Endangered Species

A work of fiction by Ivor Sukwell and Kyle

 

The usual warnings apply to this work of fiction. It contains references to and scenes of sex between boys and a man and if this type of material either offends or is prohibited for you, please leave now.

For those who do continue, the authors wish to make the following points:

1)    This story was conceived as collaboration between two writers, one taking the part of the adult and the other all the boys involved.

2)    It is important to note that this work of fiction has been written in a manner similar to that of a dramatic improvisation; there is no pre-arranged plot, either for the work as a whole or for any individual scenes, each writer following and/or diverging from the leads given by the other. The intention is to attempt, as far as is possible, to create a feeling of `real life.'
Obviously a degree of `suspension of disbelief' is needed from the reader, as is the case in any work of fiction.

3)    No editing has been attempted; the story flows or limps exactly as it was written.

4)    The protagonists and supplementary characters are identified by the font and colour in which their thoughts, words and actions are written; thus thirty nine year old Rob appears in this font and format, thirteen year old Dylan is identified thus

and thirteen year old Ethan thus. Other characters may appear, the writers have no plans or intentions in that direction, all will be as the flow takes it.

5)    The writers hope that readers, if there are any, enjoy the results of this experiment.

 

Chapter 1

 

 

He showed no signs of having noticed me, even when he almost knocked my door mirror with his elbow as he, and the rest of the herd he was safely in the middle of, flowed round both sides of my car. What is worth noticing about an unremarkable car in a McDonalds' car park?  Doubt if he, or any of the barely teenage herd he was running with even noticed that the car was occupied, and if they did all they saw was a guy of middle-age chatting on his phone.

 

It wasn't the first time that I'd seen him, or the first time that he'd had the chance to see me, but whilst I had most certainly spotted him, he appeared to be innocently unaware that I existed. It was that innocence that, so far, protected him.

 

I placed him at around twelve or thirteen and if he was thirteen then he hadn't been that for long. He was a bit taller than most of the herd he ran with, probably five feet or so, but he'd obviously not hit the growth spurt that comes around thirteen. His long legs were still not too long, not gangly and awkward; he still moved with little boy grace, movements co-ordinated. He still appeared to have hints of puppy fat - not much, not like the others in his herd, but hints nonetheless that his stomach was not yet completely flat.

 

He was too young for me; I tried to convince myself of that. He was worth noting, definitely, but noting for future use. Let him mature a bit, another six months or so, perhaps a year. Let him have his growth spurt because that growth is an all-over growth and his cock would develop along with the rest of his delightful teenage body.

 

I wondered about his cock - I'd been wondering about it for weeks. That wondering was the reason I hadn't just marked him down as 'one for the future' and looked for something else to track. He was taller than all but one of the rest of the twelve or thirteens, so might that mean his cock was a little larger as well?

Little-finger sized pre-teen cocks are of no interest, but might he have something more than that?

I was certain that he was a wanker; he had the look of a boy who wanks, and not just once a week either. No, he was a regular in the solo game of cock stimulation. Did he spunk as well? He had the air of a boy who'd discovered that the wonderful tingly feeling a boy gets when he first begins to wank properly, gets even more wonderful when spunk squirts and now he makes it squirt whenever he can.

 

Did he squirt his thin, young spunk onto his sheet every night and morning, never suspecting, in his innocence, that his mother would notice the tell-tale stains and know them for what they were?

 

And what of his mother? Had she embarrassed him by letting him know that she knew what he did every night and morning, or did she say nothing? Did she worry that now he was old enough to leave those stains he was at an age where men, some men, may take an interest in him? He wasn't old enough yet for girls, no need for worry there, but did he need warning and protecting from those men who liked boys? Or was she one of those mothers who just felt herself lucky that he was a son and not a daughter because boys don't get pregnant?

 

What did he think about when he wanked every night and every morning? Perhaps it was always tit and cunt, though if it was, it was only in a curious way - no girls ever ran with his herd. Perhaps he thought of cock, and if he did was it the cock of boy or something older?

 

That was why I was tracking him now, why I'd decided that perhaps he was worth hunting, tracking, luring and trapping, a little fly caught in the web of a boy-hungry spider.

 

Saturday we always met in town in the afternoon. Our group from school and anyone else who wanted to tag along would meet and wander around the shopping centre. JD sports to look at footie boots, Game to look at x-box games and McDonald's for milkshakes was the usual route, with the mums and old people doing their shopping giving us dirty looks if we shouted at each other, laughed too loud or jumped on each other and got too rowdy.  We weren't bad boys, individually we were all nicely spoken middle class boys from the local church school, but together in a big group we would be loud enough to annoy most adults, which was part of the fun.

"Go on, come round mine for tea," Connor was my best mate, thirteen like me and one of the most fancied boys in our year. He was good at footie and his mum let him have as many mates around as he wanted, unlike mine who didn't want all my friends walking mud up her stupid carpet.

"Nah, can't, need to get home" I lied. I'm Dylan, my thirteenth was a month ago and I'm one of the tallest boys in our group. A year ago I was short but suddenly I got bigger than most of my mates which was sweet.

"Go on, mum won't care". Con took a long slurp from his milkshake and tossed the empty cup on the pavement. An old biddy rutted him loudly but didn't tell him to pick it up. Connor was even taller than me and with his hood up he could look like a year nine or ten lad.

"Nah, got family shit," I lied again, sucking on the straw of my own strawberry milkshake. The only family I had was mum and she was going out with Steve, a fellow doctor she had met at a conference, for dinner. Dad had fucked off years ago, sometimes he sent me birthday and Christmas money and sometimes he didn't, and Steve was the first boyfriend she had brought home to meet me. She thought he was wonderful, I thought he was total dick, and hated the thought of them together. That morning she had asked why I didn't like him and I had told her he was probably a pedo, it was only a joke but she went mental and started lecturing me about how that was a terrible thing to say blah blah blah.

"He's going to home to wank himself to his mum's knickers" Joe had been listening to our talk and pushed between us. Joe's a mate but he's a prick as well, always trying to make Connor laugh at me or anyone else in our group. I punched him on the arm and he scowled; he was still 12 and smaller than me so I knew I could batter him if I had to.

