Date: Wed, 13 Aug 2014 11:46:36 +0200 From: Sam Johnson Subject: Too Hot To Wash Cars Too Hot To Wash Cars by Sam Johnson (comments welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com) Keep Nifty nifty. Please consider a donation: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ++++++++++++++++++++ Dave was pissed off. Look at those fucking limos, he fumed. Twenty fucking four of 'em. All in a row, out the back of D'Angelos warehouse. The brutal midday sun making the black duco shimmer like black hellfire. Thirty fucking seven degrees in the shade. And Dave had to wash every goddamned one 'em. Last night at the pub – a Friday night, kicking the weekend off with a dedicated piss-on – the boss'd dropped in to tell him, sorry, but he'd have to fill in for Xavier, who'd broken his foot or his head of some fucking thing... Jesus! Hung over, a bit giddy in the glaring shit-storm of sun, in just his work boots and an old pair of shorts, Dave staggered over to the enormous corrugated wall. Heat coming off the tin in great hoary waves, sucking the oxygen right out of your lungs. Dave turned the tap on, chucked detergent and a sponge in the bucket as it filled. Over at the first car, plonking the bucket down, he turned and yanked hell out of the tangled nylex hose. "Fuck," he muttered, flexing his left shoulder, still a bit sore from Thursday's training. At twenty-five, Dave was just reaching his rugby-playing prime. He'd finally got his body into full tank proportions. A big built bastard he was, had proven himself a genuine tough guy amongst genuine tough guys. He knew it and he loved it and he worked bloody hard to keep it that way. Not that it mattered much now, out here, with that endless line of limos stretching out to the crack of doom, here in the worst piece-of-shit, end-of-the-world deserted wasteland that a cheap-arse bastard boss had ever bought to set up his lousy cheap-arse airport limo business on. Dave took a deep breath. Fuck it was hot. Why the fuck he still worked this shit job, he didn't know. Anna, his girlfriend of one and half years, had left him just two weeks ago – partly, she said, because Dave wouldn't even try to get himself a better career. Well fuck. Was he meant to change himself into some suited Chester Lick-Arse just to keep her happy? His rugby came first, she knew that. All the same, he'd rung her last night after – well, after not many drinks at all, really. Bitch. He did miss her pretty bad at the moment. Two weeks was a fucking long drought for a red-blooded warrior in his prime. He hadn't been without a girl for that length of time since he was a kid. He'd been planning to go to Rangoons last night to pick-up, till the boss had ruined his best plans. He could do better than Anna, though – or at least that's what he'd shouted at her after she'd been such a bitch and cut him cold on the phone last night. "Fuck her," he muttered, grabbing up the hose. She was the first girl he'd gone out with for longer than a month. A year and a fucking half! And he'd been faithful for the last six months straight. Big mistake. Keep moving through the bitches was best. He was about to twist the nozzle on when he heard a noise. Sudden, sharp, unmistakable. A car door slamming. Fuck. Just what he needed. Some punk trying to steal a motherfucking limo. He dropped the hose, stepped out to look along the row of twenty four cars. No movement or noise now. Then he noticed something. The last two cars were in the shade of a big old eucalypt. He'd deliberately started at the opposite end to save the shady treat till last, but the last limo – the windows were down! Fuck! This was a situation. Adrenalin starting to course through his built frame, he walked down to the last car, feeling the familiar inner torsion, preparing for danger, physical combat. But there was nobody in the car... weird, the glove box was open. Dave scanned the surrounding land – scrubby, bare, deserted wasteland – not possible for someone to have run off without being seen. Very weird. Then Dave heard another noise. A subtle noise. Close by. Other side of the car. Rustling, and... humming? Very carefully, Dave walked round the front of the car. And saw him. Some kid. A boy sitting on the ground, leaning back against the front tyre, reading a magazine. Still at the front of the car, a bit behind the boy's line of vision, Dave said with quiet menace, "Hey punk, what the fuck you think you're doing?" No response from the boy. Didn't know Dave was there. Deaf? But then the kid started humming. Dave noticed white cords going up to the lad's ears – an ipod – kid couldn't hear a thing. He watched the boy there for a few moments before Dave's face suddenly broke into a big grin. The kid was looking at a porno mag. Ha! He seemed stuck on picture of a tigerish