Date: Sun, 7 Jan 2024 22:16:50 +0000 (UTC)
From: Piliki Boner <pilikiboner@yahoo.com>
Subject: Johan 1

Johan 1

It's a windless, prickly hot day in Johannesburg, as I walk the couple of
blocks from the municipal swimming pool back to the ugly yellow-brick block
of flats where I've been living for a couple of weeks now.  It's an
absolute dump, with not so much of a blade of grass in its tarmac yard,
making the summer heat practically unbearable there.  So I have been
spending a lot of my time at the public pool.  I just finished a private
military (used to be known as `mercenary') tour overseas and now have to
sit out a three-month compulsory R&R before I can go back.  It's difficult
to find a decent furnished flat for such a short period in this city, so I
always seem to end up in a dump like this one in the dodgiest areas of
town.  On the other hand, the dodgy areas are where I usually get my
unconventional itches scratched at reasonable prices, so it's really swings
and roundabouts, I suppose.

By the time I reach the flats, however, the cooling effects of the pool
have already worn off, despite that I am wearing only a pair of swim
shorts, with beach slops on my feet and a towel around my neck.  I nearly
turn around to go back to the pool but decide I need to go up and have a
beer first.

As I go up the stairs to my flat on the second floor, I hear a lot of
yelling coming from somewhere above me. The yelling gets louder as I go up
and, as I turn onto the walkway to enter my flat right next to the
stairwell, it's obvious that it's coming from a flat several doors down.
There are at least three voices in hot dispute over something; an
indignant-sounding boy, and two shrilly-accusing female voices.  I haven't
actually met these people, but I've often heard their voices in angry mode
- they seem to argue a lot.  As I fish my key out, their door is yanked
open, a young boy of about 13 years seems to be forcibly expelled, and the
door is slammed shut behind him.

He looks at me, red-faced, angry and embarrassed.  I look back at him a
moment and then walk down towards him.

`You okay, kid?' I ask.

`I'm okay, uncle', he shrugs and makes a dismissive gesture at the door
with one hand, evidently not knowing what else to say.

I give him a sympathetic smile:

`Women, hey! What can you say?'

He gives me a half-smile, seeming relieved at not being pressed for an
explanation.

I head back to my flat, open the door and go in, leaving the door open and
kicking the slops off my feet.  I fish a beer out the fridge and pop open
the tab.  I pad through the open-plan space to the lounge area and switch
on the TV.  I flick through the channels to see what's worth watching:
nothing on the public channels, as usual.  Nothing on Netflix takes my
fancy.  I flick to the channel that has my laptop connected, and I check
through the porn that's been downloading off a contact's drive all morning:
all Russian boy porn featuring 12 to 13 year-olds with impossibly big dicks
for their age.  I stand there watching for a moment, and then I remember
the front door is still open.  What if the kid walks in?  So I switch off
the TV and go open the door to the balcony to get the air moving through
the flat.  I stand on the balcony a moment, but there's nothing to see
except the tarmac car-park below and a couple of barefoot, shirtless boys
punting a ball around listlessly in the heat.  I watch them for a moment,
and then head back to the kitchen area to dump my empty can.  I step out
the front door and I see the boy standing exactly where I left him, pushing
back with his bubble-butt against the parapet wall of the walkway, his
thumbs hooked in his pockets (his shorts are so tight his big hands could
never go into them) and staring down at his feet.

I study him for a moment - deeply tanned, muscular, quite exceptionally
good-looking boy with straw-blonde hair, shaved back and sides and crew-cut
on top.  His eyes are a serious grey-blue.  A threadbare muscle vest,
sun-bleached to a washed out grey colour, is stretched tightly over his
brawny upper body.  It's way too small for him and leaves a narrow strip of
smooth, tanned belly exposed above the elastic waistband of his faded, once
navy-blue, rugby shorts.  As I've already mentioned, the shorts are
bum-hugging tight, like he grew out of them a year ago, making a prominent
presentation of his boy-bulge that is remarkably large for a boy his age.
It's like he's naked with his clothes spray-painted on him.  Beefy thighs
bulge out the bottom of his shorts, and his long smooth legs stretch down
to bulging calves and high-arched bare feet with straight, even-spaced
toes.  His well-shaped, hard brown feet look like they've not felt the
inside of a pair of shoes since he was born.  I imagine him for a moment in
one of those Russian movies - what a hit he would be!  I feel a familiar
pleasant tingle in my groin as I picture it.

