By Stephen Scott
Copyright, 2006 by Stephen Scott. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to Nifty Archives, to archive and display this work. All other uses are expressly forbidden unless explicit arrangement has been made with the author. This work may not be reproduced, posted, stored electronically, or archived, except for personal, non-public use, without the express written permission of the author.
Encounters--The Bellhop and the Movie Star and Straight Boy Cody for Cash
Adult Youth--Fourth of July Fireworks and The Pool Cleaner's New Gig
Young Friends--After the Fireworks
Authoritarian--Number Twelve, His Private Stockade, Hustling a Hustler, All I Want for Christmas and Bicycle Butt
Beginnings--The Boy in the Alley and Playground Games
Incest--Stress Relief and Brother's Bad Report Card
Science Fiction or Fantasy--Lije Bailey's Perfect Love (Parts 1 and 2)
If you'd like to keep up with my stories as I post them, go to:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NiftyStoriesAlert/
If you enjoy this story or any of my other stories, please drop me a line at Joe_Gillis_2000@yahoo.com (And a no-prize if you recognize that name!)
You can also read some true encounters on my blog:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/joegillis96/
Also some remembrances of boys I loved when I was young on my personal site:
http://ncplaywright.mysite.com
(Look under "Biography")
Note: The Chicken Run occurs on weekday afternoons in good weather outside my office building, just as described, and the author does watch. The Book Man on the back stoop is himself. He also once anchored a relay team in the Junior Olympics.
The rest of the story is purely wishful thinking.
By Stephen Scott
Dedicated to Patrick, my virtual-son, who inspires me, and who excites me beyond my experience...
I've always loved running. When I was a kid I was the anchor for the relay team in Junior Olympics. My adrenaline would run so fast that when the starter's gun went off, no one could touch me. Even if my team lost the race, I always got there faster than any of the other guys on the track.
As soon as I got to high school this fall I tried out for the track team. It's been tough, and the coach is a mother on pushing our limits, but when I'm running there's nothing else in my head. No anxieties, no regrets--just my feet hitting the ground, my legs pumping, the wind washing my skin, the air in my lungs and the pounding of my heart. I wonder sometimes if this is like what it's like for animals. I guess they call it living in the moment. All I know is it's like being high without the stink of pot in your nose.
The only hitch has been skin.
In the last year or so I realized I'm gay... or at least I think I am. So it's kind of a trial being around so many half-naked guys--well, half-naked on the track, naked in the locker room. I've noticed that, when it comes to dick, everybody looks--comparing, I guess. Even a hard-on in the showers doesn't make much difference. The guys just laugh, maybe joke a little. Since we're all teenagers I guess they just figure it's not all that unusual.
But the way my teammates check each other's bodies (cocks, mostly) out is pretty much just grabbing a quick peek. With me, it's not just penises. I look at their hot asses, their hairless chests, their gorgeous thighs and their cute faces. I'm afraid to look too much, though. One hard-on you can shrug and joke and maybe blush and get away with. If I look too much I'm afraid I won't be able to go in the damn locker room without a serious woody bobbing in front of me. I don't mind if I'm gay. I do mind being labeled a fag and having to leave the team.
Anyway.
When the weather's good, we have to run down the street from the school to a rose garden about three miles away, and back every afternoon around 4.00. We run without our shirts, and I have to say the sight of a couple dozen slim, hairless teenaged guys with toned bodies sprinting down the city streets has got to be hot. I think it is. Believe me, it takes all of my concentration to avoid staring at my teammates' butts when we're running.
About halfway to the rose garden I started to notice an older guy. Most days I'd see him sitting on the back porch of one of the offices, smoking a cigarette and reading a book. I guessed it was his break. He was short and kind of cute, with trim brown hair. I wasn't sure, but I pegged him as maybe in his 30s or early 40s. He wore shades, and he never lifted his head up in any obvious way, but I had a strong feeling he was watching us, and enjoying what he saw. God knows I do.
Once, just on a whim, I put myself at the end of the line and, after we passed the stoop I looked back. Sure enough, the guy with the book had stood up and was watching us as we sprinted away. I turned back around and grinned as I ran off after my teammates.
