Date: Sun, 04 Dec 2016 23:12:19 -0500 From: The Paternal Watcher Subject: Are you? "I was wondering, are you a pedophile? You have a lot of friends who are kids, and I thought maybe that's how you deal with it." He never looked up from his phone as he asked it, but I knew he was paying close attention to my reaction. So was I. My mouth was suddenly dry, and my heart pounded, because he had me dead to rights. Until that question, this was like any of his occasional visits on a weekend afternoon: he'd been bored, or wanted to get away from his sisters, and texted me to see if I was free. Maybe he'd noticed that I always made the time, unless I was out of town. I didn't think it was anything I had said or done directly, though; I did my best not to scope his 15-year-old form, after all. In truth, when I visited his family's house, there was a decent chance he'd be walking around in his underpants, so maybe I had looked too long once or twice. His parents and I had known each other for at least 20 years now, so my dropping by wasn't unusual. He'd always enjoyed when I babysat, and for the past couple of years he'd sought me out at my place, like he had today, every couple of months. He glanced up at me, and I realized I had been quiet long enough to confirm his suspicions. With a silent prayer, I decided to share some truth. "Okay, ya got me," I said. "Not all of the reasons I like hanging around kids your age are selfless. I get to enjoy your company, and then I think about it when I'm alone. Nobody gets hurt, so I think it works out." He was quiet for a moment, like he always was when he was thinking through what had been said. "So basically, you think about me when you masturbate." "That makes it sound really dirty, but yeah, you and others. Not always you." "You imagine me naked?" "Sometimes." "You've never seen me naked." "That's why they call it imagination," I said. "I have no idea if it's accurate or not." Now, he was looking at me. "But you want to." "Want to what?" "Know what I look like naked," he replied. "You're sexually attracted to me, so that makes sense." Not sure where this was going, I said, "Look, I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I would never ask you to do anything." "But if I offered to take my clothes off, you wouldn't stop me," he answered, putting his legs on the coffee table. I didn't tell him to take his feet down. My throat felt thick. "That sounds like the start of a porn movie," I said. "You probably wouldn't enjoy that." "But if you had memories instead of fantasies, would that make it better when you're alone?" he asked. " . . . I guess," I said, knowing all along that it would be much, much better. "You might not like seeing a different side of me, though, if something like that actually happened." "You've seen me with no shirt on," he said, his eyes so distant I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me any longer. "At the pool at least." Then, as if he'd reached a conclusion in his head, he turned to meet my eyes and added, "You acted fine." And with that, he peeled his t-shirt up and over his head, dropping it between us. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back, smiling slightly. "It's okay, take a look," he said. I did. Stretched out, he seemed much longer than his five-foot, six-inch frame. His hair, a thick mane of dark blond that he often wore pulled back, hung loose today, and hinted at what the rest of his body would someday sprout. A hint of a shadow touched his upper lip, and there was a light tuft under each arm, as if dabbed there with a paintbrush. Nothing else interrupted my eyes as they wandered over his fair, unblemished skin to his small, pink nipples. They sat equidistant from the ridge line clearly visible over his sternum, but which faded into flesh as my gaze drifted over his abdomen, stretched taut by his position but without definition; it was lean, but not toned. I passed over his black basketball shorts to his legs, which were building up some muscle mass and had visible hairs on the calves. He sat up, flipping his hair back with a hand as his brown eyes watched me, curious. He pulled his knees up near his chin, keeping his legs open as he did so. Without a second thought, I looked down at the bulge this created in the front of his shorts. He smiled. "See? You are too curious. I'll show you more if you want." "Not here," I said. In a barely audible whisper I added, "Bedroom." He was up in a flash, reaching the door before I even stood up. He looked back at me with mischief in his eyes, then closed the door. When I opened it, the shades were drawn and the lights off. I decided to go along with it, and leave the room dark for the moment. "Should I close the door?" I asked. There was no reply. I opted to take an active approach, and jumped on the bed, landing on top of a warm lump under the covers, which giggled. "So what am I looking at?" I asked. "Turn on the light and see for yourself," he said. As I got up and walked to the light, I heard the rustle of covers being thrown aside, but that didn't prepare me for what I saw. He was on his knees, hands on hips, daring me to laugh at his nakedness. "Closer," he said. As I approached, I looked hungrily between his legs, where a small patch of hair -- still rounded, not yet spreading to a triangle -- adorned the skin over a healthy young cock and balls. I was trying to imagine what it looked like in full, when I realized it was plumping as I stood there. "You