Date: Fri, 4 Jul 2014 07:41:15 +0200
From: Sam Johnson <samjohnson77@mail.com>
Subject: Pure As The Driven Snow

Pure As The Driven Snow
by Sam Johnson
(feedback welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com)

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"Okay, that's good," I said, immediately checking the camera to see how the
shot had worked. Pretty damn fine, unsurprisingly. "But if we're really
going to impress her, you'll have to drop your pants as well."

The boy, looking at me cheekily from under his grey beanie, ran a hand
self-consciously across his bare upper torso, then made as if to start
unbuttoning his jeans...but broke off laughing. "Yeah, right – you
wish!"

And he was right – I did wish. For the last five days, since I'd met
Blake from Chalet No. 3, I'd done nothing but wish. But now, I felt, was
the moment to man up.

"Come on, Blake!" I said. "I'm trying to help here – I'm trying to work
on your generational level. If you want to impress this girl, you've got to
send her a picture of your dick. Everyone knows that. Don't worry about
flowers and chocolates – sexting is where it's at."

He laughed, enjoying the attention, but shaking his head. He leaned back on
the old striped beach chair, the seat just inches off the ground, an
incongruous find of the boy's in this secluded little snowfield. Stretching
his legs further out in front of him, he put his hands behind his head,
showing off his smooth boy-pits.

"At least unzip your jeans – let her see your bulge – girls expect a
boy to sex it up these days, Blake."

He grabbed the sides of the chair, dug the heels of his sneakers into the
snow-dusted earth, and pushed his hips up while making a jokingly lewd
grope of his crotch. "How about that?" he asked.

"Good! That's good!" I quickly brought the camera up but he just as quickly
took his hand away and sat back down.

Oh this boy was too much. When I met him five days ago, he just happened to
have his shirt off, out the front of his chalet, dicking around with his
skis. He LOVED walking around without a shirt on. The late winter sunshine
was a godsend for us all. That tight little boy-body with its precociously
budding form was obviously his pride and joy. Whenever I wandered over to
chat to him (which was often), and he had his shirt off (which was always),
there was always a frisson, a slight awareness of his displaying his young
body to me.

But so far I'd hadn't laid a finger on him – him in his tight jeans and
sneakers, on the balls of his feet, always dancing and laughing just out
reach, while adjusting his beanie, swiping the hair from his eyes.

"So we're just going to go with this, are we?" I said, taking a few more
shots of him sitting in the chair, legs spread just a little wider than
innocence would admit. He was getting bored by the photo thing, and flipped
the bird at me, then stuck his tongue out.

"Tongue," I said, nodding. "That's good, Blake – that'll get her wet."

"Gross!" he cried, in his still quite high voice.

Young Blake was in the red zone. His randiness had kicked in big time, the
thought of seeing this girl's tits got him horribly excited (Nicole, I
think her name was, or Sylvia or something). But he was also held inn check
by a lingering girl-germ phobia. We both knew it was all a game for
now. From my questioning of him, he hadn't as yet sought out the hard core
porn freely available to boys these days. Titties he liked, but nothing
grosser. He was all sexed up with nowhere to stick it at the moment.

Then he called, "Why don't we send her a picture of YOUR dick!" making it
echo dangerously off the nearby line of trees.

"Buddy," I said, making an exaggerated grab of my cock. "Poor little Mary
couldn't cope with this monster – she'd be so scared she'd have to join
a nunnery."

Laughing, the boy said, "It's 'Annabel', Sam! You never get her name
right!" He was about to stand up out of the chair.

"Stay there!" I said. "Seriously, bud – let's get a decent photo."

"You've already taken a hundred!" he protested, but relaxed back into the
chair, willing to put up with being the centre of attention a bit
longer. When we'd wandered out here, chatting about some tedious computer
game, walked past the ski resort's storage sheds and over the small
well-wooded stream and found this little private space – Blake had
picked up an old discarded beach chair and promptly set himself down in
it. One thing led to another and he readily agreed to take his jumper and
shirt off – he was keen on the joke idea of sending Merrily a buff photo
of himself.

"What," I said to him. "Cindy's not worth taking a little time?"

"ANNABEL!" he yelled

"Jesus, Blake, how many girl are you screwing, anyway?"

"Ha! Yeah, right. I wish."

"Okay, show off your muscles – you've got a bullshit body for a boy your
age, Blake – now work it."

He rolled his eyes, and in a mocking way did a bicep pose with both arms
out. "I can't do this - it'll just look stupid." But he had quick look at
his biceps, quietly straining hard to make them bulge up, which they did,
fresh little lumps of boy dough, just starting to rise.

"No, not like that," I said, and came forward, tucking the camera away in
my pocket. I plonked down on my knees between the boys spread legs. "Your
strength is here," I said, putting my hands onto his shoulders. "Lift your
arms up, straight out to the sides, work your shoulder muscles."

