Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2018 17:35:22 +0000 From: destabilizer15 Subject: Young Lovers - Chapter 1 (Revised) Young Lovers : Chapter 1 Let's face it - one of the problems with boys, which every boylover knows if he'll admit it to himself, is that most of `em just aren't that hot. Sure some are slim and toned -- but in 21st century America more and more are thick, chubby, or just plain fat. It seems that for every one with sparkling blue eyes and adorable dimples there are a thousand with coarse, pasty skin and dull, narrow-set eyes. And let's not even start on the travesty of sloppy, ill-fiitting clothes and short, ugly hairstyles. The main place to find boys that look like we want them to look is not real life America but the pages of Nifty. And while fantasy boys are okay, I'm sure you'll agree that real boys, at their best, beat the hell out if them. What we all need is a place we can go to get away from the disappointment of walking through the mall or cruising groups of middle schoolers walking home and scarcely seeing a single one worth fantasizing about. We need a place where what matters is conformity not to sexless styles and bad diets but to ideals of youthful beauty and general hotness. And we need a place where the general attitude toward our particular sexuality is, if not one of appreciation, is at least one of tolerance or indifference. I had lived in middle America for several increasingly sexually barren years and had gradually given up hope of ever finding such a place in my homeland. And so I set about traveling the world in search of a country -- any country -- where men who love teenage boys are, if not welcome, then at least ignored. Thailand and the Philippines, Brazil and Guatemala, Morocco and Egypt, Romania and Italy and Greece -- I had spent at least a little time in them all. In almost all of them I found boys who were sexy, charming and available, and for awhile it seemed as if life as an expat might be my fate, for better or worse. But after awhile I needed something more. After awhile I got tired of the furtiveness of a life lived in secret, the paranoia that came with knowing I was both breaking the law and doing things that would outrage public morals. It became more and more awful to develop and deepen a bond with a boy, all the while knowing that, at any moment, a knock could come at the door revealing that a boy I had trusted had slipped, and revealed to a judgmental and angry parent or vindictive police officer the truth of what happened between us. Because sooner or later, I feared, a boy would inevitably betray me -- most likely with careless words in his gullibility and innocence. Or perhaps the betrayal would come not by something he said, but rather by that sudden, unexplained happiness a boy begins to show when a man loves him, a joyfulness which he cannot conceal, which he can imagine any reason to conceal, and which in the end gives the game away. Once, in Phnom Penh, I had lingered on too long, unwilling to let go of a boy who for months I had loved and taught and delighted in, and who I believe had some small feeling for me as well. The result of failing to follow my instincts, to clear out while I safely could, were days of terror before I managed to wangle an escape from the clutches of a determined if incompetent police force. Worse yet, the whole affair ended in disaster for my sweet boy, who paid the price for refusing to admit to the authorities what they knew was true between him and me. I had already understood the horrible immorality of a situation in which, in the guise or protecting innocence, innocence is in fact destroyed -- I understood it, yet I hesitated, I waited, and so fell into the trap because I loved too much. And so, traumatized and determined to never risk losing my freedom again, I came home, was lucky enough to land a good job working for major online gay publication, and decided I would try to base my happiness on other aspects of myself besides my sexuality. A decent apartment, a few friends, some rewarding work -- that could become an okay life. I figured that every year that went by my sex drive would decrease, my memory of beautiful boys I had loved would fade, and I would find other enjoyments of a less stigmatizing sort. And then one day I received a phone call from my brilliant, geeky college friend Joe, and that fateful call changed my life. ******************************** Martin Kramer had told me there would be someone to meet me at the airport in Manila to lead me to the small plane which would take me out to the island. Upon deplaning from my L.A. flight I searched the boarding area in vain for someone, maybe holding up a sign with my name on it. After a couple minutes of fruitless looking I was about to track down an employee for some help when I saw a young kid, panting and seemingly out of breath, running down the concourse in my general direction. His eyes darted back and forth, obviously searching for someone. My heart lurched the way it always does when I am in the presence of adolescent potential. Could he be