Date: Sat, 3 Aug 2019 15:08:28 +0000 From: Zack McNaught Subject: Scarecrow The following story is fiction. Don't believe a word of it. Boys are angels in human clothing; please don't hurt one to satisfy your desires, no matter how willing he seems. I hope my fantasy helps you find temporary relief. Love, Zack I called him Scarecrow. Because he was a little disheveled, and he had straw coloured hair which stuck out in every direction. It was, I thought, an entirely reasonable nickname. Hugo didn't agree, but that was fine, he didn't need to agree. I was happy to gently tease him, because it made him laugh, and that made we want to be around him more, and that made me want to melt, because I was rather infatuated with him. I had known him for about ten minutes before I fell for him, which according to most boylovers is about average, especially if the boy happens to be extremely pretty (which Hugo most certainly was) and playful (again, that'll be a yes). He was physically affectionate from the off, which always attracts me to a boy. He wasn't the least bit shy around me, which also helped, because I was dreading my colleague's summer party. Time spent with a bunch of people I really didn't know, trying to hide who I really am from them, and dodging, as tactfully as I could manage, any enquiries about my relationship status. I had precisely zero desire to be set up with any of the eligible singletons from the office, be they female or male. I just wanted to go to the party, show my face and get out of there with the least possible invasion of my privacy. That plan was immediately thrown into disarray by Hugo, who became the focus of my perverse attention, and a very good reason to continue sticking around long after I would otherwise have made my excuses. He was the son of my fellow editor, Sue, who herself was one of my better friends at the company. Sue and I had a very good working relationship, and the start of a decent friendship, too. She made no effort to pry into my personal life, nor to discover if and why I was single. I got the feeling with Sue that even if she had known whether I was gay or straight, or something else altogether, and that I was single, it simply wouldn't occur to her to set me up with one of her friends. That I could trust her was the primary reason I agreed to go to her party. I wouldn't have done it for anyone else in the company, but she had promised to look after me, knowing my aversion to socialising. Moreover, she had specifically requested that I arrive early to help her with the preparations, knowing full well that it would help me to overcome my anxiety. That was the first time I met Hugo: I was walking through their house to the open plan kitchen, and in front of me a pair of enormous patio doors stood wide open. Beyond was a beautiful, verdant garden, and in the middle of it an image of utter boyhood perfection playing keepy-uppy on the lawn. Of course he was good looking. Of course he had exactly the right body shape for my tastes (slender, with a tight little backside, in case you cared). Of course I felt the familiar lurch at the sight of him, the same feeling of my stomach tying itself in knots that I always felt when confronted with a beautiful boy. Of course I did, because Hugo was fucking gorgeous. He wore an Arsenal strip that day, red and white high tech fabric which did nothing really to keep him cool. His mop of straw-coloured hair was soon plastered to his forehead with sweat, and both the shorts and t-shirt stuck to him in ways which accentuated just how lithe and toned he was. Sue was keen to point out how proud she was of his footballing prowess at such a young age, and I took it as a good excuse to watch him for a bit, basking in his warm, demigod glow. OK, I'm hyping the kid up quite a lot here, aren't I? But honestly, Hugo was so entirely my type - in both looks and personality - that I wondered briefly if perhaps this was some kind of sting operation. I imagined the absurd lengths the cops had gone to, trawling through all the pictures of boys I had looked at online, and identifying trends: blonde hair - check; blue eyes - check; freckles on the nose - check; a cheeky smile - check; narrow shoulders and hips, and a pert little bum I could mostly cover with one hand - check, check, check. I fantasised that they had worked out which Nifty stories I had enjoyed most in order to profile the perfect kind of boy, and had hand-picked Hugo from a list of hundreds they had just for honey-trap operations like this. He would be well trained, intelligent beyond his years, tempting me to make a move so that the team hidden around the corner could swoop in and arrest me. I was so lost in