Date: Sat, 25 Apr 2020 09:44:34 +0000 (UTC) From: Michael Subject: The Pandemic Houseguest Part 1 The Pandemic Houseguest Part One By Mitchell Conner Greetings readers. This is entirely fiction, a work brought on by a perverted imagination, access to the internet and time to burn. If it's illegal wherever you live, or for your calendar age, stop now. This story is mine: you're welcome to use it to pass the time but not to copy and repost as your own demented work. Comments welcome – I haven't written anything for Nifty in years and am suffering from cabin fever. You may write me at abfab40@yahoo.com I woke up at 5:00am with a desperate need to piss. A few minutes later, well relieved, I turned to go back to bed when I heard rustling in the living room. I peered around the corner to the sleeper sofa where Jordan lie face down, a nearby nightlight illuminating his cute little round boy butt contracting in tight gray boxer briefs as he humped the mattress. I heard him moan as he picked up the pace, and then suddenly rolled onto his back. I'll never forget seeing the prominent outline of his hard cock lying at an angle extending all the way to his left hip, pulsing as he unloaded, a dark stain growing. I unconsciously let out a breath of absolute amazement as I looked on, brought back to reality as I realized I had my hand around my now hard cock. I looked back up, expecting to be busted for being a voyeur and saw Jordan still lying on his back, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deeply, as his smooth, lean, bare chest rose with each breath, his right hand gripping his cock in cum-soaked briefs. `What do I do?' I thought to myself. If I woke him up it would be more than awkward. What would I say? `Yeah, so I watched you cum in your undies and thought you should know.' It'd be the height of embarrassment for any guy, let alone my 15-year-old houseguest. Instead, I grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and left if draped over the arm of the sofa. My cum-rag fairy offering was sort of a `We both know what happened but here's something to clean up with so we don't have to talk about it' gesture. I returned to bed, immediately pulled my underwear down and jerked off to those images that were burned forevermore into my brain. Twice. As I lay there trying to go back to sleep I thought about how it was that Jordan came to be my houseguest. Last year I decided to make a fresh start and move away from Los Angeles, specifically away from West Hollywood. At 50 years old I was quite fit, healthy, and active – a muscle daddy according to some. But in what's referred to as a "gay capital city" I was mostly invisible to the ever replenished supply of young men who frequented the clubs, restaurants and coffee shops. It'd been a good run but it was time to move on, as that life no longer held the allure it had when I moved here years ago. So after cashing out my little Spanish-mission-California style condo for what I felt was an obscene amount of coin, I moved north to Ventura. There I found a 1960s ranch house that I enjoyed renovating, tearing down walls, opening up ceilings and generally leaving nothing untouched as I indulged in a massive homo-decorating binge. I thanked my late father every day as I was able to do a lot of the basic construction work myself thanks to his tutoring. I left the finish work to professionals and within a few months it was ready for me to move out of the one remaining spare bedroom and occupy the entire house. There was the master bedroom, a well-equipped man-cave gym in what used to be the second bedroom, and the actual spare bedroom that would be my office. The rest of the house was now all one great room, open to the living room, dining area, and the kitchen with a counter to eat at. The house was on a corner lot so I only had a neighbor on one side. I'd introduced myself upon moving in and given them my phone number so that if the noise or construction was too much they could let me know. That was the first time I met Judy, an ER nurse, and her son Jordan, who stood staring at me slightly slack-jawed, a few feet back from his mother. The way he stared I thought maybe I'd gotten something on my jeans or tank top, so I glanced down then back up and caught his stare. Jordan raised his eyebrows in surprise as he closed his mouth, then turned and walked away; his round boy-butt well displayed in last year's too-small shorts. As I left I noticed he was standing in the living room watching me walk towards my home. He was entirely cute, blond hair hanging a bit over his eyes; a lean, smooth, tan chest peeking out from a shirt slit down the sides like only a hot boy can get away with wearing. I worked at home as a business consultant and in order to avoid terminal cabin fever I took daily rides on my bicycle. I also worked out at home. On weekends I'd sometimes go visit friends in LA. It was a quiet, peaceful life punctuated with some occasional fun with a local boy who liked having a muscle daddy to play with. In the six months I'd lived there I'd had dinner with Judy and Jordan more than a dozen times. Perhaps it was after seeing the inside of my remodeled home that she came to the realization I was not interested in women. It was never spoken about. Instead, I was her big brother and learned all about how she married too young, had Jordan, divorced his father, struggled to put herself through nursing school and now was comfortably building her life. I also got to know Jordan, who had learned not to stare too blatantly and covered up any feelings he may have had towards me by teasing and treating