Date: Tue, 11 Apr 2017 15:47:38 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 12

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

We looked at each other and both broke up laughing. But I was flushed with
more that humour. Beaux was definitely going to be fine which was a relief,
but I worried that I was letting a sexual monster loose on the unsuspecting
men of Kansas City.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 12: By a Hair

By Bear Pup

M/T: sexuality (no sex with Beaux) -- M/M: seduction, touch, masturbation

I left a pouting and thoroughly-disgruntled Beaux to the tender mercies of
Angelina, a nice, somewhat-older woman of Hispanic descent. Her accent
clashed brilliantly with that of my little Bayou Boy. She was polite,
professional, efficient and extremely health-focused -- basically she was
the walking-talking version of inescapably-bland hospital food. Beaux was
not amused, and nearly had to be cuffed to the bed when I left, followed by
a string of highly-inflected Cajun French that I presumed was less than
flattering.

My adrenaline high crashed like an airliner exactly when I walked into the
house. I should have been happy, relieved, even elated that Beaux would be
fine. Instead, I stumbled into the bathroom, downed a handful of Tylenol,
secured the house and feel into bed.

I awoke in a state I normally associated with 'binge drinking with a side
of assault'. Everything ached, especially my head. This had been true for
me most of my life. Hard-core adrenaline events lasted far longer for
me. When they left, they delivered a massive bill, payable on
demand. Climbing the stairs up to the main level was like scaling Everest
in a blizzard. I made something that had worked for me since college. I
double-loaded the coffee pot basket and added a full cup of brown
sugar. While that brewed, I scrambled some eggs with a copious amount of
hot sauce (Crystal, never Tabasco) and feta cheese.

When consumed with a generous helping of aspirin, the above will do one of
three things: your hangover will slowly abate; you will puke and wish to
die; or both. I got lucky and option 1 kicked in. Visitors' hours at St
Luke back then started at 8:30 to give time for breakfast and morning
rounds. I got there at 8:10 and waited. The duty nurse noticed me and made
a call, then gestured me over. "You head up, honey. Hans is up there and
says it's fine." She smiled and used a button to open the door to the
hallway.

I found the elevators and the room. Hans was in there clearing the morning
tray and gave me a big smile. So, surprisingly, did Beaux. His grump from
the night before seemed to have been erased by Hans. 'Hunks for Grumps' --
maybe I could found a business. Hans left, followed intently by two pairs
of eyes. Beaux and I had barely started talking when Rob bustled in. He
pulled the chart from the foot of the bed.

"Up!" The command was so compelling that I stood instantly. Rob looked at
me and laughed. "Beaux, stand up, son." Beaux looked slightly mortified but
stood, a massive tent in the front of his ass-open gown. I got a pretty
clear image of what the Hans conversation might have been like.

"Well, your hearing has recovered better than I expect." My jaw dropped. I
hadn't even noticed that Beaux and I had been talking normally. "Now, walk
to the door and back." Beaux walked, not entirely with his normal languid
stride, but clearly in full control of his muscles. He had Beaux sit on the
bedside and took out one of the wedge-shaped rubber mallets.

Beaux frowned and said, "I don't like that thing, me!"

Rob's voice was clear and almost chipper. "Yep, you mentioned that and I
*still* don't care." He thumped Beaux's knees and both sprung out promptly,
the same with the elbows. As if by accident, he whacked my own cross-legged
knee making me basically kick myself.

"HEY!"

Ron and Beaux were both laughing at me. Fine. That's how it's gonna
be. Hmph. My grump evaporated as Hans came in with a wheeled chair. 'Hunks
for Grumps' indeed.

"Hans is going to get you dressed and on your way, Beaux. Now," he looked
at us both, "I want a call immediately, any hour day or night, if *any* of
the following happen: Beaux gets dizzy or falls for any reason, even
tripping over something. Beaux cannot sleep or does not wake up
normally. Kevin thinks Beaux is acting in any way out of character. Kevin
has a nervous breakdown because Beaux now has a lot of new and
highly-specific questions about, oh, I dunno, male nurses?"

Three nuclear blushes erupted, none of them on the doctor that I would find
a way to strangle eventually. Before we could say anything, he swept out
and closed the door behind him. We three looked at each other and burst
into hysterical laughter. Hans eventually got Beaux dressed and loaded into
the chair and we were at the Discharge desk. Beaux sat fidgeting as I
finished signing the six zillion forms required to escape any medical
institution. It was like Hotel California, you could check out but you
could never leave.