blonde who had lowered a lacy red bra just enough to show a spectacular pair of tits. The kid flicked a couple of pages on, but then just as quick flicked back to the same tits. Dave found himself nodding in amused agreement, feeling something almost akin to paternal approval at the young lad's taste. Then the boy carefully balanced the mag on his knees and with quick movements lifted his butt off the ground while undoing his pants, preparing to push them down. It wiped the smile off Dave's face – shocked to find himself suddenly thrust into the role of voyeur, about to perv on a boy playing with himself. Dave quickly walked round in front of the boy, booming, "What's the hell's going on!" The poor kid almost had a heart attack – gasping in shock, flinging the mag aside, leaping up – about to run for it. But Dave was too quick – grabbed him by his skinny arm and easily flung him back against the car. "Not so fast, buddy! What the hell are you doing here?" But the terrified kid couldn't talk. One of his ipod ear-pieces had fallen out, and now he removed the other, looking at Dave with his young face as white as a sheet. "Are you stealing stuff from the cars?" Dave asked, his threatening tone and muscled bulk terrifying the boy. The kid did manage to shake his head, his unruly mop of brown hair coming almost into his eyes. "So how the fuck did you break into the car?" "I – I didn't." Dave gestured at the open windows of the car. "We don't leave 'em like that over the weekend, buddy. You broke in to it, didn't you." Again the boy shook his head, then he reached his hand into his jeans pocket. But in all the rush, he hadn't done up his jeans yet, and as he pushed his hand deep into his pocket, his jeans slid down a bit and fully exposed his blue undies. "Ah, um, kid – you're..." And again Dave was startled to find himself looking at the boy's private business – the lad's recent arousal was suddenly on full display, his erection tenting his undies out between his wide open fly. "Here, see!" the kid cried, fear cracking his voice, yanking his hand out of his pocket and holding up a key. "It's the key. I didn't break in. Uncle Les gave me a key." "Oh," Dave said, puzzled, reaching to take the key, recognising it as a genuine limo key. "So why did Les – oh shit, kid, your um... you better do up your pants, okay." The kid looked down, flushed red as he worked to quickly get himself zipped up and decent. "I just... the button's broke – I mean, not broke, but, just comes undone," but only got more embarrassed as he babbled. "Yeah, yeah, no worries," Dave said, wanting as much as the kid to just dismiss it. Then the kid remembered and caught sight of the porno mag on the ground just beside him. Oh so subtly (as the proverbial hammer) he tried to edge over to stand on top of it. But Dave wasn't having any of that. He casually pushed the lad aside and reached to pick up the mag. "Now don't go damaging a perfectly good porn mag, buddy." "It's not!" the boy cried, making a last feeble attempt to kick it under the car. "Hey, careful, fuck ya," Dave yelled after copping a glancing kick to his elbow. He stood up with the mag, started flicking through it with a proprietorial eye. It was fairly tame vanilla stuff. Again he felt a strange sort of paternal interest in the boy's activity here. The mag featured some nice curvy babes, occasionally showing daring hints of air-brushed pubes, but concentrating mainly on the big bouncy breasts. Just the ticket for a lad of such tender years. And he did look very young. The boy was still looking pretty mortified by it all. Dave rolled the mag up, whacked it in a friendly way into the boy's chest, meaning for him to take it back. But he wouldn't touch it. Dave chucked it through the limo's open window."Geez, buddy – it's no big deal, having a tug over a nice –" "I was not!" the boy said hotly. It was all a bit melodramatic for Dave. He said fairly brutally, "Fuck, kid – I was standing right there when you pulling your pants down." "Oh yeah... well, you're a dirty perv!" the red-cheeked boy flung at him. And it angered Dave. In a sudden flare of temper he gave the boy a back-hander – aiming to hit him on the shoulder, but it also glanced up and connected with the side of his face. The boy hit the dirt – partly from shock, but the blow did hurt him. Dave was quickly across to him, apologising. "Just, you shouldn't say shit like that, alright?" "Piss off," the boy cried, scrambling out of reach. "I'm gunna tell the cops." Dave had had enough. It was thirty fucking seven degrees in the shade. "Well, just fuck off then, okay? You fuck off right now and I won't tell anyone about you if you don't tell anyone about me. Pretty good deal considering what you were up to – whatever the hell you were up to." And Dave stalked