We pressed against each other until I backed off the four inches or so I dared, and bonked back.
Just as three days ago, he took it in stride.
The fun went on for five or six minutes.
A banging back door (not his personal one where my best part was) stopped us cold.
“Mom, are you back already?” he called, jerking on a piece of outerwear.
Me? Fucking stranded, wet dick bereft. No idea what to do.
“What are you doing?” a voice shrilled from their kitchen’s direction.
“Trying to get good with a new – um – magic trick, you know, for the talent show. It’s a secret. Don’t come in.”
“Oscar Luis Menendez-Finkelstein, you come here. I want an explanation.”
Sounded wet-hen mad.
“About what? I’m trying my trick!”
His petulant pitch masked squeaking bedsprings. A couple of teddy bears bounced off as I grasped for – anything.
“Shhh! Be quiet and she won’t come in.”
Actually, the little smart-aleck pointed to a corner and threw his old baby blanket there. “Hide just in case.”
I crouched under light-blue fake angora with pretend-satin edges. My heart went thumpety-thump. Held my breath.
“There are two partly-eaten halves of a banana-and-peanut butter sandwich on my table and crumbs everywhere!”
“I know,” he shouted. Looked at me. Hollered, “I ate the middles ’cause I don’t like crusts.”
So glad he didn’t tell her why we never finished those refreshments.
“You’re wasting perfectly good stuff.”
He hissed, “Here, catch! Don’t waste this.”
Our perfectly good tube of KY skittered my way. Nicely waxed floor…on which I was dribbling. Coitus interruptus, if you must know. Or haven’t guessed.
“Gotta go. Stay put. I’ll be back.”
“What if?...”
Cut me short, he did: “She won’t. Just shut up.”
Off he went, “Coming, Mom.” A hand was in his crack.
How long is a long time?
Long, when you’re jaybird naked on a cold floor under a blanket. Especially one that doesn’t cover you all the way.
All the way. What a wonder that is. Like last time, his first. Took me like a champ – well, those squawks aside. And the two high B-flats.
Boy soprano, you know. Solos at church and all that.
How my mind wandered and my knees ached.
An uneasy silence.
Finally! He was back. Shucked his shorts. “She went next door. Hot gossip for Mrs. Schwarz.”
I gawped at what he was doing to himself. Plying his skimpy frontage.
“Are you gonna stay there or what?”
This time the petulance was directed my way.
Where I’d sucked and chewed his tiny tits was red. Too red for a twelve-year-old’s Mom’s eyes.
He noticed. “She didn’t see ’em. Dimples punctuated his now-rosy cheeks. “She was sorting stuff while I cleaned up.”
Proud of himself, my four-feet-seven-inch buggeree.
What was I to do? Not what you think.
“You can’t mean it,” he said at what I’d whispered. “From the front already? Hot damn!”
*
A pre-pubescent punk with cherub lips deserves to be seen. To be appreciated, you know, when you’re poking him the way I was. He’d tried to bite me. Didn’t want the pacifier I offered him to muffle his mouth – a brand new baby butt plug. Even watched me take it from its clear-celluloid box.
“Can’t have you making a fuss.”
“I won’t. Use a lot of this.”
Our blue-and-white tube. First time he saw it, he liked the color combination.
He’d brightened, “It’s the same as Mom’s Sunday china. Her good stuff.”
I’d shown him how good our stuff was.
“More than last time and go slow.”
“Hold these up, apart,” I hoisted his ankles. “I’ll show you a trick that works magic.”
With aplomb, the open tube went to his pucker and a large squirt spritzed in.
The look on his face: memorable.
With no words of chastisement about the temperature, Oscar Luis Menendez-Finkelstein was ready. Age twelve.
Finger tested. Springy!
I jockeyed into the saddle. Gave him a smooch and a couple of inches. Our fun from before had opened his gate. Off to the races.
Not a peep to demonstrate his vocal range. Just a snort and wide-staring eyes the same color as his blanket.
We bumped together.
“Hey,” he hushed himself, “you look funny with your mouth hangin’ open like that.”
“And you look” – I really gave it to him – “won-der-ful and feel even better.”
He was all smiles until…she came back.
“Ready to show me your trick?” his Mom called from the other side of the door.
Oscar’s rectal muscles spasmed on me. Trapped my dick!
Who’d have thought the kid had such recoverably resilient fiber, wide enough for me as he was the second time in so few minutes?
Went bonkers.
I ’bout stripped my gears.
He wrenched around me.
Panicky squirts were dying away when he managed, “Yo, Mom, just a little more patience. I’ll come out.”
Any twelver who took a man the way he did was well on his way to coming out.
Me? I kept mum. Oscar, after a flurry of finding clothes, dashed. “I’m coming, Mom!”
Me? Abandoned, naked. Corpus quaking.
Magic words to the rescue. “Let’s go over to Mrs. Schwarz and tell her about the talent show. Bet she’ll show up and bring a friend or two.”
The back door slammed. I, sticky in my clothes, snuck out the front door and strolled the other direction.