There was no possible doubt what Beaux wanted to do first as we drove
away. His stomach broadcast a growl that shook the small Toyota. I laughed
and headed to someplace that I knew could even satisfy a ravenous
teen. Decades before they devolved into gas-station food, Godfather's Pizza
was a deep-dish mecca with pies heavy enough that the servers had to use
both hands to deliver them to the table. Bonus: the chain started in my own
neck of the plains, Omaha, Nebraska.

We got there literally as they opened, and I ordered a salad and some
breadsticks to sooth the savage beast whose growls alarmed even the placid
and half-asleep waitress. Godfather pies took time to cook. As she cleared
the wreckage of the salad and again refill our drinks, there was a loud
DING and Beaux's bright eyes shot straight to the window where the steaming
pizza sat. I was actually worried for the girl's safety as she made a
liesurly trip to collect the pie and wandered toward our table under the
predatory gaze of my ward.

As always, the massive pie heavy with bubbly-brown cheese was wonderful,
and Beaux was delighted. I made a note to take him to the spin-off started
a few years earlier by one of the early Kansas City partners in Godfather's
called Minsky's Pizza. They had some of the best grinders (hot sandwiches)
in the region, as well as a personal addiction, toasted raviolis. The pizza
was pretty impressive as well.

When the last two slices sat there, Beaux struggling between an impending
stomach explosion and the idea of leaving two whole pieces of this
magnificent pie to waste, I motioned the waitress over with a to-go
box. For Beaux, the idea that he could take the leftovers with him was a
revelation; for me, the fact that I had finally managed to find a meal
where leftovers were even possible around this kid was equally surprising.

We made it home and stripped off, as per usual. Beaux started for his
bedroom then turned, "Thank you for saving me again, Kevin. I'm sorry to be
such a..." I closed the gap before he could finish the sentence and pulled
him to a fierce hug.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," I said, my forehead pressed to
his. I was suddenly crying on his shoulder, "I thought I'd lost you, son,
and it almost killed me. I love you, Beaux, and I can't even tell you how
much."

Beaux was crying, too. "Kevin, I don't know what to say. No one ever loved
me like that and it hurts to know that I made you scared. You saved me
twice, Oncle -- no, more than just twice. You saved me from what those
women did to me; saved me from the bayou; saved me from what would have
happened to me in the cities; saved me from everything, Oncle. Lightning
don't stand a chance against my Oncle Kevin."

We swayed little like that, and I finally got enough voice to say, "Now,
let's get you settled in your own bed. Your own very private, very
noise-dampened bed, son. I expect you've, um, got some catching up to do?"
I smiled and wiped his tears from his face as he blushed. I turned and gave
him a sharp, playful slap on that too-cute ass and he jumped and gave me A
Look before the door closed. I grabbed another handful of aspirin and
headed to my office.

One thing that I'd gotten on my travels was an appreciation for hot tea. It
was hard to find actual tea in the US in those days. You could get what
were euphemistically called 'tea bags' which were small paper packets
enclosing ancient and desiccated tea dust. That works from for making iced
tea, but drinking it hot was a penance. A local hippie-vegetarian place
stocked loose-leaf teas, including my favourite, Assam. I put my little
electric kettle on to boil and started to work.

I knew I wasn't up to anything intense or intricate, so I tackled the
correspondence. Operating the way I did, keeping my business network close
was vital. I had any number of notes and letters from suppliers and
peers. These took close and personal attention, but no real thought;
perfect for my adrenaline-ravished state.

Okay, I admit it. I might have slightly overdone the tea. It tasted so good
and was so warm and comforting. A couple hours later when Beaux knocked
lightly at the door to get my attention, I nearly shat in my chair and I
leapt up like I'd been bitten. Beaux actually backup up starting to
apologise before I could explain.

"Oncle, I'm more stir-crazy than ever after that hospital, but I'm, um, not
quite ready for a boat. Is it safe to go running around here? Anything I
need to watch out for?"

"You have to wear shorts and a shirt, the sneakers we bought and your
wallet. You'll will likely want a hat." I walked over and grabbed what, had
I still been a farmer, I would have called a gimmee-cap, a baseball-style
hat with the bold logo of one of my suppliers. It was an intense blue with
the white wave logo of one of my pool companies. As he put that on and
found the way to adjust the size, I went on.