It got so if I didn't see The Book Man, as I thought of him, on our run it was like missing a tree that's always been there but that someone has suddenly torn down; he was part of the scene. And knowing he was turned on by us made him, in a strange way, a kind of spur for me. I wanted to please him. I wanted to run better, faster, with more grace. I wanted my bubble-butt lifted high. I wanted to give him something worth watching.
Of course I never mentioned The Book Man to any of my teammates, and I was relieved that none of the guys ever mentioned him. I was afraid they'd peg him as some kind of faggot-pervo-boy-lover or something--which would have made me nervous for myself. Of course, he was watching, so I guessed he liked to at least look at young guys. But he seemed completely harmless, and I liked seeing him at his post, sneaking his peeks at the mass of male beauty we gave him. It got so I was looking forward to running past that office building in the afternoon. When we got close to his office building I deliberately carried myself with more grace. I tried to puff out my chest a bit and raise my butt as high as I could as I sprinted past the stoop.
Alone in my room at night and on weekends I cruised as many gay porn `net sites as I could get on. Every photo I saw, every story I read, every sexual act seen or described left me with the inescapable conclusion that I really was gay. And the more I looked and read, the hornier I got. When you're a 16 year-old guy you're in heat 24 hours a day anyway. But unlike most of the guys I knew, who could, in theory, get laid by--or at least maybe get a hand-job from--one of the girls at school, I didn't know anyone my age who was gay. And you couldn't trust those chat-sites either. I knew there was some dangerous guys out there, and the last thing I wanted to do was risk getting raped or murdered by some nut-job with a PC.
What I needed, I thought, was someone older. Someone who knew the score, both about living as a gay person and about the--sorry--ins and outs of gay sex.
I found myself thinking about The Book Man a lot. If I ever met him, what would he do? What would I say? Would I be too tongue-tied? Would he be too shy?
Other thoughts and imaginings would overrule my uncertainties. I started to fantasize about kissing him, pressing my body close to his, feeling his hardness against mine. I didn't want to be a virgin. (No virgin does, and any virgin who says otherwise is lying to himself!) I wanted sex with another guy. And like any red-blooded teenaged male desperate for sex, I wanted it right now!
One afternoon as we were running back to the high school I looked over at the building as we ran past and saw The Book Man in the side parking lot near the street, opening a car door. I made a mental note of the make, model and color of his car.
A few afternoons later when school was over I drove my car down to The Book Man's building. I got there around 5.00 and looked around. People were leaving the office in droves but I didn't see The Book Man. I pulled my car next to his and noticed a little wall adjacent to the side lot, so I walked over and sat down to wait. It was a good vantage spot for me to keep an eye on his car. After five minutes or so I figured he wasn't going to come out of the building for a while, so I pulled some homework out of my backpack.
Around 5.30 I saw him. His was pretty much the last car in the lot so, my heart thudding wildly in my chest, I wandered over as he was unlocking the driver's side door.
"Hey," I said as I came within a few feet.
He looked up, a bit puzzled.
"Uh--hi."
I shifted my backpack on my shoulder, trying to figure out what to say. All that time I was sitting there near his car and I hadn't come up with anything.
"Look, uh--I--um..." I laughed nervously. "This is so hard!"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Do I know you?"
"Yeah. Sort of. I--I'm one of the track team guys. You know--the ones who run by here every afternoon."
Whatever he was thinking, he didn't let on.
"And I could tell--I mean, I see you out on the back porch all the time. You--uh, you like... you like to watch us."
He flushed.
"Look, I don't know what you think, but--"
"No, it's okay! Really! I mean... I like you watching us. `Cause, um... well, I like..." Come on, say it! "I... I'm... uh... gay." I laughed again. "That's the first time I've ever said it out loud. Wow."
"I see. I think. You... uh... you want to talk about it?"
I sighed in relief.
"Could we? I mean, I don't know anyone else who's... uh... gay, see, and it would be so cool to talk to someone."
He thought for a minute.
"You want to go someplace public? You might feel safer that way."
"No, that's okay. I trust you."
"You shouldn't. I don't mean me personally, but you're talking to a guy you've never met. How do you know I'm not some psycho?"
