Date: Sun, 24 Aug 1997 22:44:26 -0600 (MDT) From: Boy-writer Subject: John Allen (M/b) - part 6/8 JOHN ALLEN (M/b) - part 6 This is really a continuation of part 5, but I was afraid of exceeding the limits of the anon server. John Allen is a child and adolescent counselor in a wealthy suburb of a large American city. His favorite patient is Jeremy, a boy of 13 with brown hair and green eyes, who apart from his angelic appearance is a complete demon in his behavior. Jeremy's latest visit to John's office has begun with a mad chase through the hallways of John's mansion, during which Jeremy has destroyed a priceless Ming vase and run down one of John's faithful servants. This part has actual sex in it (took me long enough, didn't it? :), so if you don't want to read man/boy sex, or the law says you're too young to see this, read no further. Chapter 17 ---------- John carried Jeremy to the gym, turned on the light, and set him down. Jorge went back to check on Carlita. Jeremy said one word: "Cool." John grabbed Jeremy's hand while he was still looking at the room and pulled him toward the locker room. "Neat, huh? I just found it yesterday. We can play a lot of games here, but we need to get dressed first." John felt like a boy himself. "What do you mean? I'm dressed," Jeremy said, not looking at John but at the room. "You need to get dressed for gym. Don't you do that at school?" "We did at my old school. I don't have gym now." John had forgotten that the boy was in a special school - or had his parents taken him out if it? He made a mental note to ask. "Well, now you do, come on." John looked back, but Jeremy didn't say anything. He was looking at the boxing ring. They walked into the locker room, and John let go of the boy's hand. The man handed him some shorts and a t-shirt from the house's collection. "Here, put these on." "Why? I want to do the pegboard. I can get all the way to the top. Do you know boxing?" "We need to put these on so we won't get our regular clothes all sweaty. I can teach you boxing after you get dressed." Jeremy frowned but took the gym clothes. John took off his coat and tie and hung them in a locker. Jeremy put the clothes on the bench and looked back out toward the gym. John started to unbutton his shirt. "Come on, get dressed! Or we could sit in the office and talk like before." The boy laughed. "I could destroy your office like before, you mean." Finally, Jeremy sighed and took off his shirt. John continued to unbutton his shirt, staring at the boy, determined not to miss a moment. Jeremy had no hair on his narrow little chest, none on his underarms, none on his belly. He had an "innie." His pecs did not stick out like a well-developed man, but neither was his chest completely without shape like a young girl. The small brown nipples were perfectly proportioned for the boy. Jeremy's ribs did not stick out as in some children but were covered by a thin layer of flesh. As the boy raised his arms over his head to remove the pullover shirt, John noticed that his belly pulled inward, outlining the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his pelvis, loosening the jeans he wore so well. It was a hard-making experience for a boylover, and John was raging hard. John finished unbuttoning his shirt, pulled out the tail, and hung it in the locker. He quickly pulled off his t-shirt and hung it up as Jeremy sat down and started to untie his shoes. "You can put your shoes back on after you change into your shorts," he said, in a voice that seemed unfamiliar. Jeremy didn't say anything and didn't look up. John sat down and slipped his own shoes off. He then pulled the socks off. "Whew!" Jeremy said. "Your feet stink bad." "I'll wash them off later," John said, looking forward to the shower they would take together. He got harder than ever, feeling a drop of wetness at the tip of his dick. Suddenly John was aware that he was hard and got up as Jeremy did, finished removing his shoes. The man turned his back to the boy, not a good idea but necessary he thought, and took off his slacks quickly, then his boxers. He reached into the pile of clothes and found the jockstrap, putting it on just as fast. It tamed the erection to a degree, though John's arousal would still be obvious to the observant. John quickly turned back toward the lockers and looked over at Jeremy. He was rewarded with the sight of a boy with the top button of his jeans undone, pulling down the zipper. The man reached down absently and fumbled till he found his shorts - loose boxing trunks. He quickly slipped them on, not taking his eyes off the kid for a minute. Jeremy pulled his jeans down with apparent unconcern, then sat down and took them all the way off. John was thrilled at the sight of a boy in his jockeys, sitting on a bare wooden bench. He stared at the perfectly-formed, hairless legs, the small bulge at the groin, the outline of the well-shaped cheeks under the thin cotton fabric. John could not have spoken then if he wanted to - it would have come out an inarticulate croak. Fortunately, he was not called to; he simply reached down and grabbed his athletic shirt, slipping it over his head. The shirt reached halfway over his hardon, already obscured by the loose trunks. Jeremy, on the other hand, was taking his time. He held up the shapeless gray shorts. "God, these are so lame. Why do I have to wear these?" John cleared his throat and managed to sound almost normal. "That's all I have right now. Maybe I can buy you some new ones later." John sat down again and put on a pair of tube socks, never taking his eyes