I call out to him:

`Hey, kid, what's your name?'

He looks up quickly.

`I'm Johan, uncle.'

`Cool, I'm Stef', I reply, `Why don't you come in and have a cold drink
while you wait for them to let you back in!' I grin.

His eyes search mine just a moment, then:

`Gosh, thanks, uncle!' he says, and pads over the concrete floor towards
me.

We go inside, I open the fridge for him and he takes out a can of Coke.  I
take out another beer.

We stand in the kitchen a while, leaning back against a counter.  His eyes
flicker over my body as he sucks at his can.

`Does uncle work out?' he asks in that third-person form of address that
Afrikaners use as a mark of respect when speaking to their elders.

I'm not yet thirty, so I always feel awkward about being addressed in this
way.

`Hey, Johan, don't speak to me like you're speaking about someone else', I
say with a grin, `I'm right here in the room with you - call me Stef and
speak to me like you would speak to your mates!'

Johan grins sheepishly.

`Okay, uncle - I mean Stef!'

`And yes, I do work out - I'm a soldier, so I gotta keep fit.  But I
haven't found a gym in this neighbourhood yet.'

His face lights up.

`There's one at the community centre where I go - you can come with me if
you want!'

`Thanks Johan, I'll come check it out. When are you going again?'

`I go every evening after supper an' I stay there `til late.'

I nod as I look over his brawny young body.

`Yes, I can see you do a lotta work in the gym, Johan, it really shows,
well done!'

`Ja, well there's nothing else to do in this shithole, except ...'

`Except what?'

His cheeks redden under their golden-brown tan.

`Nothing ... my mom says I'm always talking past my mouth!' he smiles
embarrassedly, directly translating the Afrikaans expression for talking
out of turn.

`Okay', I say, letting him off the hook, hoping he didn't mean doing drugs
or petty crime, a big problem with bored youngsters in areas like this, but
shrugging it off in my mind.  None of my business really.

He puts his coke can down on the counter and swiftly peels off his muscle
vest, holding it in one hand and facing me with arms slightly spread apart,
flexing his muscles and showing off his upper body to me.

`So, do you really think my body looks good, Stef?'

`Are you kidding?  You've got a stunning body, Johan!  Your workouts are
obviously doing great things for you.  You have every right to be proud of
your body.'

Truth is, I can't take my eyes off him, and I feel the familiar, pleasant
tingling in my own boy parts again, as they start perking up and taking
notice of this perfect specimen of Afrikaner boyhood in my kitchen.

Johan preens with obvious pleasure.

`Thanks Stef, I really wanna enter the junior bodybuilding competition at
the community centre, but I'm a bit shy, and' my mom says it's a waste of
time an' money!'

`Well, I think, it's your body and if you want to enter, you should enter!
I reckon you'll probably do pretty well.'

Johan nods.  He drops his vest on the countertop, picks up his coke and
looks through to the lounge area.

`You got a really `kiff' [cool or great] TV, Stef!  You got channel?'

`No, I'm only here a few months, so I didn't bother - I just watch Netflix,
and I got lotsa movies on my drive.'

`That's `kiff'!  We don't got TV at home.'

`Really?  Well, maybe you can come watch by me sometimes, if your parents
will let you.'

Johan snorts dismissively.

`Oh, it's just my mom and her pimp boyfriend, Hennie.  I don't got a dad.
An' they don't give a fuck about me!' he says, heatedly, `Except when ... `

`Ja ...?'

`Oh, nothing ...' he says, forcing a half smile, `Talking past my mouth
again ...'