"Just about everything north and directly east of here is airport
land. They rarely do, but they can arrest you is you're in there, so best
stay off. For now, keep to the roads; you don't know the local creatures
and there can always be snakes. Going right out of the drive is a dead end,
so go left, then down to Tiffany Springs Road. If you run that road to
Amity and back, it's a bit over two miles and a nice way to stretch your
legs.

"Running will be different here. The asphalt will be harder on your knees
but the sneakers will make it a lot easier on your feet. And unlike the
bayou, it's very dry, so don't run further today until we find out how your
body takes to it." I got more and more uncomfortable as I spoke, thinking
of Rob's warnings and my own irrational fears. "Actually, I need to get out
as well. Do you mind if I join you, Beaux?" He smiled so I headed to my
room to dress and met him at the front door, the first time we'd used it.

This was back in the day when the idea of stretching out for a short run
was uncommon. We loped along at first then fell into rhythm. Beaux was a
great running partner, quiet and calm and not pushing the pace. He'd
exclaimed at first about how incredible the shoes were. When you're used to
running in bayou boots, yeah, modern athletic shoes would be quite a
surprise.

Before I knew it, we were already at Amity and neither of us were really
winded. It was a lovely summer day, getting hot but not yet oppressive; the
rain that had come with Beaux's lightning had cooled the land a bit.  We
paused and I asked if he'd like more. Beaux quickly agreed and I ran my
"long route", about an eight-mile loop. Conveniently, there was a Waffle
House just past the midway point. Eating there is a study in horror, but
they have sodas and juice and a really friendly staff. Today, though, we
simply breezed by on a comfortable and sustainable pace.

As we closed the loop and were back on Tiffany Springs, I dropped back a
few paces to savour the view. Beaux was in the peak of his life. His lean
frame was perfect for running, and he was truly beautiful. Now, I'm a
bottom and into big, burly, bruiser types; even with that, watching Beaux's
incomparable ass flex and jiggle gave me a chub. As we got back, we went in
through the garage and stripped off, and I was almost undone by the
phenomenal musk pouring off my ward. A mixture of exotic spices and healthy
male animal, it actually made me quiver.

I made a beeline to my own room and the safety of my shower, Beaux's scent
still echoing through me. I spent a long time communing with My Best
Friend, largely to the fantasy of Hans folding me into those massive arms,
stroking and petting me; making long, slow love to me then taking me like
the barbarian Norseman he seemed to be.

MBF had been quite lonely lately, and was in no mood for a prolonged
fantasy, but also refused a quick blast of simple relief. I thought of how
that hunk would feel, how his arms would wrap around me from behind,
finding my nipples and my cock even has he plundered my willing ass. The
tipping-point came (as did I) when the Dream Hans started to nibble on my
right earlobe. I blew my slimy load all over the shower tiles, not even
trying to be quiet over the racket of the shower, moaning and begging for
more and harder and deeper from the fantasy-Nordic stud.

I cleaned up and dried off. The long build to orgasm had let the
conditioner sit too long and my hair was curlier than normal as I combed it
out. That reminded me of another thing I needed to get for Beaux, a
haircut. I moved into the Bar and grabbed the wall phone. [Yes, children,
at one time phones were attached to desks and walls. Check your local
museums for referents.] I dialled Andy's number from memory.

His rich tenor came across clearly. I could hear the snipping of his trade;
he was grooming someone lucky enough to be on his extremely exclusive
'List'. "Hair Apparent; this is Andy. Who are you and who gave you this
number, doll?"

I laughed, "Just me, Andy, Kevin Faolan. I have a challenge for you."
Getting on Andy's calendar was akin to getting a table at New York's famed
Peter Luger by walking in off the street. Give him a challenge, though, and
it might work. My standing appointment was scheduled for the next week,
Tuesday afternoon the 14th, actually.

"Well hi there, Kevin! Good to hear from you. Now, don't tease. What do you
mean a 'challenge', hon?" For all his 'hons' and 'dolls' and 'dears', Andy
wasn't effeminate, really. His voice made it clear that this was part of
the act. In fact, Andy was definitely all man, and a supremely-talented
top. He wasn't hung, but he knew every button to push on any man, gay or
straight.