I grinned.
"'Cause you just said what you just said. If you were dangerous, you wouldn't be warning me, would you?"
He looked surprised, then smiled.
"You may have a point." He looked around. "Um... we could go back into my office if you want."
"Cool!"
He started back for the building and I followed. My stomach felt like a flock of butterflies had gotten in somehow. He unlocked the door and waved me in. Just ahead of the door was a code-locked main entrance; to the right was a stairway landing, with a set of steps leading up and one leading down. He locked up and pointed to the staircase leading down.
"My office is down there."
"Oh. Okay."
He led the way down and I stared at his butt. It was round and cute and I felt a little stirring in my groin as I followed him to the bottom of the stairs. There was another coded door to the right and a locked door to the left.
"My back door," he explained as he put a key in the lock. He stopped, ducked his head, blushed, and grinned. "So to speak."
I laughed.
"At least you didn't say `My back entrance'," I kidded him.
He looked at me sideways and smiled.
"You're quick."
He opened the door and we walked in. The place was dark. He switched on one of the lights by the door and led me past a row of filing cabinets to his desk area. There was a table next to it. He pulled out two rolling chairs, sat in one and I sat in the other.
We just looked at each other for a moment, the silence awkward. I didn't know what to say and he didn't either. Finally he cleared his throat, looked down, then back up again.
"What, uh--what can I tell you? What do you want to know?"
"God! Everything."
"Um. You know, we don't even know each other's names."
"Oh!" I laughed. "You're right! I'm sorry. I'm Patrick."
"I'm Scott."
He held out his hand. I took it. There was an electric moment, and our eyes met. Then he dropped my hand and withdrew his, laying it in his lap.
"So, Patrick. Have you, um... have you ever... uh--"
"I'm a virgin," I blurted out, and felt my face turn red.
"But you're sure that you're gay?"
"Were you a virgin when you knew?"
I sounded more defiant than I meant to, but he didn't take offense.
"Yeah. Yeah, I was. You're right. But you know, at your age there's a lot of confusion. Sexual, I mean."
"Yeah. I know. But I'm not confused. I know. Those guys I run with? On the track team? They make me hot."
"I can see why."
"They do the same for you. Don't they?"
"Yeah. You're all so... beautiful. Your faces, your bodies. So slender and trim. Muscular but not beefy--you know?"
"Yeah. And you like that." It was not a question.
He blushed a bit.
"Yeah. I do."
"It's okay."
"Yeah, but... I'm 45."
"So? You're not an old man!"
"Thank you. But you and your cute teammates are underage. I would never--mean, I like to look but I would never come on to someone who isn't of legal age. It wouldn't be right. It's also... dangerous. You understand?"
"Yeah, I know. You could get busted, big-time. The laws are stupid."
"I agree. In Europe the age of consent is a lot lower. 16 in England."
I laughed, reaching out and touching his knee.
"Let's go to London!"
He laughed, then looked down at my hand and gently removed it.
"Scott, am I--I mean, do you find me... attractive?"
He looked way, then looked back.
"Yeah, Patrick. I do."
"I like you, too. I mean, you're kind of cute."
"Thank you. I mean that. Thank you. I'm not used to being called that."
"Would you like to... you know... fool around?"
God, but I was brazen! But my teen-cock was stirring under my jeans and this was as close as I had ever gotten to getting what I most wanted.
He sighed.
"I would. I really would. You're so damn hot. But you're also 16. We can't."
"Who's going to know? Aside from you and me?"
"And the cops, when they bust in."
"You've got to be kidding! Here?"
"I am kidding, Patrick. But not about being afraid."
"You're afraid?" I exclaimed, standing up. "I'm so scared I'm shaking! I don't... I've never... come on to another guy before."
I don't know why I was so angry, but he stood up and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"It's okay, Patrick."
I looked into his eyes.
"Don't you want to?"
"Patrick, you are absolutely beautiful. I want to kiss you so badly it makes me physically ill. I want to hold you and make love to you and show you how incredibly hot you are."
I put my hand on his. My voice came out in a whisper.
"Then do it."
He looked into my eyes. I could see the conflicted emotions.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, his face relaxed. He'd made a decision.