I look at him and nod.  On impulse, I reach out a hand and press my palm
against his cheek in a sympathetic gesture.  Even as I reach out, I regret
doing it, thinking he will likely recoil from this unsolicited touch of a
total stranger, but he surprises me by pushing his cheek gently against my
palm.  I put my drink down and pull him against me for a comforting hug.
He comes readily and returns the hug.  We stand like that for a moment
without saying anything, and then we hear a girl's voicing calling from
down the walkway:

`Johan, where are you?'

Johan rolls his eyes.

`Maryna!' he says quietly, `Hennie's slutty kid!  I don't want her to see
me!'

`Don't worry, she's at least 10 meters away, and she can't see through the
one-way glass anyway!' I smile, but he quickly ducks out the kitchen and
slips through the lounge area into the short passage leading to the two
bedrooms.

A few moments later a scantily clad brown-haired girl, about 16 years old,
wanders past the kitchen window, peering over the walkway wall into the
parking lot below.  She turns and looks first one way and then the other,
calling Johan's name several times.  The girl is attractive, full-bodied
and well-made.  Barefoot, like Johan, she has on just a skimpy pair of
shorts and what looks like a bandanna wrapped around her pert boobs. After
a while she goes back to their flat, calling out loudly, I presume to
Johan's mom:

`He's not here - prob'ly went to the gym!'

But it's a man's voice that answers.

`That little bastard's gonna taste the rottang [cane] when he gets back -
He's making me lose money now!'

Their front door slams shut, and I hear no more of the intriguing
conversation.

I hear Johan's bare feet on the tiles behind me and I turn toward him.

`Well, she's gone, and they think you went to the gym', I smile, `So maybe
you can show me where it is, and we can work out a bit?'

`Cool!' he replies.

I look at my watch - it's mid-afternoon.

`Is there somewhere near the gym where we can eat later, or do you need to
go home for supper?'

`Sure, there's a Mac D's in the centre.  And no way I'm going home tonight
anyway!'

`You heard what the man said about giving you the cane?'

`I heard that, but he's all piss an' wind - I'm not scared of Hennie!  He
won't dare touch me!'

`Okay then.  Do you need any gym stuff from your flat?', I ask.

`Nah, if you can lend me a towel, I always just go just like I am.'

I quickly throw my gym shorts, shower bag and a couple of towels into a
holdall.  I haul out an old pair of gym shorts that are too small for me
and toss them to Johan.

`See if these fit you!'

He holds them against his middle and pronounces them `kiff', so I toss them
in the bag too.

As I busy myself in my bedroom, I hear the sound of my TV coming to life.
I come out and see Johan pointing the remote at it, but he's mouth-open
transfixed by the scene playing out in front of him: a half dozen blonde
Russian boys, 12 to 14 years old, passionately engaged in vigorous oral and
anal sex.

Oh shit! I think, I left it on the porn channel.  Ah well, no point in
panicking, just have to brazen this through.  I go close the front door
against unexpected intrusion and then move back to stand next to him.

`Wow!' I say, `You gotta show me where you found that stuff!'

`I dunno', he replies breathlessly, `It was on this when I switched it on!'

`I gotta have that TV checked out!  Better switch it off before someone
catches us with it!.

Johan is so absorbed he doesn't even hear me.  When I reach out and close
my hand around the remote, he grips it tightly.

`Please, please, can't I jus' watch this for a bit?' he begs desperately,
`I never seen anything like this before!  It's fucken amazing!'

`You've never seen porn before?'

`Not kids before.  I mean, except ...', and his attention is back to the
action on the little screen.

`Except ... what?' I ask.

`Uhm ... Ag, nothing ... I'm so horny now ... I dunno what I'm saying
... forget it!'