"Just cos your baby dick looks like a peanut," I waved my little finger at him and Connor laughed and punched him as well. Not hard but he scowled and fucked off to talk to Jake, giving us both evils.

Joe had been sort of right though. With mum out for the evening, and probably night, I was going to be able to wank loads. I had got my first wet dream just before my thirteenth and discovered how good it felt to make my cock spunk by wanking it shortly afterwards. Now I was wanking at least two times a day, and would do it more if I got the chance. As well as wet dreams I would often run my body against the mattress until I came, making my sheets all crusty and stiff. Mum had noticed when changing the sheets and tried to talk to me about sex, it had been horrible, but at least she didn't mind me making a mess of the bed.

I wanked about loads of stuff. Sometimes girls in our year, sometimes girls off tv, sometimes nothing at all, just pumping my cock a few times until a sticky load came out on my tummy. Sometimes it was about Connor, or Mr Davies our maths teacher. Those times made me angry, I wasn't gay and didn't like it, but the thought of kissing them or being touched by Davies got me hard.

"We'll come online later yeah, we can play Fifa" Con and the rest of the group were going one way and I was heading off the other, back home. I laughed and showed Joe my middle finger which made everyone laugh and turned my back on them, walking down the darkening streets.

 

The herd paused at the entrance to the car park, animated by early teen banter, play punches being thrown and fingers lifted in derision. If you knew nothing about boys you may suspect this was a prelude to a brawl, but I knew about boys, knew that this was no more than playful posturing, an early demonstration that testosterone was present.

 

My potential target was with another 'taller-than-the-rest' boy. I had no idea what he looked like, the failing light and the hoody he wore kept him concealed and anonymous, but his tall-for-his-age, slender body caught my attention for a moment.

 

Boys of this age usually only attract my attention for their potential, perhaps a little like a farmer observing his latest crop of calves, seeing which will grow into viable heifers; or a gamekeeper checking on his pheasant chicks, assessing their potential worth as birds worthy of later hunting.

 

Seeing those two boys together, even in the gloom and from a distance, I could see a difference. One was simply a boy, physically well-developed but still a too young boy. I had no sense that his sexual growth had matched his physical one. Obviously he wanked, at his age he was bound to wank, but his body language gave no hint that his wanking was anything more than simple cock exercise, something that felt good to do, no more than that. The other one, the potential target, had taken his wanking beyond that; I was sure of that. What he thought about while he pleasured himself I had no idea, but he did have thoughts. Perhaps not every time, but sometimes his wanking had thoughts swirling around in his mind, thoughts that made those wanks better than others, thoughts that had his spunk shooting out powerfully; and thoughts that made him feel guilty once his spunk had flowed.

 

If he had thoughts like that then he was ready to be hunted. His companion boy was still far too innocent. There are men who like their boys that way, young and innocent, not aware that they are being corrupted until it's too late, but they're far too easy a prey to give me satisfaction. I prefer a boy who has guilty thoughts because a boy who has thoughts like that, is a boy who is starting to wonder about his sexual nature. A boy who sometimes has unbidden thoughts creep into his mind when his cock is in his hand, thoughts that involve a different cock, perhaps even thoughts that involve him giving himself to a man, the cock he dreams of being an adult one not a little boy cock; a boy who wonders what it would be like to be in a man's arms, to be wanked, perhaps kissed, or even sucked by a grown man; that is the type of boy I like to hunt.

 

Boys like that are beginning to understand that they are prey and they don't want to be prey. They hate the idea of being prey, of being hunted and caught; but even while they're hating the idea they're excited by it as well.

 

The understanding that one is a sexual being brings with it a desire to be thought of as such, and, though the boy believes he will never allow himself to be caught, the idea of being hunted is wickedly exciting.

 

It was time to let this boy begin to realise that not only was he prey, but that there was a hunter stalking him.

 

He parted from the boy he was talking to, headed off in a different direction alone.

 

I started the engine, followed him out of the car park, driving slowly, and when I passed him I looked at him. He looked at my car, looked at me. He was meant to.

 

I was still sucking on my milkshake when the car pulled alongside me and, with my hood up, I didn't notice it keeping pace with me for a moment.  Then I heard the engine noise and, instinctively, turned to see the man staring at me.

He was old, like a dad or teacher old, and was just looking at me as he drove slowly by. Unsure what to do I stopped. Maybe I had knocked into his car in McDonalds, I think it was in the car park, or maybe he lived round here and thought I was up to no good. Boys my age in hoodies usually aren't.

Or maybe he was one of those men mum and teachers had warned me about. Nasty men who wanted to fiddle with my privates and put their cock up my bum. Those men are the worst and we had been warned about them as far back as I could remember. That they might be lurking near the playground when we were in primary school, near the park when we played footie on Saturday morning or online pretending to be boys or girls our age now we were in secondary school and had our own phones and tablets. But those men didn't drive around dragging boys into cars anymore did they? They tried to get you to do stuff on webcams or make them your Facebook friend, they didn't drive around letting you know they were following you.

I stood on the pavement wondering what to do. I could go back and tell the others but they would laugh at me and call me a gay boy. I could cut through the park and walk home the long way, but that would mean running the risk of the rough lads who hung out there nicking my iphone.
Or I could just keep walking. It was only 4pm and even my mum let me stay out later than this. I had my phone and was probably just being silly.
And I was thirteen now, no longer a little boy.
And I could look after myself whatever mum thought.
And I was excited.
The idea that a man might think I was fit made my cock go a bit stiff. The idea that he might want to do stuff with me made my tummy feel funny. As long as I could remember I had liked stories where boys get kidnapped or tied up, innocently at first, then wanking at the thought of being the boy secret agent tied up by the villain.
And if he was a pedo I would just tell him to fuck off. The thought made me smile. That would be a well funny story to tell my mates, and I could tell Joe the dirty old man looked like his dad which would make everyone laugh.

I sucked on my milkshake some more and walked on down the street.

 

The light wasn't good, it never is at four on a November afternoon, but it was good enough for me to have a brief inspection of my potential prey.