off the boy, standing there in nothing but a pair of jockey shorts. The man feasted on the curves of the little body, the clear, perfect, hairless skin, the rounded little bottom. Jeremy sighed and put on the shorts, which turned out to be a little too small. As the boy pulled the shorts up to his bellybutton, as the old shorts were designed to be worn, he saw that they left almost as little to the imagination as the jockeys. The perfect curve of the boy's ass was, if anything, accentuated by the thin fabric covering it, the gray color constrasting with the skin, drawing attention to the small globes. The shorts were, as in times past, short; they ended at the top of Jeremy's thighs. John regretted the current fashion for long shorts reaching to the knees. John took out the sneakers he had placed in his locker and slipped them on, then started to lace them up as he watched Jeremy take the black t-shirt John had provided and pull it over his head. Again he watched the boy's hairless chest stick out, his stomach pull in, as the shirt came over his head. The shorts were a little too small, but the shirt was way too large. It covered Jeremy like a mini-skirt, completely covering the shorts. John stopped tying his left shoe (the right one was already tied) and sat up. "Wait, that shirt is too big. We'll have to find you another one." Jeremy giggled and held out his arms. The shirt was, in fact, falling off one shoulder. The way the boy was dressed, a black, cotton-knit dress ending at the top of his thighs and falling off one shoulder, would have been the height of fashion had Jeremy been a woman of, say, 23. John noted appreciatively that few women who wear such dresses really have the legs for it, but Jeremy's legs outdid them all. Even the hairdo was right, with women these days saying "short hair is easier to take care of" and sporting boyish looks. John grinned evilly, thinking that if he put a necklace on the boy and gave him a small pair of falsies, he could take him to any nightclub in town - and be the envy of the other male patrons. John got up and walked back to the closet. He and Jeremy looked through the clothes but found no shirt in his size. Jeremy suggested that he not wear a shirt this time, that John would buy him one later - a decision that John was completely pleased with. John got Jeremy to put on a pair of tube socks, which he resisted, and John regretted, but it really isn't healthy for a boy to go without socks all the time. As it turned out, the socks, which fitted perfectly, accentuated the boy's thighs. After that, John thought that the games would be an anticlimax, but they were not. The first thing Jeremy wanted to do was climb the pegboard, and the view was very good from below. He persuaded John to try it, and the boy easily beat him to the top - not that John wanted to win. John came down faster, though, and got another view of Jeremy swinging on a peg by one stiff arm, his legs slightly drawn up, as he struggled to put the other peg in a lower hole. John told the boy to jump and he would catch him, but Jeremy insisted on coming all the way down by himself. Jeremy walked along the wall, looking at all the equipment. He decided to do the parallel bars, and John lifted the boy by the waist so he could reach. He stood below and behind the boy the whole time as he moved down the bars. At the end, Jeremy jumped off. John caught him under the arms and lowered him gently to the ground. The boy ran off then and found some baseball equipment beside the wall. He picked up a baseball bat, and John's heart leaped - a dangerous weapon. Jeremy only swung the bat in the air a few times, though, albeit with enthusiasm, and put the bat down. "Do you play baseball?" "Not really," John answered truthfully. Jeremy looked disgusted. "Maybe you can show me sometime." "Yeah, I'm good at all sports," the boy said simply. "Let's do boxing now." "Have you boxed before?" "Yeah!" Jeremy said, and started shadow boxing in a kind of Bruce Lee-Arnold Schwarzenegger kill-'em-first-ask-questions-later style. "I mean in a ring like this, as a sport." "No. That's why I want you to show me." "Okay," John said, reaching down and grabbing a catcher's mask from the pile of baseball stuff. "You need to put this on." "Mike Tyson doesn't wear one of those," Jeremy said, and started to walk off. John caught him by the arm. "Mike Tyson doesn't have a mother who would kill his trainer if he got a black eye," John said, smiling. Jeremy didn't say anything but allowed John to put the catcher's mask on him. They looked along the nails in the wall and easily found a pair of gloves in John's size, but there was no pair small enough for Jeremy. They settled on the smallest pair they could find, which turned out not to be too bad. The gloves were 1920's style, real leather, stuffed with straw, with about 1/3 the padding that modern prize fighters use. It worried John somewhat, but he figured he wasn't going to deck the kid or anything, and he could take whatever punch the boy had in him. John lifted Jeremy up, then climbed into the ring himself. When John was climbing through the ropes, Jeremy let fly with a haymaker right across his chops. The man nearly fell out of the ring but climbed back in, rubbing his jaw. "Nice shot," he said, "but the name of the game is defense. When the other guy goes to punch you, you block the punch, you dodge it, you don't get hit. Eventually, he gets tired and you don't. _Then_ you hit him hard, like you did me, he falls down, and the bout is over. Got it?" Jeremy danced around like a prizefighter, or