I glance down and I see that the big formless bulge in the front of his
shorts has now morphed itself into a sausage - long thick and hard - the
uncut tip of which is protruding out the elastic waistband of his shorts,
where Johan is twiddling it frantically with the fingers of his free hand.
No point in trying to stop him now, I think, and I leave him to it.
Moments later, he yanks off his shorts and flops down onto the couch,
completely naked now, toes curled, tongue out, and eyes glazed as he
frenetically fists his impressively erected young cock to orgasm.  When I'm
working with the local militia in Iraq or Afghanistan, a `comfort boy' is
always one of the perks, and I've had some who have been really
outstanding, but I can't remember ever seeing anything quite as
comprehensively erotic as this beautiful boy, uninhibitedly masturbating
himself to orgasm, in front of a total stranger, under the stimulation of a
Russian boy porn video.

 Even more stimulating is to watch his perfect body spasming in the grip of
a massive orgasm as his cock jets out thick ropes of white cum to splatter
against his neck, his chest and his belly.  I hand him a box of tissues to
wipe it all up and then send him into the bathroom for a quick shower
before he wrestles his bum into his shorts again and we set out for the
gym.

I slip my beach slops back on before we leave - unlike Johan's feet, my
foot soles have long since lost the leathery callouses of my youth and I
don't relish leaving strips of my flesh on the sizzling hot tarmac!  Johan
doesn't bother to put his muscle vest back on, and, both shirtless now, we
slip out of the flat and down the stairwell, and Johan leads me to the
community centre a few blocks away.

There are just a few people using the weight room at this hour, all of them
men or boys.  I remark on it to Johan.

`Ja, there's only one set of showers', he explains, `So the girls use the
gym in the morning and the guys in the afternoon and evening.  It's better
like that - girls always cramp our style - they so fulla shit!'

I notice that most of the men there are accompanied by young boys and I say
to Johan:

`I think it's great that so many dads make time to work out in the gym with
their sons!'

Johan gives me a funny look:

`Er ... ja, I guess so' he replies.

Everyone seems to know Johan at the gym.

`So, who's the new daddy, Johan?' one of them asks, winking at me.

`Nah, this is my friend Stef - he's new in my flats'.

`Lucky Stef!' the man says, shaking my hand.

For both of us, changing involves just slipping off the shorts we came in
and slipping on the gym shorts we brought with us.  Neither of us is
wearing any underwear, so that is the work of seconds, but, after removing
his tight rugby shorts, Johan wanders about the changing-room, chatting to
all and sundry, quite comfortable in his nudity.  So does everybody else, I
notice, and there's quite a bit of playful touching and grabbing that I
think is pretty cool, so I leave my shorts off for now, not wanting to be
the odd man out.  It allows me to observe and enjoy Johan's superb body in
its naked perfection, and it gives me the opportunity to admire the quite
remarkable length and thickness, for his age, of Johan's maleness, which,
now that I see it on the slack, seems to hang down halfway to his knees,
swinging from side to side as he moves. It's almost as if, after being
severely constricted in Johan's too-small shorts all day, it is relishing
the chance to stretch out its full length and feel free.

I do notice, contrary to his claim that his mother's boyfriend, Hennie,
won't dare touch him, that the perfect globes of his buttocks, a narrow
marble-white band between his deeply tanned back and thighs, are
criss-crossed with thin purple stripes that attract good-natured ribbing
from some of the men in the changing-room:

`What did you get that for, Johan, were you giving Hennie's precious
daughter the finger again?' one guffaws.

Johan grins and shows him his middle finger:

`Nah, but I know you like it!', he says, to the laughter of several of the
men.

Eventually, he gets back to me.  He stands in front of me with his hands
either side of his prodigious boy parts, as if framing them, and asks me:

`So, what do you think, Stef?'

I look at him, momentarily nonplussed:

`Are you seriously asking me what I think of your cock?'

He chuckles:

`Sure!  Is that a problem?'

`No, of course not!  It's just not every day that a kid asks you what you
think of his fun-tool!'

Johan laughs out loud.

`Fun-tool?  I never heard that one before.  That's a cool name for it!'

`You like it?  It's yours!' I quip.

`So, what do you think?'

`I think it's amazing for your age.  In fact, I'd say many adults would
feel blessed to own one like yours!'

He grins his pride and pleasure as he pulls on his gym shorts and we head
out into the weight room.