"Andy, I have a new ward. My sister had a son no one knew about and when
she passed, I was his only kin." Andy made sympathetic noises but I had his
attention. "It turns out that Beaux -- that's his name, Beaux Thibodaux,
he's a very mature 16-year-old -- that Beaux grew up on the Bayou in
Louisiana under, um, unique circumstance. He has never seen a barber or a
stylist in his life. Not once. He's already a stunner, so I think you'll
approve of the canvas on which you get to work."

The sound of the snipping had slowed at "new ward" and vanished entirely at
"Bayou". By "never seen a barber" I could almost hear the drool. "Then
again, I know how busy you are and don't want to impose. I guess I should
call Armand..." I couldn't keep the smile out of my voice.

"Oh, you little bitch." I heard a matronly gasp. "Not you, honey, settle
back, please. You don't want that to run. Kevin, be here at 5:30. And... if
Beaux is what you say he is, yours AND his might be on the house. Gotta
run."

I laughed and hung up just as Beaux came out. "So, I have another
appointment for you, Beaux." I have never seen eyes slit that fast. If
looks could kill... "No, Beaux, no doctors and nothing like that. That dark
mop of hair you have is very nice, but it needs to be trimmed up, and I'm
taking you to the best guy to do it."

"But Oncle! I've always cut my hair, me. Why spend the money?"

"Lots of reasons, Beaux, but the best is that I want you to look
fantastic. Currently you're only at 'great'. Andy might just take you
straight to 'stunning'." I got a crooked smile from him and knew he was
intrigued.

That left us about two hours which we killed reading. We dressed and I was
delighted to see what Beaux had picked. It was that midnight-blue
three-button from Dillard's over those amazingly-perfect jeans that the
salesprincess in New Orleans picked out, and those chased boots. The milky
skin and unruly mop of thick, wavy hair with bangs to his eyebrows made him
look exotic and lusty. He looked like sex on a stick. Andy was going to
cream himself. I may have undershot when suggesting a target of
'stunning'. Andy might well get the boy to 'phenomenal'.

We got to the area where just years before I'd never have driven, must less
stopped. When the word 'mafia' comes up, people think New York, Chicago and
Las Vegas. Kansas City, though, was one of the strongest hubs of that
nocturnal fraternity. Several of the great Vegas casinos were built by (and
funded) KC's major crime 'family'; Nicholas Civelle, its leader and the man
allegedly behind Tropicana Casino, had died only a year or so before. The
Riverfront District of warehouses and derelict docks had only recently
started to give in to the pressure of boutique businesses, artist shops and
trendy bars. Hair Apparent was nestled above a shop that had been a
speakeasy, and Andy's shop had, rumour has it, been the associated
'inn'... which meant brothel.

We got there perhaps five minutes early and waited in the antique-appointed
sitting room while we watched Andy work magic on a woman that I was
relatively certain was the niece of the aforementioned crime boss. She was
a society maven even though she was barely 40, married to one of the
leading prosecutors in the city. If that sounds odd, the KC Mob had a
very... interesting relationship with local law enforcement and most
assuredly its political machine, even though they were (mostly) out of
criminal enterprises by that point.

When she stood, even Beaux gasped. She looked like she's just brushed her
hair back, no hint of style or artifice, just magnificent perfection. That
level of subtlety was what set Andy apart from every stylist in the
region. His clients *never* looked like they'd even been inside a
salon. Andy was also likely the only person to know their actual hair
colour (including their spouses; Andy pioneered very special 'collars and
cuffs' service). The woman beamed at her reflection in the triple-mirrors,
slipped Andy a small envelope quite discreetly, and exited. Not before
giving Beaux one of the most appraising and calculating looks I think I'd
ever seen. She truly was stunning.

Andy cleaned up and came around the corner just as Beaux had gotten up to
replace a magazine. Thus, the first thing Andy saw was an ass to die
for. When Beaux turned, Andy's eyes lit like Christmas lights. He moved
forward to shake Beaux's hand and introduce himself.

Now, a little about Andy. Other than height (he was perhaps 5' 8"), he was
very much the picture of a farm-boy. Broad shoulders, thick legs, great
pecs, square jaw, open smile. I also knew that his clothes hid a forest of
thick, luxuriant hair that Andy tended as carefully as that on his head. I
was panting at the memory of the last time I'd gotten him into my bed.