He had pushed back a bit in the chair, a little startled at my sudden close
contact, after five days of very chaste, hands-off flirting. But he raised
his arms up, and I felt the lad's young shoulders bunch and thicken, not
with hardened muscle, but firmly budding boy flesh.

I squeezed his shoulders. "Impressive, Blake. You pick up some weights in a
few years, you'll fucken explode into a muscle-bound stud. Seriously."

He scoffed a bit, still pushing back in his chair, taking quick glances at
my hands on him. "I do push ups," he said, "like, at school an' that."

"It shows."

I moved one hand down across his chest, feeling the subtle shape of his
boyish pecs, the soft little point of a nipple under my fingers. "But here,
Blake," I said, running my hand right down his front, across his tight
tummy to the top of his jeans, and slowly back up. "Your upper body has
form and compactness – a natural strength to it. I noticed it the first
time I saw you with your shirt off. You're coming to my local gym when we
get back to the city."

He made a sort of protesting clearing of his throat, as if to deny my
compliments. But mainly he was a bit buzzed and freaked by my bold touching
of him. The boy had, for five days now, been displaying his developing body
to me – and the fact that he wasn't fully conscious of his actions only
drove me wilder. His strutting and posing was both brazen and innocent. So,
to be noticed and responded to like this was a shock to him, what with our
adult society being so determined to avert its gaze from the blooming buds
of youth.

I gripped the sides of his waist, thumbs pointing in to his tummy
button. "Show me your six pack, Blake," I told him.

He tensed his tummy hard, a little bit of colour starting to rise in his
cheeks.

"Good boy," I said, pushing my thumbs firmly into the hard muscle under the
soft little layer of boy skin. "Fuck yeah, feel that."

"Huh?" he said, looking down at himself, shifting a bit in the chair.

"This," I said, removing my hand to run a knuckle gently down one side of
his tummy, along the gentle crease of a future plate-like stomach
muscle. "I can read your future in lines like this, Blake. Better than a
palm reader."

"Yeah?" The boy looked, with a bit of a shiver, at my knuckle tracing down
his smooth skin. "What's my future, then?" he said with a slight crack in
his tenor voice.

"You'll be a fucking stud," I said, moving to undo the button of his
jeans. It was a tight little bastard of a button, worthy of its owner, and
I had to work at it, digging my knuckles into his lower tummy, making the
boy suck in, shift to one side in his chair, slide a heel along the
snow-dusted earth. But he chose to stay there and watch me undo his pants.

"A fucking stud," I continued, "who little Megan will be whimpering and
begging to please fuck her."

The boy gave a nervous laugh as I finally undid the button of his
jeans. The pants were a tight fit on his slim little hips, and even working
the fly down was a bit tricky, especially as I was now bumping and nudging
his boy sex, which got him a bit jumpy.

"Sam," he said, moving his hands to mine, although not making a really
serious attempt to intervene.

"Sam, don't," he said, and then: "I've only got a small one."

I stopped and looked at him. He only briefly glanced at me, used his
fingers to try and pull the top of his jeans back together again.

"Blake, buddy, I don't want to be mean, but you've only got a small
everything – even your stud's body is small – you're still a kid."

His face was set. "I've got a small one, I know that."

"How do you know that?" I asked, quite seriously interested. "When I asked
you yesterday about how many boys are circumcised these days, you said you
didn't know - you haven't seen the other boys' dicks."

"Yeah, but...even in sex ed they have pictures an' that," he muttered.

"Come on, show me the damage," I said. But, quite dexterously, he'd already
got his jeans button done back up, goddamn it.

I thought I'd lost him, but he was still making no move to get up out of
the chair, so I persisted. "Seriously, Blake, show me your cock – I'll
tell you exactly what you've got, how bad your situation is. Surely it's
better to know the worst."

He took a deep breath, gave a small shrug, and moved his hands up to adjust
the beanie on his head, again showing me his boy pits, and leaving his
jeans free from obstruction.

I wasn't sure whether his claim of having a "small one" was a genuine fear
about his size, or whether it was shyness at the prospect of exposing
himself. Like most boys these days, he simply didn't get naked in front of
other boys or men. During puberty, that's a recipe for neurotic shyness. It
doesn't HAVE to be that way, but it is easy for it to BECOME that way.

"Jesus," I muttered with mock exasperation. "Now I've gotta get this damn
button undone again."

But I got it undone in a flash this time. The green light was on, but
perilously so, and I wasn't going to muck around. I worked the fly right
down, the jeans spreading to show a nice swathe of his dark blue undies.