so he thought. He started bobbing and weaving the way he thought a fighter would. "Got it!" he said. John smiled to himself. "So I don't hit him till he's tired?" Jeremy asked. "No, you hit him when he leaves himself open, but early on you want to let the other guy wear himself out first, you want to keep your energy till the end. You watch fights on TV?" "Sure!" "Well, do you see at the end of the fight how the fighters are both tired and holding onto each other, so the referee has to break it up all the time? The fighter who is less tired at the end is the one who wins, usually." "Cool. I'm never tired, so I'll always win then." "Not quite. Sometimes one fighter leaves himself open and gets creamed early. You have to play defense. Come here. Come fight me." Jeremy smiled and went over to John, bobbing and weaving like on TV, dancing aimlessly on his feet, with his hands down near his waist, firing punches at John that he easily dodged. John let go one punch to the middle of the catcher's mask, not at all hard, and Jeremy was on the mat. "Okay, get up. I'll show you what to do," John said, holding out his hand. Jeremy looked at him with undisguised hatred and got up by himself, batting the hand away. "Come here," John said. John leaned over and grabbed the boy's wrists. "You hold your gloves near your face, like this. That way, if the other guy goes to hit you in the face, you can block it." "What if he goes to hit me in the stomach?" "If he hits you in the gut, you take it. Here, tense up your stomach muscles." Jeremy did as he was told. "I'm going to hit you, and it will hurt if your muscles are loose. Are you ready?" "Yes." John hit the boy in the stomach, not hard, obviously, but hard enough to knock the wind out of him if he had been unprepared for it. Jeremy was knocked back a step, but soon regained his composure. "Cool. I mean, I knew that. If some kid goes to hit me in the stomach, I know how to take it." "Good. But your stomach muscles need to be very strong to keep going through a long fight. That's why fighters do sit-ups all the time. It makes the stomach muscles strong. Later I'll show you how to block shots to your gut, but if you can get tense there and stay that way, you can take a lot more shots to the gut than to the face. The face shots you have to block or get away from." "That's why you keep your hands near your face." "Right." "Why do they jump rope then? It's a girly thing." John couldn't resist imitating Hans and Franz from Saturday Night Live. "They are a bunch of girly-men, you think?" he said with an exaggerated accent. Jeremy laughed. "No, but why do they jump rope?" "Because it strengthens the legs and trains them to jump." "Like Bruce Lee! Hah!" Jeremy said, kicking the air. "No, this is boxing, not karate. Kicking is against the rules. A fighter needs to be able jump back if the other guy is swinging on him and jump forward if he's left himself open. If the other guy leaves himself open, you need to be able to leap forward and take advantage of it. At the same time, you need to keep your balance yourself so the other guy can't knock you down like I did. That's why you work on your footwork." "I can trip the other guy." "No, you can't, that's another rule. Also, you can't hit the other fighter below the belt." "You mean I can't hit you here?" Jeremy asked and hit John square on the dick, still semi-hard. John thought quickly about how to respond to this and decided to play it straight. "No you can't. If you break the rules, the match can be forfeited, meaning you lose." "Hmph," Jeremy said. "Okay," John continued, "the first thing you should learn is how to block a punch. Stand here and I'll throw punches at you, and you block them." John got on his knees, thinking that would be easier than trying to stand for the demonstration. It turned out not to be so, for Jeremy was at the awkward height where kneeling was too low and standing was too high. Still, kneeling gave a better view, so John took that route. They practiced punching and blocking for almost an hour, not noticing the time. First John would throw punches at Jeremy, then vice versa. Jeremy managed to connect once with John's forehead and once with the bridge of his nose, but there was no blood on either side. John knocked Jeremy down several times, but the catcher's mask prevented serious injury. When John looked at his watch, he was amazed at what time had passed. They were an hour and a half past the end of the session. John felt sure that Jorge would have come if Jeremy's parents had shown up. Apparently they hadn't. Still, the two needed to get cleaned up, since Lawrence and Allison could show up at any time. John called a halt; Jeremy stamped his foot but said nothing. The man climbed out of the ring first, then took the boy by the waist and lowered him to the ground. John's hardon, which had disappeared during the boxing drills, began to stir as he realized what was coming, for though he had planned it all along, he had simply forgotten that he planned to take a shower with Jeremy after their "workout." He briefly considered skipping it, but then he realized that he smelled like he had been dead for three days - and Jeremy, though he did not smell to nearly the same degree, was covered in sweat. The smell of an active boy appealed to John, but the smell of a clean one appealed more. Call him strange. No, there was no way around it, they had to get cleaned up. Jeremy went into the locker room, took off his shoes and (unaccustomed) socks, pulled off his shirt with lightning speed, and reached for the red