Date: Mon, 20 Feb 2012 23:04:16 +0000
From: MG
Subject: Ten Days With Ollie - Part One

Ten Days With Ollie
Part One

I'm Adam, a 30 year-old Aussie guy who prefers guys. 6'1, look after
myself.  I have a decent hairy body, and a meaty uncut Aussie cock that
stretches to about 7.5" when I'm really excited.  I'm between bfs at the
moment, and if the truth be known, I love teenage lads.  I've been with
quite a few, and I always treat them like gold.  I wish I'd had a hot,
affectionate man to learn from and play with when I was a teen, and I'm
happy to initiate any boy who wants it, if he's absolutely sure what he
wants.


I've known Ollie and his mother for about five years.  They moved next-door
when husband/dad was killed in an accident.

He's a fine looking lad at 14, tall for his age, already showing the signs
of the Rugby-player build that will drive the most of the girls (and some
of the boys) crazy in a few years, if not already.  His short, dark-brown
hair has a little cow-lick at the front, which gives it an extra dose of
cuteness.  Big brown eyes framed by the longest, thickest black lashes that
you ever saw.  Skin that tans at a mere mention of the sun.  He is a
picture of perfection, that's for sure.  A sweet-natured lad, kind and
polite.

Unfortunately, though, his recent behaviour has sabotaged his previously
spotless reputation as an angel-incarnate.  There have been violent
outbursts directed toward his mother.  Disruptive behaviour in the
classroom.  Truancy.  Bad attitude in general.  When his mother explained
this to me on one of her afternoon-tea visits to my house, I was genuinely
surprised.  He didn't act like a brat around me at all.  We saw each-other
every day, talked often.  He was, to me at least, the same great kid that
he always was.  His mother had noticed our good relationship, and since
there were two weeks of school holidays coming up, wondered if I was
interested in taking him away to her parents beach-house, for what would
hopefully be a chance for me to talk to him, and find out if there was
anything that we could do to help get him out of his funk.

What could I say?  I was owed about eight weeks leave from my job, and I
was due.  It would be fantastic to spend some time in a fancy beach-house
gratis, plus I would have the chance to find out what was going-on with
Ollie.  I called my boss and put the hard-word on him - he didn't need much
convincing.

Three weeks later and I'm packing the car to head up to Palm Beach.  Ollie
is being a little shit to his mother, sneering at her and rolling his eyes.
When he sees me, though, I get a faint little smile and see a familiar
cheeky glint in his eyes, before the teenage attitude kicks in again.  He
sits down in the passenger seat with a "huff", closes the door.  I farewell
his mother, and we drive off.

The drive to Palm Beach takes about an hour.  We make small-talk, school,
work, skateboards, cars.  Once we arrive, the house is a little more grand
that I anticipated.  LOL!  I will be very comfortable here for 10 days.  We
unpack in our respective bedrooms and meet down in the kitchen.  I make
lunch and we continue to talk.  The attitude has clearly been left behind
with his mother, and totally worn-off during the drive, because he is
animated, cheerful and smiling again.

He's as excited as a puppy.  "There's a big pool, you know.  Should we go
for a swim?"  I smile.  "Sure, mate.  Let's go get our swimmers on."  We go
back upstairs and I have just pulled my sky-blue Speedo on when I hear "Oh,
shit!" from the other room.  I go to investigate.  Seems that Ollie forgot
to pack his swimmers, and no, he doesn't have a spare pair here.  "No
worries," he says with a smile, "I'll just go in wearing my jocks". (For
those of you who don't know, "jocks" is Aussie slang for men's underwear,
especially briefs.)  I smile at him again, and we go downstairs.  He drops
his shorts to reveal a pair of cheap, white cotton briefs, the type that
you can buy seven pairs of for $25.  He dives straight into the water, and
I follow.  We horse-around, splashing, laughing, and generally being
idiots.  I get out of the water and lay on a sun-bed.  Ollie is soon out of
the water too, and I can't help but stare at him as he walks over to the
sun-bed right next to me.  His smooth, wet, brown skin glistens in the sun,
his hair matted to his scalp, those eye-lashes fluttering at me.  His cheap
white briefs, soaking wet, cling tightly to his round butt-cheeks, and even
tighter to his package at the front.  As he comes closer I can see the
obvious outline of two boy-nuts in their tight sack, and the outline of a
dick that looks to be about 3" long at rest.  There is no disguising that
his boy-cock is hooded - I can plainly see a long foreskin overhanging his
knob.  Ahh, Aussie teen-boys. You're pretty much guaranteed to find a
foreskin these days.  Yum.  My mouth goes dry.  I swallow.  Gulp, more like
it.  A familiar tingle starts in the root of my cock.

