Date: Sun, 01 Oct 2017 15:37:51 -0400
From: The Paternal Watcher <mfvb@protonmail.com>
Subject: Birthday boy (resubmission)

Ian knocked on my door at about three. He never used the bell for some
reason, and the knocking nearly woke up my dog, Pippin.

I opened the inside door and gestured for him to come in through the storm
door. I was just finishing up a call, and he just half-waved as he moved
past me to find a seat on the couch.

"Happy birthday!" I said after I'd hung up. "How's it been so far?"

He shrugged. "Been in school all day. Mom and dad wouldn't let me skip."

That didn't surprise me. Eve and Mike had been drawn to each other when we
were in college together because they were both free spirits, but once
they'd had kids, they each had shown a surprisingly strong hand in
child-rearing. Ian wasn't exactly repressed, but he was expected to fulfill
his responsibilities, which included a number of chores, keeping himself
looking (and smelling) presentable, and doing his best in school. Not
showing up just because he was turning 16 definitely didn't fit their
definition of "doing his best." On the other hand, he was given a fair
amount of trust and freedom alike, and he didn't hide from them the fact
that he experimented with being a healthy teenager. They allowed him to
make his own mistakes within reason, and expected him to clean up his own
messes when possible.

"That's what parents are for," I said in sympathy. "Got any plans for
tonight?"

He shook his head. "Not really, it's a school night. Mom's going to make a
cake, but I told her to wait until the weekend when I can have friends over
to eat it with."

"And get presents from," I laughed. "Speaking of which, I had three ideas
about what to give you today, but only one of them is both legal and
mind-blowing. Well, might be mind-blowing if you pick right. That would be
going to a movie," I said. My heart sped up a tiny bit, because I'd been
rehearsing these lines and giving a lot of thought as to how the
conversation might go. Like over a year and half, in truth. I tried to
sound casual.

"And what are the other two?" he asked, right on cue.

"Well, the illegal, mind-blowing one would be to smoke some of my weed with
you. I've always said I would when I thought you were mature enough. The
other one is also illegal, but not mind-blowing . . . just blowing,
really. As in me, blowing you."

He was quiet for a moment, a long moment, as my heart pounded and his eyes
didn't meet mine. Then he looked up at me and asked, "Do I have to pick
just one?"

I smiled. "Having a hard time choosing?"

He shuffled his feet. "Well I could tell my parents you gave me the first
one," he said, "but I was thinking that the second one would make the third
one way better."

"Why don't we go into the bedroom and get more comfortable?" I asked. "I
think we can work something out."

He nodded, his face expressionless as he started towards the one room I had
really wanted to get him into for oh-so-long. Without any obvious gestures,
he managed to leave his shoes behind as he did so. I followed him into the
room, where he just stood for a moment, then turned to face me. "Where
should I sit?" he asked.

"Bed's fine, or desk chair, I said, pointing out the only options other
than the floor. I didn't have the kind of bedroom with an antechamber or
sitting room attached, like those guys (and kids!) who always seem to be
incredibly well off in erotic fiction stories. Usually they got their money
when a tragic accident killed their parents, but apparently the massive
inheritance was enough to get them over their grief, because they are
inevitably screwing like rabbits by the third paragraph in. I just had a
full-size bed, dresser, computer desk with chair, and a little
nightstand. The dresser actually was my inheritance; it's big, antique, and
means if I ever move again I'm going to need new friends, because I think I
lost a couple when I got into this single-bedroom apartment.

Ian dropped onto the edge of the mattress with a little bounce, and I heard
a barely-uttered "nice" in reaction to the spring. I took the desk, and
pulled out the wooden box I keep my greenery and equipment in.

"I know this isn't your first time with this stuff," I said, "but get a
whiff of this." I opened the tin and passed it to him. He took a tentative
sniff, and his eyes widened a bit. Then, he looked closely.

"It's got orange hairs," he said.

I smiled. "Look closer."

He did, and his voice raised in pitch when he asked, "Is that really
purple?"

"It is."

I went through the process of breaking some up and rolling it into a joint,
taking my time and adding lots of flourishes. I was showing off for fun,
but also to give myself time to calm down. All my hopes, all my dreams,
sitting on my bed and awaiting my desires.

As I was rolling, he yawned and stretched, raising his arms above his head
and his shirt above his navel. I was so captivated by that three-inch band
of smooth, tight abdomen that I stopped what I was doing, so he noticed
when he was done, and laughed. "You sure it's me getting the present, and
not you?" he asked.

Snapping out of it, I finished the rolling operation, my face warm. "The
perfect deal is the one where everyone gets what he wants," I said. "Have
you smoked a joint before? Or a cigarette? I hope no cigarettes, but just
tell me."

Ian shook his head. "I've just tried bowls and bongs," he said.

"Okay, this might feel a little more harsh than you're used to, but I'll
get some choke-stop and it won't be a big deal." I went to the kitchen and
snatched a couple of glasses and a bottle of soda from the fridge. "You
ready?" He nodded, again with an unreadable face. He never had much of a
facial expression.