looking for me? Was this my greeter? I moved toward him, caught his eye and smiled. He stopped running, his little chest heaving, and started at me with a sweet, open countenance. Time seemed to stop, and in what must only have been two seconds I inhaled his beauty. He was maybe 13, or a small, young-looking 14. Light brown hair fell past his shoulders in a cascade of waves and ringlets. His smile, suddenly shining out more brightly, was unnaturally wide, his thick sensual lips curving into the classic cupid's bow. A faint dusting of freckles graced his cheeks and button nose. His light blue eyes were set wide apart and over them curved thick arched brows. In all, a captivating boy, as beautiful as any I'd seen in a long, long time. "Are you my welcoming party?" I asked with what I hoped was an encouraging smile. He blinked, and then smiled even more broadly. "I'm Jack!" he exclaimed in an adorably melodious voice. "Are you Mr. Sanders?" "That's me. But call me Mike." I stuck out a hand, glad to have a chance to touch this delicious creature. I felt a thrill as his soft, slender hand slipped into mine. I pressed it gently and he responded with gentle pressure of his own. I deliberately held it a bit longer than normal while looking deeply into his eyes. He swallowed but did not drop his eyes, and his smile stayed in place. "I'm s'posed to take you to the plane," he announced brightly. "Then I''m s'posed to keep you company on the way to the island, and when we get there too." He waited expectantly for me to respond, as I stared at him, still more than a little entranced. Finally I found my voice, and decided to not beat about the bush. "Well, good. It's been a long time since I had such a cute traveling companion." Jack blushed charmingly and looked down at his feet, with what seemed like a pleased smile. "Lots of guys say that." "Do they also say you're sexy?" He blushed more deeply, still looking down. "Yeah." "Well, I hope we can be friends. I don't want you to think I just like you for your looks." He looked up at me sharply. "Just looks is OK," he exclaimed, with vehemence that seemed to come from out of nowhere. "Lots of men just want to suck me, that's it. That's OK -- I like it!" There was defiance in his voice, as he said "suck me" rather forcefully. What was THAT about, I wondered. This boy was intriguing. I didn't show the mild shock that I felt upon hearing such words coming from such young lips in the middle of a crowded airport. I decided to give him the full glamour. I looked at him steadily, widening my eyes a bit, and touched him gently on the shoulder. "OK. But Jack," I paused, "every boy needs a man to love him too. Don't forget that." He swallowed and held my gaze, his face touchingly vulnerable. I had gotten to him. "Now show me where that plane is." Once we had climbed aboard the twin-engine six seater and I had met the pilot Jack became chatty and smiling again, as if the odd exchange earlier had not happened. As we eased out over open water and he rattled on with boyish enthusiasm about leaning to dive and his new best friend, I took the chance to get a good look at his body. Once I did so I began to wonder if perhaps my initial estimate of the Jack's age had been off. He had removed the lightweight windbreaker he had been wearing and exposed a trim torso in a tight-fitting silver sleeveless t-shirt. The kid was surprisingly muscular. Though his arms lacked bulk there was remarkable definition in his little biceps, which jumped and flexed as he waved his arms while he spoke. There was even a very sexy vein that bulged out a bit at the front of his shoulder. Not many 13-year-olds have that, I thought to myself. Even though he was short and still had that beautiful, almost translucent skin that pre-teens have, this kid surely was well into puberty. I tried to see if he had any hair under his arms, but I couldn't manage a good look.. His chest, though narrow, had some muscles too, as his little pectorals stuck out a bit from his rib cage. I felt a twinge in my cock as I could see his tiny nipples jutting against the fabric of his shirt. His legs were tightly encased in sky blue jeans and his thigh muscle curved enticingly, not at all like the straight, stick-like leg of a preadolescent. I tried to get a glimpse of his crotch but the angle at which he was sitting and the arm rest between us made it impossible. I was in luck, however, because before long Jack had to go to the bathroom. I was surprised to see that such a small plane even had one, but there was a tiny compartment in the rear. He bounded out of his seat, and I turned to watch him. The windbreaker had hidden his ass from me before as he led me through the airport, but now my heart leaped as I saw the twin globes of a tiny ass, hugged by pants so tight they rode up into his ass crack and showed the firm, muscular little globes of his buttocks to stunning effect. Was there anything about this boy that wasn't enticing as hell? Well, probably not much to see in front, I smiled to myself, but I'll just see if I can glimpse anything at all when he comes