my little fantasy world that I completely missed him talking to me. "Sorry?" I said, when I realised he was looking expectantly at me. "I was miles away." He giggled; did he realise what I was thinking? "Can you kick the ball about with me?" he asked, his amusement still crinkling his eyes. "Oh, yeah, that would be great." Hugo waved away his mother's protestations that I might not actually want to play, and completely ignored her suggestion that he couldn't keep me all to himself, and for a few, glorious minutes - until the other guests arrived and football became a hazard - Hugo and I kicked a ball back and forth, and giggled, and complemented each other on good kicks, and generally had a most wonderful time. "I'm not a psychologist," Sue said a little later, while Hugo bothered one of the other guests about the books she wrote, which Hugo had read, "but I think it's quite significant that you enjoyed spending so much time with Hugo." I felt like a hot pellet of lead had been dropped into my stomach. God, was I that obviously into her son? "It's simple, really," she went on, airily, as if she wasn't about to reveal my biggest secret. "That trauma you had when you were about his age" - my dad a was killed in a car accident - "means you've never properly grown up. You're still living in the mind of a young boy because you're too scared to behave like an adult." Oh. Not the whole 'deranged pervert' thing, then. "Um, I don't really know," I replied, quite accurately. "I didn't realise I was that bad at being an adult." "Oh goodness, yes," she replied. This was getting rather candid, and I was getting rather uncomfortable. "You're terrible with responsibility, and you can't look after yourself properly. No, you're a complete mess. The only upside, Zachary, is that it gives you the most wonderful knowledge of what boys like him enjoy reading. You know, I bring home every one of your personal picks for him to read. Even the ones we decide not to publish. You remember when Laslo changed his mind about The Butterfly Keeper's Diaries?" I nodded. I had been rather pleased that the head of the publishing house had come round to the idea of publishing the book. It was niche, but wonderful. And it was a cult sensation. "Well," she continued, "he only changed his mind because I read it with Hugo, and Hugo loved it so much that he came to the office and cornered Laslo and made him agree to publish it." "You never told me that!" "Well, I didn't want your head to get too big, did I?" I grinned at her, and shook my head. "So I suppose I'm saying, although you're a crap adult, don't stop being a big kid, eh?" I nodded, and Sue gripped my upper arm warmly, smiled at me, and wandered off through her party. --- "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Sue asked, her voice noticeably softened by a bottle of grenache. "It was hell," I deadpanned, and Sue burst out laughing. "Oh God, yes. Yes it was. You know, I didn't realise we worked with such boring people. Honestly, Zack, what would I do without you there?" I shrugged. I couldn't think of a witty retort, and "you'd get along just fine" was - whilst honest - not probably what she wanted to hear. "Hugo enjoyed himself," I said, changing onto a far more interesting subject. "Yes, he did, didn't he? He's like his dad in that sense, always wants to be the centre of attention." "Actually, wasn't Mark meant to come and take him tonight?" Sue sighed. "Yep. Of course he was. And Hugo will be gutted that he didn't. But then again, being ridiculously selfish and uncaring of the feelings of his family was one of the main things which ended it between us." "Sorry, I didn't mean to stir up bad memories." "Oh, it's fine," she said with a weak smile. "It's just very, very frustrating. You think you know someone, and then it turns out all along that you didn't actually have a clue about what they were really like." I kept quiet, while out of the corner of my eye I looked at Hugo, who was at this point lolling on the trampoline, legs bent, knees up against his bum. If the shorts had been just a little more accommodating, I might have seen up inside the leg, so I was keeping my eye on him, just in case the situation changed. "Zack, I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing earlier, about you being like a big kid." I shrugged again. It had been such a relief that she hadn't outed me as a dirty old perv that I hadn't had time to take offence. "It's fine, really. Actually, you're right. In lots of ways I've never grown up." "Is that why there's not girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" I looked at her, deciding that I would be as honest as I could without giving too much