off to get back to his shitty job. About ten minutes later he was surprised to see the kid suddenly reappear from behind the fifth limo along. Dave considered barking at him to fuck off, but didn't. He didn't really have anything against the kid, he just didn't need any hassles on a stinking hot day with so much work to get through. "You gunna wash 'em all?" the kid asked after standing there silently for a while. "That's right." "That'll take ages." "No kidding." "How come you have to wash them all?" Dave sighed. "Look, kid, unless you want to grab a sponge and help, you probably should piss off home." And the boy suddenly lit up. "Yeah, alright, I'll help." Dave was taken aback. "Well, no, I was just joking. Surely you can find something better to do." "Nah, I'm bored. Really, I don't mind – it'd be cool." The boy had come over to where Dave was sloshing the sponge over the roof of car number three. "I used to wash dad's car – I know how to do it." Dave grunted. "Well, it ain't fucking rocket science." The kid laughed. "Yeah, I know." Dave looked at him. "What's your name, kid?" "Caleb." "I'm Dave." They shook hands, the kid's hand struggling to grip Dave's big paw. "There's a bucket and sponge over against the wall if you really want to. I don't pay much, though." With another laugh, the boy fetched the gear and came back to the car and set himself up beside Dave. Dave was about to tell him to start on the next car, but decided not to – the kid beaming away happily beside him. Funny kid. "Think I'll take my t-shirt off," Caleb said, and started to haul it up over his head. Dave frowned. "Mate, I don't think that's a very good idea." "But you're not wearing one." "Look how brown I am!" Dave said, striking a he-man pose to show off his buff torso. "Look at you – you'll fry in no time." Caleb shrugged and dropped the t-shirt on the grass. "I'll put it back on in a few minutes." Then the boy with a grin tried to mimic Dave's he-man pose. "Ha! Mr. Universe," Dave laughed, although mainly the boy's effort just underlined how young he was. "I'm getting some muscles," said Caleb, carefully surveying the slender expanse of his pecs, shoulders and biceps. "I getting some weights for my birthday." "Yeah, you're starting to put a bit on, for sure," Dave said. "How old are you?" "Thirteen. Almost. In a few weeks." Dave nodded thoughtfully. "Shit, I reckon I was skinnier than you at that age." "Really?" "O yeah, I was a real skinny weed right up till about fifteen or so." "Your muscles are huge," Caleb blurted. "Fucken oath they are!" Dave struck another he-man pose. "I bloody worked hard enough to get 'em." As the two of them soaped and hosed the cars they chatted on. Caleb peppered Dave with questions about how he got so big and muscly, and how could Caleb get like that. The boy positively swooned at Dave's rugby stories – the fights, the injuries, the great man-drama of it all. He told of a few stories of his own scraps at school, but admitted they weren't really a big deal. A short way into their chat, Dave went round to his own car to fetch some sun-screen. He had no choice – the damn boy just wouldn't put his t-shirt back on. "Here – put some of that on," Dave said, throwing the tube to the boy. Caleb fumbled it, picked it up, and started smearing it on his shoulders, chest, arms. Then he held it out to Dave. "Can you put some on my back?" he asked. "Yeah, sure." Dave took the tube, squirted a big dollop in his hand, slapped it between the kid's shoulder blades, making him jump with a little "ooh". Dave worked it in across the boy's skinny shoulder blades and down the length of his bare back, making the boy wriggle a bit when his fingers stroked the tenderness of his sides. Dave finished the job quick, saying he should be right now. As they got stuck into the next car, Dave decided they were solid enough now to finish their earlier unfinished business. "So how come Les gave you a key to the limo?" "He's my uncle," Caleb said. "Really? So he brought you out here?" "Nah – I live just over there." He pointed to a house in the distance, back where civilisation started. Dave knew Les well. He was a good bloke. Close to retirement. One of the best guys at D'Angelos. He couldn't believe he'd be into anything dodgy – ripping off the company or anything. "So why did he give you the key?" Dave persisted. The boy got a little agitated. "Are you going to tell?" he asked. "Depends." But the boy was primed to talk now, and he did. "He only gave me the key last year when Dad was still here and it was... bad at home. Les said on weekends I could come over here if I had to get away. I think he just forgot I still have the key. I like coming over here." "Well, that's obvious," Dave said with a laugh, but the boy's face remained blank. "So where'd you get the