Date: Fri, 25 Sep 2020 08:25:24 +0300 From: Ursa Minor Subject: Pushing Boundaries 1 Hey there, people of Nifty! This particular story is special to me. It is a collaborative labor of love written by myself and a younger boylover in my life, someone who was arguably MY boy for part of his teen years, even though we weren't able to be physically intimate until later in his life. We sort-of started out thinking about this collaboration as a way to imagine what could have been for us if we'd gotten together when he was a child, or at least I did. But as roleplay often does, it quickly took on a life of its own as seemingly casual decisions drove the story in very unexpected directions. That said, bear in mind that it is, first and foremost, a story; the characters are imperfect, and not necessarily the best role models for what might constitute good behavior in any similar real life situations. Allowing their story to provoke thought on best ethical practices is encouraged, but blindly presuming that the answers that fit the characters are the answers that would fit any real life circumstance is just setting yourself (and probably others) up for catastrophic, painful failures. Don't do that. Finally, as always, be sure to tip your writers with verbal feedback, and your hosts here at Nifty with financial feedback. Were it not for them, this site would not exist, and I'm quite sure that there are many stiflers of free speech out there who would prefer it didn't. Make sure Nifty's coffers are well armed against any potential attack. "You know you and Tommy are welcome to stay here for the week. It would give you a chance to clear your heads." It had become habit to make the offer, and I honestly didn't expect it to go anywhere. To my surprise, however, this time was different. This time Mike, my best friend for as long as I could remember, went silent for a few moments and then replied, "You know, Gary, I think I'd love to come up for the week." I had to double-check to make sure I'd heard correctly. "Really? You're not just pulling my leg?" "Yes, really," Mike replied. "The commute to the job site might be a bit crazy, but I could use a trip out there and I really think Tommy could benefit from being away for a little while. Things are a bit heated with him and his mom, especially because of the, uh, Marky-situation..." I didn't know much about the Marky situation, as Mike had put it, other than that it involved his wife being very upset at his son, Tom, for some mischief he'd gotten into with a friend named Marky. He'd brought it up earlier when I asked how the boy was, but he'd quickly passed over it in favor of several other aspects contributing to his stress-induced rant. Not a new occurrence for him -- Mike's life tended to resist normalcy and stability. At least, that was what I told myself so that I could feel better about his uncomfortable lack of visits over the years. Goodness, I don't think I'd even seen Tommy since he was six years old! There had been a few online conversations over the years, but never anything substantial. Same with Mike, we went through periods where we touched base constantly for a week or two and then fell silent with each other for six months or more. The real reason for that, ultimately, was his wife, who did not like me at all. Long story. "Well then I have to admit, I'm excited. I'll make up the guest room and the couch." I let some mirth enter my tone as I reminded him, "The latter's yours, of course. Loser." Mike laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah, I haven't forgotten the tradition. So I'll arrive on Monday, but I'm afraid I've got to book straight to the client at first. Is it rude if I dump Tommy with his Uncle Gary solo for a few hours?" "When have you ever known me to feel inconvenienced by the company of a charming young lad?" I replied impishly, still in mirth mode. I actually did feel a little bit awkward about Mike, in particular, choosing to leave me alone with my honorary nephew. He knew me too well, and there were too many ways for him to get the wrong idea. Or the right one. Either way, humor was always my best way of covering up insecurities like that. Mike, for his part, either remained oblivious or genuinely had no reservations about that arrangement. "Well, keep in mind he's changed since you last saw him. Raging hormones and all that. You might not like version 11.5." I mock scoffed. "You underestimate my powers." "Actually," Mike mused with an odd tone that I couldn't quite place, "I'm counting on them." There was a noise in the background. "Listen, I've gotta go. We'll see you in a few days, okay?" I nodded, a futile gesture since he obviously couldn't see me over the phone. "You bet. Hugs and love, my bud." "Hugs and love," he replied, hanging up. I glanced around my kitchen. "Well," I remarked to no one. "Incoming house guests..." I dove mightily forward, bobbing up and down on the teenage cock with a passion that could make Hoover proud (both the vacuum company and the former FBI director, potentially). Blond