As inspections go it wasn't much of one - you aren't in with a lot of chance of detail when a boy is in his winter outdoor kit. This one was wearing jeans, and a hoody under a padded jacket so all that was evident was that he was a boy, probably thirteen rather than twelve, though it's always hard to be accurate about an age guess unless a boy is either naked or in his school uniform. He did seem to be nicely put together though, even his shape concealing clothing couldn't disguise the fact that he was slender and had long legs.

 

The hoody prevented anything like a decent look at his face, little light and hoody shadow didn't give me much to go on, but what I could see looked nice enough, and straggles of hair had escaped from the hoody, enough to make me hope that he had an unruly mop of young teen hair, the sort of hair that I like to run my fingers through while its owner is sucking my cock.

 

If I was lucky that hair would be fair, and if it was fair then his eyes would probably be blue. Fair haired, blue eyed boys are my favourite prey. Fair haired, blue eyed Year Nine boys to be precise and this item was no more than Year Eight, but he did have that 'I wank loads' look about him and that was enough to make him worth hunting.

 

I passed him slowly enough for him to get a look at me - it makes the hunt so much more fun when the prey is aware that he has a hunter. An important part of the lure is that the boy becomes aware of his sexual appeal and then starts to wonder why a man should be interested in him in 'that way.'

 

He knows all about 'stranger danger' and nasty men who want to get inside his underwear, his teachers and parents will have done a wonderful job of making him aware that the bit between his legs is something that men want to get at. That sort of thing would never happen to him of course; he does all the right things to ward off that unspeakable evil. He never accepts a 'Friend' offer on Facebook from someone he doesn't know, he doesn't join chat rooms and he'd never, ever, accept sweeties from strangers. 

 

But now he has a problem. He doesn't know yet that he's got a problem, but he has.

 

A man in a car has just driven slowly past him, very slowly. And looked at him. Not just a casual glance but a very definite look. He may, a bit later, realise that it was an appraising look; he may start to wonder why he was looked at like that, may begin to wonder if the man in the car fancied him.

 

That wasn't likely, of course it wasn't. But what if it was?

 

He could react to that in all sorts of ways, but he was a boy who wanked, and if he was the boy I thought he was, then he'd get a nice boner a little later as he started thinking about what it was like to be fancied.

 

I accelerated gently away from him, keeping him in sight in my rear view mirror for a while. He didn't change direction, find a different way to walk home; he just stood still for a few seconds and then carried on walking.

 

Stage One successfully accomplished. I'd marked him as prey and he would be having some suspicions that he was prey and some idea of who his hunter was. Now I'd leave him till next Saturday; leave him to think, hopefully think about what it may be like to have his cock wanked for him.

 

I'd be thinking something similar, wondering what his cock is like, hoping that it's complete and, in my imagination, counting his few pubes one by one as I fondled his foreskin.

 

 

"Later mate," Connor bumped my fist as we went our separate ways from McDonalds, both slurping on milkshakes as normal.

Mum had taken me and him into town so I could spend some of my birthday money and I had a new pair of trainers in a JD Sports bag, one of the Coll ones with a draw string you could wear like a back pack, on my back.

Lookin' round I crossed out of the car park and headed up the street. My hood was down and I was alert, scanning the car park for a sight of the car and the man from the previous week.

I hadn't told anyone about what had happen - what would be the point? A car had driven past me, it happened all the time. I knew I shouldn't even be thinking about it but the guy had definitely looked at me, though even then a man looking at a boy in a hoodie was no big deal. He was probably just wondering if I was going to key his car when he got out and went inside, or get up to no good outside his house.

But what if he wasn't? What if he was one of those bad men who wanted to do stuff with boys my age. The thought has been playing on my mind all week, half scaring me but also makin' me feel excited and horny. My cock got stiff at the idea of an adult man wanting to do stuff with me.  Not cos I was gay but cos it meant I was sexy and old enough to do stuff with. Mum, teachers and the parents of mates treated me like a kid, but this man might want to do adult things with me, and that thought, as much as I didn't want it to, made my cock stiff.

Guiltily I had wanked off quite a few times to the idea. Sometimes the man grabbed me and tied me up in the boot of his car, those wanks scared me afterwards, and sometimes he just touched me. Sometimes he was mean and cruel but others kind and gentle, kissing me and hugging me and wanking my cock to make me feel good.

I'd had 'girlfriends' at school, all the halfway normal boys had. A girl, or her mates, would tell you she fancied you and you would be an item for a day or so. She would text you then break up with you and all her mates would crowd round her consoling her as she moaned and cried. It was like a game, a stupid kid game, and I didn't really get it, or even understand the rules.

But this man wouldn't want today games. He would want to do the sort of thing only adults do with me and the idea of that both excited and scared me.

I kept turning my head looking for the car as I walked on.

 

 

That had worked very nicely. I'd parked the Octavia on its own, in a corner of the McDonalds car park where the light needed replacing, and gone into what they laughingly call a 'restaurant' for a coffee. What they call food isn't fit for human consumption but the coffee's okay.

 

If my guess was right he wouldn't be looking inside to see if I was around, he'd just give the car park a quick search on the way in, and another on the way out. He'd be with his mates so he wouldn't want to make it at all obvious he was looking for someone - that would lead to questions that he wouldn't want to answer.

 

If, and it was very unlikely, he'd told any of his friends about last Saturday, that would be obvious when the gang entered the car park - they'd all be looking for 'that car', and young teen boys are not very subtle when they do things like that.

 

He wasn't with the gang this time, just with one mate, the other taller boy who I'd already decided wasn't yet ready to be hunted, and although that boy had his hood up, my target had his down, revealing a delightful mop of untidy, darkish blonde hair.

 

I wasn't bothered that he might spot me because he wouldn't be looking for me, and that gave me the chance to observe in some detail. That mop of dirty-blonde hair topped a nicely cute face; not girly cute, very much all real boy cute, and yes, his eyes were definitely blue. The length of his jacket made it impossible to see if he was displaying anything like a bulge, but I wouldn't have expected there to be much of one anyway, not for some months yet.

 

They got their milk shakes and left, not even a glance in my direction.

 

I left what was left of my coffee and followed, knowing he wouldn't turn round, but I could see his head turning slightly as he scanned the car park.