back. A minute or two later he burst out of the little plane bathroom toward me, the grin that I was beginning to realize was pretty much perpetual plastered on his face. My eyes dropped to his crotch, and time seemed to stop for the second time since I had met Jack. I had expected to see a small boy bump. But there was no little boy bump. Nor was there a slightly larger middle school bulge. Nope, this kid sported a bulge any grown man would be proud of. Actually, it was more than a bulge. Extending nearly six inches down the inside of his left pantleg, was a penis no 13-year-old of my acquaintance had. My mouth suddenly felt dry and I was literally speechless as he flopped back down into his seat. "That's better!" he proclaimed with a grin. Indeed it was -- better and better! After a moment I regained enough composure to ask, "Jack, I'm curious -- how old are you?" The boy gave me a sly grin. "Not tellin'" "Come on, tell me!" "How come you wanna know?" "Oh, I don't know." The boy grinned wider. "You wanna know if I can cum!" It wasn't a question. I laughed. "That would be interesting information! Well . . . ?" "Gallons!" he laughed. "Yeah right. What are you, like 13?" "Nope." "14?" "Nope." "Surely not 12!" "Nope. That's 3 guesses, you lose!" "So you're not telling me!" "I'da told ya if you guessed it right. You're a bad guesser! Now you've lost your chance." "OK, so how big is it?" "What?" Jack's expression was all innocence, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "That hunk of salami you pushed down your pants in the bathroom to try to impress me!" Jack laughed. It was the first time I'd heard him give a full-throttle laugh. It started as a delightful, silvery peal, descended into a giggle and ended with a couple of rude snorts. I was enjoying this boy hugely and he seemed to get a bang out of our repartee too. "That's not salami!" "What's snot salami? I don't think they have that at my grocery store and I sure wouldn't buy any if they did!" Jack doubled over now with laughter. Chuckling. I took a chance and reached over and ruffled his beautiful hair affectionately. "Hee hee, boy, that's a good one!" he finally gasped. I was silent and Jack's giggles eventually ebbed. "So Jack." I finally said in a quiet voice. Sensing the change in my tone he looked at me with that sweet open face. "I don't actually care how old you are." "No?" "No. Or if you can cum, or how big your cock is. I can already tell I like you and I think it's fun to be with you." The boy gazed at me and said nothing, but a shadow seemed to pass over his face. He turned away and looked out the window for a moment. Then he turned and looked at me again, now with a serious face. "OK, we . . . " he began in a flat tone, then stopped. "OK we what?" "Ok, we don't have to, like, do sex stuff when we get to the island. I mean, Marco told me I should do any -- any sex things that you wanted -- you know, to make you feel welcome and stuff. I mean, they don't make me if I really don't want to, but I kinda thought we would . . . " he trailed off and looked down awkwardly. I took a deep breath and said to myself, everything depends on this moment right here, on how you handle this. Be calm and think. It came to me all at once what that shadow had been. When I'd said we didn't have to have sex he thought I was saying I didn't desire him! I had thought to make him feel reassured that my interest was more than sexual, but he seemed to take it all wrong. I realized at that moment that for him, probably a little catamite who has constant sex but maybe not much affection or tenderness, being desired sexually might be the closest he ever got to feeling loved. His substitute. My God, he's feeling rejected! This precious, beautiful boy who I am already half falling in love with, who I'd give my left nut to make real love to, thinks I don't want him! He was staring out of the window. "Jack . . " "Can we not talk right now," he said in a low voice. "Jack, I didn't mean --" "Please?" "Umm, OK, sure." We rode the rest of the way in silence. Somehow I had blown it. *********************************************************** "I thought it would be a good idea to give you a broad selection. That's why I suggested a stay of a week or so. Your editor seemed agreeable. Of course, Barry's an old chicken chaser from way back," Martin Kramer, energetic and talking fast, chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "Really!" I replied noncommittally. I rather doubted that the famous Michael Weiss would have appreciated having it generally known that his charming husband, my editor and friend, would have preferred penetrating a perky hairless little rear end to his own rather larger one. "Well, we certainly appreciate your generosity. I know a night with one of your boys doesn't come cheap, so five nights is -- well, more than we could have expected." The president of Young Lovers waved away the compliment. "Of course you'll have your run of the place. Ask questions, talk to anybody you want -- boys, employees, guests. You're a reporter and I know you're not here to do a puff