"The cleaning crew will be here soon."
"So can we wait for them to leave?"
Now it was his turn to whisper.
"I don't know if I can wait that long. But yeah, we need to wait."
It was 6.30 now.
"Oh, shit! I was supposed to be home by now! Can I use your phone to call my mom?"
"Of course!"
I got up and went to his desk.
"What do I do?"
"Hit 9 to get out, then the number."
I sat at his desk, picked up the handset and punched in my number. My mom answered after the third ring.
"Hi, Mom."
"Where are you? We expected you home by now."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I was hungry so I stopped to get a Sub sandwich and ran into some friends." I was glad I didn't have a cell-phone.
"You coming home soon?"
I heard the sound of a door opening and put my hand over the receiver.
"Hang on a sec, okay?"
The custodian came in. He looked surprised to see me.
"The trash can's on your right, Patrick," Scott said.
I lifted up the can and gave it to the custodian, who emptied it and handed it back.
"Thank you!" Scott called. "Good night."
"Good night."
When the man was gone I uncovered the receiver again.
"Sorry about that. Look--is it okay if I stay out a while longer? The guys want to drive over the mall for an hour or so."
"Homework done?"
"Yeah. I finished while I was eating."
"Well, okay. But don't make a habit of it."
"I won't. Thanks, Mom."
I hung up, turned to Scott, and grinned.
"Free for as long as we need."
As I got up and went to him, my smile died on my face. I suddenly felt intensely serious. I needed to feel wanted. The emotion hit me without warning. Maybe because I knew the moment I had longed for was here.
I grabbed him with both arms and held him to my body. He seemed surprised, and for a moment he didn't move.
"Hold me," I said, my face against his chest.
His heart was beating a strong tattoo against my cheek.
He slowly put his arms around me. I relaxed. I felt... at home.
His head was against my ear. I could feel his hardness against me. My own erection pressed back. I moved my face to his, opened my mouth slightly, and kissed his lips. He responded. I'd never kissed anyone before in a romantic or sexual way, but I think it must be instinctual--when we kiss the first time we somehow just know how to do it.
His lips on mine were electric, soft, wet, hard and tender all at one time. My tongue moved into his mouth. His own battled mine, gently but firmly pressing back into my mouth. My arms tightened around his body, and I felt him grip me tighter as well.
He broke the kiss and looked into my eyes.
"Patrick..."
I could hear the doubt, see it in his troubled features.
"Please," I whispered. "It'll be okay. Please."
His hands went to my face. He cupped my cheeks and stared into my begging eyes.
"So beautiful," he murmured.
He let go of my face and ran his hands along my sides until they reached the waist of my jeans. Then he tugged my shirt out of my pants and lifted it up. I held up my arms and he slipped it off and tossed it onto the floor. He brought his face to my chest and kissed my right breast, making me shudder. Then he licked at the nipple. When it grew hard he sucked on it. I gasped loudly. My head was spinning and my teen-cock was hardening. He turned his attention to my left tit and I closed my eyes, my body electrified.
He kissed my chin and nuzzled my neck. He licked my earlobe and drew his tongue inside my ear-hole. When I moaned softly he nibbled the lobe gently. It was like nothing I'd ever felt. My body was his at that moment; he could do anything he wanted with it. I surrendered completely.
He kissed my lips briefly, and they burned from his touch. Moving unhurriedly, he knelt and ran his tongue from the middle of my chest down my hairless belly to my navel, which he paused to lick.
My legs went weak.
He turned me around gently, stood up again and began kissing my shoulders. My breathing had become erratic and raspy. His tongue slid slowly down the center of my spine to the small of my back.
I knew I should be doing more for him than I was, but I was so caught up in the intense and unfamiliar eroticism of what he was doing to me that I simply stood there and luxuriated in the way this sweet man made love to me, causing every sort of physical reaction it was capable of producing. Besides, I think it gave him satisfaction to teach me some of the seemingly endless ways in which my body could experience pleasure. After all, wasn't that one of the major reasons I had sought out this experienced older man?