striped pullover. "Wait a minute, sport. We need to take a shower," John said. "Awww, c'mon," Jeremy said. "Get real. This is not school, there are no rules." "There are my rules. We're covered with sweat. I can't let your parents take you home like this." Jeremy shot the man a baleful stare. John continued. "I have to send you back the way I got you, or they might not let you see me any more." It was below the belt, against the rules, and completely effective. Jeremy rolled his eyes and pulled down the gray gym shorts. John walked over to his locker and quickly took off his t-shirt, shoes and socks, never looking at the boy. He thought about how he would handle this. His dick was beginning to grow soft as he deliberately focused on his worry. Even at this late date, John still wasn't sure that Jeremy wanted anything more that to be held and maybe some innocent (well, to the boy's mind, innocent) touching. The sight of John's horny eight inches pointing at his nose might scare the kid. John had to keep it under control, and that meant not looking at Jeremy till he absolutely had to, then taking mental snapshots while focusing his mind elsewhere. Unless the kid wanted more. That thought was making John hard again, so he banished it. John quickly took off his gym shorts and strap, then walked past Jeremy into the shower room, merely glancing briefly at the kid to make sure he was still there. He was - playing absently with the gray shorts with a pout on his face. John called out, "Hurry up, they'll be here to pick you up any minute." It was a single shower room without stalls, tiled with porcelain in a hideous shade of green. There were about 10 nozzles along the walls. Carlita had thoughtfully placed soap and shampoo in the shower - one of each. A little _too_ thoughtful - his faithful servants were trying to fix him up, he realized. John thought about poor Carlita, hoping she had not been seriously injured in the chase. He'd give her a few days off, get someone from a maid service in the city to cover. He took the single bar of soap and began to wash his chest and arms. Jeremy finally walked in, stood before the nozzle next to John's, and turned on the water. He got it adjusted to the right temperature, somewhat cooler than John liked it. It gave John an idea. He turned down the temperature of his own water so that it was cool enough to be uncomfortable, but not really cold. Stay in the spray, and nothing would start pointing where it shouldn't. Jeremy had no apparent intention of staying in the spray. He got himself wet and turned to leave. John caught him by the arm. "Hey! Come back here and take a real shower." He handed the boy the soap. Jeremy looked John up and down with no visible expression, looked disgustedly at the wall, and took the soap. John watched as the boy lackadaisically soaped his arms and chest, not even working up a lather. He was not cooperating, John thought. Another challenge to his authority, and with this boy, such challenges must be met. "Here, give me that." He took the soap from the boy, worked up a lather, and soaped the boy's chest and belly. John began to regret that he had not turned his nozzle all the way cold, since he was beginning to stir, and Jeremy was staring at the man's dick. Or he seemed to be; maybe he was just looking down. "Hold up your arms," John said. Jeremy held his thin arms over his head, and John soaped them, his fingers easily reaching around. He soaped the boy's underarms, which made him giggle. John told the boy to close his eyes and soaped his face, neck and ears. Jeremy did not like the man's fingers in his ears, and John had to hold his head still to do them. The man grabbed the boy's arm again and turned him so he faced the water. John started to rub Jeremy's face to rinse him off, but Jeremy pushed his hand away and rinsed off himself. "The ears too," John said, and the boy complied exaggeratedly, as sullen children do when forced to do something they dislike. "Turn around," John said. Jeremy turned with his back to the shower nozzle. John grabbed his arm again and turned him so his back was to John. Now the boy was facing away from him, and even though he was crouching under the cold spray of his own nozzle, John felt his self-control begin to let go, his dick begin to rise. He worked up a lather in his hands and soaped the boy's thin shoulders, the middle of his back, the small of his back. He marvelled at the delicacy of the sweet creature before him. John thought quickly, reached up, and turned his water all the way to cold. He shuddered involuntarily, his body steeling itself to the assault, his dick going down once more as he had wanted. "Lift up your foot," he told the kid. Jeremy reached out with one thin arm, propped himself against the wall, and complied. John washed off the boy's foot, making sure to get between the toes. Jeremy giggled again. "The other one," he said, and the same thing was repeated. John carefully soaped the boy's calves, thin as his own forearm, again marvelling that something so delicate could live. He worked up some more lather and went to work quickly on the boy's right thigh. Jeremy squirmed. "You want to do the rest yourself?" John asked. "No, I like the way you do it," Jeremy said. John smiled through chattering teeth. He soaped up the right thigh, reaching around to get the front as well, stopping just short of the little ball sac. He then soaped up the left thigh. "Well, you tell me when you want me to stop," John said, stood up, and worked up a lather in his hands, then went to work on the outside of the