When you spend time with a boy, it's like your life is in danger of tipping into epic adventure at a moment's notice. Like this morning. I had woken up expecting nothing more than coffee and toast, some Saturday morning cartoons, and taking in the Longhorns game at the bar tonight. I also knew Sean would come over from next door to hang out, dragging his 6th-grade summer school homework along in the hope I'd do it for him while he ate my Cheetos.
But he and I got into an argument about sports soon after his homework was done and that's how I ended up sweating and panting under the driveway's basketball rim—fighting not to lose the first ever Mill Street 1-on-1 Challenge. (It was going to be an annual event according to Sean.)
And hoops was just our latest round in this morning marathon of household sports.
Earlier, we had done ping-pong in the game room. I'd creamed him.
Then we had stepped over to the air hockey table and he'd edged out a win.
Two rounds of first-person shooters and fighting games on the Xbox followed, which we split.
Then soccer in the backyard. Of course, I won. The only reason I had moved to Nebraska was to coach the university soccer team, after all. I had the thick thighs and calves of a journeyman player. Poor Sean had slim, almost girlish legs; it had been a slaughter.
But now we were on basketball. And I was losing.
Sean was a slippery kid. Even with his stick arms he somehow could dribble the ball by me—and through me—before I could react. He used his lack of height to keep the ball below my reach. Plus, he was horridly accurate with his shooting once he side-stepped me.
First person to 10 buckets won and it was 9-6 in his favor. Time for desperate measures.
He faked getting into a post. I knew it was a fake because he always faked. The problem was he moved too fast on the breakaway for me to take the ball. So this time I quickly slid one arm around his waist and slipped my other hand under the waistband of his trunks.
"Hey!" he shouted, wriggling sideways as I stroked a finger down his sweaty butt crack.
With Sean distracted, I grabbed the ball, took it out of the half-court and came back in with a grin.
He shouted, "That's cheating, you cheater!"
"Just normal contact," I said in an officious voice. "Play on."
"Oh yeah?" He didn't even try to play defense. He just walked over and cupped my cock and balls with an insistent palm.
I kept both hands firmly on the ball, so his attempt to bat it out failed.
He squeezed my genitals.
As I howled in pain, he took the ball from my suddenly limp fingers and scored a 3-pointer with a flourish and a smirk. He looked at me as I stood upright, grimacing. He said, "Just normal contact."
I grrred at him sideways. "Fine," I said. "You win. Let's go have lunch."
He followed me, protesting, "What? No. We're tied at three challenges each. We need a tie breaker."
I ruffled his wavy brown hair and said, "I'm hungry. We'll call it a tie."
"A tie is un-American!"
As I went inside, I told him, "Fourth of July is over. It's okay to be un-American."
In the kitchen, I started making us hot dogs.
As he helped me, Sean said, "you only want to stop because you're too pooped to continue. You know you're too old to win another challenge without catching your breath."
"That's true," I admitted. "It's still going into the books as a tie."
As we sat opposite each other with our lunch on the back porch, I looked him over. He had trickles of sweat at his temples and down his slender neck. There was a whiff of sweet boy scent in the air. His green eyes were half-angry, half-happy. Angry because he was being denied his glory. Happy because this was the high point of the week for each of us, spending time one-on-one all day, doing whatever, as long as whatever included both of us.
"We could do a hot dog eating contest!" he said.
"We have to—"
"Besides," I said, "I effectively won already anyway."
"No way. It was three to three."
"Yeah, but I won mine by a lot, so overall I'm the champ."
"That's not how this works! I came up with this contest, I decide how we score it."
I smiled at the outrage on his cute face and goaded him with more refutations. The argument continued even as we finished eating and he ended up following me all the way to the shower demanding a blackjack game to settle it once and for all.
After I tossed my stinky shirt into the hamper, I turned to Sean and gave his body a looking over. He froze, doing a double take as if realizing he was alone with me in the bathroom. He grinned.
It was strange the way this worked between us. We'd been lovers since the start, but sex was a kind of parallel dimension for us, separate from the bike rides and watching fireworks on the Mayor's lawn and conversations about who would win in a fight between Iron Man and Captain America. In some part of me, I understood that it was the friendship stuff that made the sex part so good, but we were both still always caught by surprise when molestation time happened.
'Molestation' was Sean's word for it. He liked to call me a dirty old man and played it off as him teasing me, but I got the sense that there was something darker at work. That he got off on the idea of a man taking advantage of him.
And despite knowing how far he was from innocent, it worked for me too—to think of myself as his molester, holding him in my power.
I lifted his vest over his head and then leaned down and kissed him. I stroked his still sweaty hair as he kissed me back with a passion, wrapping his slender arms around my neck. I caressed Sean's bare back with my fingertips and he arched his spine pressing his soft lips against mine even harder. His lips were warm and slippery-wet. Was that really a taste of berries on him or just my imagination? Either way, it made me hungry for more of Sean.