stick book?" "Huh?" Dave rolled his eyes and threw the sponge, heavy with soapy water, so that it hit the boy fair in the chest. Caleb squealed and leapt back, quickly hurled his sponge at Dave, who wore it on the thigh. "The mag with the big tits in it, Caleb," Dave said. "Where'd you get that?" "OH!" the boy cried, cheeks suddenly reddening. "That... um, I found it in the glove box." Without really thinking, Dave said, "But are you old enough to wank?" That was a bit much for the boy. He sputtered and blushed deeper and grabbed up the sponge and smacked it against the car window. "I – I didn't... I was just looking..." "You're taking it the wrong way, buddy!" Dave said. "I'm not criticising – shit around your age I was beating my meat like a fucking Olympic champion." The boy still embarrassed and blushing. "Really? You pull yourself?" "Well, back in my teens – shit yeah – at least twice a day. I don't now, 'course." "Why not?" "Dave bunched his shoulders a little defensively. "Cos I've got a... well, I HAD a girlfriend." Caleb thought a bit. "And she won't let you?" Dave burst out laughing. "Well, not exactly. See, once you get a really hot girl to f – to have sex with, then that's it, you don't wank anymore. But it's good to do it at your age." The boy nodded, taking it all in. "'Course, when your girl up and leaves, then..." Dave suddenly stopped, realising he didn't want to take the conversation in that direction. Fact was, Dave had, for the first time in seven years, decided it was time for a wank just the other night. And he couldn't do it. For some reason he found it impossible – or unacceptable – to take up that adolescent past time – it wasn't on moral grounds, that was for sure. He just felt weird and stupid and ended up getting angry at the whole failed attempt. And so after two weeks of no sex whatsoever, his fuse was starting to shorten dramatically. But that was hardly fit conversation for Caleb. A little shyly, the boy said, "Hey Dave, you were right." "About what?" "I was going to, um, wank before." He shot a tentative glance at the burly man sloshing suds on the boot of the limo. "That's what a stick book's for, buddy." "A what?" "Stick book. The magazine with the naked girls. Haven't you heard it called that?" The boy shook his head. "You know why it's called a 'stick' book?" Again the boy shook his head, stopping work, not wanting to miss any vital information. "Because the pages end up stuck together!" The boy laughed a bit, then said, "But why do they get stuck together?" Dave again rolled his eyes, swished his sponge at the boy, showering him with water, making him jump with a high-pitched cry. "Man, Caleb, think about it – what happens when you wank?" "Um... it gets tingly?" "Ha!" This kid killed him. Normally he had no time for kids, but he had to admit, out here on such a shitty day, the kid was not bad company. A sudden thought hit the burly young man. "Shit, Caleb, are you old enough to jizz yet?" "Huh?" "Jizz. Semen. Do you shoot white stuff when you wank?" "You mean spoof?" "Now you're with me," said Dave. "So do you spoof yet?" "I think I did last week," the boy answered earnestly, swallowing hard before continuing. "Stuff came out but it wasn't white, just sort of clear – I did it in bed – not much came out though – just sort of on the tip – it felt sticky – is that normal?" "Shit yeah," said Dave. "You'll be shooting with live ammo in no time, I'd reckon." "It felt weird..." "When you came?" The boy looked at him blankly. "That's what you call it," Dave explained. "When it gets 'tingly' and stuff shoots out, that's an 'orgasm' and you call it 'cumming' – when you wank, you cum. And yeah, it feels fucking intense." The boy nodding. "Yeah, yeah, and it got like it almost hurt – at the end of my dick – really weird and I couldn't even touch it after – is that normal?" His eager thirst for knowledge was again sparking an unsuspected paternal streak in Dave. A boy should bloody well know this stuff. "Totally normal. You're right on the money, bud. And you wait till you're blowing a full load – it'll be even more intense." "Really?" The boy looked almost worried. "But fucking good," Dave reassured him. "Oh." Caleb had unconsciously started pushing at and adjusting his boy package. Once again Dave was unable to help being aware of the kid's sexual arousal, the noticeable bump in his jeans. As Dave patiently answered another dozen or so "is it normal" questions from the boy – a lot of them tending toward the enormity of what happens when you 'do it' with a girl – it started to become obvious that the boy was actually playing with himself – totally unconsciously, but definitely getting more and more excited by all this sex talk. Dave concentrated on the car, only occasionally glancing at the boy who, while