Date: Thu, 6 May 2021 18:41:25 +0000 From: Zack McNaught Subject: Scarecrow Chapter 5 While you're here, Nifty could do with a few quid (dollars/pesos/yen/Bitcoin?) to keep paying for bandwidth. If you could help out, that would be wonderful: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html --- Scarecrow - Chapter 5 At some point during the following weeks, the dreams came back to me. My fear of exposure lessened, and my subconscious was set free. The fantasies which came back weren't as strong at first. In fact, for a while they could barely be considered erotic. The one where Hugo and I were in his room playing on the Switch and somehow ended up holding each other and softly kissing was more romantic than anything else. I woke with a giddy heart. But then the dreams started to change again, tending towards the seriously lurid. Here is one... --- I wake to the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore in the horseshoe bay below. It is warm already, and sunshine falls across the lower half of the bed, carrying with it a familiar shadow: Hugo is sitting at the window, having pulled back the shutters. The windowsill is deep enough that he can perch there and look out over the bay through the wrought iron bars which stop him falling; there is no glass. The sweet scent of flowers blooming on the creeping vines outside drifts in on the breeze. There are boats anchored in the bay, I know, and I wonder if perhaps that's what he's looking at. Yesterday, while we were down there we saw two boys - either side of Hugo in age, I suppose - diving naked into the water from one of the schooners, their skin nut-brown all over. Hugo looked on enviously, while I enjoyed the flashes of wet, naked flesh, much to my boy's disgust. I watch him for a while; he hasn't realised I'm awake. He wears simple cotton shorts and nothing else. I wonder why he wears even those to bed, but it is a habit he does not wish to shake. His skin has tanned in the warm Corsican sun, and his hair is bleached almost to white at its ends. The curve of his back, his soft shoulders and the crook of his neck are all masterpieces. If there is an intelligent designer, he is also an artist for certain, and what's more, he must be a boylover to choose to make boys so perfectly wonderful. Hugo's feet, too, are lovely, and that is to say nothing of his most breathtaking attribute - the boy's backside. Hugo has a rounder, tighter, more perfect bum than any other boy in history, I am certain of it. There is no need to check, I know there cannot have been a better specimen in all the generations of man. At last, he turns his attention back to me, and smiles to see that I have woken. He swivels around and drops his feet to the polished wooden floor. As he walks towards the bed, his bare feet slap gently against the ancient boards. He stops by the bed and pushes at the waistband of his shorts, working them down over his hips. With a wiggle which leaves his immature penis bouncing gently about, he drops them to the floor and steps out. Then he climbs effortlessly, catlike onto the bed on all fours, and comes to me, leaning in to kiss me, delicate touches of his lips to mine, each lasting only moments. As he kisses, my hand goes to his flank, feeling it warm from the sun. He, likewise, touches me, but his fingers are less hesitant, his touch less chaste. He barely needs to arouse me, but reaches down to do so anyway. My penis aches from our relentless lovemaking the night before, yet it responds to his touch, lengthening, thickening, until it is agonisingly hard. Only the fingers of my Ganymede can bring me that depth of arousal; no other mortal comes close. He breaks the kiss, but only to offer me the sheer joy of feasting on his immature pucker. Some time in the night - or perhaps in the morning, before I woke - he has carefully cleaned himself, so there is no trace of our prior lovemaking. My tongue meets slightly salty, mildly tangy puckered flesh, and a shiver runs through him as it begins gently to prise him open. He shows his appreciation for the act by gently nursing on the first few inches of my manhood. I am certain that he wants me to mate with him, because he only lets me rim him when he wants something bigger to follow. He lifts his mouth from my manhood, and wrings out droplets of lubricant with a practised hand, smearing it about and pulling hard up to release more of the stuff. When he is content that I am as slippery as I will ever get, I am relieved of my duties at his rear end. It's a disappointment, because I have loosened him well, and I am enjoying the sensation of ferreting around