pubes were tickling at my nose, and I couldn't help but wistfully remember a time before they'd appeared on this handsome young stud. We'd been doing the dance for years; I could tell that he was close. He had this adorable way of curling his toes when he was about to orgasm, and though I obviously couldn't actually see him doing that, I could feel the subtle tug of his tendons on the back of his thighs as I caressed them. Like any good lovers, we had a tendency to alternate positions in a way that allowed us to `take turns' indulging each others' fetishes, and although there's a lot to be said for the comfort of a soft bed to lay on, I've always enjoyed giving boys blowjobs while they're standing up. There's just something about being on my knees and having the freedom to run my hands all up and down my lover's ass and legs that adds something special to the experience for me. Perhaps it was just the memory of the first time that we had done it, when he'd had to hop on top of an ottoman in order to spare me from craning my neck at our height difference. It was the consideration he'd shown for me in that moment that had really caused me to surrender my heart to the then-preteen hormone bomb. His journey through puberty had done little to discourage those feelings. Sadly, the romantic nature of my feelings was unrequited. For him this was just fun, a way to get his rocks off without having to resort to such banal trivialities as the use of his own hand. Don't get me wrong, he loved me well enough as a friend. He just wasn't in love with me, and there were times when that truth mattered more to me than others. With the odds against finding Little Johnny Right being as astronomical as the lottery, one does have to make compromises of spirit in order not to be left fully out in the cold. "Ungh! Uhhh... YESSSSsssssss." There it was, that delicious reward coating my tongue and declaring beyond any possible rebuttal that I had brought joy into my child partner's day, if at least for a few moments. I slurped up the offering eagerly, and then stood up and swapped some of it back to him in a long tongue-kiss. We both fell forward onto my bed. "That was a good one," Kyle told me, snuggling up into the crook of my arm. "You were really feeling it." If there's one universal truth in this world, it is that post-orgasmic bliss is the most opportune moment to give anyone of the male gender bad news. "Well, I might not be able to do it again for awhile," I admitted. "Got company coming up tomorrow." Kyle, knowing full well my tendency to take advantage of those moments, grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked me playfully, in a way equal parts admonishing and accepting. "You old brat," he whined. "You know if you'd said that before I would have called in sick tonight." Kyle was a grocery clerk at the local supermarket, a job I had handily provided the character reference for. I wasn't worried about him being sex starved for the week -- he had a steady walk-in refrigerator routine with one of his same-age co-workers. "I didn't want to disrupt your routine." My left hand moved to his balls, idly playing with the hair on the underside of them. It was a habit I'd developed when he was twelve, in recognition of the first three pubic hairs he'd ever grown appearing there. "Your company is disrupting my routine," the teenager quipped. "Who's coming, anyway? Since apparently I won't be." "My friend Mike and his son," I replied. His eyebrow shot up. "Mike Jenkins?" he asked. "The one who used to live around here?" I nodded. "One and the same. I'm surprised you remember that." Kyle rolled his eyes, swatting my hand off of his balls before hypocritically resting it on my chest and playing with the hairs there. "My mom made a fuss about him the last time he was up here. How he would've been my stepdad if she'd had her way." He chuckled at the memory. "She said it in this coy, `you don't know I'm implying about sex' kind of tone, which of course that was around the time you and I first started messing around so I knew damned well what she meant." "You've always been precocious," I reminded him, leaning in for another kiss, which he happily provided. "Do you remember little Tommy at all?" Kyle shook his head. "Not really." He gave me an `aha' kind of look, as if he'd caught my hand in the cookie jar. "He'd be about twelve now, wouldn't he?" he implied in a very suggestive way. I toyed with being mock offended, but I decided that mock conspiratorial would be funnier. "You know," I remarked in an overly fake surprised manner, "I think you might be right about that." "I knew I was getting too old for you," Kyle kidded, but in that way that didn't exactly sound like 100% kidding, and suddenly my playful attitude evaporated. I lifted his chin deliberately with my finger. "Hey," I reassured him. "Nothing's changed. I'd love you til you were fifty if you let me." The teen shrugged, getting up. "Yeah, well, maybe that's not fair," he replied, searching around for his underwear. I leaned up in the bedpost. Kyle