washing with one hand, used the other to continuously squeeze and push at his boner. "And another important thing," Dave finally said, picking up the hose. "You know what to do when you've got a hard-on you don't want?" The boy shook his head, still not joining the dots. "Cold shower!" Dave roared, twisting the nozzle on and training the full jet of cold water straight at the boy's crotch. Caleb shrieked in horrified delight – dropped his sponge and hared off – stopped and turned when he was out of range. He looked down and plucked at his saturated jeans. "Aw Dave – you soaked 'em." Then, self-consciously, he added, "Fuck." It was the first time Dave had heard the boy use the 'f' word – and the alien sound of it in the boy's mouth – it seemed possible it was the first time he'd ever used it, and he'd copied it straight from Dave, and it made Dave wince a bit. "Since when do you swear like that, Caleb?" he challenged him, mock stern, advancing with the hose, hand on the nozzle, ready to turn it back on again. The boy was lit up with cheeky glee. "Fuck you Dave – I might just go to fuck a girl tonight!" "Ha! Cheeky bastard!" He turned the hose on, hit the kid in the midriff with it, then down to his crotch – then dropped the hose to chase the little varmint. Caleb was running, shrieking, laughing – lightning-fast across the ground – the quicksilver lad, his bare little torso flashing bright in the glaring sun. But Dave, in just his old work shorts and boots, burly chest magnificently bronze, pile-driver legs – he caught him up with his big strides. Bit of an effort, though. Caught him and brought him tumbling – carefully, the skill of a practiced athlete – onto the grass in the shade of the big old eucalypt. Dave easily got the kid flipped flat on his back, pinned him there hollering and bucking and laughing himself silly. "Give in?" Dave threatened, breathing hard, a little bright-eyed himself. "No way!" Caleb cried. A malicious grin crept over Dave's features. "Wanna bet?" "What?" the boy fair shrieked. "What, Dave?" "You ticklish?" The boy's eyes opened even wider. "No," he said. A more obvious lie had never been told. Dave was able to hold the boy's wrists together with one hand, pin his arms above his head. Caleb was strong and struggled mightily, but Dave, muscles bulging, easily held him there. And the moment Dave put his free hand to the boy's naked torso, started to tickle at his tender ribs and tummy and up into his smooth pits – the poor lad went into absolute paroxysms. "Aahhh! – fuck! – ahah!! – Dave! Stop!! Please! I'll do anything! Stop!!" Bucking and twisting every which way – his face beet red, barely able to breathe with the unbearable torment of it. Dave stopped. "Give in?" After a few moments of lying prone, breathing hard to get his breath and composure, the boy said, "Fuck no!" The kid's bravado was outrageous, hilarious, made Dave laugh – and the cheeky kid seized the moment – wrenched himself hard to one side, broke his wrists from Dave's grip and scrambled almost fully to his feet before Dave wrapped a big arm round his waist and hauled the squirming lad back down on the grass. They wrestled some more, Dave letting him get the upper hand a few times before pinning him, torturing him with quick tickles, making him swear and squeal and buck around like a trout trying to go upstream. After he'd pinned the lad for the umpteenth time, Dave put his face right over Caleb's, close enough to smell the boy's hot panting breath. "Surely to christ, Caleb, you give in now?" With a renewed grin, the kid said, "Fuck no." Laughing, Dave rolled over onto his back, letting the boy go for the first time in over fifteen minutes – fifteen minutes of surprisingly strenuous grappling, the lithe young fella stronger than he looked. "Shit, Caleb, you win. I give in." "Ah ha!" the boy cried in triumph. "I win! You gave in!" And went and stood right beside the big man's heaving torso, looking down on the bulk of him. Resting an arm over his eyes, Dave got his breath back, drifted into a lovely peaceful semi-slumber under the shade of the big old eucalypt. Thirty seven degrees in the shade, but with a bit of a breeze springing up now it wasn't too bad. "What about my pants, Dave?" "Hm?" Dave didn't want to break the peace, kept his arm over his eyes. "My pants are soaked, Dave." "What happened?" he murmured. "You piss 'em?" "No! Remember – you wet 'em with hose! They're soaked!" "Well, buddy, it won't take long for 'em to dry in this heat. Thirty fucking seven..." he drifted off. "But they hurt. I can't wear 'em. They're... sticking... it hurts between my legs when I walk." "...the fuck you on about? Take 'em off then... put 'em on the bonnet of a limo – they'll dry out in ten minutes." "Can I? Is that alright?" "Sure." A few seconds later