inside the soft confines of his anus with the tip of my tongue. Still, the compensation is magnificent: he swings a leg over my hip, brushing against the tip of my straining manhood as he does so. His hand reaches for it, lifting it up, pushing it past the soft silk of his scrotum to lodge at his gaping back door. His boyhood softens while he manoeuvres into position, but as his hips lower and my hardness sinks into his tight sheath, his worm wakes once more, pointing to the ceiling and jumping with each thunderous beat of his heart. His hands have been on my chest as he forces himself onto me, but they go to my thighs now, as he leans back and lets gravity drive home the last of my modest length. Hugo bites his lower lip, and then grimaces as his backside meets my hip. His anus flutters around my shaft, stretched to its limits, desperately trying to expel the intruder, then surrendering and becoming suddenly slack. Hugo groans as I withdraw a little, then thrust up into him. No matter how much he needs to feel me moving inside him, it is still uncomfortable for one so young, with such narrow hips. But his desire overpowers his discomfort, and Hugo rides me with true passion. His chest flushes with arousal, and in the heat of our Mediterranean morning, sweat forms on his brow. Damp, darkened hair sticks to his forehead as he leans forward to brace himself with his hands on my powerful shoulders, and impale himself repeatedly on my shaft. Holding his hips, I thrust powerfully up into his ruined backside as my peak nears. Hugo growls when my seed splashes into him. He is not ready for me to come. He wants more. He grinds his hips, stirring his guts with my quivering shaft. It is not enough, not nearly. I push him back and roughly grab his steel-hard boyhood with my hand, furiously bringing him off with rapid movements of my fist. He gasps and falls forward as it hits him, and I am rewarded with the sensation of his stretched hole sucking uselessly at my deflating manhood. His orgasm is dry, but no less intense for that. Perhaps more so. Birds chatter loudly outside the window. They rove in little packs, hunting all over the vines for tiny insects. Inside the room, my boy lies atop me, his tiny body hardly any weight. His breathing is even, and I believe he has fallen asleep, but I cannot see his face, and I am too worried to move him. I lie in the greatest bliss ever felt by any lover of boys. I'm certain of it. --- The Mediterranean dream stayed vividly with me for days. I spent hours Googling possible locations for that room, but found nothing which fit the bill. Something from a movie set, perhaps. Certainly nothing from my own past! I was obsessed with the idea, but then stopped when I thought it through - even if I found the mythical room, I would not be ending up taking Hugo there to fuck him. Less likely still was the way we did it in the dream. I don't know the first thing about actually having sex with boys, but I'm guessing not a lot of it involves boys driving themselves to the heights of pleasure on their adult lover's manhood. No, the fantasy would have to remain just that. But that didn't mean the reality couldn't be fun. Just seeing Hugo's smile when he saw me was enough to get me through my darkest hours. I had become like a favourite uncle now, and he told me everything, from the pranks he and his friends pulled on each other, to the amazing goals he'd scored at football, and the latest news on Isla, his little girlfriend. "Well, it's not official or anything," he said with a shy grin as we sat watching Gadget chasing a laser dot one afternoon, "but everyone knows we're together." He gladly accepted my high five, and then giggled exactly the way a young boy should about things like that. Sue had dropped him off at mine for a bit because Theo's mum wasn't available and she needed to go to an appointment without Hugo. 'Woman stuff', she described it as, and I didn't want to delve any further. "So, she's the one with long, blonde hair, yeah? I think your mum showed me which one she was on the class photo." "Yep. She always has it really nicely done because her mum's a hairdresser." "And does she know she's your girlfriend?" He squirmed a bit, and grimaced. "I dunno." "And how do you feel when you see her?" He shrugged. "Sort of funny here," he said, holding his tummy, "and... further down." Whoah. That was an admission! Further down could only possibly mean one thing, and it wasn't the soles of his feet. I was intrigued; the thought of Hugo being sexually excited - even if it was over a girl - made my heart beat faster. "So, you get a stiffy when you see her?" I