away. "It's not really that simple," I started, cautiously. "I have some problems, things which mean I can't be with the kind of person I would want to be with. Just can't at all." She looked at me quizzically. "You're never going to tell me what that means, are you?" she asked. I shook my head, and she nodded, accepting the reality. "Then I won't ask, ever again," she said, putting her hand on my knee. --- "You can stay the night, you know," Sue said as she handed me the last of the plates to dry. "Oh, right. Um, thanks, but I have to be back." She didn't ask why. I didn't tell her that it was because I couldn't trust myself to be in the house with her son overnight and not do something really fucking stupid. "Well, how about you stay just for a couple of hours. I promised Hugo we could watch the latest Lego movie. It's just come out on Sky. He would love for you to stay and watch with us." Well, that seemed quite a low risk strategy, and so with a little surge of nervous excitement, I agreed. While we were washing up, Hugo was upstairs having a shower. He was a sweaty little creature after a day running about being the centre of attention, and though I love a hot, sticky boy as much as most boylovers, his mother did not. So he had been banished to get clean. Now, as we made our way into the living room with freshly popped corn and huge soft drinks (so as to lessen the inevitable hangovers), he came thundering down the stairs and into the living room, and I just about had a heart attack. You're probably hoping I'm going to say he was nude, and God knows that would have been wonderful, but given that he wasn't, how he was dressed was the next best thing: briefs, and nothing else. Cute, little boy briefs with a Captain America shield wrapped deliciously around his proud little package. The designer must have known what they were doing; the design accentuated his little assets perfectly. In Hugo's case, I got the sense that they were straining somewhat to contain his bits, and were perhaps a favourite pair which had survived despite the fact they were now too small for him. "Hugo!" Sue exclaimed, at the sight of her boy so scantly clad. "I was expecting you in your pyjamas. You can't be dressed like that with guests here." "But mum, it's baking in here, and Zack doesn't mind, he's friends now. I was like this last night watching the football, remember." He was right. It was roasting in the house after the day's muggy heat, and I certainly wasn't upset about seeing him in just his pants. Disturbed, excited, light in the head maybe. But upset? Never. Sue turned to me, and I got the sense that I was quickly getting in the middle of something I had no intention of expressing any kind of opinion on. If I let on what I was really thinking, all hell would break loose. And if I sided with Sue, Hugo would have to cover up, and that - from my perspective - would be a tragedy. So, instead, I just put my hands up, raised my eyebrows, and said precisely nothing. For a moment, Sue wavered, not quite sure what to do. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour as the blood pounded in my ears, she sighed, and said, "Look, Hugo, just go and put a t-shirt on top, yes? You can stay in your pants, just put something on the top half." Hugo nodded, not entirely happy, but not entirely defeated, and raced back upstairs. "Sorry, Zack," Sue said, when he was gone, "he's got no sense of decorum." "I really don't mind," I admitted, understating the matter somewhat. "I have nephews in America, and when I Skype them, they're running around starkers half the time. It's just what young boys are like." OK, that was over-egging it a little. I do have nephews in the States, and one time when I was Skyping my sister they ran through the back of shot having just been released from the bath. But it was hardly an erotic sight, given how blurry the camera was, how quickly they were gone, and the fact that they were two and four. This was quite a different situation, but my comment seemed to mollify Sue, who sat down, put the TV on, and cued up the film. In moments, Hugo was back with us. He'd chosen a faded red Angry Birds t-shirt, which like the pants was definitely on the small side. So small, in fact, that when he reached his arms up to stretch, it left a palm-width gap between the waistband of the undies and the hem of the t-shirt. I glanced longingly at the expanse of smooth skin, desperate to reach out and touch it, barely in sufficient control to stop myself. There were two sofas in Sue's living room, and though I would dearly have loved to share one with Hugo, I knew it would look a little odd to go and sit with him. Instead, Sue and I took one which faced