He turned me around again, his face level with my crotch. My hard-on was straining against my jeans. He looked up at me and smiled. He placed his palm against my woody and I jumped, hissing through my teeth with delight at the feel of his hand on my cock. He undid the button on my jeans and his fingers moved to my zipper. He slid it down slowly, sensuously, and when it was unzipped he pulled the sides of my trousers open.
My dick was pushing hungrily against my tightie-whities. He caressed it through the cloth, making me suck in my breath again. Sliding his fingers beneath the elastic band he lowered the front of my briefs down, allowing my achingly hard cock to pop out. He nestled the cloth beneath my tight balls and his fingers gently closed around my shaft.
It's a good thing the building was deserted, because I know I moaned pretty loud. Aside from my doctor and myself, no male had ever touched me there before--and other than me, no one had ever done so in an erotic way. It felt like a bolt of pure sexual electricity had shot through the head, into the shaft, down around my balls and straight up to my heart.
He caressed each part of it lovingly. His index finger traced the contours of the head and dipped into the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip, spreading it around the incredibly sensitive underside.
"You have a lovely cock, Patrick," he said. I think I said some kind of thank-you, but I can't be sure. I was too aware of the amazing run of sensations I was experiencing to speak properly.
He stroked it tenderly, and when he ran his hand to the base he cupped my balls. I gasped again. A little monotonous maybe, but what else could I do to express the incredible pleasure this man was giving me?
The tip of his tongue licked at the head of my boy-cock. More gasps. Could I ever do anything else? Oh, the hell with it. I didn't care. His tongue slipped gently into my piss-slit and I grabbed his head, holding on for dear life. I wasn't sure I could keep standing up otherwise.
"Patrick?"
"Mmmmmmm..."
"I'm going to suck your cock. But I know what it's like to be young. You won't be able to keep from coming very long. So before I do that, I want to see the rest of you. Okay?"
"Okay," I rasped. My voice sounded to me like it was coming from someone else.
"Turn around, okay?"
I turned my back to him. He slipped my briefs down, and I felt the cool air of the office against my ass. He pulled my pants and underwear around my ankles and then I felt his hands on my cheeks, cupping them. His touch sent waves of ecstatic pleasure through my entire body.
"Your ass is gorgeous," he said softly.
He gently kneaded my cheeks, caressing them and spreading them apart. I felt his mouth on my left butt-cheek, its warm breath thrilling me and making my cock jump. He kissed and suckled, first one cheek and then the other. Then he began to lick them, tracing their roundness from the base of my spine to the space behind my ball-sac.
His lips came closer and closer to the cleft of my ass-cheeks and he spread them again with his hands. Suddenly his lips were between my cheeks. I moaned as he started kissing and licking around my hairless asshole. The feeling was indescribable... but it was nothing compared to what replaced it, when his lips went directly to my cherry anus.
I knew about rimming from my Internet "research," but I never expected to experience it myself, so soon in my newfound gay life. I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had taken a good, long, cleansing shower after track practice.
His tongue pressed in at my asshole and I tried to relax my sphincter--not an easy thing to do in my heightened sexual and emotional state. Then he pushed inside and I experienced a thrill so strong I nearly fell forward. His warm, wet tongue was probing deeply inside me, flicking in and out, making me insane with lust. As if all that weren't enough, while he tickled my rear with his mouth he reached around and took hold of my dribbling cock and gently stroked it up and down.
"I--I'm gonna cum if you don't stop," I managed to say through my sexual delirium.
He withdrew his tongue from my trembling butt.
"Sorry, Patrick," he said, laughing a little.
He turned me back around and took my dick in his hand.
"Cum in my mouth," he said, and went down on me.
He took me deep, sliding his head forward and back, stimulating me with his expert lips and tongue and caressing my butt-cheeks, slipping his index finger between them and tickling my hole.
That did it.
I felt my orgasm building, and I gripped his shoulders, pumping my cock deep in his mouth and crying out in ecstasy as my balls drew up and I shot my load.
He swallowed it all, and kept licking and sucking until my shuddering tapered off and every drop of boy-cream was milked from me.
My knees went completely, and I slowly sunk to the floor. We knelt, facing each other, and our bodies came together again. Although I was breathing hard, I kissed him deeply, gratefully.