I bit off one end, and lit the other, puffing to get it going, and
inspecting it for side-burn. Satisfied, I took a hit and held it as I
explained what he should do.

"Take a smaller hit than you normally would, and suck in plenty of air
after it. Get used to how it feels, and you should be able to avoid a
coughing fit. This isn't a contest measuring how big a hit you take. If
anything, you should be seeing how long you can hold it in." With that, I
slowly exhaled.

"I think I get it," he said, reaching for the still-smoldering joint. "Size
doesn't matter, just how long I can last."

Somehow I managed to choke just then, and needed to take a drink. He
laughed. "Actually even how long you last doesn't really matter, because
you can do it again and again, all night if you want."

He made it through his first two hits like a champ, then got overconfident
on the third, and started to cough. It didn't last long, though. "If you
cough, you get off," I said.

"I sure hope so," he said. "This stuff is definitely making me feel really
good."

"You ready to try something more . . . adventurous?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Like . . . "

"Ever see someone do a shotgun?" He shook his head, and I smiled. "You'll
like this. I'm going to put the lit end of the joint in my mouth, and you
put yours on the other end, only don't actually hold it in your lips. When
I nod, I'll start blowing out, and you start sucking in your hit."

He looked puzzled, but following my instructions. I think he understood as
soon as he realized I was pushing a steady stream of smoke out for him, and
took in as much as he could. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his
face on my own.

Ian held it for only about ten seconds, but let it out slowly as he
stretched out on the bed. "You're feeling no pain," I said.

"I'm supposed to be feeling more than that," he said.

My pulse quickened. "Since as you said, you're also the present, I'm going
to unwrap you completely," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Completely?" he squeaked. "How come?"

"The more I get to see, the more fun I have," I said. "The more I see, the
less I have to imagine, so the more attention I can pay to what I'm
doing. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nah, makes sense. Go for it."

I did. Never, ever, second-guess a boy when he has given consent. Sometimes
it does not get repeated. I stepped quickly over to the bed, put my knees
on either side of his hips, and lifted up his t-shirt, prompting him to
lift his arms to get it the rest of the way off. I knew there was a dusting
of brown hairs under his arms, but my eyes lingered, as it was finally safe
to look closely. Besides that and the faintest hint of something above his
lip, no other hairs disturbed the skin from face to waist. He had the body
of a 16-year-old whose metabolism was adapted to a mostly sedentary
lifestyle; none of the muscle definition of a true athlete, but lean enough
that his ribs could be counted with my fingers, just not my eyes. Not that
I was ready to touch him, yet. I wanted to take a moment to just
. . . look.

"What?" he said, growing self-conscious under my gaze.

"I was trying to get your nipples hard with my mind," I replied.

"You like hard nipples?" he asked.

"Not as much as I like making nipples hard," I answered. "Watch." I moved
my hips back so I could comfortably descend upon the left one without
banging into his chin. Looking him in the eye, I stuck out my tongue, and
lightly touched it in the very center. Then, while trying to look at his
face, I slowly moved it around in circles before withdrawing, only to
exhale onto it, so the cooling air would do the trick. "See?" I said. "You
could cut glass. That was fun."

"But that's only one," he said, his voice slightly lower in volume, as well
as pitch.

"So it is," I said, before moving to give the right the same treatment. "I
could do that for hours."

"Just the nipples?" he asked, with a hint of whine.

I grinned. "You know what else. You just don't know how long it will take
me to get there."

"I know you still owe me a movie," he said. "Unless you want to suck me in
the theater?"

Bold boy! I put my thumbs on his hard, moist buttons and rubbed them
gently. "When I'm done if you still want more, we can talk about that, but
don't hold your breath about me doing that in public."

"You better stop talking, then, if you don't want to have to do that. I
expect all of my presents."

I smiled, and gently pushed him back onto the bed. Two can be bold, I
thought, as I reached out and gently lowered his zipper. With the back of
my fingers, I exerted some exploratory pressure, but came up empty. Then it
was his turn to laugh.

"It's not that small. Here, try taking my pants off." He yanked them down
himself, ruining my fantasy of slowly disrobing him, and taking his socks
along with them. All that remained was a pair of boxers that covered
everything but concealed nothing, like a Freudian slip.

"Are those satin?" I asked, and he nodded. They were black with a red flame
design; across the front was written the message, "hot stuff." His boner
was trying to escape down the left leg, but wasn't quite long enough to be
visible. I ran my fingers along the satin-covered shaft, which felt to be
five or six inches. "Very sexy," I said. "Very hard."

"If you don't do something about it, it's going to stay that way for a
long, long time," he said, putting his hands on mine and thrusting. Locking
eyes with mine, he said, "I'm just so horny."

I nodded, understanding that his idea of special and mine weren't going to
meld. I pulled his boxers downward, and the satin slid from under his ass
without him having to lift it. As his cock came free, it lolled to one
side.

"Hmm." I said. "I thought it was supposed to smack your belly."

"What?" asked Ian.