asked. It was the first time I'd ever actually discussed anything like this with Hugo, and I was concerned that I might have crossed a line. But Hugo obviously felt he could talk to me about practically anything. "Ha! Yeah, sometimes. That's really embarrassing. I have to hide it." I happened to know exactly how small Hugo's erection was, so I didn't think it would be a lot of trouble to hide, but he was justifiably self-conscious. "Nightmare, isn't it?" I asked, and received an enthusiastic nod in response. "Takes forever to go down, too," he said, blushing. "What do you do when that happens?" Shit. Should I give him the honest response, or the responsible grown-up response? Well, the choice was pretty clear to me... "Actually, if I can, I go and... well..." You see, the thing was, I had started down that route without realising that at the end of the sentence I would need an age-appropriate euphemism for having a wank, one which Hugo would understand. That is, assuming he had a clue about masturbation in the first place. "What?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "Well, have you ever, you know, played with it when it's hard." Hugo grinned sheepishly. "A bit," he replied. "OK, a lot. Masses. Theo told me all about it. I think I'm doing it wrong, though. I get a good feeling but nothing comes out. Theo says nothing comes out of his either. Is that normal?" I have to admit that at this point I was rock hard in my jeans, and gently leaning forward trying to hide it. "I think that's probably normal at your age, yeah. Don't worry about the stuff that comes out, I think you're at least a couple of years away from that yet, mate." "Do you get it?" "Well, yeah. I mean, I'm an adult, so yeah." "Is it gross?" "Um, not really. It's not like wee or poo or anything. Just white, slippy, sticky stuff. Smells a bit funny, I suppose." Hugo wrinkled his little freckled nose at the thought. "Sounds gross." "Well, I think it's fine really. You get used to it coming out, y'know?" Hugo shook his head, apparently disbelieving me. "So, do you... y'know... do you do it?" he asked, looking down at his lap. "Do what?" I asked, wanting to be sure what he was asking. "Play with your... your penis." The tips of his ears burned crimson at having used such a word, but Hugo bravely looked up at me and met my eye, demanding an answer. "Yeah, I do it. Lots." "And the stuff comes out each time?" "Yep." "What do you do with it?" "Well, when I'm doing it by myself, I usually do it into a couple of tissues and throw them away." "Doesn't that mean you use loads of tissues though?" he asked; it was a surprisingly insightful question. "Er, yeah, I suppose it does." "So, if I did that, do you think mum would know what I was doing?" Ah. "Look, Hugo, mums know all sorts of things about their boys that their boys don't know they know. She would assume you're going to do it, so she won't be surprised." "Do you think she knows I do it now?" "Pretty sure she does, mate." He put his face in his hands, laughing and shaking his head. When he looked up again, there was a stricken look on his face. "Do you think she knows Theo and I do it together?" he asked, and then stopped, his mouth still open, his hand coming up theatrically as if to try - and fail - to stop the words escaping. "Please don't tell her I said that," he begged. "It's fine," I chuckled. "I'm not sure what she thinks, Hugo, but she might have an idea. If she does know, do you think she's bothered?" "Don't know. I can't talk to her about this stuff, not like I can talk to you." "Thanks, mate," I said, genuinely touched. "Now, how about we see if Gadget wants to go outside?" --- I know what you're thinking: I could have gone a lot further with him after all those questions, but honestly I had to call a halt to it. There were so many ways that conversation could have gone, and some of them would have been really very interesting, but I couldn't manipulate him that way. The classic 'checking the technique' ruse would almost certainly have worked at that point, given how trusting Hugo was. But I couldn't do that to him, so instead I changed the subject. Of course, that didn't mean I wasn't going to check out the front of his shorts as he stood up. Sure enough, the conversation had given him a little stiffy, which his shorts did little to hide. It had had the same effect on me, to be fair. After Hugo was gone, I lay down and went through a few of the scenarios in my mind about how the conversation might have gone. I finally made a mess of a handful of tissues when I imagined myself checking for cum at the tip of his penis as he came. --- Not