Boys sniffing -- perhaps licking -- at the very edges of  heaven. Smelling, maybe even tasting a hint of it. If you are not supposed to read this, then don't. It's easy: if you don't ask, this webserver cannot tell. Just say "No."  Copyright 2000 by the author, who has placed a single copy in the Nifty Archives. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission.


Him and me playing some sort of soccer with the dog's ball. I mean, you didn't want to touch that ick-soggy thing. And we kept running into each other. And it felt kind of good. Bouncing off him. Not that hard, but just bouncing.

Soon it became a game, bouncing off each other. It wasn't the bouncing off, it was the coming together, the "Ooof." The roundness of him. His heat. His smooth kid skin. The impact, whoosh! His breath exploding, and mine on him. The sweat through his hair and his sparkling eyes and the smell of him.

Wham! Incoming body! Soft, delicious. Wham! Falling, rolling. Panting. Tired. Coming to rest half on him. Resting my head on his chest and hearing his heart, feeling his breaths. Drowsy and ready to stay there. His arm on me. Resting. Drowsy. Ready to remain. To go into him, his warm body. To remain. Drowsy.

Looking into each other. Serious. A hug and then up. Couple more kicks of the ball. In for a drink. Cool in the house, dim. Relaxing and comfort with each other. Friends all this time, and now this... closeness.

That night. Ready for bed. Flannel jammies. So clean. Wet bath-hair combed, like for church. Good smell, like spice. Drowsy. His heat. Clean, dry body. No eye contact. Just crawling over to put my head on his chest and be held. Drowsy, comforted. His smell, speaking to me, somehow, arousing me. A different kind of comfort needed.

The need to touch his skin. Our cheeks touching. Electric touching. Too strong. Trembling, a little. Lips numb, as I touch his cheek, as I draw back just slightly to look at him, his mouth agape. His breathing faster. So warm. So round and solid. So safe and big. Smell of spice. Smooth and pink and tender, his skin. Blue and clear, his eyes, as mine gently close.

His hands on me, intense, ecstatic, mesmerizing. Fingers combing back my hair. Drowsy, needing this. Tender lips on my mouth. Voluptuous, completing. Tongue and taste, rising need. Trembling. Too tender. Drowsy. Shy.

His hands moving on me. Strong. Pulling me to him. Smell of spice. Tender, tender lips. So completing. Filling me with tender fire. Showing me my own tenderness, my need to whimper to him. His hands on me, finding my sweet place. Cupping me. His tender lips so full and completing. Tongue and sweetness and his hand on my sweet place. My jammies parting, his hand on my tender boy nakedness. Scrunching: taut and hard. So Hard! So Hard! Lips urging me. Urging. Slipping his fingers to cup me so completely; feeling like a treasure for him. His treasure. Sweet, sweet, tender lips, so full, so completing.

Slipping down to look at me. To look at my clean, sweet virginity. All of me seen, now. Touched and watched, as my sweet sack draws up, the tender moistness of my smooth rosy young prick, straining. Straining to be seen, straining to be touched, straining to be known. All of me his, now, to touch, to trace with his smooth fingers. Tender fingers tracing the lines of my sex. Under the sack, behind, between, by the thigh, along my tender dick, around the head, so sweet, burning sweet, so demanding. Celebrating my need, my need, my need, for this touch.

Up, again, my face to his chest. Being held. His solidity: his big, round, solid boyself. Sweet, tender. Smell of spice. His hard dick, pushing out his jammies. Opening them, his raging young dick. Looking at the urgent raw young maleness of him. Young, straining. Boyself now teenself. No longer his sweet virginity: his animal maleness. The authority of that member. Timeless. Male. The maleness. The need of him. His bigness. So full, so rosy and clean, so rough and male, so tender. And the smell of the spice and Drowsy. Drowsy for his touch and the fullness of him.

Drowsy: to be taken in his hands, to be raised to his lips. To feel the sweet fire, as he reaches out to touch, to taste my sweet virginity. To praise my sweet, sweet sex and my virgin boy sweetness. To make me more boy, more boy, more sweet, more virgin. To make me hard and liquid. To make me fill with the feeling of boy-sweet goodness -- such strong boy goodness -- him taking me, holding my goodness, taking it, giving it back to me double. So sweet, so tender, my tender virgin-boy sex sweetness, as I give my urgent beauty to him. So smooth, So tender sweet. Enjoying my young boy sweetness together. The sweetness so deep. At the heart of my boyhood. The sweetness engulfing all of me, now: all of my dick, all of my sack and my happy nuts. His hand, his mouth, on my urgent smoothness and the sweetness becoming a fire, becoming a wave, becoming so big, so strong, so tender, so sweet, so, so, so sweet. Skewered, quivering, intense pang of lingering fiery sweetness. His tender, tender lips. The teenness of him. My tender boyness. All his! All his! All his... All his... Drowsy. My head on his chest. The smell of him. Spicy. Drowsy to be held. Combing my hair with his fingers. The tender fullness, the completing fullness of his lips on mine.

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