boy's hips. He wondered again at their narrowness. He stepped out of the cold spray for an instant, then thoughtfully stepped back in again. John reached out uncomfortably and soaped Jeremy's tender buns. It was too far to be reaching. John had to either step out of his own spray or pull Jeremy back into it. He couldn't pull the kid into a cold shower - if anything would freak him out, that would. The man stepped reluctantly out of the spray and immediately felt his hardon begin to return. As he worked up more lather in his hands, he noticed Jeremy shifting his feet slightly, moving them apart. The boy moved his right hand in front of himself, but John couldn't see what he was doing with it. John grabbed Jeremy's left ass cheek and pulled it to the side, then took his right hand and moved it up and down the boy's crack, savoring every inch, but being careful not to seem to loiter there. He ran his finger over the little hole several times but did not linger. He put his right middle finger to his nose and thought to smell something besides soap. He was incredibly hard. John rinsed off his right hand in the cold water, removed his left hand from the boy's left cheek, and grabbed hold of the right cheek with his own right hand. The man crouched down again and reached between the boy's legs with his still-soapy left hand, feeling the hairless seam between his legs, barely touching the back of the boy's scrotum. Jeremy briefly turned his head to the side. His eyes were staring, his mouth partly open. The boy faced forward again. John stepped back into the cold spray again and started to work up more lather. Jeremy said, "You missed a spot," giggled, and started to turn around. John reached out quickly, grabbed the boy by the shoulder, and held him still. He worked up a good lather, stepped out of the spray again, and started to soap the front of the boy's pelvis slowly, not touching his genitals. "Is this the spot I missed?" John asked, his voice sounding strange. Jeremy didn't reply. John soaped boy's pelvic region above his dick, not touching it, or not trying to, but he felt something briefly against the side of his right hand. Could this boy be hard too? John was more turned on than ever. John reached down and took the little balls in his right hand, soaping them gently. Jeremy sighed softly. He soaped the boy's scant, soft pubic bush with his left, noticing as he did so that he was right - Jeremy was as hard as a rock. John grabbed the boy's dick suddenly with his right hand and started moving up and down on it. Jeremy seemed to sway on his feet, then steadied himself and rested his hand lightly on John's forearm. John soaped the boy's dick thoroughly, appreciatively noting that it was cut, a little over 4" he thought. He stopped and pulled his hands away. "Okay, rinse off," John said. Jeremy kind of danced under the shower. John stepped back into the safety of the cold spray again, feeling himself shrink. "No, rinse off _good_." Jeremy put his back to the nozzle, shaking his shoulders, then bent over and ran his hands over his legs. He reached back and ran his little hand between his cheeks, getting out all the soap there. John stood with his dick directly under the cold water and watched. Jeremy turned around and washed off his still-hard dick, then put his hand under his balls, lifting them up, and rinsed there too. "Don't forget your toes," John said. Jeremy smiled at John, sat down on the shower room floor, and held up each foot under the spray. "Okay, now your hair," John said, and unscrewed the cap on the shampoo bottle. Jeremy stood up facing John, who grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. The man stepped out of the spray again, put some shampoo in his hand, plopped it down playfully on the boy's head, and started to work in a lather. Thank God it wasn't strawberry shampoo - Carlita was a nice girl, but she had no taste. John imagined how good the boy's hair would smell when it was dry. He finished up, pushed Jeremy back under the shower spray, and started to wash his own hair in that damnably cold water. He had felt the boy hard, but he hesitated to mention it now; it might embarrass the kid. He would certainly bring it up later, though. Take your time, John, the kid's parents think you're a miracle worker, he told himself. Yeah, right, he smiled. If they knew I was seducing him, they would ... they would probably approve if that's what it took to get the little rat to behave himself for a few days. John mentally slapped himself for thinking of Jeremy that way; the boy was too good, too pure for that. He laughed again thinking that "good" and "Jeremy" were two words that nobody had ever put together before. Jeremy shook him out of his reverie. "Can I wash you?" he asked. Then, before John could react, Jeremy stepped under John's shower and jumped back. "God, your water is cold! Come over here." Jeremy grabbed John's arm with both hands and pulled him into his own lukewarm shower. John stumbled over under Jeremy's nozzle. He was under the boy's power. Jeremy danced in under John's cold water and got the soap out of the dish in the wall. John stood obediently under the shower with his back to the boy, the warm water falling on his chest. Jeremy worked up a lather, then dropped the soap. He reached up and soaped John's shoulders. John felt the delicate little hands working over his shoulders, in the middle of his back, along his sides (which, well developed in Costa Rica, were beginning to develop "love handles" with the sedentary life of a counselor). "Get down," Jeremy ordered, and