Two hours later we are both exhausted and exhilarated by the work out and
we take a shower before going out to eat.  Johan gets into the stall with
me, despite the fact that there are others that are vacant.

`Hope you don't mind, but you got the soap!' he grins.

`Well, I've watched you wank and cum all over yourself', I grin, `So I
guess we can progress to showering together!'

`Cool!', he grins back, holding out the bottle of shower gel, `I love it
when someone shampoos my hair and massages my scalp!'

`You're certainly not shy!' I say, `But I like that in a boy.'

He faces me and I shampoo his bristle-short hair, massaging the gel into
his scalp with the tips of my fingers while he positively purrs with
pleasure.  While I do that, he soaps the palms of both hands and lays them
against my pecs, slowly moving them in circles all over my chest and down
my belly to my groin.  Then he moves closer and rests the side of his head
against my chest, while his hands glide around my sides onto my back and
butt, tracing, feeling and massaging every muscle .  It's intensely erotic
and my cock responds immediately, standing up thick and hard between us.
He presses his belly against it, wriggling around to stimulate it further.
I can feel that his own cock is standing up straight and hard as he presses
it against me, almost humping my thigh.

`You got such a hard body!' he enthuses, `No soft fat anywhere!  I never
felt a man with such big, hard, muscles before!'

Then, while I shampoo my own hair, Johan squirts a glob of gel into the
palm of his hand and starts shampooing my cock and balls.

`I love that you shave your pubes!' he says to me.

`Actually, I don't shave them - I just never grew any!  It's genetic - Only
hair on my whole body is on my head!'

`Oh, wow, I'm the same!  How cool is that!  We got the same gene - it's
gotta be a sign!'

`A sign of what?'

`Ag, I dunno - that we meant to meet each other or something like that?  I
believe in signs!'

`Okay!'

`Wow!  I hope my cock's gonna be as big as yours when I grow up!' Johan
says admiringly.

`Chances are, you'll be even bigger', I reply.

Pretty quickly the shampooing turns into a very proficient wank, with one
hand around my shaft and the other playing with my balls and occasionally
probing at my anus.  The boy is an expert, and I close my eyes in
enjoyment.  Not long after that I feel Johan's wide mouth take my cock all
the way into his throat and he gives me the best deep-throat blowjob I have
ever had.  He can sense when I am on the point of rushing to climax and he
pulls off every time to prolong the pleasure.  Finally, when I beg him to
take me to climax, he turns around and bends over forward with his forearms
propped against the tiled wall.  He looks back at me over his shoulder:

`Now fuck me!' he grins.

I need no second invitation and I quickly position my cockhead against his
pucker where it nestles between the hard round globes of his buttocks.  I
grip his shoulders for purchase and thrust myself against his firm but
yielding anal barrier.  He moans softly as I go in, and then sucks in his
breath as my cock slides in all the way, tightly but smoothly.  Johan is
panting and twisting his beautiful butt around my shaft as his fuck-chute
adjusts to accommodate my length and girth.  It's obvious that Johan has
done this before - many times in fact - and just that thought drives my
horny lust to a new peak. I wait a few more seconds, and then I grip his
waist and start a rhythm of slowly withdrawing, nearly all the way out, and
then ramming my cock all the way in again, and again, and again, faster and
harder each time until my cock is ramming in and out of his hole like the
drive piston of a steam train.

Now Johan is grunting and squeaking quite loudly with mixed pleasure and
pain, and I cover his mouth with one hand to muffle the noise.  He shakes
his head free of my hand.

`It's ... okay ... nobody ... gives a fuck ... everyone comes here ... for
sex ... in showers!', he manages to pant between thrusts.

Then I feel his body stiffen on my cock before it goes into violent spasm
in the grip of a mighty hands-free orgasm.  I keep going through it and
seconds later I reach an incredible orgasm myself.  I wrap my arms around
his torso, pulling him against me and lifting him off the floor as my cock
swells repeatedly deep inside him with each ejaculation of cum.  For his
part, he lifts his legs and holds them at the knees, spread wide apart in
the air as he squirms delightedly around my shaft, positively growling with
satisfaction and pleasure.