every conversation with Hugo ended up being about something sexual, but after I started answering his questions honestly, I did become a bit of a sounding board. We discussed erections again several times, and wanking, and what sex involved, which he'd learned a bit about at a very basic level from his mum, but about which he had some rather strange ideas. When I explained to Sue what I'd been telling Hugo, she was intrigued, a little amused, but overwhelmingly thankful. "To be honest, Zack, I'm happy for you to explain anything you think he needs to know," she said. "I know I'm meant to be teaching him those things, but every time I try to talk to him about it he gets shy and giggly, and I don't think it goes in at all." "Boys his age always get that way when you're trying to explain anything to do with bodies." "You sound like an expert," Sue said. "Well, I was a boy once myself, you know! Actually, it's more than that. You know my mum's a teacher, right? She has kids across quite a few years, including Hugo's age. And one of the things she has to do is early sex education. She's complained often enough about it that I know what they're like." "Is that why you know so much about it?" I nodded. "When I was growing up, she had all the books right there on the bookshelf in her study. As soon as I could, I would spend time alone reading them thoroughly. It was the closest thing I could get to porn when I was ten." Sue covered her mouth so her laughter wasn't too loud in the office. "I can just imagine young Zack sitting there with his pants down and a text book in his hand!" "How did you learn about it?" I asked, trying to move us on from that embarrassing image as fast as possible. "Oh, a variety of things. I was really close to a cousin of mine - a boy - when we were young. He and I started playing doctors when we were little. It became this thing we did basically every time we met up on holiday. So I knew what boys looked like, and what their willies did. He knew a lot more than I did, too, so we tried all sorts of things." I arched an eyebrow. "Oh yes?" "Shut up!" she spat back with a grin. "I bet you just want to know what his dick looked like." I held up my hands, looking around the office to make sure there was no-one in hearing range. "Not guilty." Sue shook her head, and then, looking around herself, she whispered, "When we were ten we measured it. Eight centimetres, hard." I shuddered, and Sue had to cover her laugh again. "Pervert"! she said, with a roll of her eyes. --- The fact was, she was right. I was a pervert. As the days passed, my fantasies about Hugo stepped over the divide from the nighttime to the day. I started becoming distracted by it at the most inopportune times. Twice a week, for instance, I would take a tube across town to our second office to have a meeting with a few of the copy writers we had on staff, and keep an eye on what they were doing. I'd been making that journey every working week since I joined the company, and never - not once - had I missed my stop. One Tuesday, though, I did exactly that. In my head, Hugo had just shoved his shorts and pants down because he was in desperate need of some reassurance about the size and shape of his penis, and I was the one he wanted to ask; well, a bloke can dream, right? Anyway, I was so absorbed with that thought that the doors were already closing before I realised where we were. I jumped up, but it was too late, and I was left standing there like an idiot, trying not to let on that I had a massive, dripping erection. It wasn't the only instance, either. I was getting more and more distracted by thoughts of the boy, and most of them were less than pure. What I definitely didn't need was increased contact with him. --- "Look, I know it's two nights and it'll be a lot of effort, but he really likes you." "Are you having a fucking laugh?" I asked, unable to contain my surprise. "You want to put your son in that kind of danger?!" Sue sighed and looked at me askance. She had asked me to babysit the boys while while she and Theo's mum, Amelie, went to see the third member of their 'university best mates' trio, Sally, who was - for a very limited time - back in the UK. There was space at Sally's parents' house in Scotland for Theo's dad, too, but not the boys, or Theo's sister, who apparently already had accommodation. But that left them looking for someone to take the boys, and Sue had promised that I would be up for it. Amelie had seemingly not questioned handing Theo over to someone she'd only met a couple of times. "I get it, Zack," Sue said, looking back up at me. "Sorry I asked. Sorry I put