the screen directly, and Hugo went to the one which sat orthogonal to ours. My hopes of watching him faded a little, as he sat leaning on the arm of the sofa nearest us, leaving me with nothing more than a view of his naked leg and an arm, and the back of his head. To be fair, that wasn't a total loss. I loved his little ears, and wanted to kiss the nape of his neck. It just wasn't quite what I was hoping for. I stared longingly at the faint blonde fuzz on his neck, wishing I could raise goosebumps on his arms by running my tongue along the furry expanse of exposed skin. When Sue got up and turned off the overhead lights, even that view was gone, and I was left with nothing more than the blue light of the television glowing on the edges of his form. Still, if it was that or nothing, I would take it. I started watching the film, instead of the boy. If you've seen it, I'm fairly sure you'll agree that it has no right to be as good as it is, being a sequel of a hugely popular first episode. But it's funny, and absorbing, and I bloody love Lego, so it was definitely enjoyable. In fact, I got so wrapped up in it that I didn't even look Hugo's way for several minutes. So, it was a bit of a surprise when I looked over and he had shifted to lie on his tummy, chin on his hands, feet up in the air behind him. I instantly stopped watching the film. Hugo's position highlighted what I considered his best attribute: his tight little bum, which was wrapped in the soft, warm cotton of his briefs. It made a perfect little hillock, one I longed to walk my fingers up. His legs were close together but not closed, leaving a little fold of the material to dive down between his inner thighs. Looking the other way, there was a gap of a good two or three fingers between the top of the waistband and the bottom of the t-shirt, leaving an expanse of his muscly lower back exposed. A sound to my left startled me, and I managed to tear myself away from staring it Hugo's backside. Glancing around, I realised it was a snore - Sue was fast asleep, her head lolling back. Oh God, I was all but alone with the boy and his wonderful, tiny bum! Hugo hadn't noticed. He was engrossed in the film, and I was utterly absorbed with him. I watched as his feet swung back and forth. My heart raced when he reached back and pushed a hand inside his briefs to scratch a bum cheek. I sighed when, fidgeting as boys often do when watching television, he grabbed a foot and then rolled to the side, and for a moment his little cotton-wrapped package came into view. It was gone again before I got a good look, but it hardly mattered. Just having the opportunity to sit there watching a totally relaxed boy behaving entirely naturally was one of the greatest moments in my life. So, you'll join me in disbelieving my luck, then, when with the hand nearest me, Hugo distractedly reached down underneath himself and pushed a sweaty little paw inside his pants. If it had just been a quick scratch, followed by a quick exit, that would have been lovely enough. But it wasn't at all, because the hand didn't leave. It stayed there, and then it was clear that the muscles in his arm were flexing. My head grew light. Blood pounded in my ears, and there was an instant wetness in my boxers. I wasn't even hard yet. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, not for anything in the world. Sue could have woken up and asked me a direct question and I would have ignored her entirely, and left my attention fully focussed on her wondrous little boy as he gently masturbated himself. Alright, he wasn't exactly lying there with his pants around his ankles pounding away on his stiff little finger, but there was a definite intent to what he was doing. It may even have been subconscious, and even if not, he was probably naive enough that he didn't realise I could tell what he was doing. I sat transfixed as minute after minute passed. I still don't know what happened in the middle part of the film, because Hugo was the centre and the whole of my universe. His little bum joined in the action a few minutes in, flexing in counterpoint to the muscles of his forearm, as he humped with a rhythm which boys are simply born with. By now, I was painful stiff inside my clothes, and leaking like a tap. Watching the object of my desire lying not six feet from me performing one of the most intimate possible acts was an exquisite form of torture. Even in my heightened state of arousal, I knew that making any kind of remark about what he was doing would instantly break the spell, and the scene I was so engrossed in would be over. Hugo wasn't doing this for me, he was doing it for his own enjoyment. I didn't blame him for that, even