grabbed his hot grey boxer briefs off the floor, but didn't hasten to put them on. His now flaccid penis, still gleaming with my saliva, had a distracting sway to it that made it hard to focus on the seriousness of the topic, but I persevered anyway. "What do you mean?" "I mean that maybe you should move on," he asserted. "I'm never going to feel the way you want me to feel about you, you know that." I tried not to show that that statement bothered me, but I guess I didn't do a very good job of it. "You're the one that taught me it was okay to be honest and accepting about my feelings," he reminded me. "Sometimes I wish I loved you like that, Gar. You're the best friend I've ever had in my life, you've saved my life, and you really deserve to be happy." He stepped into the underwear and pulled them up. "But I just don't. Can't. I love sex with guys, but my heart's always been about girls." "I know," I admitted. Resigned, I stood up and helped him to gather his other clothes, getting dressed myself. "Very little likelihood of my moving on with Tommy, though. I barely know him." I handed him his shirt. "You're just going to have to hit up the local middle school and start playing Cupid." Kyle snickered, talking from underneath the shirt as he slid it on. "I bet I'd be good at that, too. Find you some nice chess club nerd or gaming addict. Remember that game we used to play when I was a kid, where I'd try to tank for a WoW dungeon and you'd change the rhythm of your blowjob based on the music to see if you could mess me up and get the party to wipe?" I winked at my young friend-with-benefits. "Still can't play WoW without getting hard," I admitted, putting on a pair of shorts. He shook his head, amused. "You always were a goofy one, old man." I ruffled his hair. "Thanks, whippersnapper." I gave him another kiss. "If you wanna hang out while they're here, in a no-sex kind of way, I'd be cool with that. Just let me have a day or two to settle them in first. Mike seemed to have some stressful stuff going on and I want to try to get a handle on what it is." "Yeah," Kyle agreed readily as I walked him downstairs. "I wouldn't mind getting a look at the little cutie, size him up for ya. Plus I could bring some stuff from work, let you impress him with some of those sharp cooking skills that keeps your beer belly nice and round." "Brat," I whined, swatting his shoulder. We walked out to his car. It was a seriously beat up old Toyota that he'd largely earned with his own money. I felt that odd sense of fatherly pride -- odd because it isn't the sort of thing one traditionally expects to feel for someone they regularly roll around in the sheets with. "Looking good. You get the oil changed?" "Yes, dad," Kyle responded with heavy sarcasm. "Now go back inside and take care of yourself. Think about the fact that after Mike and the munchkin leave, I'm going to edge that cock over for at least an hour on my next day off." He opened his car door and got in. "Promises, promises," I sing-songed, desperately trying to will my boner not to re-emerge while going commado in loose shorts. "Get to work, slacker." I watched as he drove down the street, and then ran inside and followed his orders to the letter. Two days later, I was looking at a very different car in the driveway; newer, obviously rented. "Tommy, it's so nice to see you again!" I called out, watching a scrawny redheaded boy slide out and gather his things. He didn't really look much like I remembered him, but I put that observation aside for a moment and made eye contact with his father in the driver's seat. As always, I was mildly offended by his not taking the minute out of his day to actually get out of the car and come give me a hug, but I kept the slight to myself. After all, close friends are entitled to certain leeway, and I knew that it wasn't meant as a sign of disrespect to me. It was just who he was. After offering me a nod, Mike grabbed his son's arm and pulled it backward a bit, muttering some kind of last minute instruction. Judging from the resigned executioner's walk that carried the boy's steps up the walk and onto my porch, it was clearly a directive to maintain a false sense of decorum in circumstances that were otherwise unpleasant for the kid. Whether that was malaise at being stuck with me or just discontent from whatever brought them here, I wasn't sure. Dutifully, he shook the odd brown bang out of his face and stood up, straightening out his pastel-purple shirt and trying to muster a smile. "Hi Uncle Gary," he greeted, his voice a dignified soprano. "How's it goin'?" I stepped off to one side and gestured towards the front door, a clear suggestion that we go inside. "It's goin," I replied. "I'm guessing your dad didn't even bother stopping for food, right?" I chuckled knowingly. "What he thinks is so goddamned important about `making good time' on a road trip, I'll never understand." I knew that was part of the reason why I didn't merit a more personal greeting. I also knew that food was a universal peace offering when dealing