Obviously, in the position he was, with his legs spread either side of me,
I wasn't going to be able to get his jeans pulled down very far, but I
reached behind him, got my hands under the denim waistline and started
yanking them down over his butt. It was surprisingly difficult, and the boy
made a few startled "careful" and "ooh-ow" expressions – but he did
finally put his hands on the side-bars of the chair to lift himself up a
bit.

So I got his pants pulled down to fully expose his undies and his upper
thighs – his undies had dragged down a bit with the jeans – half his
little butt was showing, as snowy white as the ground below. And in front
the undies had also dragged down, but not showing anything other than the
smooth white skin of his pubic region, a region that in a few short years
would be a dense and tangled forest, but right now was as starkly virginal
as our surroundings.

I hooked my fingers under the waistband of his undies and pulled them down,
stretching and wrenching at them until he was fully exposed.

And I was a bit surprised, to be honest – surprised at him and surprised
at my heartbeat. I could die for this boy, or tear him apart.

It wasn't that he had a "small one". It was that he was still quite
immature – young Blake had no pubic hair and a boy penis that still had
most of its growing to do. Given the precociously budding form his upper
body, I was expecting a bit of adolescent mongrel – certainly I thought
he'd have hair. Now you'd have to suppose he didn't yet have semen.

"See, I told ya," the boy said in a tight voice, and reached down to
himself, unstuck his little penis from where it nestled to one side on his
ball sack, then pinched the end of his foreskin and stretched it right out
– it made me wince – then let it go, so it now showed a little more
prominently on him.

"You've got it all wrong, Blake," I said. "For the stage of development
you're at, you're not small at all – if anything you're slightly above
average. I mean, you haven't even got pubic hair yet, so you can't - "

The boy interrupted aggressively: "Yeah – I've got pubes!"

"Eh?" I said, trying not to laugh. I mean, I'd heard of the Emperor's
clothes, but the Beautiful Boy's Pubes? What would the moral of that tale
be?

But the boy was adamant and he bent forward over himself, using both hands
to show me. He felt the smooth skin just above the base of his penis, and
pulled the skin taut. "See? Here," directing me to it.

And I saw what he meant – he did indeed have a light bit of blonde fuzz
growing there. He moved his hands away to let me feel him. And I could feel
the tiniest tickle of his fur with the pads of my fingers. While there I
also made sure to jostle the base of his penis and run a nudging finger
down beside his soft scrotum which was starting to tighten in the nipping
air.

"That's not actually pubic hair, buddy," I said.

He frowned, studying it again. "But, it'll grow, won't it?"

"You will get pubic hair, absolutely – but that's not it. That stuff
will disappear once your pubes start."

"So when will I get pubes?" he asked.

I moved my fingers to his ball sack, which was a tough little walnut
now. He swallowed noticeably, but if anything spread his legs a bit, giving
me full access to handle him, although watching like a hawk.

As I gently moved his testes about, I felt the sure sign of his puberty
gathering momentum.

"Ah, well – very soon – you know your balls are getting big on
you. These are good balls."

"Ah!" he cried, flinching a bit as I accidentally pushed one a little
firmly up into its socket.

"Sorry, bud," I said. "Within six months, I guarantee you'll have your
first pubes. Probably sooner."

"Really?" he said.

"I'll bet you a hundred bucks."

"What about my dick - will it grow bigger?"

"Of course. But give your cock a break, buddy – it's not a bad size
right now. Seriously, you're just a year or two later out of the blocks
than other kids, that's all. My guess is that your fuck energy is being
directed into your upper body at the moment, but don't worry, that's set to
change very soon."

But the boy's interest was more straight forward. "How much will it grow?"

"Ah, well, you're in luck," I said, breaking into a grin. "I can read a
boy's penis better than a gypsy woman can read your palm."

The boy snorted a small laugh. "Yeah, right."

"So you don't want me to give it go?" I asked him. "See what you've got
coming?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders with feigned nonchalance, but as I put my
hands firmly on his bare upper thighs, he pushed his clenched fists back
behind him, giving me mute permission. When I bent forward and down to take
him in my mouth, he let out a "Sam!" and put a restraining hand on my head.

I lifted my head up and said, "Blake, I don't tell you how to woo Katrina –
so don't tell me how to read a boy's dick, okay?"

"You're always telling me what to do about Annabel!" he cried, nervously
jiggling his knees, bumping them against me – signs of impatience
starting up in the little monkey.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta – poor Lucy's sitting in her room, waiting
for -"

"It's Annabel!" the boy yelled, and gave my head another playful shove –
although whether it was a shove away or a shove to get on with it, probably
neither of us could say for sure. But his boy-prick was showing definite
signs of arousal – a little roll and twitch from it's soft nestled
position.

"Annabel?" I frowned quizzically. "Really, Blake, I can't keep up – how
many girls are you screwing?"