He lies on the sun-bed, face down.  I look over at his arse, the thin, wet
white cotton still clinging to those amazing cheeks, like two little
melons, a fine arse on a fine lad.  I look away, thinking unsexy thoughts.
There are several minutes of silence as the hot sun caressed us.  Then I
hear Ollie's voice ask softly, "Adam, could you put some sunscreen on my
back, please??  My heart almost stops.  The boy gets up and fetches a
bottle from the cabinet under the BBQ.  He hands it to me.

He lies down again, his cheap cotton undies now dry from the hot sun.  I
sit up, and shake the bottle.  "You have to put it on thick and rub it in
well", Ollie reminds me.  My heart is racing now.  I'm feeling a little
dizzy.  Surely this is a dream?

I open the bottle and squirt a liberal dose of the sunscreen over him.
Yup, coconut.  I kneel by his sun-bed, put both my hands on his back, and
start to massage the oily lotion into his body.  The boy sighs as I behin
to work on him, on his shoulders, the back of his neck, up and down his
spine, his flanks, the undersides of his arms.  "Have you had a massage
before, Ollie?", I ask in a soft, tender whisper.  There's no answer, just
a long sigh.  "I'll take that as a "no", huh?"  Again, no verbal response,
just a soft, little whimper, barely audible above the sound of the waves
crashing down on the beach below us.  I continue to massage the beautiful
boy who has turned to putty in my big soft hands.  I'm massaging the back
of his legs now, up and down, left and right, and he's purring like a
kitten.  I move to his back again, finding a few knots to work on with my
knuckles, but mainly giving long, firm strokes, up and down, from his neck
to the elastic of his jocks.  Thinking of what his mother told me about his
recent bullshit behaviour.  For such a lovely lad to suddenly start
behaving so badly tells me that he is stressed about something.  Something
big.  A long, firm massage is just what he needs.

How long I work on his back, I can?t recall.  It?s as though time is
standing still.  Ollie is in a state of total bliss.  I tap him on the
shoulder, whisper "Roll over, mate".  He opens his eyes a little and looks
at me, and a sudden shyness appears on his face.  He blushes; whispers,
"Umm, I don't know".

I decide to get this out in the open.  I know what's happening here.  I
massage his shoulders again and he relaxes back onto the sun-bed.  I talk
to him softly, tenderly.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of if the massage has given you a stiffie".

He opens his eyes.  Looks straight at me.  Smiles.

I continue massaging. Without saying a word, he rolls onto his back, his
eyes closed again.  It's all I can do not to gasp out loud.  Ollie?s penis
is fully erect, the flimsy cotton of his briefs barely containing the
rampant six-inch boy-boner within them, rock-hard and thicker than my
thumb.  I keep my eyes on his chest, applying a liberal dose of the warm
oil, and begin to massage him again. My greasy thumbs lightly brush his
nipples.  He makes a soft "hhmmff" noise in his throat, and wiggles his
body just a little.  I look down and his erection is pushing against the
cotton.  I brush past his nipples again and his boner jumps in the pouch of
his briefs, completely out of the boy's control.  A wet-patch has appeared
on the white cotton, where Ollie's precum is oozing out the end of his long
foreskin.  The patch is about two inches in diameter, making the wet gauzy
fabric almost transparent.  His dick strains at it, allowing me to see the
ridge of his head tucked under the hood, and his generous puckered
overhang.  I can?t help but stare, and I suddenly realise that I can also
see the top of his pubes. Short and fine and black.  My dick is obscenely
erect in my Speedo.  It aches.  Throbs.  It's wet, with precum oozing out
of my overhang too.