I broke the kiss and he reached for me as I moved away. I playfully slapped his hand down and got naked. He licked his lips as I kicked my shorts away. I stepped into the shower. "You coming?" I asked Sean, holding the curtain open.
"Hell, yeah." He got in first, then started stripping off his shorts and briefs.
Believe it or not, there were times when he and I had showered together in a non-sexual way. There would be some grab-ass for fun, naturally, but we basically stuck to business at those times. It was part of that parallel relationship structure I mentioned.
But this was not one of those days. As soon as he had tossed his tighty-whities out, he joined me under the showering water and we held each other. I pressed his wet head into my chest and stroked his back. He stiffened as I stroked lower along the gentle curve of his ass and down his thighs. Then back up his flanks.
Sean sighed, his breath warm against my skin.
I could read the language of his relaxed body. After the rivalry of the morning, there was a little-boy part of him that needed to surrender and be held. I needed it as much as him—to know that he was my boy and that I was responsible for him. Together we continued the slow caressing of each other while the water rained down. It was like we were cocooned in a moment of closeness by the sound and feel of the water around us.
No more world. Just me and Sean.
He looked at me, his eyes half-squinted against the spray and smiled languidly. I squeezed his shoulders. His shifting posture caused his hard little dick to brush my thighs. My own cock was stiff as a board between us.
Sean cradled it gently.
I said, "You really hurt him earlier, you know."
From the way he pitched his voice, I could tell he was speaking to my cock more than me.
Sean added, "I'll make it up to you." He knelt slowly then pumped my cock gently. Not that pleasant a feeling really with the water making the skin a bit sticky.
Sean took me into his mouth. Just the sight was incredibly erotic, his bright lips and concentrating expression a visual treat of sexual boyhood. But the feel of his warm, slithering tongue and gentle sucking was the real kicker. My whole body stiffened in response and I gripped his hair tight in both hands.
He set the pace of his bobbing head, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes holding still while his sucking and slurping did the work.
And the whole time, Sean had this look that spoke of...satisfaction in servitude. Like just knowing he was giving me these thrilling sensations brought him happiness. He would have kept going like that to the end, I was sure. He certainly had on other occasions.
But I also liked to give pleasure to the beautiful boy I held in my power. So I tapped him on the shoulder and had him stand. I leaned his head back and kissed him, savoring the softness of his lips and the taste of his slippery mouth as our tongues wrestled each other—and enjoying the simple knowledge that I was holding him.
I let him go and we both took big breaths to recover before I kissed my way down his neck and collarbone. I gently bit his nipples on the way down, holding his bony hips as I ended up kneeling in front of him, his dick pointed to the ceiling in that impossible way boys can defy gravity. I pulled it down and watched it flip back into place, spraying water into my face. I circled Sean's little ball sack with a fingertip and he grunted above me as his tensions rose.
Leaning forward, I laved my tongue up the length of Sean's stiff little prick and it throbbed against me. So I did it again. And again.
Tenderly, I took the whole length into my mouth and sucked it. I played with the little shaft using my tongue, circling and sliding around. Now it was Sean's turn to hold my hair in his tight grip as the pleasures of my blowjob spread up and down his spine.
I squeezed one small, firm ass cheek in my hand, amazed at how small it was. That was a big part of why sex with a boy was so satisfying to a pervert like me. To know that we were so mismatched in weight and height and strength, yet were still engaging in this act of sharing.
With one fingertip, I gently opened up Sean's ass pucker as I sucked him, until it was pliant enough to take the finger all the way inside. It was easy to find his little sensitive nub and tweak it, triggering the boy's pleasure explosion.
His hot stiff shaft pulsed as his whole body stiffened and swayed erratically. I kept up the slurping and sucking until the end, when his shudders died away into trembles and then stillness.
Smiling at a job well accomplished, I rose and we kissed again. Sean took my hard shaft in his hand and smiled mischievously.
"No," I said, reaching for the soap and turning off the water. "Not yet."
We were here to get clean after all, so I ignored my own insistent cock and soaped up Sean's lithe young body. The act of placing hands on a boy in a way that was at once caring and possessive was as pleasurable to the mind as full blown sex for me. Even better when that boy reciprocated in a dutiful and worshipful way as Sean did.
When we were both slick with suds and shampoo, we kept at it, stroking and holding and pressing against each other, the slipperiness heightening each contact. Only when I realized my fingers were getting pruney did I turn the water on.
Sean braced his back against my stomach and I wrapped my arms around him, his small hands squeezing my forearms. I leaned my head down and licked the flow of water against his newly clean neck, up to his ear. He purred and pressed himself back more firmly, his neck arching.