though I knew that this was almost certainly as close as I would get to having any kind of sex with a boy. I couldn't risk trying to involve myself, not if I wanted to see where this was going. And going somewhere it was. Hugo's arm movements were getting jerkier, his bum-flexing more insistent. Each time he thrust his hips into his hands, little hollows would form on either side of his bum, and the form-fitting briefs hugged every little millimetre. And his toes started curling, then his whole foot, and then his feet were lifting off the sofa as his legs came up behind him. I was left in no doubt: Hugo certainly knew what he was doing, and this was no casual effort to feel a little tingle. Nope, he was wanking himself off, and wasn't going to stop until he had a fizzing little dry cum. His arm moved faster - no longer just tugging and squeezing, but actually pumping - and his hip movements became ever more erratic as the summit he sought danced tantalisingly out of reach. With one final effort, Hugo squeaked like a little mouse, went rigid and then let out a massive breath. His head had fallen to lie in the crook of his elbow. His eyes were shut in bliss, and his nostrils flared as he breathed hard to regain his composure. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and a few strands of hair clung damply to the skin. When he opened his eyes again, he glanced over my way. I was already pretending to be asleep, just in case he realised he was being watched, and was terribly embarrassed; through the narrow gap between my eyelids, I watched him. He waited a few moments, just looking at me. Then, presumably believing the coast was clear, he twisted his waist and rolled his hips to the side, and pulled his hand out of his pants. The tent in his briefs was still quite clear. Then he grabbed the waistband and pulled it out and down, revealing his slowly softening prick to my eyes. Thumb-length and finger-thickness, it jerked in time with his heartbeat as it gently subsided. His balls were a tight little hemisphere beneath, and the whole thing was as smooth and hair-free as the day he was born. His dick was as perfect as he was - a very suckable size, and lovely and pale, with a nozzle of foreskin on the end. Hugo watched his boyhood until it hung limply over his hip, and then carefully replaced his briefs, rolled over, and went back to watching the film as if nothing at all had happened. I, on the other hand, was close to having a heart attack. My boxers were soaked with sweat and precum, and my heart had spent so long hammering away in my chest that I was worried I might have done irreparable damage. There was nothing for it - making a bit of a show of waking up and stretching, I excused myself quietly and rushed to the downstairs bathroom. I had barely enough time to lock the door and wrench down my shorts before I started spewing my load everywhere, firing indiscriminately through my fingers and all over the countertop and floor, no matter how hard I tried to catch it. My head span, blood pounded in my ears, the edge of my vision went dark. Panting, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes, praying that I wasn't having a heart attack. Eventually, I regained my composure, and looked at the carnage. I had let forth a geyser of semen, many fat gobs of cum dripping off surfaces and pooling on the tiles at my feet. My face was bright red, my dick a similar colour, and showing little sign of deflating. Feeling guilty now, I found some wipes beneath the counter and went zealously to work, trying to leave the room forensically clean, in case Sue worked out what I had been doing in there. I took me ages, by which time I'd finally deflated enough to have a wee, flush the toilet and get out of there. When I got back to the living room, the lights were on and the TV was off. I just about had time to wonder what had happened when Sue came back. "Hugo was fast asleep, so I took him to bed. Have to admit, I drifted off a bit, too," she said, sheepishly. I shrugged. "It's fine, I think I might've dozed, too. I think we were all a bit tired." "Are you sure you can't stay?" she asked, with a concerned cock of the head. "You can kip here on the sofa. I'll get you a blanket. Better than trying to get a taxi or something at this time." With visions of Hugo in what passed for his pyjamas still forefront in my mind, I finally relented. "OK, OK, I give in. That would be lovely, thank you." "Just one thing," Sue said, when she came back into the room. "Hugo will probably get up before me in the morning, and come downstairs to watch a bit of TV. You'll be OK with that, won't you?" Oh, yes, I thought. I will be more than OK with that...