 

"Later, Connor," I heard him say, and his mate's reply of "Yeh, see you, Dylan," as they parted company.

 

He stopped at the exit and had another look round, not a quick scan this time but a really good look, but not a good enough one to spot my Octavia in its dark corner.

 

Now I had a name for my prey, and prey he most certainly was.

 

He'd kept the brief encounter of last week a secret; he'd searched the car park looking for my car. Whether he'd guessed that he had been marked as prey or was just secretly hoping he had been, I wasn't sure, but what I was sure of was that he was not running for cover.

 

Should I hunt him down as a lion hunts down an antelope, a mad, twisting turning chase that both predator and prey know has only one end? Such hunts are exciting, both for the man who hunts and for the boy who will be caught. The boy satisfies the demands of society by trying to escape; he briefly convinces himself that he is not the sort of boy who will allow adult male hands to caress his young body, and, honour satisfied, he can surrender, the hopeless battle lost.

 

Or should I take a different route to the contents of his boxers? A route that does not allow the boy to believe he has fought a brave fight against the man who desires him, but, instead, finds the lure of the evil, wicked submission of his tender flesh growing daily within him until he has no choice but to fly into the Venus Fly Trap that is so enticingly open, just for him?

 

I let him start his walk home before I followed him in my car. He didn't walk straight ahead, heading determinedly for the security of home; he paused, turned and looked around several times before I let him see my car.

 

He was slurping on the straw of his milk shake when I pulled up alongside him. No signs of nervousness, why should there be? He'd been expecting me, waiting for me, hoping for me.

 

"Looks like you're enjoying sucking on that," I said, and while his eyes were still a little wide and his lips a little open at the surprise I pointed my phone and took a picture.

 

"See you next week," I told him, and drove off leaving him to wonder.

 

He'd wonder still more when he got home after school on Monday. I'd already tracked him to his modern three bedroomed lair, used the Electoral Role to find that only a Dr. Gwynedd Morris was  listed as being there; she, I assumed being the mother of the prey I now knew was Dylan.

 

Dylan would be surprised when he got home from school a couple of hours before his mother got home from work, to find an envelope on the floor addressed to 'Dylan Morris' and inside that envelope just one piece of paper, a piece of paper that showed a photograph of him with his mouth slightly open as though it was about to close and suck on the straw of a milkshake.

 

The caption I'd added of "TASTY" with a big smiley should give him something to think about.

 

The jaws of the fly trap had been opened.

 

The picture was hidden in my desk under a pile of school books.

I had looked at it every night that week wondering what to do. A man knew where I lived, a man who had followed me in his car and said something to me even though I didn't know him.

That scared me. A man was following me, knew stuff about me, and he had taken a picture.

I knew what I should do. I should tell mum, tell my teachers and tell the police. They would protect me and make sure I never saw him again, probably lock him up and throw away the key.

But what would people say about me? I worried that people would whisper I had somehow made this happen, wanted his attention somehow, and at school I would become that boy who fancied old men.  My mates would whisper and giggle and the girls would laugh at me. I would never escape it and lose all my mates

And had he done anything wrong? He had just said something about my milkshake and while I thought he might have meant it in a dirty way I wasn't sure. Maybe he didn't mean anything by the picture, but if that was true why did he know where I lived?

"You coming?" Connor's voice dragged me out of my thoughts and I shook my head.

"Nah but Fifa later, yeah," we laughed and the group broke up going our separate ways. I hung around the car park until they were gone, leaning in to the gloom to see if I could see him. The picture was in my pocket, I would give it to him and tell him to stay away. He would be scared by that and not want to be called a pedo. He would leave me alone and no one at school would have to know.

I kept looking, the cold making its way through my trackies until I started to walk home. He wasn't coming; probably just some perv who took pictures of boys to scare them, and I wouldn't see him again.

The thought left me a bit disappointed. Being pursued by a man was scary, but a little bit of me was excited. He fancied me, thought I was sexy, and the idea of a man wanking himself to a photo of me left me feeling funny and, embarrassingly, a bit stiff.

 

A successful predator does not carelessly expose himself to those who prey on him and there was a chance that the boy had been a good little boy and shown the picture to mother, teacher or some other undesirable. I didn't think he would have done that, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. If he had done that then McDonald's car park would be crawling with predator hunters, and there was no need for me to risk that.

 

I was fairly sure that he'd kept the picture to himself, secretly looked at it with his thirteen year old cock stiff in his hands. It might, I let my imagination wander, even have spunk stains on it.

I hoped it did!

 

In my mind I pictured him hanging around the car park after his mates had gone, walking slowly home, disappointed that I hadn't shown. If he was the boy I thought he was that sense of disappointment would grow with every step home he took. He'd have dared to let himself think that there was a man who thought he was sexy, a man who fancied him, a man who would hold and cuddle him. Okay, he was probably a man who wanted to get at his bits, but so what? He didn't have a man in his life at home and a man, even a man who fancied his bits, would be good to have in his life. He hadn't realised before just how much he missed having an adult male around, someone he could relate to. And if that was a man who wanted to do things, wicked, evil things ...... well, he had those sort of thoughts as well, and a man who knew about stuff like that would be someone he could talk about them with. Probably better than having a father around .... he'd never be able to talk about that stuff with a dad.

 

By the time he turned into his street he, hopefully, would be so full of disappointment, a feeling of having somehow lost out, and lost out through his own fault somehow or other, that he'd be close to tears.

 

I saw him turn the corner into his street, I saw him stop when he saw my car parked no more than ten paces away..

 

 

 

I waited and waited but the man did not appear.

It had probably been a trick, a weirdo winding me up. That's what I thought as I walked home. I was relieved but also annoyed, someone has been having a joke at my expense and I didn't like the idea of someone laughing at me.

I got more and more annoyed as I walked. I had thought the man fancied me, found me sexy, and while the idea had scared me it had also been exciting. Now it turned out that it had all been a wind up and he thought I was a stupid kid as well.

Well fuck him. I tried to think of something else but kept thinking about what he said to me. Something about enjoying sucking my milkshake. I thought he might have meant it in a dirty way, I had seen videos online of women sucking men's willys and thought he meant that.