don't have to get hard," I said, looking up into his face. He laughed. "I'm 15, naked, and you look like you really want to suck my dick. Of course I'm going to get hard." We both watched as it pulsed upward with his heartbeat, longer and thicker each time it lurched upward, until it stood about 45 degrees from his body, just shy of six inches in length. "You want to suck my dick," he said, his tone not making clear if it was a statement, or a question. "I really do," I said, swallowing and licking my lips. "But I know I shouldn't." "Please," he said. I looked his in the face again, saw the look in his eyes. I grabbed the penis before me, and a sound escaped his lips. It wasn't language at all; it was only lust. My cock was so hard it was surprising that my pants didn't just burst open. Trembling, I held his member lightly until he wrapped his own two hands around mine, squeezed and began thrusting. I had wanted this for a long time, but I knew enough about teen boys to know that the hard, quick face-fuck he wanted to give me wasn't what I was looking for, and this might be my only chance so I had to take control of the situation. Pulling my hand away, I put them both on his chest and pushed gently. "Lie back and I'll show you how a man will make you cum," I said. He did not resist and I pushed him over so that he lay spread-legged before me. I wanted to be naked and on top of him, thrusting deep inside as his hard-as-nails tool sprayed jizz all over us both, but if I let my little head take the lead I knew I could mess this up. Instead, I leaned in fully clothed, and whispered in his ear, "This will be your best orgasm for the next fifteen years." I made sure my breath danced over his lobe, and he quickly drew in his breath: as I'd hoped, he had erogenous zones all over the place. I inhaled right by his ear, then blew warm air along his neck. He trembled slightly. My lips brushed his neck and I steered them downwards; this was not the time to attempt a kiss. Even gay boys don't start out liking to kiss, and I had no idea if he was gay or just, as he said, 15 years old. His hands were still on his member, so I stopped long enough to grab his wrists and bring them above his head. "Not yet," I said, with a wicked grin. "This is my party, too." Taking advantage of the access I'd just created, I kissed his armpit. That surprised even me, because although I like them just fine when there's barely any hair there, stink is stink and if it had been teen-boy-gross it really might have spoiled the mood for me. On the other hand, I was so horny I might have been turned on by a turd at that point. The gamble paid off: he smelled of boy, but that's a far cry from the odor of a boy in need of a shower. He also liked it, and showed me by throwing his head from side to side like he was having a fit. I gently dragged my lips over his skin, caressing the tight tendon and moving onto his pectoral muscle. All along my route, I exhaled warm breath on him and then inhaled forcefully, so I could judge his reaction to the alternating heat and cold. As I neared his nipple, he stopped breathing himself, only to release all the air explosively as I touched it with the tip of my tongue. "Fuck!" he said. "That's not what you offered," I said with a sly grin, "so let's see how you feel when I'm done before you promise me that." In response, he thrusted his hips towards me demandingly. Smiling, I traced a line from one nipple to the other, enjoying how he wriggled beneath my touch. I then kissed my way down along the ridge line of his torso, where hair might someday sprout but had not yet emerged. As I reached his navel, I could feel the heat of his genitals below my chest. He tried to direct my head down with his hands as he spread his legs in anticipation. I stopped what I was doing and moved my head down to his knees, which I parted wide with my own hands. He did not resist, but for a whimper. I kissed his knees in turn, then started up his inner thighs, first one and then the other, again getting closer and closer to where we both wanted my mouth to be. When at last I reached his scrotum, the boy-scent was intoxicating. I had to stop for a moment just to keep from creaming in my pants. Not too long, though; didn't want to ruin the momentum. I kissed his ball sack gently, taking it a bit at a time by my teeth, then grasped him again at the base of the shaft. He was hot and hard, like iron just from the forge. I kissed his cock from base to tip, then flicked my tongue across it and around the head; he groaned audibly and I knew I couldn't tease him any longer. His entire penis fit in my mouth easily enough, but when I started bobbing he raised his hips to meet me so furiously it was like making love to a jackhammer. "God!" he cried after almost no time at all. "Cumming!" He shot before the second syllable, causing him to draw out the sound as I pressed down to make sure not to spill a single drop. I watched in delight as his abdominal muscles tensed and relaxed with each spurt, revealing themselves beneath his silky skin. "Fuck," he said, pulling out with urgency doubtless born of post-coital sensitivity. "Fuck," he said again. "I would never molest you or anyone else," I told him as he basked in the feeling. "This only happened because you clearly wanted it. It doesn't have to ever happen again. Get yourself dressed when you're ready. I'm going to put a frozen pizza in the oven." "Better brush your teeth first," he said with a grin.