"Nothing." I said, and put his dick in my mouth. The bouquet of his balls
overcame me with lust as he let out an "Oh!" that told me he definitely
wanted this. He spread his legs and clenched his abs hard enough that I did
make out some of the muscle under his taut skin. I grabbed his soft, round
cheeks in my hands and guided them up as I went down, and as we picked up a
rhythm I watched the tight line of his navel advance and retreat before me,
with nary a hair anywhere near it but for the brown ones sprouting above
the member which presently occupied all of his attention and most of my
mouth.

His shaft slid into my throat as smooth as silk, probably because my mouth
had been watering over this moment for years. I gently rolled his balls in
my hand as I bobbed on his shaft, then switching it up by kissing them
before touching my tongue's tip to that of his young cock and watching him
flail about as I caught that spot under the head. He wasn't trying to fuck
my face: neither did he thrust his hips, nor shove my head down with his
hands so caught up was he with the sensations between his legs. I had to do
all the work, and work him I did. He wasn't really quite long enough for me
to deep throat, but I made sure I got him as far down as he could reach.

"Let me hear you," I said, coming up for air myself. "Let me hear how it
feels." His breathing, already spastic, accelerated a bit before he let out
a timid little moan, all but buried in his exhalation. As I sucked him
deep, he tried again, and it sounded more like a sex noise. No words, but
getting a boy to make noise at all after learning to hide evidence of their
fapping is progress.

As he got more into it, I put my hands under his ass and pulled him deeper
into my mouth. "Oh god!" he cried, and I would have smiled but for the cock
in my throat. Instead, I moaned around his shaft, and reached a hand around
to caress his abs and chest. If that level of intimacy might have bothered
him, he was now too far gone to care. In fact, he demonstrated how little
he cared for decorum by lifting his legs up and putting his feet over my
shoulders. Thus situated, I was able to get his shaft still deeper into my
gullet, and he growled his approval. Finally, he was starting to let his
inner animal out a bit.

I was actually fine with him not pounding at my mouth: if you want to
masturbate, use a fleshlight, not my face. When I'm sucking cock, I prefer
to be in control. Ian either was too timid to try anything rougher, or too
polite; either way suited me fine. Never once did he wince with the pain of
too much teeth, but several times he learned how their gentle, deliberate
touch can make it all the better. The ridge at the back of his glans seemed
particularly sensitive, and I spent a lot of time running my upper lip to
and fro over it, then attending it with my tongue, before taking him
entirely within me again. Each time I went through that cycle, it elicited
another gasp.

He spread his legs wide, feet in the air, one hand thrown over his face
while the other grasped his pubis at the base of his eager cock. I knew he
was nearing his climax. This would be the moment when I was unexpectedly
shove my tongue or finger up his butt, causing a mind-blowing orgasm and an
undeniable need for my cock in his tight young ass. I checked myself: this
was a real boy wrapping his legs around my head, because he trusted me to
suck his cock like a champ and with discretion. To do anything more would
be to violate that trust. I pulled off to catch my breath and regain
control.

"Fuck," he said. "Please don't stop."

That really revved me up. Swatting his hand aside, I grabbed him firmly in
my own and took him like Tina Turner takes a microphone. I bobbed
furiously, stroking at the same time, all while paying attention to Ian's
body language. His eyes remained closed, his hands clenched the sheet
beneath him, and he again had his legs upon my shoulders, encouraging my
head to go down and stay there. He wanted to crawl inside me. His abs were
tight, his nipples hard, there were goosebumps forming on his legs and his
balls were turning into a walnut. He busted that nut with a loud cry, no
longer caring who might hear, and I made sure he was well lodged in my
throat to send his sperm straight home. His entire body jerked with each
spurt, making it clear how much he was enjoying this orgasm.

With a shudder and a moan, Ian squeezed the last drops out and down my
throat. "Fuck," he said breathlessly. "Fuck," he repeated.

I gave him one last milking to make sure he wouldn't leave any telltale
stains when he dressed, then released his penis from my mouth. It was still
hard, but perceptibly smaller than only moments before.

"If that's what birthdays are supposed to feel like, you seriously owe me
for the last fifteen," he said. I just smiled.

If you enjoyed the preceding work of fiction, please consider donating to
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I am delighted to be listed as a prolific net author; you can find a
current list of my Nifty contributions by visiting
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#paternalwatcher. Here's a list
which is current when this was published:

    Adult-youth

        Are you? http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/are-you
        Appreciating the arts http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/appreciating-the-arts
        Birthday boy http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/birthday-boy
        Can I help with that? http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/can-i-help-with-that
        Coffee shop boys http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/coffee-shop-boys
        Eclipse http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/eclipse
        Hot summer http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/hot-summer
        Hungry for love http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/hungry-for-love/
        Just being friendly http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/just-being-friendly/
        Overalls http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/overalls
        Pillow fight http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/pillow-fight
        Tutu http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/tutu
        War boys http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/war-boys/
        Whatever happens https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/whatever-happens

    High school

        Suspenders http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/suspenders

    Young friends

        Junior High series http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/junior-high-series/
        Summer homework http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/summer-homework