But now it didn't matter. I would throw the picture away and not think about it anymore.

I rubbed my nose as I turned the corner into my road and stopped dead. The car was there, I knew it was the same one, and while I couldn't see the driver I knew he must be inside. Inside waiting for me.

What should I do? I could run to my neighbour's house and bang on the door. They would protect me while mum was out and call the police.

I didn't.

I could turn around and run away until I found an adult. They would help me and call the police on their mobile.

I didn't.

I stood there for a moment too scared to move. I knew I should do those things but also that I had another option. I could walk up to the car and look inside.

And that's exactly what I did.

 

 

I saw him stop as he saw my car, stop, and wonder. Then he made his decision and started walking again. I watched him through my door mirror as he approached my car and stopped again when he reached it. I sent the window down, looked at him and smiled;

"Told you I'd see you again today."

 

I looked inside and saw him. He didn't look like a perv, he looked normal and almost like a mate's dad, but I knew not all dirty old men were fat and ugly.

"Why the fuck are you following me?" I tried to sound hard.

 

"Not following you, Dylan," I grinned, "I got here first."

 

I tried not to laugh. I didn't expect him to make jokes. It was so surreal. Dirty old men were supposed to try to tempt you into their cars with sweets or promises of puppies. Not chat to you.

"You know what I mean. How do you know where I live?"

 

"Yeah, I know what you mean, And I do confess to having followed you before, last Wednesday actually, to check out where you live. I suppose that was a bit wicked of me, wasn't it."

 

"Followed me from school?" I was shocked that he knew where I went to school. That meant he knew what time I left, what bus I got and that mum didn't get home for a few hours after me. If he knew all that he could have grabbed me and no-one would have known.

But he hadn't, instead he was just here chatting.

"How do you know my name? What do you want?" I was scared but excited, a bit of me enjoying talking to an adult in an aggressive voice knowing that he couldn't do anything. "You're a fucking pedo aren't you?" I smirked, enjoying being able to swear at him knowing that he couldn't punish me or give me detention.

 

"Your name's easy .... your mate Connor's got a loud voice," I grinned at him. "What do I want? Perhaps just the pleasure of chatting to a cute boy who looked tasty sucking on the straw of his milkshake. And as for being a fuckin' pedo, well, that depends on how correctly you're using those words." Another grin. He wasn't running away and I was sure he'd want to know what I meant by that last bit.

 

I took a long suck on my milkshake and tossed the empty cup on the pavement near his car trying to provoke him. He didn't seem to be angry that I had spoken to him rudely or called him a swear word, in fact he seemed amused.

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand the last bit and was curious.

 

He was hooked, I could see he was hooked. Probably the first conversation he'd had with an adult other than his mother - a real conversation, one where he could say what he wanted to say, not be pretend polite. I saw him toss his empty milkshake container on the pavement by my car and guessed he was trying to provoke me, provoke me into some sort of 'normal adult behaviour', but he'd no chance there. Instead of yelling at him for littering the street I answered him.

"I assume that you're using the word 'fucking' as an adjective and not as a noun to mean the insertion of cock into cunt," the language I knew would excite him, "And as for 'pedo', well, correctly used the word 'paedophile' is Greek and means 'lover of boys.' You're actually too old to class as a boy by the standards of ancient Greece, so the correct term would be 'ephebophile' meaning lover of older boys."

I gave him a sweet smile to finish with, then lit a cigarette.

"I suppose it would be wicked and evil of me to offer you one?" I said.

 

I could feel my eyes go wide and my mouth open as he spoke. I had understood enough of what he had said to know it meant he liked boys my age and that he thought I was sexy. I had expected an angry denial, maybe him telling me to fuck off and go away, not a calm answer saying yes, I do find you attractive. This wasn't how dirty old men talked to boys my age, they tried to be our mates, offered us presents and only then did nasty stuff. They didn't just admit what they were, did they?

I watched him as he lit up a cigarette. I had tried to smoke before and hadn't really liked it, but suddenly I wanted to call his bluff. "Yeah sure," I shrugged, "I've smoked loads." I wanted him to see I wasn't scared by him, that he couldn't intimidate me.

 

"Good lad," I smiled at him, "Not just a pretty face, then." I held out the packet towards him.

"Is it safe for you to be smoking in the street close to your house?" I asked him.

 

Nervously I moved closer and took a cigarette from the packet. I half expected him to try and grab me but he didn't move, letting me pull one out and step away. I looked around nervously realising he was right, I shouldn't be seen smoking near home but I was too smart not to see the trap.

"I suppose I should get in your car right?" I smirked and put my head on one side giving him a defiant look, letting him know I had seen through his plan.

 

"You could," I nodded, "And you wouldn't expect me to object to you doing that, would you. But, on the other hand, that might not be too safe for you either."

 

I looked at him curiously, he wasn't like any dirty old man I'd been told about. Part of me wanted to get in the car, but I knew that was crazy. Once inside he would drive off with me.

But could he really do anything? We were on my suburban home street, you couldn't speed off even if you wanted to with all the parked cars and I had my phone. One wrong move from him and I could call the police.

"Don't fucking touch me right?" I tried to sound tough again.

 

"Spoil sport," I grinned at him openly, "But I was actually thinking that if you might be seen smoking in the street right by your house and that wouldn't be good for you, it'd be just as easy for some nosey neighbour to see you getting into a car outside your house, and that might not be good for you either. I was thinking that, if you wanted to smoke that, and perhaps chat a bit more, it might not be a bad idea if you turned round and went back round the corner for a street or two where you're not so well known. You walk, I'll go the other way round and find you."

 

I was surprised by that. I had expected him to jump at the chance to get me in his car and could see the sense in what he suggested. I was excited by talking to him, a bit disgusted as well but mostly excited, and wanted to talk more - if only to keep the feeling of danger a little longer.

"Ok," I turned around and walked off the way he said, my heart thumping in my chest. Would I really get in his car? I knew I shouldn't but wanted to.

 

The boy turned right at the end of his street, and if I hadn't scoped out the area thoroughly a few days ago I might have had a problem finding him; these modern, suburban housing developments can be an absolute maze if you don't know them.

