slightly. I sat down on the edge of his bed, heart pounding. His dick bounced into view as he turned towards me again, under a bush of slightly darker blond than what was on his head, and then he bent over to pick up the other towel and it was too late for me. Looking at the back of his ball sac between his legs, I lost my mental battle to stay limp, and felt the blood rush into my cock. Oh, God. He turned around then, with a pair in hand, which he tossed to me. I was paralyzed with fear, didn't reach out to grab them, and they landed atop my now completely hard cock. Oh, God. "I don't think those are the right size," he said, not missing a beat as he stepped over to me and pulled them right off my boner. I gasped without meaning to. He was standing close enough now that I was starting to shake, and he said, "What do you want to wear, then?" His junk was within reach, and I felt like I was getting harder. No hiding it now. "Please," was all I could say. He put his hand on my shoulder, applying gentle pressure that encouraged me to sit on the edge of the bed. Towards that beautiful, limp cock. I felt my eyes tearing up, and fought to stay in control. "Please what?" he said. "Please don't hate me," I replied softly. "You're my best friend." "I don't hate you," he said. "On your honor as a scout, are you hard because you want me?" I nodded, unwilling to risk speaking. "Then go ahead," he said. I looked up, questioning, and Bill grabbed his penis with his hand, drawing my attention back to the object of my fascination. It was growing, stretching out as if trying to reach me. Amazed, but still feeling tentative, I opened my mouth, and he stuck it right in. It felt like it completed me somehow. Our eyes met as he hardened in my mouth, and I heard him sigh. I started working my lips over the head, and he made a noise almost like a squeak. "Let's lie down," he said. I slid myself onto the mattress, reluctant to release him lest it prove to be a trick, but delighting to see it in its glory when I did. Bill stretched out beside me, but where my head was near his pillows, that's where his legs ended up. "Here," he said, presenting that beautiful cock again. His pubic hair ended inches before his navel, I noticed as he entered me, and I remembered that he'd once confided that his penis reached precisely to this belly button when hard, and he'd been wondering if they all were just that long. I've since learned that some are much, much longer, but in this moment I found that his was more than enough to pose me a challenge. It was a challenge I gleefully accepted. Side by side I took him, breathing in his scent through my nose as I reserved my mouth for his amazing penis. He was patient and gentle, allowing me to take my time as I got used to it filling my mouth. With each bob I took in another fraction of an inch, and as I withdrew I focused on using my lips and tongue to memorize every vein and bump of this manly organ. I was eager to swallow it all, but fearful of puking if I tried too fast. Bill lay still and quiet, so quiet that the only cue I had that he was enjoying it was that he was still just as hard as ever. Then, before my wondering eyes, I saw his hand stretch toward the pillow and place an object upon it: his retainer, that contraption of pink plastic and silver wire that he wore most of the day to keep his recently-straightened teeth from going back out of alignment. Then, I felt those teeth (and lips and TONGUE) against my own member, and in my excitement I shoved myself down on his cock as far as I possibly could. I gagged, and nearly puked, and had to back off momentarily. "Are you all right?" he asked gently. "Yeah, just keep going," I said urgently, fearful that I'd ruined the moment. I had not. Breathing more slowly through my nose, I took in the scent of him as my tongue reveled in the taste of the fat organ in my mouth: warm and fleshy, such a delicate thing really to be the focus of everything manly. I slid down on him at a more sedate pace, so as not to find my gag reflex by surprise, testing the limits of my throat at my own pace, not his. Bill was concentrating on me, and I continued to bob on his knob with a kind of zen zeal for it all. I found the up-close-ness of his naked body to be hypnotic: the languid balls, the orderly pubic bush, the navel drawn taut over flat muscle that looked as hard as bricks. I reached out and touched him there; it was firm, but it wasn't some stone statue in a museum even though it was just as beautiful. His skin was warm, dry, hairless, pliant. I caressed his stomach and chest as far as I could reach, with one hand firmly on his cock to keep me focused on my task. When I reached a nipple, I suddenly remembered that Bill was doing the same to me that I was him, and the idea of my dick being in his mouth exploded in my mind, consuming my being. The only way I could resist shoving it in deep was to take his down my own throat instead. The guy sucking should always be in control, I think, and so I took control of his cock. This time I didn't gag, because Bill had allowed me the time to get used to him. I felt the warmth of his sac against my cheek as I swallowed his length, and then I got into a rhythm that would allow me to take breaths between dives, like swimming. Once I got into that rhythm, though, I again realized that this beautiful cock in my mouth was attached to an even more beautiful body and face, and that the mouth in that face was doing things to my own penis that were too wonderful to be legal. I could feel it rising in me, and I started making noises around that mouthful of cock, an announcement and warning of impending orgasm. Even as I began to worry about not warning Bill properly, my mouth became suddenly fuller. I began to swallow, and the realization that I had brought my friend off put me over the edge on which I had been teetering. The room was full of my cock-gagged whimpers of satisfaction, and with preternatural clarity I took in the entire scene: our naked bodies, thrusting to release, each in the mouth of a friend. In my desire to swallow all Bill gave me, I willingly gave up breathing for the time being. Together we lay there, side by side, until we started to soften and I let him slide from my lips. Without warning, Bill sprang up and scrambled naked over me to stand up. Walking to his dresser he said, "Those were my brother's. I guess now I know that you're my size." He tossed me a pair of briefs, and we dressed to find a snack before I headed home. Enjoy my stories? Then please support Nifty.