you in that position. I know you'd never do anything to harm him, but if you don't feel you can trust yourself then obviously it's a bad idea." My thoughts were in turmoil. I sat looking out of the cafe window at the park beyond. A cute young lad - no older than eight or nine - was riding his bike in a lazy figure of eight on the grass, with a big smile on his face. The bike was shiny and clearly new, and by all likelihood a birthday present. I should have thought, "Oh, look how cute that is!" But instead I couldn't stop staring at his tight little behind and mentally drooling over it. You see, that was the very problem with Sue asking me to look after the boys; I loved Hugo on a platonic level, of course, but I also lusted after him in a truly obsessive way. I should have become calmer and more level-headed around him as time went on, but quite the opposite had happened. My reaction to Sue's request had been so visceral because she had asked so matter-of-factly that it had caught me entirely off-guard. She was convinced that it was a perfectly safe, reasonable thing to hand over her son to a man she knew had impure feelings for him, in the hope that that man's willpower was strong enough to resist such an onslaught. Sue might have trusted me, but she clearly knew next to nothing about the male sex drive. "There has to be someone better to look after them, surely?" I pleaded. "An aunt or uncle or something. Anything." Sue shrugged. "Theo's aunt could take them, I suppose, but her house is in the middle of being refurbished, so they're a bit cramped. And she lives miles away, so we'd have to take the boys all the way there before we go. And anyway, Hugo asked me to ask you to look after them. He said it would be way more fun than anyone else." So, he'd asked for me specifically, had he? It shouldn't have made a difference, but in a sign of how weak-willed I am, I could already feel my mind changing. "There's really no-one better you could ask?" Sue titled her head on the side and looked at me. A slight smile curled the corner of her lips. "Do you know about Theo, Zack?" I frowned. "What about him?" "He had a sex education lesson at school, and they talked about sexuality." "Right. And?" "And they described what it was to be homosexual, of course, and so Theo went straight home and quite happily told Amelie he's a homosexual." "So? It happens. Boys seem to be working that out for themselves a lot younger these days. I'm glad he's comfortable coming out, but why does that matter? If anything, I would think of it as more of a reason to avoid giving me time alone with him." Sue rolled her eyes. "I thought it was Hugo you fancied?" she said. I cringed at her choice of language, but it was true. "Yeah, but aren't all of us perverts just looking for any old opportunity? And an impressionable, young gay boy in my house for the weekend sounds like an opportunity to me." "I don't think you're like that, Zack. I think you're so in love with my little boy that Theo wouldn't get a look in, even if he was practically begging you. Am I right?" I shrugged. Sue was right, of course, but I didn't really want to be having this conversation. "Well, then," she said, triumphantly, "you can take the chance to maybe answer Theo's questions." "Why the hell would he want to talk to me about it? It's not like just because we both like boys that I'm some kind of fucking oracle!" Sue looked disapprovingly at me. "It's all well and good taking offence, but the truth is you'd have a lot more direct experience to share than either of his parents, yes?" "The fact that I am neither of his parents is precisely my point," I sighed. "Look, I really want to help you, Sue, but I'm not sure this is the right thing to do." "Look, just think about it, OK?" she asked. And then she smiled, because she at least understood one thing about men - the longer we allow ourselves to stew in our fantasies, the less likely we are to engage the brains in our big heads... --- The room would do. It wasn't really big enough for the both of them, but the two inflatable mattresses squashed together around my desk in my tiny spare room would at least be somewhere to spend the night. One of them was already showing worrying signs of deflating, but as the perverted side of my mind pointed out, the boys would probably be quite happy snuggled up together on one. They might not have been involved romantically, but they were certainly physically closer than I'd been with any of my friends at that age. I'd caved. Of course I had. I'd given in to Sue's request, and the boys were coming over to my house for the weekend, straight from