As per usual, within seconds they were fast friends. Beaux chatting away in
his velvet-over-brass accent. Andy's rich, smooth tenor darted in and out,
encouraging the youngster. After perhaps ten minutes, Andy took Beaux over
for what I knew would be a shock and a treat. Andy didn't just wash hair,
he made love to it including a scalp massage that could nearly bring a guy
to orgasm (and rumour had it, had done so with any number of female
clients). Beaux came back looking like he was under a spell, and a very,
very happy one considering the lump in his jeans.

Suddenly, Andy became a blur of motion. He rarely cut more than a snip of
hair at once, diving in at odd angles. The relaxed trance left Beaux
utterly shocked when Andy spun the chair one last time and the boy saw what
this artist had done.

He had come in with a thick, wavy mop of black hair. He was walking out
with a luxuriant, undulating sea of raven locks. Andy had left a lot of the
bangs, and they felt casually to just above the left eyebrow, adding an
almost-rakish look to the overall effect. I'd been right, 'stunning' was
too conservative. Beaux looked like an advert for an exclusive young-man's
clothing line: smooth, casual, tender, strong... edible in the best
possible way.

Beaux sat while I got a similar treatment, and Andy tsked at the
over-conditioned state of my hair. When I blushed hard, he got the widest
smile and bent forward to whisper, "Taking care of matters in the shower
again? That's a shame, Kevin, a real waste." My eyes popped as I stared at
him in the mirror. With his open and friendly face back in place, Andy
asked in a normal volume, "So, do you have room for an extra at dinner,
Kevin?"

"Y-Yeah! Of course! B-Beaux, you don't mind if Andy joins us do you?"

Beaux smiled crookedly, not quite a leer but only due to lack of experience
with the expression. "Not at all, Oncle. Not at all."

Andy closed up after he finished with me and followed us in his Jeep to my
house.

When we arrived, Andy got out and secured his Jeep, then joined us in the
garage. There was spare space, but he never used it. I guess having one's
vehicle inside was just too much of a commitment for some guys.

As we entered, Beaux reflexively started to undress then froze. "Kevin,
um...?" I smiled.

"We can get comfortable, but let's not get too comfortable, young man." I
pulled off my shirt but left my pants in place, and Beaux did the
same. Andy smiled and hung his tailored shirt on a coat-rack by the
door. Beaux took a long and detailed inventory of the well-sculpted hair on
the wonderfully-sculpted man.

We made small talk as I built a clean, bright Pasta Primavera using most of
the "spring vegetables". Not rutabaga or artichokes of course; those do not
classify as 'food' in my universe. A white wine, shallot and garlic sauce
was deepened with shaved parmesan the brightened with a final squeeze of
lemon. It turned out nice.

What made the prep so interesting was Beaux. He had very carefully scoped
out Andy, who had returned the favour but focused much of his attention on
me. I blushed frequently as I caught Andy's eye roving my body. I had
thought Beaux might be jealous or uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost
like he was studying Andy and his actions, looks and occasional jokes. If
Beaux really was a top, which I suspected, he could certainly learn the art
of seduction from far worse teachers than Andy!

As I thought that, I realised that Andy seemed almost to be doing it on
purpose; he knew damned well he had me at "can I come to dinner." The
seduction was pushing every button I had and driving me mad with lust, but
it was so completely unnecessary. Interesting.

Over dinner, the masterful Andy turned his deft conversational talents to
get to really know Beaux. When Beaux let slip that I was tasked with
teaching him 'like a big brother', the eyebrow pop was almost audible. Andy
watched me blush furiously but asked, "So, Beaux, is Kevin doing a good job
at that?"

"Oh, yes, Andy. Kevin's been incredible. He's answered every question I
ever had, even over, you know, sensitive stuff, even though he can get a
bit blushy." Andy's eyes snapped over the Beaux.

"Ah, so you mean he's teaching you *everything*."

I started to stammer at that point, "I, uh, Dr Martin, um, you know Rob?
Well, er, Rob said it was im-important t-t-to get Beaux up to speed on,
well, um..."

Beaux chuckled a moment, "That's what I mean by blushy, Mister Andy."

Andy met his eyes and they both burst into laughter, clearly at my
expense. I started yet another mental list: Horrors to Inflict Upon Rob.

"So how far have Kevin's lessons gotten, Beaux?"

Beaux looked at him appraisingly, glanced at me and went back to his study
of Andy. This went on for quite a while. I watched him come to a
decision. "Well, per doctor's orders, we went to the zoo and Kevin
explained everything I saw, even the stuff I didn't want to really know
much about. Then he showed me the best ways to pleasure myself. Then we
went to the Art Museum so I could get, well, some idea of what men and
women looked like."