with a pubescent boy, and sure enough, Tommy perked up a bit. "Yeah, I'm totally starving!" Following me inside, he added in a bit of a mumble, "And, uh, I do wanna have a good time. We had a really cool road trip last year to Yosemite. No offense, this just seems kinda lame in comparison." It was a nice cover. Maybe if I hadn't known his father, I might've bought that his sullen attitude was about the locale and not about whatever metaphorical lodestone was around his neck. But I chose not to push. He glanced around at my front area, which is one of those combination kitchen/dining room things. However, I don't really have a dining room; instead, I had set up two large computer desks against the wall, each with multiple monitors, webcams and boom microphones, like a Twitch streamer has. Some of it was from taking care of my late mother, who'd been a fellow computer addict right up until the end. Some I'd added during the pandemic, and in order to have a decent way to entertain Kyle when he had time to visit more than just my bedroom. "What do you have to eat?" the youngster asked me. I went to the fridge and opened it up, directing my response to the inside of it. "Got a few choices. There's sandwich meat, Macaroni and Cheese, some frozen pizza in the freezer..." I closed the door and turned to him. "Or we could just go with the alphabet soup you had the *last* time you were here." I smirked, making a mental note to text Kyle and request that he bring a can -- I'm always on the lookout for joke props. "I bought a twelve pack of them that week," I teased, "and I think I've still got the other five left in there." "Oh mannn, alphabet soup? Seriously?" The preteen scoffed. "You're picking on me, right?" At least his sense of humor did seem to be active, if currently trapped. "Jeez... let's just do frozen pizza, I guess." His attention was grabbed by the computers. "What are you, some kinda streamer?" I headed over to the freezer and pulled out a large pizza box, putting it on the counter and turning on the stove. "Not really," I remarked, half my attention on my tasks. "I stream every now and then, but mostly I have that setup for RPG gaming and work." I ripped open the box and pulled the pizza out of its plastic wrappings. "As for the soup, that really is what you ate last time you were here. You were pretty big on it at the time." Pizza inserted and oven closed, I turned back to him, offering him a wide grin. "I'm sure your tastes are more complicated now, though." I stepped over and placed my hand on his shoulder, giving him a good look over. "Damn, you sure have grown up, Tommy. Your dad sends a picture every now and then but it's not really the same as actually seeing you, y'know? I mean, you're, like, an actual person now." A person firmly in my dating pool, I added to myself, but I didn't share that particular lewd thought. Perhaps if he lived closer, Kyle would've had a point after all. The youngster gulped, and I could tell that he seemed bothered by my words. That concerned me -- was I being too lecherous? But it turned out to be an offense of a different sort. "Can you call me Tom, please? I hate it was Dad still calls me Tommy..." I guess he saw an acceptance in my eyes, because once that demand was expelled, he relaxed a bit. "I haven't had alphabet soup in... well I can't remember the last time! I bet I was big on it when I was six, though. Let's see, if I remember..." He giggled a bit, closing his eyes and doing some kind of mental gymnastics. "Umm, you play a lot of World of Warcraft, right?" "Not as much as I used to," I nodded, my mind involuntarily flashing back to Kyle's reminiscent memories of the game. Damn, I was going to get hard. "C'mon, let me show you around the place," I offered, patting him on the shoulder and moving ahead of him, keeping my front area away from his gaze. I started up the staircase. "So, Tom, huh? Not full-out Thomas? Or maybe Mister Jenkins?" There was a new perkiness to the sound of his voice behind me. "Well I can't be Thomas cause it's not on my birth certificate," he reasoned. "But maybe I'll change my name to Mister Jenkins." He giggled more freely, his boyish timbre echoing sweetly up the hallway. Another reminder of Kyle at that age. To distract myself from going any further down that rabbit hole, I focused on the substance of the conversation. "Bah," I waved offhandedly, as though physically pushing aside the concept of naming limitations. "Never let paper dictate your destiny, Tom. If you want to be called Lord Hasperdasher, you live in a free country where you get to define yourself for people." I looked back down from the top step at him, and he seemed raptly attentive to my elderly wisdom. "Although don't be so hard on those who choose a nickname for you, it's usually done out of love." I probably should have left it there, but as I'm wont to do, I took the thought a step further. "I mean, unless it's... y'know, a playground insult type nickname. Then flip `em the bird." Having boxed myself into a mental corner, I demonstrated with