"About a hundred according to you!" He made the cutest little faux snarl
and actually pushed down on my head and made a couple of upward bucks of
his slim little hips – it was supposed to be joking around, like before,
but the boy was getting randy as I hovered close to him, breathing on his
bare skin, his tummy and his privates, and the joking fell away and he
wanted something sexy to happen as his penis got quickly stiff and sticking
up, almost touching my chin as he bumped his butt up off the seat.

I took a few more moments to savour him, the faint rising tang of his boy
odour, fresh from all day in his undies – yes, a definite waft of
beginner's heat coming off him. I dipped my head down and ran my lips,
barely touching, along his slender, straining little shiv, and up to his
hidden glans, still unwrapped, a tight bud still hidden in his
foreskin. And the poor boy – he put a hand on my head, took it away,
arched sideways to look at his teased stiffy, to see what I was – or
infuriatingly wasn't – doing.

Until he finally reached down to grab his penis, and he gave it several
quite fierce squeezes, made his moist pale knob bulge and poke out a
bit. It gave me another clear piece of knowledge about him – he hadn't
as yet learned to masturbate.

"Do this," I said, as I moved his hand away from himself. I took hold of
his boy-prick between finger and thumb and began to masturbate him. A boy's
penis is a sublime paradox at this stage of life – such an impossibly
tender little sprig, such a fierce little dagger.

He watched me working him with intense, almost pained, interest. In fact I
paused my stroking of him to ask if it was alright, if it was hurting at
all – I thought maybe his foreskin was too tight or something.

His response was a classic little grunt of boy-frustration, letting me know
in no uncertain terms what he wanted me to do. But you can't let a boy
completely rule the roost. So I surprised him by putting my hands to his
slim naked hips and bending to take his erection fully into my mouth.

"Sam!" was his involuntary cry as he put his hands on my head – the lad
obviously startled by the sight of a big shaggy man's head right down
between his legs, completely swallowing his boy-sex from view.

But as I shaped my mouth to give his shaft maximum wet stimulation, working
with rhythmic pulses on his sweet spot, I was rewarded by the most darling
little yips and flinches from him as his sexual excitement quickly built
and shot way past his previous polymorphous experiences, made him a bit
confused and dirty in the way he strained his pubic region up at me,
digging his heels in the ground, spreading his legs a little bit wider. One
moment he was trying to push my head away – it was too much! – and
the next he was rudely trying to force it down as he shoved his little
boy-cock hard up, trying to slam and fuck the soft wet membranous pleasure
that was making him such a hot little animal.

He was obviously close to orgasm, so I lifted off him, again ran my lips
barely touching along his glistening little shaft. The way his prick
twitched and reared, I thought for a moment he was having a dry orgasm, but
the pained "nngh, ngh," from the back of his throat indicated he still
needed to get there.

And then he made me laugh. He took hold of the base of his stiff penis with
his finger and thumb, and tried valiantly to guide it back to my mouth. But
I hovered and teased and wouldn't quite take him. So he put a hand on my
head, my brave, demanding little soldier, and tried to force the issue. So
I played him a bit, let him push a tantalising tip between my lips before I
moved off, started grazing across his thighs, occasionally rasping my
stubbled jaw across his painfully tender arousal, getting some nice
flinches from him, before wandering further off, kissing into the little
crook beside his tight ball bag. He had no time for such frippery, and kept
trying to get me back on track, kept grappling with my recalcitrant head,
as ineffectually as a pre-schooler trying to pick up a bowling ball. All
the while I moved a hand over his straining tummy, up to his chest and
tight little nipples, feeling the shivery sex response of his entire young
body.

I had wanted to bring him off by hand, to watch him orgasm, watch for any
little beginner spots of juice he might produce. But I couldn't do it. He
badly needed to put his dick back in the wet warmth of my mouth and I
wasn't going to deny it him.

In one quick movement I took his entire slender length and gave him my full
oral attention, enough to give a man the staggers, let alone this
too-sensitive virgin boy. And with his hands on the sides of the chair, he
bucked his hips up hard, really driving his boy cock with strength and
purpose, knowing this was the end game, about to discover what it was he so
badly wanted to do – no longer wanting to just have his dick played with
but wanting to fuck with it, and his darling little face screwed up
fiercely with intent.

Until, with the softest of cries, he broke into a fantastically rapid
volley of twitching spasms, his first orgasm, unencumbered by ejaculate,
like a fairy wand delivering a quick series of rat-a-tat-tat's, his
engulfed prick lurching like a manic little seahorse off the leash. And all
the while he kept his hips straining up to the utmost, buried in my mouth,
whimpering at the deeper splits and eruptions of his tender pubescence.
Until finally he had finished, and slowly lowered his newly spent self back
into the chair, looking with some wonder at what could have happened.

THE END
(feedback welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com)