John complied, kneeling on the shower floor, his hardon returning with a vengeance. "Lift your arms." John held out his arms to his sides. "Back up a little." John moved back on his knees a few steps so that the spray was hitting his knees. Jeremy went back and picked up the soap, which had moved toward the drain in the middle of the floor, came back, and soaped John's right hand, then moved up his forearm and over his bicep. Jeremy did not work up a lather in his hands; rather he held the soap in his hand as he moved back and forth across John's skin. The boy soaped John's underarm very well and rather roughly. He then went to the left arm and did the same. "Stand up," Jeremy said. John stood up. "You can put your arms down now," the boy said, which John did. Jorge suddenly called out from the doorway of the locker room. "Senor John, Jeremy's parents are here." Jeremy looked up for a minute, then started soaping John's calves. "Tell them to wait, we'll be out in a few minutes," John called back to Jorge. "Have Maria bring the blowdryer from my bathroom." John didn't use the blowdryer often, but it was handy to have if he was in a rush. "Si, senor," Jorge said. John thought he heard a chuckle. "Lift your foot," Jeremy said, and John lifted his right foot as the boy had done. Jeremy soaped it thoroughly, pulling John's toes apart to get between. "The other one," the boy said, and he did the same on the other. Jeremy was a lot quicker and rougher than John had been, but the man was in seventh heaven anyway. He pictured the naked boy behind him and tried to catch a glance but could see little. He felt the soft little hands moving up and down on his thighs. John's dick was standing at attention, its single eye staring back at him. Jeremy went to work on John's ass. "You sure are hairy," he said. He used both hands on the right cheek, then went to work on the left. John moved his legs apart. John felt the boy's hands working the crack between his ass cheeks and put a hand forward against the wall to steady himself. Jeremy did a very thorough job, twisting his finger around the man's anus. John was getting dizzy. Jeremy stopped and reached between John's legs, roughly soaping there. "Now turn around and rinse off good." This was the moment John had worried about, but he was too far gone to care. He turned around to face the boy with his hardon pointing straight at the kid's nose. Jeremy stared for a minute, then said, "Yours is pointing up too." "Yes, a man's dick gets like that when his body feels good." John paused. "It feels good when you wash me." He looked for a reaction but didn't see any. John rinsed his back off, then smiled at Jeremy and bent over as the boy had done. He rinsed off his legs with both hands, one at a time, then reached back and rinsed off his ass. He pulled his cheeks apart and felt the water on his hole, then reached back and rubbed there. Jeremy said, "Get down," and John knelt before the boy. "Close your eyes." Jeremy took the soap and rubbed the bar on the man's face. He washed John's ears thoroughly, and it hurt a little as the boy put his fingers in each. John realized why Jeremy hadn't liked it. Jeremy leaned forward to wash the back of John's neck, and the man felt the boy's breath on his face. John kept his eyes closed as Jeremy rubbed soap on his chest. "Stand up," Jeremy said. John stood up, tried to open one eye, and was immediately stung by soap. He closed both eyes tight. Jeremy soaped John's belly, then paused. "You have a big one," the boy said. John couldn't resist any more. He quickly turned and rinsed his face off so he could see, then turned around to face the boy again. John saw the prettiest boy he ever laid eyes on. Jeremy had a straight, short little nose, just grown in at the bridge, still turned up at the end, lightly peppered with a hint of freckles. Two little ridges beneath it ran into a thin pair of pinkish-red lips that seemed to beg to be kissed. The narrow line of the boy's jaw ran back to a delicate little earlobe. John thought ruefully of his own; Jeremy's, though, was made to be tasted and toyed with, perhaps nibbled, but not bitten. The soft, thin neck below that seemed like a flower stem beaded with dew. The narrow shoulders, softly curved, led down to the collarbones, which seemed to be those of a bird. Jeremy took the soap and began to rub the front of John's pelvis. John took the fragile wrist in his hand and said, "No, work up a lather and do it with your hands like I did." Jeremy said, "Okay," and furiously worked up a lather, his whole body shaking. John stood transfixed at the little body shaking before him, the hard little dick moving madly from side to side, the little balls hitting one hairless ivory thigh, then the other. It was soon a good lather. Jeremy held the soap in his hand uncertainly for a moment, then handed it to John, who reached back and placed it in the dish behind him, not taking his eyes off the boy. Jeremy set in with a vengeance, rubbing all around John's dick, scrubbing hard as he ran his little hands through the man's copious pubic hair. "Hey! Not so hard!" John said. "You can hurt a guy if you go too hard down there." Jeremy smiled up and John and seemed to be thinking, and John wondered if he should have said that. This kid, after all, was surely storing that knowledge for future use, perhaps against John. The thought was a passing one, for Jeremy soon began to soap John's balls, softly as the man had done to him. "Yeah, kid, like that," John said in a low voice. Precum was oozing out of John's dick like mad, but