a flash of my middle finger at the middle schooler, giving him a snarky grin. Predictably, he had a fit of laughter over that antic. "HAH! Oh man, I'm gonna tell my dad you taught me how to flip the bird!" He seemed much more relaxed. "I don't remember you teaching me fun stuff like that last time we talked!" I didn't bother pointing out that the last time he was in a position to see my hand as he talked, he was barely out of diapers. "If that's the first time someone taught you to flip the bird," I quipped, "then your dad and I have to have a talk about you being sheltered WAY too much." I stepped into the upstairs hallway. "Oh, I know all about flipping the bird," he assured me, "but not many adults try to teach me!" He grinned at me, stepping up into the hallway with me. It was a simple hall with two oak doors on the right hand side, spaced twenty feet apart, and a small end table at the far end. The slant of the roof was prevalent on the left side, but not so far inward as to make traversing the hallway awkward. I opened the nearest door. "This first door's my room," I told him. He peeked inside, taking in the armoire, large bed and nightstand filled with knick knacks. I'd managed to give it a good cleaning over the last couple of days, so it actually looked like a proper adult's room and not the tangled mess that I usually keep it. Closing that door, I walked him down the hall to the other one. "And this here is the guest room, which will be your room during your stay," I explained, pausing with my hand on the doorknob. "Your dad always sleeps on the downstairs couch when he's here," I explained, "because he lost a bet when he wasn't much older than you." With a chuckle, I added, "If he pisses me off enough this week, I'll tell you what the bet was about and how badly he lost it." I expected him to be amused by that, but he didn't seem all that interested. "Can I set my backpack down in my room?" he asked. "And, umm, where's the bathroom?" "The bathroom's between the two rooms," I explained, "so just make sure you lock both sides if you want to make sure you have privacy. I assume you're more private about your body than you used to be, Mister Clothes Optional During Dinner." I thought he'd react like he did about the soup, but this time he rallied quickly. "I still don't wear pants to dinner," he replied deadpan. If I hadn't known who his mom was, I might very well have believed him. Guess there's a little jokester in my nephew after all, I thought proudly. "You do you, bud," I replied just as deadpan. "Whatever makes you comfortable. Just remember turnabout's fair play." I nudged my head towards the door. "Now, one thing, you do kinda have roommates in here, but I can move them if they bother you so just let me know." With that, I opened the door to reveal a room fairly similar to my own, except that where my nightstand rested in the other room, there was instead a large parrot cage. Inside, four sugar gliders hopped merrily to and fro, playing with all of the little accoutrements they had hanging inside for them. Tom stepped into the guest room, entranced. "Coooooool! Are these, um.. squirrels or something?" He dropped his backpack on the ground, took out his phone from his pocket, and began snapping pictures of the cute rodent-looking things. "They're sugar gliders," I explained. "They love playing around with people and they eat pretty much anything we eat. Feel free to let them run around the room when you're up here, just make sure you leave the cage door open so that they can get to their bathroom." I opened up the cage, holding my left hand upward in a fist. One of the marsupials, a girl named Stimpy, obligingly lept out to perch on it. "Thanks Gary, these are really cool. Can I hold one maybe?" He seemed eager, putting his phone away and evidently forgetting about the bathroom for the moment. Before I could even answer, one of the other gliders (the boy, Ren... yes, Ren and Stimpy) elected to leap out of the cage and onto Tom's shoulder, sniffing attentively at the human boy's ear. The remaining two crawled around the opening in the cage so that they were on the outside of the bars, climbing up top. I headed over to the armoire and opened one of the smaller drawers, pulling out a strawberry for Stimpy to nibble on. "Aieeeee," Tom squealed. "It tickles!" He pet the glider on his shoulder gently, enjoying the little touches as it sniffed and moved around. I nodded, smiling widely. "Yup, they do love to tickle. Sometimes they can hurt on bare skin, but these guys have had their nails trimmed recently so you'll be safe if you sleep without a shirt." Snickering, I couldn't resist the dig, calling over my shoulder, "They love to eat crickets, though, so be careful with anything they might confuse for a very small worm." I left the room, the contented sounds of the playing youth filling the hallway around me, and headed down the stairs to check on the pizza. I didn't realize it at the time, but the worm joke festered away in his head, causing an uncomfortable stiffness in his pants.