My entire body tingled. It was the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced.
I broke the kiss and placed my lips next to his ear.
"Thank you," I murmured.
He put his lips close to my own ear and whispered, "You're welcome, baby."
The spell slowly shattered, and I came to a shameful realization.
I pulled away from him and stared into his eyes, guilt clouding my face.
"You didn't cum!"
"No. But I don't have to. I wanted you to enjoy the experience. I didn't want to impose my desires on you."
"But I want to please you, too."
"Patrick, you did. You have pleased me more than I can say. Just by wanting to be with me. That's fairly unusual for me. It means a lot."
We stood up and kissed for a few minutes. Then he patted my butt and broke the kiss.
"You better get dressed. You need to get home."
I blushed.
"Yeah, I guess so."
I slipped my pants up and he handed my shirt to me. I put it back on and tucked it in.
A few minutes later we were outside the building, standing in the parking lot, facing each other.
"I want to kiss you, Scott," I said. I felt a pang of desperation.
"I want to kiss you, too, Patrick. But not here."
"Will I--can I see you again?"
"You really want to?"
"Yes!" I neatly shouted. "Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"
He looked down at his shoes. Then he looked up again and ticked the items off using his fingers for emphasis.
"One: I'm almost 30 years older than you. Two: I'm not nearly as attractive as you are, or as so many other guys your age are. Three... Oh, fill in the blanks, honey."
"Let me be the judge of all that, okay? You made me so happy tonight. You showed me that what I wanted is exactly right for me. I'm grateful, sure, and yeah I want to do more. I want to make love to you the way you made love to me. But I also like you, Scott. I like you a lot."
"You don't know me, Patrick. You don't know me at all."
"But I want to know you! I want to know all about you. I want to see you naked, and I want to... to do everything with you."
He looked like he didn't believe me, but he reached into his shirt pocket and took out a business card. Then he pulled out a pen and jotted something on the back of it.
"Here. My email address. If you still think you're serious tomorrow, write to me."
I took the card, glanced at what he had written, and tucked it into my back pocket.
"Do you--do you like me, Scott?"
"Patrick--very much. But all we really know about each other is sex. It's not enough."
"I know that. But we won't know anything else if we don't try. And anyway, you gotta admit we've already broken the ice!"
He laughed.
"Yeah, I guess we did. Okay, Patrick. If you write to me I'll believe you're serious."
"I will. I'll write to you tonight."
"Give it a day or two. See how you feel then."
"I know how I feel. I'm not a child."
He sighed.
"But you are. In the eyes of the law, you are. And you're so young. Your emotions are all mixed up and you may mistake emotion with desire. Remember, Patrick, I was 16 once. I know how... unstable everything seems at your age."
"You don't feel guilty, do you?"
"Yeah. I do. A little."
"Well, don't. You didn't seduce me. I seduced you. Hell, I all but jumped your damn bones!"
"I will write to you," I said, ending the discussion. He shrugged, beaten--at least for the moment.
"Okay, Patrick," he smiled. "Now go home and tell your mother all about the mall."
We opened our car doors, stopped, looked at each other, smiled, got in our respective cars, started them, waved at each other, and drove off in separate directions.
It was all I could do not to follow him. To see where he lived. To force my way into his house, throw him down on his sofa and suck him off. Instead, I drove home, stopping on the way for that sub I'd told my mother I had already eaten. I was suddenly ravenously hungry.
I smiled to myself. Why wouldn't I be hungry? Look at all the calorie-burning activity I'd been involved in since the end of the school day!
I went home, glowing but feeling sleepy. After-glow catching up with me, I guess. All I wanted to do was flop down on my bed and sleep like there was no tomorrow.
First, though, I fired up my PC, logged onto my email account, and shot off a fast note to The Book Man.
"Dear Scott: Thanks for being my mentor this evening. I'll write more later. I will write more. Fondly, Patrick."
"P.S.
Next time, I will return the favor. -- P."
As I lay under my sheets I realized I could smell him on my skin. It was nice. I could also taste him in my mouth. That was even nicer.
I rolled over, trying to ignore the woody I was starting to get thinking about him, and slept.
To Be Continued...