or minutes or whatever... "Dave?" "Hmm?" "I put 'em on the limo." "Huh?" "I put my pants on the limo, like you said." Dave removed his arm and opened a bleary eye, tilted his head. "Fuck, Caleb, you've got no clothes on." The boy was sitting on the ground, a short distance off, legs tucked under. "I've got my undies on. You said to put my jeans on the car." "Yeah, yeah," Dave muttered. "Don't sweat it. Keep your undies on." He took a deep breath. "Well, I s'pose we better get back to work." But he made no attempt to move. "Hmm," the boy said, then, "Dave?" "What?" "I've got a stiff." Dave burst out laughing, put his arm back over his eyes, muttering to himself that the boy wasn't the only one. "Can't say I'm shocked to the shithouse over that one, bud." He lifted his arm to glance over, saw in the crook of the boy's slender thighs the tip of his boy-prick stretching his undies. "Let me know if you ever DON'T have a hard-on... far more newsworthy." Caleb continued, "Whenever I'm wearing just my undies – in the change rooms at school or at swimming or when I stay at Jarrod's – and I don't even think rude stuff or anything, but I always get a... a hard-one." "Hard-on," Dave corrected, moving a hand down to adjust his own painful erection. For the last week every time he woke up, in the morning or even after a five minute nap, he found he had a raging hard-on that just wouldn't quit. That bitch Anna was killing him. "Hard-on," the boy repeated. "But is it normal?" Dave got up on an elbow, a big grin on his face. "Nah, fuck normal – you're better than normal, bud – you're a fucking one of a kind, you are." The kid laughed uncertainly. "But –" Dave lay down flat again, moved both hands to flatten the material of his shorts, showing the outline of his own erection. "You tell me, bud – is this normal?" Caleb couldn't have looked more surprised than if a unicorn had suddenly appeared. "Ha!" he cried, standing up and pointing. "Hey Dave, you've got a... geez, yours is huge!" He edged a little closer for a look. Then he turned to face Dave, flattening his damp blue undies in the same way Dave had flattened his shorts, and said, "There's mine! Mine's stiff as!" Sitting up, Dave reached for the boy, reached his hand round onto his little butt, surprised by the tight soft-firm form of it, Dave's big hand almost compassing both firm little boy-cheeks. Dave guided him forward, unavoidably caressing his buns once or twice, then brought his hand round the front and put a finger under the elastic band of the kid's damp undies, stretched 'em out and down and popped the boy's stiff little prick out into the open air. The kid stood a little breathless, tingling with the rude thrill of showing Dave his stiffie. He watched with eyes like saucers as his undies got pulled right down. He clenched his fists, pushing his slender hips forward a bit, wanting to get even ruder, wanting to make his stiffie stick out even more, with Dave looking at it, a pink flush rising in the boy's cheeks again. As Caleb stepped out of his undies, and Dave put the little scrap of damp cotton aside, the burly man said, "Well, you probably need to have a wank before we get back to work." The boy remained speechless, watching, waiting, tingling. "Eh? What do ya reckon?" Dave ran a hand up the outside of the boy's leg, resting it on his hip, before bringing it round to gently feel the boy's excited sex. Dave was quite taken, quite fascinated, with the naked lad. Hard to believe just over a decade ago Dave had been like this blushing young boy. Dave saw naked big buff men all the time in his rugby life, and they didn't interest him except to compare the size of his own bulk against. But this boy was a different animal entirely, his skin so smooth, his torso and hips so neat and slim in Dave's rough hands. And when you touched his soft little ball bag, he cooed like a dove and put his legs apart a little so you could keep stroking and feeling him. And he made little dips and yips when you touched his skin, his tummy, his inner thighs. And his straining boy cock sticking up straight – such a slender wand compared to a man's veined tool, slim and beguiling like new technology, small but perfect, designed to be held, a little nano-wand, hard and gleaming with a delicate translucent hood still unbroken, ready to slide back with a careful thumb, immaculate, a pale singular shaft, fragile but potent with curiously crafted energy. Dave was sure his unprecedented two-week drought was causing him to carry on in this way with the boy. But he wasn't too fussed about it. Funny kid, he quite liked him. The day seemed to be happening quite naturally, at its own pace and rhythm, and he couldn't really see any reason not to enjoy it. At least not right now. "Come here, Caleb," Dave said, "here, sit on