Jeremy didn't notice it, seeing as they were both all wet anyway. Jeremy washed them with both hands, at one point holding them up with one hand while he soaped underneath. "Now my dick, Jeremy," John said gutturally, "wash my dick." Jeremy moved his right hand up slowly from John's balls to the base of his dick and grasped it, his fingers able to reach around, but barely. The boy placed his left hand above his right on the man's dick, locking his elbows, and began to move up and down on it frantically, putting his whole body into it. "Wait. Slow down. You can go faster when I tell you to," John instructed. Jeremy started moving his hands slowly up and down the man's dick, up to the head, back down to the base, putting his whole body into it as before, but moving more slowly. "That's great, Jeremy," John said, putting his hands on the boy's straining shoulders, as much to steady himself as to encourage the boy. "Now I'm going to show you something. Have you seen a man cum before?" Jeremy stopped, but did not let go of John's dick. Jeremy thought of lying; after all, he had heard and told dirty jokes at school and laughed as if he knew what they were about. He decided to tell the truth. "No, what's that?" "Keep going, boy, and you'll see," John said. Jeremy started up again. "Just a little faster. Yeah, that's right. Oh, yeah ... a little faster now ...." Suddenly John let go with a volley that flew right over the boy's head. The second shot hit him square in the face, dripping off Jeremy's eyelashes, running down his nose, across his lips and down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Four more blasts landed on the boy's neck and chest. Jeremy let go of John's dick as if it were a red-hot poker and stood flabbergasted. John grabbed him quickly, turning Jeremy so he had his back to him, then turning both of them so that Jeremy was in the direct spray of the shower. The man got on his knees, holding the boy tight with his right arm as he rinsed the cum off the kid's face with his left. John's still-hard dick was held in the space between Jeremy's thighs, with the head just touching the bottom of his ass. "That was great, Jeremy," he said softly in the boy's ear, "you made me very happy." John continued to rinse the cum off the rest of Jeremy, trying not to linger, doing so anyway. Jeremy put his hands on John's hand as it continued to rinse him off. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised, I guess." "Nothing to be sorry about. You did great. Now when it happens to you, you won't be surprised," John said. "Does it feel good when you do that?" "Better than anything in the world," John said, and kissed Jeremy on the cheek. "It felt good when you were rubbing me there before. Can I do what you did?" John reached up and got the soap with his left hand, not letting go of him with his right. He worked up a lather between his hands, his inner forearms moving on the boy's hips, as Jeremy watched. John took Jeremy's little ball sac in his left hand and toyed with it, then took the boy's small dick, still hard after all this time, with two fingers and the thumb of his right hand. He started to stroke the boy's dick, then, continuing to stroke, he reached back with his left hand and, not pulling away, he started to run his soapy fingers up and down Jeremy's crack. "Mmmm," was all Jeremy could say. John went faster and faster on Jeremy's dick with his right as he ran his left ring finger along the precious little line between his legs. John moved his third finger up the the boy's crack and back down again, then twirled his little finger over the anal opening as he jacked the boy faster and faster. He felt Jeremy tighten up and knew he was close. John stuck the tip of his little finger in the boy's hole as Jeremy came. It wasn't much, and it mostly dribbled over John's hand, but it was the real thing. Jeremy stood trying to catch his breath as John held him tight with both arms. "I guess you can, sport. How was it?" "Better than anything in the world," Jeremy said. John quickly rinsed them both off, Jeremy mostly staring off into space, occasionally looking at John with what looked like awe. John thought evilly of leaving his sperm in the boy's hair, but of course he rinsed it out; he didn't want Jeremy's hair sticking together, his mother fussing over him with a comb trying to get it out while Lawrence tried to hold him down. By now, John realized, they were _way_ late, and Allison and Lawrence were undoubtedly getting tired of cooling their heels in the outer office. Good. John got towels for both he and Jeremy, handed one to the boy, and dried himself off. Jeremy just stood there looking at him with an inscrutable expression, so John dried Jeremy off too. The blowdryer was sitting on the bench nearest the locker room door. John took it back to the lockers they were using, plugged it in, and placed Jeremy in his lap. John took a comb out of the back pocket of his slacks and blow-dried Jeremy's hair. Jeremy sat perfectly still. The blow-drying made the boy look like a perfect little moppet - like one of those irresistibly cute youngsters on TV or in the movies whose sole fault is that they have _way_ too much hair. It also made John hearken back to what Jeremy looked like in the too-large t-shirt. With his hair like this, wearing that t-shirt and a small necklace, this kid would be fighting off passes in any singles bar in the city. John had half a mind to try taking him out as his "girlfriend" sometime, if things continued as they were going. Jeremy, again, shook John out of his reverie. The