"And which did you like better, guys or gals?"

"Men, the bigger ones."

"So you want a big, strong man to make love to you, Beaux?"

Without batting an eye, "No, not really. I wouldn't mind making love to
them, though." He paused and continued in that same light tone of voice,
"It's why I been watching you two so close tonight, me. I never saw Kevin
go shy and all, so I knew you were doing something right."

I briefly considered that I might be having some residual hallucination
from a bad drug trip before I realised I'd never done that kind of
drugs. This could NOT be happening.

Andy smiled broadly and turned back to me. "So, Beaux, what topics did you
cover after that?"

"Things to think on when pleasuring myself, things I might one day want to
do with someone."

I was radiating heat by this point and Andy was eating it up, delighted
with my discomfort.

"Oh? Such as?"

"Well, touching first, and that made for some mighty interesting
dreams. Kevin was kind enough to point out some of the touchable places
that really, really got my attention. Then was licking, but we didn't get
very far on that one before the lightning thing." Can a rabbit be frozen in
the gaze of two rattlesnakes at once? I felt like the ultimate prey.

"Well, Beaux, I think Kevin's doing a pretty good job at pacing your
schoolwork, but there are, oh, sooooo many other lessons."

Beaux laughed. "Gentlemen, I think that's my cue to go read. Oncle, should
I expect you in the library this evening?" The smartass little bastard was
relishing my predicament as much as Andy.

"Um, er, no, Beaux."

Beaux loped off and both of us watched that delectable ass move across the
living room and into the office area.

Andy came up and ran his talented hand up my crotch, making me shiver and
bite back a moan. "I think it's only right that I should make sure you are
teaching this young man correctly..." He leaned in and began to nibble on
my ear, driving me nuts. "Maybe I need to give you a quick review of
materials?"

I jumped up, "I, uh, um, have to cl-clean up the cum--KITCHEN. Clean up the
kitchen!" Which I proceeded to do, but every time I came to rest anywhere,
a hand stroked, a knee nudged, lips nibbled or words were whispered. I was
shaking so hard from frustrated lust that I was having trouble loading the
dishwasher when he was done with me... and we'd just started.

I practically ran to my bedroom, but the door had barely closed when I was
thrown up against it with Andy pulling me down into kiss that made me
whine. He raped my mouth with his tongue, finding every single spot that
could be found. He left me gasping when he pulled away, then moaning like a
whore as his lips attacked one nipple and his fingers the other.

By this time, I was no longer standing. Andy's hard, strong body was
pressing me against the door with enough force that my weak and quaking
knees had nothing to support. I whimpered and nearly fell as he switched
nipples and I nearly screamed when he started to gnaw on my tit. Suddenly,
I was leaning back against the couch. My room is very much like Beaux's,
only larger in most respects. In from the fireplace I had a short couch as
well as two chairs, arranged around the softest and most sensual rug I'd
ever found.

Andy had my belt open and my jeans popped in seconds. His powerful arms
lifted me and shucked the jeans off my body without his lips leaving my
nipples. In a blink, I was naked, laying atop my bed.

"So I think that the first lesson was touch, right?"

I could only nod and stutter before those amazing hands
were... everywhere. Tugging the hair of my underarms, not *quite* touching
their way down my sides getting a giggle-scream of lust from me. Stroking
hard and strong along my thighs, then with indescribably gentleness as they
worked their way up the inside. He was on me then in a hopeless kiss, his
hands roving through my hair and I understood how people could cum from
that alone. He pulled back and looked into my lust-crazed eyes.

"I think we need to take the edge off." He dove back into the kiss, but now
one hand was caressing my nuts and the other was expertly teasing and
stroking my achingly-hard cock. With the hours-long banter and sultry looks
that had me on fire, then the animalistic kisses and tortuous touches, it
took him perhaps ten strokes before he was swallowing my screams as I
unloaded between us. He kept it up until I was squealing and thrashing to
escape his touch before he rolled over onto his back and smiled while I
caught my breath.

I looked over at him between shuddering gasps. He smiled slowly and said
with a voice thick with lust and seduction, "I think the next lesson was
something to do with the tongue? Maybe you should... show me?"

<eof>

As always, you feedback and ideas are welcome: orson.cadell@gmail.com

*****

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 20 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 12 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 12 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 6 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 5 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 1 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/