me as disrespectfully as he would any good friend. It was great. Beyond being a gorgeous example of teen boy, he was smart, playful, and respectful of his mother. Because of Judy's work he was on his own a lot and from what I saw he didn't abuse his freedom by behaving poorly. One time I asked Judy if Jordan really was an adolescent boy because he acted more like a grownup, to which she just rolled her eyes in response. "Oh, he's all boy all right, wait'll you get to know him more. But I am one lucky momma," she said by way of explanation. And then, the pandemic hit. As businesses closed and the world went into lockdown you'd think I'd be sitting around plotting my next home project, but then you'd be wrong. Instead I was called upon to help my clients deal with downsizing and finding ways to ride out the storm with some hope of resuming business in the future. For Judy, it was also busy in a potentially deadly way, as I found out one Saturday when she knocked at the door, a pot of fresh coffee in her hand. "Dean, I need to talk to you." "Good morning to you too, Judy," I replied. "Oh yeah, sorry, just pulled an all-nighter so I'm not really functioning." "Come on in, you must be exhausted." I poured us each a cup of coffee and stood across the counter from her as she slumped into the chair, elbows on the bar supporting herself. "You look like Hell," I commented. "Thanks, you really know how to treat a gal," she replied with a smirk as I chuckled. "Well you've always got your barista skills to fall back on and snag a man," I teased back, raising my coffee in a toast. Judy didn't reply, and the look on her face became serious. "This is the last time I can see you. I can't be around you... or..." she got out before slumping and starting to cry. I moved around the counter and put my arm around her shoulder. "Hey, it's going to be okay. What do you mean can't be around me or... who else?" I asked. "They need me to work the virus ward and I'll need to be quarantined, but I can't stay at the hospital because they're out of beds and there's nobody to take care of Jordan because he can't be in the house with me because then he might get sick and if anything happened to him I'd just..." and another sob took over at the end of her stream of consciousness explanation. We talked for a least an hour and I found out that she would have to quarantine herself at home when she wasn't working. She'd also be going to their main hospital in Los Angeles a few days out of the week to fill in for other staff that needed a break. This meant she couldn't be around Jordan and he couldn't live at home. I already knew that her parents lived in Colorado so that wasn't a solution. "You're my only hope," she said. "Have you talked to Jordan about this?" I asked. "Yes. It took a while to get him to understand, but now he gets it. You know he thinks the world of you even though he treats you like..." "One of his friends?" I said, finishing her sentence as we both laughed. "Yeah, he's a smart-mouthed little shit isn't he?" she said. "That apple didn't fall far from the tree, did it?" Judy started laughing much harder than my remark warranted, finally stopping as she let out a long sigh and slumped in her chair. "So can you do it? I'll pay for his food. You know he eats two times his body weight every day. Please, it would be..." "My pleasure to help you out, Judy." I said, once again finishing her sentence. It was much later that I would realize how true my words would turn out to be. After Judy left to get Jordan organized I idly walked around my home, thinking about how this would all work out. I didn't have an actual guest room, as my remodel had concentrated on making this the ideal gay- daddy-bachelor pad. It was complete with an in-home gym with a big flat- screen to view while I sweated on the Bow-Flex machine, and a home- office designed for video conference calls designed and installed by a very cute lad from a local computer shop, who had also visited the king-sized bed in the master suite. The bathroom had a walk-in shower with multiple nozzles, and a Jacuzzi tub. Despite dual sinks in the bathroom it was definitely not a home for guests. But one was on the way later today. Fortunately one end of the leather sofa was actually a pull-out bed, my one concession to allowing other humans to spend the night. I just needed to find a place for Jordan to stash his belongings and go from there. I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon tidying up the house, doing the laundry and going over my personal ground rules for a type of visitor I'd never had over before: a hot teenager who was not here for sex. To start with, I'd need to wear underwear underneath my usual in-house nylon gym shorts. And a shirt of some type too. Maybe a tank top? No, too revealing. I'd just gotten dressed in my new at-home uniform when the doorbell rang. There stood Judy with Jordan at her side, each gripping the handle of a large rolling suitcase. I must've raised my eyebrows at their appearance, as Jordan looked at the suitcases, then up at me and said, "This is the first load, I need to go back and get the rest of my stuff so I'll have enough for the second night." "Jordan!" Judy responded. "Dean's going to think you're serious!" "I am!" he deadpanned back. "Is it against the lockdown rules to have a garage sale? That way I can sell this," I said, gesturing at Jordan, "and keep this new stuff," I added, pointing at the suitcases. "I don't think my clothes will fit a size 40 waist," Jordan said, smirking. "But you're welcome to try." And thus my pandemic houseguest moved in.