I hold him like that for a full minute after the last spurt, hugging him
tightly, kissing his thick neck and brawny shoulders, my cock staying
rock-hard inside him and showing no sign of coming down.  Finally, I lower
him and he swings his feet down to touch the ground.  He bends over and
pulls himself off my shaft.  I feel the tug as my swollen cock-head snags
momentarily against his tight-gripping sphincter.  At once, he turns around
and throws his arms around my waist.

`Fuckit, Stef, that was just fucken amazing, thank you!'

`No, thank you, kid!  That was about the best boy-fuck I ever had!  No,
make that the best fuck ever!'

Johan beams his pride and pleasure at the compliment.

As we go out the bathroom we pass a couple of shower stalls from where the
unmistakeable sounds of man-boy sex are emanating.  Johan catches my eye
and grins, jerking a thumb in their direction:

`See!  What did I tell you!' he mouths at me.

Afterwards, we pick up burgers and chips at Mac D's and take them back to
my flat to eat.  While sitting side by side on the couch, Johan tells me
that the community centre gym is well-known for being a place where men
pick up boys in the area.

`Straight guys go to the gym in the shopping mall - that's their turf!' he
smiles.

`So how did you know I might be interested?' I ask him.

He laughs:

`I been doing this since I was nine!' he says, `When I got chucked out the
flat an' you looked at me an' I looked in your eyes ... I already knew we
was gonna fuck sometime.  Didn't know it's gonna be so soon!'

`So, how much do I owe you?' I ask.

`Nah, nothing!  We neighbours, man!  An' it was special for me!  It felt
different - not like Hennie an' all the other johns what fuck me!  An' I
like you!  An' remember what I said about a sign?  I was thinking maybe you
an' me meant to be house-buds sometime, you know?  An' it's not cool to be
house-buds with a client!  I'm not saying right now ... but maybe sometime
... only if you like me an' all!'

He looks at me earnestly.

I don't reply immediately.  I've just had the most amazing sex with this
young boy, and the idea of having constant access to such euphoria is
deeply tempting.  I'm also flattered that he is even thinking about a
relationship with me, but now is not the time to talk about all the
practical difficulties standing in the way of that.

`Well, let's just take it one step at a time and let's see how things go,
shall we?' I offer.

`Ja, of course', he replies, `I know it takes time ...'

We are silent for a while. Then:

`Can I stay here with you tonight?' he asks hesitantly, looking at me a
little anxiously .

`Sure!  Do you want to go tell your mom or Hennie quickly?'

`Nah, I never bother.  Sometimes I'm not home for a whole week -- they
don't even ask where I was.  My mom works nights anyways.  An' as long as
Hennie gets his cut of what I make, he don't give a fuck where I go or what
I do!  He was jus' pissed off today `cos he wants me to make another fuck
vid with him an' Maryna, an' I don't want to!'

`Won't he whip your ass?  I saw the stripes on your butt at the gym.'

He laughs.

`Nah, that's just some guy who can't get hard unless he first jacks my
butt!'

`Why would you let him?'

`Ag, it makes me horny too, you know?'

Now it's my turn to laugh.

`You're amazing, you know that?  You've got pretty advanced sexual tastes
for a kid just in puberty!'

`Well, when your mom's a hooker an' her boyfriend's a pimp, you learn a lot
about sex real early!' he grins.

I chuckle at this, remembering my own introduction to discipline sex at the
hands of a 13-year-old Afghan `comfort boy' on one of my tours in
Afghanistan.

`Well then, you can stay with me tonight, if you don't mind sharing my
bed!'

His face lights up and he twists sideways on the couch to give me a hug.

`Fucken A, Stef!  Thanks man, that's so cool!  I'da been happy to sleep on
the couch.  Just love to share your bed!'

He stands up and points at his groin with both hands: his cock is hard and
erect once more, and peeping out of his waistband.

`Jus' check how horny it's making me to think `bout that!  Can we go fuck
now!'

I jump up and hold out my hand:

`Let's go', I say.

I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with this kid.