There was no taste of course, not really, but nevertheless, the flavor of his skin on my tongue drove me wild. To know this was him, that I was so intimate with him as to touch him there in that way had me halfway to paradise.
Time to go the rest of the way.
As soon as I pushed gently on his back, Sean knew what was coming and bent at the waist, holding on to the wall for support. He turned and grinned back at me, his wet hair against his forehead. I double checked his hole with a finger. He was loose enough to take me I judged. I needed to crouch down a bit to get everything aligned, but soon my wide cock head was pressed between his cheeks, right against his waiting back door.
With one hand holding his slim waist steady and the other keeping my shaft in place, I pressed into him and he yielded. After all these months of fucking, he adjusted easily and groaned in pleasure as I breached his entrance. The rim of his hole was like a warm vice behind the head of my cock and I took time to enjoy its grip on me, getting even stiffer at the stimulation.
I spoke to no one in particular, "Oh, baby, you feel so good."
The only answer was a tightening of his sphincter that nearly set me off. He was ready. Eager too. After checking to make sure he was steady on his feet, I slid the rest of the way, enjoying the warm smooth glide into his center until my hard cock was seated all the way in him.
Even beyond the sensation of being encased in the sexual being of a boy is the thrill that comes from the knowledge of what you are doing, the fact that you've speared a forbidden young boy with your manly tool and that you are taking pleasure in him.
I looked down and the sight of my cock, so wide against his small butt, reinforced that sense of imbalance and power. I pulled back all the way and fucked him again with another smooth stroke. Sean moaned his desire and enjoyment as I experienced that sheathing pleasure all over again.
We moved together, me stroking into him faster and faster, Sean keeping himself balanced and pushing back against me with each penetration. My hands wandered over his smooth back, along the gentle valley at the center and down the sides of his ribs and around to his smooth fluttering stomach. I pumped him more, squeezing his hips and thighs and even slapping his ass a few times (which produced a startled yelp at each spank.)
How I loved this. Sean and I were sharing a bond—building a bond—that few can experience, the knowledge of pure intimacy, of giving and taking fully from another person, the person that fit your needs perfectly. Sean was the boy for me. Ever since I first saw his smile of challenge when we met months ago, I'd wanted nothing more than to make him mine.
And this act, stroking my thick cock into his tight ass again and again, faster and faster, was the ultimate expression of that goal. He took it all and it filled him with satisfaction, even as I took his body totally under my control and crammed myself into him. We rocked together as my mind noted every instance of his passage parting before my conquering tool, imparting pleasure with each stroke.
The feeling of power and lust grew in the pit of my stomach sending me wild with the thrill of it all and my motion grew wilder with it. Had we been in bed, I'd have given it all to him without reservation, but I kept it under control as the water continued to flow over us and past our feet on the bath mat. Even so, it was still a good hard ramming that I gave Sean at the end as the ball of pleasure in my chest bubbled outward and spread through my every muscle.
Sean he came too.
I could tell by the deep cramping breaths he always took when it happened. I smiled as I burst my load into him, my skin tingling with sensation and every touch feeling slow and fast all at once.
We slowed our fucking as each of us came down from our peak. Reluctant to withdraw, I petted the cheek of his ass and the delicate curve of his waist. Once his breathing was calm again, Sean rose and I stepped back. We faced each other under the falling water and smiled our acknowledgment of what we had given each other. I held his face in both hands and kissed him tenderly.
Once the water was off, we stepped out of the shower and dried each other off, laughing and slipping back into that other place, the one where sex receded and we were like a regular man and boy.
Well, not quite, because regular men don't take their neighbor boy to bed on Saturday afternoon to cuddle and lounge while watching ESPN3. Even if both parties are wearing (some) clothes.
At one point Sean left to make himself a sandwich. When he came back, he said, "I'm thinking I ended up winning the First Annual Mill Street 1-on-1 Challenge."
"Cuz I won the last challenge."
I looked away from the TV to scan his face.
He said, "The sex challenge. I came twice. You came once. I won."
"You can't count that," I said. "I'm a man. I have a refractory period. I can't just—"
He took a bite out of his sandwich. "Not my problem."
I grabbed the plate and stole half his food. As I chewed, I said, "I should be the winner because I made you cum twice. That's my score. I scored two points."
"Hell, no. It's my orgasm. I did it with my body."
"At my bidding."
As the argument continued, I held Sean's warm, slim form close, thankful for the afternoon of intimacy, even as he began demanding we have another round of 1-on-1 to settle things. It was like Sean couldn't comprehend the idea of the competition ever ending. I prayed it never would.
Comments welcome. Even if you're reading this in an archive years from now, I'd love to hear what you think.
---------HELP KEEP NIFTY TICKING---------