school. Two nights and nearly two full days with the cutest, hottest boy I'd ever known in person, and his newly de-closeted best friend, whom I happened to know had been physically intimate with Hugo, and virtually intimate with any number of men online. I was absolutely screwed. I prowled around the flat, trying to make everything perfect. Had I bought enough food? (The answer would turn out to be 'more than enough'.) And enough fizzy drinks? (I was drinking them for weeks after...). Would the boys be happy going to the pool on Saturday afternoon, and then to McDonald's afterwards? Had I seriously just asked myself that question? This was insane, wasn't it? Things were going to be fine. Why was I acting like some nervous teenager before a date? My God, I was giddy... I picked them up straight from school, getting some strange looks from some of the mums and dads, even though I'd picked up Hugo in the past. Perhaps it was my paranoia kicking in - after all, only I really knew what was going through my head at the prospect of spending all weekend with the boys alone in my flat. Both were off-the-scale excited by the time we reached my flat. Theo had greeted my a little guardedly at the school gates, unlike Hugo who had given me a high five and then a hug, not apparently caring who saw. But by the time we'd reached my place Theo had thawed noticeably, and followed close on his best friend's heels as Hugo showed him around. It didn't take long, but they did linger at my telescope, and Theo's jaw dropped at the size of my TV. I didn't bother to tell him that I was so busy reading for work that I hardly ever watched anything other than football on it. Immediately the boys made themselves at home on the sofa facing the TV, Hugo with the Sky remote in his hand. I took a moment to watch them, drinking in the way they looked in their school uniforms, especially Hugo who slouched down with the pouch of his crotch shamelessly thrust forward. He couldn't possibly know the effect he had on me. Then, I went to clear up the shoes and bags they had scattered on their way into the house, sighing to myself that I really was acting just like a parent after all. --- After pizza - of course! - I made the boys shower early so that there wouldn't be hassle later on when they were tired, on Sue's advice. They hardly argued at all, which was refreshing given how often Hugo argued with his mum. If I thought it was plain-sailing, though, I was to be proven very wrong. The boys came out with towels wrapped around their waists and sat right down on the sofa. I wanted to argue that they couldn't sit there almost naked in wet towels, but I couldn't make myself say it. I stood in the breakfast bar, looking out over the living room, caught up in a close study of the shapes of their naked torsos. Theo was stockier than Hugo, his shoulders broader and his chest thicker. Hugo was more tightly defined, his pecs and abs not exactly bulging, but chiseled. It was his body I preferred, with his narrow, elfin waist. I knew what he would look like under the towel, but it was still more erotic to see him this way - the shadow gap between the material and the soft skin of his belly drew my eye time and time again. The curve of his collarbone, too. God, I could see without a hint of doubt why painters and sculptors have obsessed over boys for centuries on end. Their bodies are the Platonic ideal of the human form. I longed to walk over to him, sit down behind him and kiss that soft curve where his neck met his shoulder. I wanted to suckle gently on his earlobe, to softly kiss his cheek, to slide my hands over his shoulders and down his front, caressing his nipples, then feeling his tummy muscles tighten under my touch. I wished I could slide my hands beneath the edge of his towel, to cup his warm, soft, slightly damp genitals in my hand and feel his boyhood come to life, stretching with each beat of his heart until it arched gracefully up toward me, its puckered mouth twitching with his pulse, asking to be sucked into the warm confines of my mouth. I was jolted out of my reverie by the sound being turned up on the TV, and the theme music for the Friday night football show blaring out. I heard a quiet 'shit!' from Hugo, and the volume subsided. He turned to me with a nervous grin, apologetic for having nearly deafened half the neighbourhood. "Sorry," he said as I went to join the boys for the game, "it forgot how loud your TV gets. Sounds amazing though!" I smiled at him and sat down beside him on the sofa, while Theo sat with his legs tucked up underneath him on the armchair to our right. As soon as I was seated, Hugo