 

One thing they have in common is a central spine road, and the street the boy had turned into led to that, so a couple of left turns and I'd be on that road and heading towards him. Easy enough when I'd spotted him to turn round and follow him.

 

Coming up for half four on a Saturday late afternoon so there was some traffic on the spine road, not much, just a few cars in both directions, and only one figure walking towards me, and that was a boy. He saw me coming and gave a nod to show that he'd seen me and kept on walking, just a boy going somewhere, not a boy looking for a particular car.

 

'Nice one, Dylan,' I smiled to myself - the kid had got himself nicely into the part; he was going to a secret meeting and not drawing any attention to himself.

 

I turned the car and pulled up by the kerb, letting the boy go where he planned to go and watched him cross the road and turn left into what I knew was Acacia Avenue, a road leading back into the maze. If he took the next right and then went left he'd be in a cul-de-sac, a cul-de-sac with expensive bungalows on the left hand side, their rear gardens given privacy by an eight foot high wooden fence. On the other side was a bit of woodland, one of the bits of land the Council had designated as 'Community Space' and used by day by dog walkers and by night by local teenagers for other purposes.

 

Certainly a perfect place for a thirteen year old boy to smoke an illicit cigarette, and an ideal place if that boy had thoughts of things other than just having a smoke. His bravado in saying, "Don't fucking touch me, right!" was a pretty good give away that he had the possibility of being touched at the front of his mind - perhaps he was hoping that getting touched would happen, or at least that a move in that direction would be made, and if it was going to be made, then he'd chosen the perfect place for it.

 

I could imagine the excitement he was feeling as he turned into the cul-de-sac, excited and scared, his thirteen year old mind filled with the thrill of danger.

 

I turned right out of my road. My heart was pounding in my chest, was I really about to do this?

We had lived in the same house for about eight years so I knew all the roads of our housing estate like the back of my hand. I knew the places it was safe to go after dark, the quickest ways to get to school and the places where you wouldn't be seen.

I was walking to one of those places now, the woods where we would hang out as little kids and where, at night, older kids would go to do more dangerous stuff. Right now I knew it would be quiet, too late for the little kids and too early for the older ones, so perfect for what I was about to do.

Not that I was sure exactly what I was planning to do. I saw the car pass me and nodded to the man, trying to look cool. I would take another cigarette off him, maybe insult him a bit, then leave. The danger of it all was intoxicating and I felt like a boy-spy in a YA book, going undercover to trap the dirty old man.

But was I trying to trap him? If I wanted to get him into trouble I could have just reported him to the police. Instead I was going to a secluded place to take a cigarette off him. Maybe he would just want me to smoke it, maybe he would want to touch me. Would I let him?

I was terrified of the touching, but my cock was a little stiff at the thought, the danger and wrongness of it all exciting me incredibly. I turned the final corner, walking down the dead-end road behind the posh houses tall fence and waited, looking around nervously.

 

He was waiting where I thought he would be, his back against the fence as though there was some protection to be got from it. He was on the wrong side of the road for safety - he should have been the other side with the woods behind him, woods he could run into if danger threatened, run into and hide.

 

But it was danger that had brought him here, the thrilling feeling that he was doing something he really shouldn't, something that could result in him doing things he didn't want to do, but even while he didn't want to do them, the thought of doing them excited him.

 

I wondered if it excited him enough to make him hard.

 

I could tell he was scared; he was trying so hard to look cool, not the least bothered; look as though this was something he did all the time. He still had the unlit cigarette he'd taken in his hand, but it was probably useless now, crushed or broken by his nervous fingers.

 

I pulled up alongside him, lowered the window;

 

"You need a light for that or do you need a new one?"

 

 

I looked down and realised that I had broken the cigarette. Being so nervous I hadn't even noticed snapping it and now it had all but fallen apart in my hand.

"Yeah ok," I shrugged, trying act as if everything was normal. I stepped a bit closer to the car, not close enough to be grabbed from the window but close enough to talk.

"So what do you want?" I put my foot on the tyre of his car trying to provoke him again, my leg shaking a bit in my trackies as I did so.

 

" Silly question," I grinned at him, "What do you imagine a, what was it you called me, 'a fucking pedo,' would want with a tasty boy like you?"

I held out the cigarette packet to him, let him take one, his fingers trembling slightly, then offered my lighter.

 

"You'll want to light it, I expect," I smiled.

 

 

I laughed and nervously lit the cigarette. I had only smoked once before and it took me a few goes to get the lighter to work and I took a small drag on it before trying to blow the smoke in the car window.

Unfortunately I coughed a bit as I did so but most still went in the car and I chucked the lighter back in as well, trying to provoke its owner knowing he couldn't do anything to me.

"Touch me up probably," I smirked, my cock a bit hard. I was intoxicated by the feeling of danger at doing something so illicit, knowing that I should be running away from him.

The strange thing was though, he didn't look dangerous. In fact he looked a bit cool, like the sort of guy who would be a good dad. My own long gone dad was dick, in fact I had talked to this guy more than him in the last six years, and I was curious about talking now to an older man like this.

 

I took another suck on the cigarette and coughed again. I wasn't actually enjoying smoking it, but didn't want to stop in case he thought I wasn't hard.  

 

 

It was obvious that despite his boasts, Dylan and cigarettes were not close friends; he held it wrong, he only took little puffs and he tried so hard not to cough and splutter. I wasn't going to embarrass him by noticing though, I wanted him to feel like a real boy, as in control of things as he thought, or hoped, he was.

 

I ignored the lighter when he tossed it back through the window, it landed on the passenger seat anyway so I wouldn't have to go searching the car floor for it. He was trying to provoke me, show me how hard he was, but he'd have to do a lot better than that.

 

And I was interested in a different sort of hardness altogether!

 

"I suppose that might depend on there being anything worth touching up," I said, blowing my smoke out of the window but away from him. Nothing gets at a boy as much as suggesting his cock isn't worth bothering with, he will automatically defend the size of his pride and joy; self-esteem demands it.

 

 

"I've got plenty," I dropped he cigarette on the street and stepped on it, the way I had seen people in the street do, to put it out.