naked boy took the blowdryer out of John's hand and reached for the comb. "I get to do you now," he said. John obediently handed over the comb, and Jeremy set to work on the man's hair. He was a bit rough, as usual, but John didn't say anything. Jeremy worked the blowdryer like a demon, shaking it constantly, and John regretted that most of the time the kid was standing behind him. "Done!" Jeremy said, smiling, and handed John the blowdryer and comb. John unplugged the blowdryer and put the comb back in his pants pocket. He shuddered to think what his hair must look like but resisted the temptation to comb it in front of Jeremy, undoing the boy's "good" work. "Good! Now hurry up and get dressed, Allison and Lawrence are waiting for us," John said. He avoided saying "your parents," though he had gotten away with it before, remembering Jeremy's fantasy about having been kidnapped. Jeremy let out his breath disgustedly, but put on his clothes. John did so too, watching the little angel beside him all the while. Little angel - did he really think that? This was a demon if ever one came to life - except he didn't seem like one at that moment. When they were dressed, John told Jeremy to go check and make sure the boxing gloves were hung up. He knew they were, as did Jeremy, who protested the same, but eventually did as he was told. John took a quick glance in a mirror and decided Jeremy hadn't done a bad job at all with his hair. John only had to touch it up in a couple places. Jeremy came back as John turned away from the mirror. "Everything's back where it goes," he said, "and you look fine." John smiled to himself, then turned the smile on the boy. "Well, let's go then." "I want to stay here. I don't want to go home." "You'll see me next week." Jeremy went to punch John, but the man blocked it as he had been showing the boy. He grabbed Jeremy by the wrists and pulled him close. "We'll be together next week again. I'll ask your parents if you can stay longer, maybe the weekend." "They're _not_ my parents!" Jeremy said, and John realized his mistake. "Okay, sorry, Allison and Lawrence. I'll ask them, if you're good, to let you stay the weekend next time." Jeremy stood staring at his shoes, one of which was kicking the floor petulantly. "Okay," he said very softly, seeming suddenly very childlike, almost infantile. "Would you carry me back like you did before?" John picked up the boy but did not sling him over his shoulder as before; rather, he held Jeremy by his bottom with his left arm and put his right across the boy's back. Jeremy put his arms around John and rested his head on the man's shoulder. John carried him like that all the way back to the outer office, savoring each step. Jeremy did not seem heavy at all. When they got back, Lawrence and Allison stood up rapidly, their mouths open in shock. They had left one boy and were getting back a completely different one - the one they had always hoped they would have. John put Jeremy down and held his hand. He leaned down and said to Jeremy, "I need to talk to your parents for a minute." John winked at the kid, not so the parents could see. Jeremy winked back and said, "Okay." Jorge was grinning from ear to ear, and John knew he would burst into laughter at any moment, so John shot a stern glance at his servant and the smile disappeared. John escorted Jeremy's parents into the inner office. Jorge shot an even sterner glance at Jeremy, who simply sat down in a chair and smiled back. John told Lawrence and Allison that he felt that he and Jeremy were making real progress. They nodded in eager, dumbfounded agreement. Tonight's session had run long, John said, firing a glance at Allison, who averted her eyes, but in a way, it had been a good thing, he continued, since it showed what could be accomplished in a longer session. John reminded Lawrence of the proposal he had made last time, of keeping Jeremy for a few days. John said that if they agreed, he would reschedule his Saturday and Sunday appointments and work with Jeremy full-time the following weekend. They readily agreed. John told them to pack a small overnight bag for Jeremy, only clothes and perhaps a favorite stuffed animal if he had one? He didn't. Clothes for three days, three sets of pajamas, a pair of swim trunks just in case. They would drop Jeremy off at his regular time on Friday night and pick him up on Monday morning. Lawrence protested that they couldn't pay for that many hours, and John replied that Lawrence had done a terrific job with the taxes and John's finances generally (which was true). Lawrence opened his mouth to protest again, and Allison kicked him. He shut his mouth. It was decided that Jeremy would spend the following weekend at John's house. John asked them to write down any allergies the boy had, and they replied that there were none. John told Allison to start keeping a log of all of Jeremy's activities, in as much detail as possible. He emphasized that she should leave nothing out. Lawrence said he would help. As they walked out of the office, Jeremy looked anxiously up at John, who smiled and gave him a furtive "thumbs up." Jorge saw it and stifled a chuckle, which drew another stern glance from John. Allison reached for Jeremy's hand, and he took it like a little angel; Lawrence reached his arm around behind his wife and squeezed his son's shoulder as they walked out - the perfect family. As soon as they were gone, Jorge burst into uncontrollable bouts of laughter, and John decided to let him have his fun. Before long, they were both laughing. That's all for now ...