my stomach." "How do you mean?" The kid was a bit addled now, after his man-handling. Dave slapped his hard washboard abs. "It ain't rocket science, buddy. Sit here – no, no, not like that, what the hell's you doing? – side-saddle? Put your leg over... that's it." The boy stood with his legs either side of Dave's torso, feeling again very rude with his stiffie sticking out, and his legs spread wide apart, and Dave looking up at him standing there totally nude. He quickly lowered himself down till his bare little butt sat on Dave's stomach. "Will I be too heavy sitting on you?" the boy asked. "Are you kidding? You feel those fucking abs you're sitting on?" The boy smiled, the first time for a while, what with his arousal getting more serious. He bounced up and down a bit, testing the Dave's strength. "What about that – man, it's like cement," laughed the boy. "What'd I tell ya?" Then, shyly, "Dave, can I feel your muscles?" "Sure." The boy slid forward a bit, rubbing his spread butt-cheeks across Dave's steely abs. Dave watched the kid's soft little ball bag squash under him as he moved. Tentatively at first, Caleb put both his hands on Dave's broad chest and started feeling the shape of his pecs. "Whoa!" he cried when Dave suddenly flexed his muscles into full bulging definition. "Do it again!" The boy clamped his hands tightly to the man to feel it happen. Then the same with his biceps, even more impressive to a young boy. Dave put his hands to boy's waist, slid them up his sides, making him shiver a bit. "Okay, bud," he said, moving one hand down between the boys spread legs, gently nudged at his balls. "Let's see if we can get some juice out these balls of yours." Caleb held his breath as Dave started touching his hard penis. With his big hand, Dave wanked him lightly between finger and thumb, then a little bit harder, rubbing his foreskin back and forward, and the boy quickly started grimacing at the sharp pleasure of it, head bowed, curving over it a bit, as though covering a terrible fire starting up. Dave could feel the kid's little spread butt and thighs clenching and shifting on him, and then suddenly the kid was crying out, "Ahh, no, no, stop Dave, stop it!" Caleb grabbed at the hand that was masturbating him while at the same time trying to stand up to get clear of it. Dave let the boy's penis go but put his hands firmly round his slim waist and held him there. "Hey, what's the matter? – don't jump up – did it hurt? – was I doing it too hard?" The red-faced kid stayed there in Dave's hands. "No, no, I... it's... I gotta go to the toilet, Dave. Real bad. I gotta go." Dave laughed. "You duffer! You don't need to go to the toilet – that's just your orgasm coming on. You're about to cum." But the boy shook his head. "No, it felt... it felt like I was gunna pee everywhere." "Well, pee then," Dave said. "I give you permission to pee all over me, okay?" The boy looked at Dave, puzzled. "Well... but I'm not joking... it really felt like..." "Good. I wanna see you pee everywhere." Dave took hold of the boy's penis again, determined now to give him a belter of an orgasm. He stroked him between fingers and thumb, getting the quick rhythm going that lit his little boy-fuse, got his spread thighs clamping hard on Dave's rib cage, his tight little butt making sudden slips and twists of excitement, before he started to seriously flinch forward, sucking his tummy right in as he made rising "oh-oh" noises until with a sharp cry of distress he reached his painfully exquisite little boy-climax. The first savage rip of his orgasm produced only a little clear juice, spurting like a squeezed grapefruit, but was followed by a small spill of milky spoof, landing in a dollop on Dave's chest. Not much more came out, despite the red-faced boy continuing to flinch and grunt and rub his butt around – just a bit of clear dribble that ran down the underside of his knob-swollen cock. Dave let him go, gave him a few moments to get his breath back. Then: "Congrats, buddy. Looks like you're a man, now." "Huh?" "Didn't you see it?" "What?" "This!" Dave cried, pointing to the little dollop on his chest, with its definite tinge of milkiness. "Looks like we have a winner!" The boy broke into a big laughing grin, leaning forward to look at the dollop. "Is that spoof?" "Sure is." "There's more on my dick!" the boy cried, collecting some of the sticky clear fluid with his fingers. "That's not pee," he said, testing the feel of it, sniffing it. "You can make babies now." The boy looked up at him. "Really?" "Of course. Put that in a girl and she'll blow up big as a whale." The boy screwed up his face, laughing. "And I can make a stick book now, Dave." "You sure can, buddy. You sure can." THE END (comments welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com)