"Got one of the biggest cocks in my class," I added, not really knowing why. We showers in Somerset cubicles so I hadn't really seen many boys naked, only in the grotty showers after Sunday footie, though we rarely used those.

I looked at the man again, wondering if he was going to make a grab for me. I was prepared to run, to twist and turn and scream and shout, but he seemed happy to sit and talk like all this was normal.

"So you fancy all boys?" I was curious how it worked, did he see a boy and think he were fit, or did he like all lads my age?

 

 

 

"Have you, now?" I smiled at him, not a sarcastic, put down smile, but one of complicity, accepting his claim and making it look as though I was pleased he could make it.

 

"Almost a foot long?" I teased, again with a grin that told him it was a tease. "I hope you give it plenty of exercise, help it keep growing."

 

I said that bit not looking at him, again I didn't want to embarrass him but I did want to get it firmly in his mind that we were talking about his cock and that his cock might be of interest to me.

 

"And no, not all boys your age. In fact, not normally boys of your age at all. Your mate, Connor, for example; he's definitely going to be something of interest in about a year, but now he's just another thirteen year old kid with some growing up to do. You, on the other hand ........"  I left the comment unfinished deliberately to see how he'd react.

 

 

 

I laughed when he mentioned my cock being a foot long, shuffling my feet and looking at the floor as I gave a slightly high-pitched giggle.  

"Nah, normal y'know," I mumbled, finding the process of grinding the cigarette into the ground suddenly compelling. I had no idea if my cock was big or not, all I could tell was that it seemed in proportion to the rest of my body and I liked playing with it. I knew as boys got older they got hair on their cocks and under their arm pits and I had recently found a few hairs around the base, blonde and almost invisible but that was it. My arms and legs had some downy fluff on them but you couldn't really call it hair, it was so blonde you could only see it up close or by holding your arm up to the light.

The mention of Connor made me look up curiously. Loads of girls at school fancied him, he was probably the most fancied boy in our year, and while a few had told me I was fit I was no way as popular as him.

"You don't fancy Connor?" I was genuinely surprised, but too shy to follow up and ask why he wants me instead. Part of me was wary of him, I knew men like him flattered boys and made them think they were your mate, but the idea of an adult thinking I was fitter than Connor did excite me.

 

"Don't get me wrong," I said, keeping my tone conversational, as though discussing with a thirteen year old boy the sexual desirability of his best mate was a normal, everyday thing, "Your mate's got a nice body, he may even have a half-decent cock, and if I found him in my bed I certainly wouldn't kick him straight out, but I don't actually fancy him. When he's in Year Nine it could be a very different matter, he'll have grown up enough then to be quite a tasty item I should think, but at the moment he hasn't got anything like the same appeal as you."

That, I thought, should get his mind working, and a little bit of flattery does no harm at all when the target is the contents of a boy's boxers.

 

My cock twitched a bit as he spoke. I hadn't totally understood what he said but I got that he didn't fancy Connor but he did fancy me. That never happened at school, girls would usually only chat to me to get to him, and I was secretly pleased to be told I was the fitter one for once. Connor was my best mate but we were competitive and each liked to be the best, whether it was footie or PlayStation, and I was happy that I had won this particular race.

Nervously I stepped a bit closer to the car. He couldn't really grab me as he was sitting in the driver seat and I was confident I could scream and kick enough to get him caught if he tried anything

"Whys that?" I asked, curious to know why he preferred me. Connor was a little taller and I was surprised that if this bloke liked year nine boys he wanted me instead. I was still a bit scared but confident this man couldn't do anything to me, and the feeling of power, and his talk of fancying me, had me excited.

 

"You're a well fit lad, obviously. If you weren't I wouldn't be chatting to you - I don't go for fat, ugly ones," I gave him a grin to underline that he was neither fat nor ugly but was tasty, very tasty. "But there's more to it than that. Do you think Connor would be chatting to me like this if I'd gone after him instead of you? I very much doubt it. Do you think Connor would have the balls to risk doing something as dangerous as this? I don't. Do you think that Connor, knowing that some guy fancied him, would have wanked about it? You know I fancy you, you know that could be dangerous for you, that you could end up doing things you don't think you want to do, but you're still here chatting to me. That makes you something a bit special and I like boys who're a bit special. Want another fag or would you rather do a runner for home?"

 

My cock twitched again as he described me as 'well fit' and I returned his grin with a smile. It was exciting to be told this stuff by an adult, even if that adult was a man.

Nervously I edged a little closer to the car. I was pleased that he thought I was braver than Connor, and though I knew he would say stuff to try and get me to like him, I secretly thought he was right about none of my mates having the balls to do this.  They might sometimes act tough, but if an adult told them off they would almost be in tears, and they always did what their parents wanted and were hardly ever late home for tea. Deep down I knew I was the same, but the idea that I was brave enough, and smart enough not to get tricked by an older man who fancied me was thrilling.

I felt my face blush a bit when he mentioned me wanking to the picture though. How has he known about that?  Maybe he had seen boys like me before and knew what we did, and that idea made me curious.

At his offer of another cigarette I hesitated. I wanted to keep the thrill of what I was doing going, to play this dangerous game more, but didn't really want to smoke another fag. My mum didn't smoke and if she smelt cigarette smoke on me there would be hell to pay. One was fine but any more was risking it, so I stood there fidgeting, unsure what to do.

 

I could see he was unsure; he'd come to do something he knew was risky, and it was because it was risky was why he had come. He didn't want the thrill of risk to end yet, but he obviously didn't want another cigarette either. He'd struggled enough with the first one and didn't want to go through the pretence of enjoying another.

 

He did want more risk, though, more thrills, He edged just that bit closer to my car - one more step and he'd be able to lean against it, allow the conversation to get more intimate. If I'd got things right he wanted things to get more intimate, to get to the point where his cock was involved. Not openly involved, not felt, wanked and sucked, but the thoughts of those things happening to him be much closer to the surface, possibly even hinted at or even, if he let himself dare, to be actually talked about.

 

The fly trap was open, he knew it was there, knew he found it pulling him in closer, but he was still out of its reach. Make a grab for him now and lose him for good, leave it just there, its lure getting slowly stronger and, in the end, he'd fly in of his own accord.