Ollie's massage continues.  Down over his firm young abs, but deliberately
avoiding any of the areas covered by his underwear.  The boy obviously
feels comfortable with me and trusts me, otherwise he wouldn't have rolled
over and let me see that he has a raging erection.  I'm not going to do
anything to freak him out.  That would be a disaster.  I massage his legs
and arms and his chest again, then finally give his shoulders a gentle
squeeze and say "There you go, buddy. Feeling better??  Another soft
whimper.  The lad is at peace. I leave him, go upstairs and lock myself in
my bathroom.  Dropping my Speedo to the floor I take hold of my steel-hard
dick and start to wank it, sliding my foreskin up and down over the head,
my eyes closed, mind focussed on the memory of that beautiful boy-cock,
plainly visible through the wet cotton, straining for attention during the
massage, and leaking a stream of pre out of it's juicy hood.  After only
about 60 seconds I just can't hold it in anymore, and with a grunt I begin
jetting my man-jam all over the bathroom mirror.  One little dollop lands
on the floor, followed by one, two, three, four, five, six thick white
ropes that fly out of my wide slit, through the air, and splat across the
glass.  And all the while, in my head, imagining that Ollie's beautiful
uncut cock is unloading over my chest, my face, into my mouth, as the boy
grunts and whimpers and moans, his firm body flexing and shaking and
shivering with pleasure.

I compose myself, clean off the mirror, and put some shorts and a t-shirt
on.  Heading downstairs and grabbing a beer from the fridge, I sit out by
the pool again, watching the waves and, of course, Ollie.  He's still on
his back, erection now subsided, snoozing in the afternoon sun.  I clink my
bottle on the tiles as I put it down, and the boy opens his eyes.  I smile.
He smiles back, has a big stretch, and says "I'm gunna put some clothes on,
mate".  I agree that it's a good idea.  He goes upstairs.  My mind is
racing.  Is he going to have a wank?  Answer myself immediately ? Duh! He's
14, he just had a full-body massage for 90 minutes that gave him a huge wet
boner, whaddya reckon, he might just go and have a pull?

Heart pounding, I walk slowly up the stairs.  His bedroom door is closed.
I put my ear to it.  I can hear him breathing noisily - he's having a wank!
His breathing gets faster, louder. I hear his bed squeak, imagining him on
his back, naked, eyes closed, hand encircling the rigid pole between his
legs, foreskin flapping up and down over his wet head as waves of pleasure
mount within him. Then I hear his voice, softly but quite
distinctly... "Oh, yes, Adam, I'm gonna cum!  Adam! Oh, Adam!  Ad - dam!"
The last "Adam" is grunted out as two distinct syllables. He has obviously
begun to ejaculate his boy-sprog as he quietly calls-out my name.  I
fantasise that, as he says my name, he lifts his head from the pillow to
watch the first jet of his load arc out of his slit, then his eyes close
again as he puts his head back and rides his orgasm.  That thought almost
causes me to faint right on the spot, except I don't want to miss the
beautiful little whimpers and gasps the boy makes as the white-stuff
squirts out of his proud uncut cock, presumably all over his oily brown
body.  After the noises of his orgasm subside, the half-broken voice
quietly says, "I love you so much, Adam".

I literally stagger away, feeling drunk with lust, trying to be silent,
into my room, closing and locking the door behind me.  I collapse onto the
bed.  My dick is throbbing again but my head is totally spinning,
attempting to somehow reconcile what I have just heard from the mouth of
that teenaged Adonis in the next bedroom.  He was thinking about ME while
he was wanking himself off!  I melt into the quilt, eyes closed, huge smile
on my face.  This must really be a dream. I pinch myself, but I don't
wake-up.

It's not a dream.

____________________________________________________________________


End of Part One