swung his legs up and put them across my lap, leaning back into the corner of the sofa with a hand behind his head, showing off the wonderful smooth cup of his armpit. The towel was barely clinging to his midriff, but disappointingly he readjusted it before it slipped and revealed more. And there we remained for the pre-game chatter, and for at least the first twenty minutes of the first half. It was riveting stuff, though - Liverpool relentlessly hounding Leicester into mistakes, but then the Foxes countering with blistering pace, threatening again and again through Vardy. But then, as time wore on, Hugo became fidgety. He was rarely able to sit still for long, and he started to change his position. His feet left my lap, and tucked up beneath him. Then he turned more on his side, and stretched out again. Eventually, the wriggling became more pronounced, and with a sigh, Hugo stood up. My eyes were magnetically drawn to him, as he slipped the towel from around his waist and moved to wrap it around his shoulders. Large as it was, and small as he was, it came down below his waist, but just for a moment I had been given a lovely close-up of his little dick and balls, and though I'd seen them plenty of times before, I still felt a lurch in my stomach, a surge of blood in my crotch, and the very sudden excretion of a thick drop of premium into my pants. If the evening had stopped there, I would have been content. I could have gone off to bed, wanked off to the memory of Hugo's floppy worm, and slept well. But my little shaggy-haired Scarecrow was far from finished torturing me. Rather than sitting back down, he walked past me to kneel on the over-large footstool which sat near the end of the sofa. It was a fairly normal haunt for him while he was at my house, especially when watching football. I don't know what was so attractive about sitting there, but sit there he did. Never like this, though. Never kneeling with his naked little feet hanging off the edge of the cushion. Never wearing nothing but a towel around the shoulders, with the lower half of his perfect, pert bottom poking out beneath its edge. Never arranged so perfectly that I could - if I just slipped a little lower on the sofa (and you should trust that I did) - see his balls hanging down. If I just leaned a smidgen lower, there was his pucker. Fuck. Fucking fuck. Fucketty-fucking-fuck. I ached with hardness. I drowned under a sea of my own precum, flooding Biblically into my pants. My heart thumped so hard in my chest that I desperately tried to recall what I'd heard about how a heart attack feels. My head went light, presumably because about a pint of blood was focussed solely on six or so inches of flesh halfway down my body. And there Hugo settled, slowly lowering himself until his chin was propped on his hands, elbows on the footstool. I'm sure you know the pose. And that left me with no choice but to ogle his bum, his balls, his little boyhood when it made an appearance. For the rest of the half, until the half time whistle blew and he hopped up and said, "Need a wee!" --- He came back with his pyjamas on, which triggered Theo to also go and get dressed, and for now, at last, with my pants so soaked that I was itching, I was spared further torture. I mean, Hugo's choice of night wear (tight fitting trunks and an equally tight t-shirt) wasn't exactly chaste, but by comparison the sight of him could barely be considered erotic. I sat there, unable to move, feeling like I'd run a marathon. As the game got into the second half, both boys began getting rather distracted. At their age, the attention required to sit through a full ninety minutes was just a bit too much. Hugo started it, grabbing a cushion and throwing it at Theo, who retaliated in kind. I stepped in to remove the drinks and snacks from the situation, just in case, and when I came back from the kitchen they were fully involved in a little tussle. Nothing untoward for two young boys their age, but I have to admit that I stood and watched for a short while, enjoying the sight of their bodies. When finally Theo had Hugo pinned, I suggested that perhaps instead of watching the football, they might want to put on a movie. But that idea was rejected in favour of Xbox, and although I'd read something about not letting kids play games before bed, I was neither of their parents, and so I happily agreed. By the time I was too tired to stay up, the boys were still very much involved with their game, but with an aching need to release the tension in my balls, and a desire to actually get some sleep, I reluctantly made the boys go to bed. End of Chapter 5