 

"Fag's not compulsory," I smiled, "You can just stay and chat a bit more if you want. I'm sure you got loads of things you want to know."

 

I took a step forward and lent on the side of his car. It was movement of about a foot but it felt like a mile. My heart was pounding in my chest; I was right up close to a pedo's car and knew that was one of the most dangerous places for a boy my age to be.

I smirked at him, trying to look confident. I was sure that if he made a grab for me I could jump back, sprint off and be clear of him before he was even our of the door. I was a speedy winger for our Saturday morning footie team and could outrun most boys, let alone an old man.

The danger was thrilling though, making my cock stiff in my grey Nike  trackies, and I was even more excited by being so close to its source. I imagined myself as the gazelle being chased by a lion, twisting and turning and jumping to evade the predator before leaving him trailing in my wake.

"So how long have you been following me?" I was curious about him, had he just seen me when he drove past me that time or was he always out looking for boys.

 

I hid the smile that wanted to creep onto my face when he summoned up the courage to take another step and lean on my car, his head lowered so he could see in through the open window.

He looked utterly delicious, a shade too young but that now added to his appeal - he was trying so hard to be a big, tough boy; dealing with a guy who openly admitted to fancying him was no big deal for him.

 

He was tempting me, trying to get me to make a move on him, but he wasn't at all clear in his mind if he was going to run or submit if that move was made. He might believe he would run, but his move so close to danger hinted that, deep down, something in him wanted to be caught. I couldn't see any evidence in his trackies, but I'd be willing to place a sizeable bet that he was hard now.

 

"Since before I saw you three weeks ago in McDonalds' car park," I told him. "There was just something about you that said you were a boy worth following. An instinct, I suppose. When you've got a thing for boys, spotting the good ones is instinctive. I get it wrong sometimes, but not often. Don't think I got it wrong with you, did I?"

 

I peered in the car. I couldn't see rope or tape or anything else a perv might use on a boy he had grabbed but that didn't mean he didn't have them waiting. The danger of that thought got my cock even harder and made my heart beat faster so I tried to look relaxed.

He thought I was a boy worth following. What did that mean? He had already said he thought I was well fit, but did he mean that I was also a boy who wanted this stuff to happen. After all, I hadn't run off or told my mum that a strange man was following me and taking pictures. Maybe I did want some things to happen.

I tried to look nonchalant and peered around to make sure we aren't being watched. No-one was about, and despite the darkening sky it was still early.

"I am well fit" I laughed as I said it, enjoying the game of flirting and teasing this adult. "So guess you did pick right out of our group!"

 

"I'm sure I did pick right," I agreed, "But that pick wasn't just from your little group. There's a lot of other boys around to pick from." I smiled at him, letting him understand that he was special.

"And you know this isn't just about you being fit and tasty, though you are very fit and definitely well tasty. Why are you here at all? Why are you talking to me? And why," I took a risk, "Are you hard?"

 

I blushed as he mentioned me being hard and stuck my hands on the pockets of my jacket to pull it down and cover anything. I don't know how he had spotted my hardness but my cock was tenting my trackies a bit.

"Taking the piss out of you," I answers his question on why I was talking to him, shrugging a bit and pretending I didn't care if he stayed or went. I was enjoying talking to a grown man like this, provoking them and talking about adult stuff.

 

"Do that as much as you want, "I shrugged, "But remember that you can't put out a fire by pissing on it, and you're in danger of starting a fire that you won't be able to control. What you should do now is go home and have a very careful think about things. I'll be here at four on Monday afternoon, so if you want to have another chat then you know where I'll be. I think you're a really nice lad as well as a really tasty one, but what happens next I'm leaving up to you."

 

That, I thought was fair warning; let the boy understand that his cock was in danger and let him decide if he was up for risking that.

 

I stood there shocked by what he had said. I thought I might have pushed him too far, that he had got sick of my lip and decided he couldn't be bothered to be insulted anymore.

I pretended that I didn't care, that I had been just teasing a perv and that it was funny to have pushed him to breaking point. But in truth I was a bit upset as he drove off, I felt as if somehow I had lost the game of dare I had been playing with myself.

And I did think about what he had said. I thought about it all Saturday night at home with mum, all Sunday during lunch at my nan's and all Monday while I was at school. Part of me knew I shouldn't, in fact that I should go further and tell mum or the police, but the larger part wanted to sample the danger of talking to him once more.

That feeling of doing something so wrong, something that I had been told all my life to be afraid of, was intoxicating and I wanted more. So at four on Monday I was standing in the same place, wearing the same padded north face jacket, with it covering the uniform I had worn straight from school.

 

I imagined how he was feeling as I drove off and left him. The game had started to get thrillingly exciting for him; his barely teenage mind probably visualising himself as some sort of comic book Boy Hero bravely taking on the Unmasked Perv and, naturally, defeating him. And somewhere else in his just adolescent mind was the ever-rising spectre of Cock, and a bit of him wanted to explore the dark places where Cock lurked, because they were dark, forbidden places, and dark, forbidden places have an irresistible attraction for only-just-teenage boys.

 

He'd be feeling disappointed, almost devastated that the Unmasked Perv had eluded him so easily, that the spectre of Cock had slipped back into the dark shadows. Was it something he'd done wrong? Had the Unmasked Perv decided his comic book Boy Hero wasn't worth bothering with? That he simply wasn't tasty enough to trap a perv?

 

I hadn't needed to send him away, tell him to do some thinking. I could have carried on with game of hunt then and there; might, I suspected probably would, have got inside his trackies, but the kid intrigued me and the more I saw of him the more I was thinking that he was worth more than a casual bit of cock fun. I wanted his cock, of course I did; that's the reason for hunting boys isn't it, to get at their cocks.

 

Dylan, though, held promise of more than just a bit of thirteen year old cock; he held promise of fourteen year old cock as well, perhaps even fifteen year old cock. Dylan was perfect material for turning into a daddy's boy, flesh that could be enjoyed for some time, possibly even up to the age when he became legal.

 

That was an enticing prospect, and that is the future I now had in mind for him.

 

And there he was, come from school to encounter the Unmasked Perv once again, Boy Hero come to meet his fate.

 

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