piece, so dig as much as you want to. I want the readership of America's largest gay magazine to get an accurate picture of our little setup here. I have total confidence that if they know the truth they'll understand that what we have to offer here is not only exciting and fulfilling but honest and honorable too." Kramer was turning out to be quite a bit different than I had expected -- open, affable, a bit hyper. What had I expected? Someone sinister, perhaps? A bit furtive? "Well, I can certainly understand your particular concern right now," I said. "All the stuff that's come out about the exploitation of boys in Indonesia and Central America --" "That's not the worst of it. There's a really shitty operation out of North Korea that's got me even more worried. They're under the radar right now, but if people start hearing about what they do, and start associating us with them, it could really be bad for us. Decriminalizing consenting pederasty throughout so much of Asia has been a wonderful thing, but it's brought plenty of ugliness too, believe me. Hey, can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda? Something stronger? I know that 15 hour slog from the U.S. to Manila can be draining. Done it a million times." "Coffee would be great, thanks." "Me too." Kramer buzzed for an assistant and in a moment the young man who had shown me in popped in to take the order for two coffees, which arrived in short order. "Anyway, getting back to you being here, we want to be preemptive -- get the good word out ASAP." "Well, as I said, I don't want you to assume this is going to be a nice little feature. It might wind up being an investigation." I decided to be blunt about it to see how he would react. Martin Kramer didn't bat an eye. "Of course, I completely understand. `Island paradise where sex-obsessed pederasts abuse helpless boys.' Naturally you'd be coming here, if not expecting the worst, then at least on the lookout for it." "I'm glad you understand. I'm an investigative journalist and I'm here to get the facts and report them as honestly as I can. But, let's face it, I'm a boylover too, as you know. And the main way I'm going to get a sense of what this place is really about is not from talking to staff or customers -- or you -- but by connecting with the boys themselves. I think I'm pretty good at opening boys up, and I don't mean that like it sounds." Kramer smiled. "Well, maybe that too?" I chuckled. "The thing is, if this is a healthy, non-coercive place I think I'll be able to tell. I know happy boys when I see them. And if things are in any way abusive or unhealthy, I think I can figure that out within a week too." "Perfect!" Kramer cried. "The more sure you are about good things happening here -- good for the guests and for the boys -- the better that is for us. I'll tell ya, Mike, I've read some of your stuff over the years and have been impressed by your honesty and your fairness. That's why once I learned Joe was an old buddy of yours I asked him to call you and see if you'd be interested." "Yeah, it was good to hear from him. It's been years. He was actually kind of vague about what his role is here." "Yeah I'm trying to figure that out too. They tell me he earns his salary but I don't actually understand what the hell he does. Research, with the eventual goal of improving boys' attractiveness, he tells me. I go along with it, I'm not sure why. He's not on the island now, unfortunately. I guess you'll have to email him if you have some questions. Most of Joe's research is actually done back home, but we've got a small lab here too. You might want to see Jonathan there -- he can probably fill you in on some of the technical stuff. It's all gobbledygook to me. Anyway, I wanted to get my right hand man Marco in here to take over. He can tell you about the boys we've paired you with. From what I know of them -- and most of it isn't first hand, I'm afraid -- you're in for a treat." The man popped to his feet and moved toward the door. I realized my welcome interview with Martin Kramer was over. *********************************************************************** The next morning I awoke after a great night's sleep. The evening before I had just walked in the door of the apartment they'd assigned me to and crashed, too exhausted to do anything else, so now I took a moment to check out my digs for the next week. The bedroom was ample, with a very comfortable queen-sized bed. There was a living room with a nice couch, a couple of chairs and a large video screen, and a kitchenette off the living room that was stuffed full of snacks and drinks. I was to learn that, although the island had a cafeteria that served surprisingly good food, guests many times chose to eat meals or snacks in their rooms. The bathroom was ordinary except for one thing: an unusually large shower. I smiled to myself at the realization that a lot of couples had probably done a lot more than wash together in that shower. I felt surprisingly refreshed and un-jet legged this morning. Four days earlier I had been minding my own business, eating nachos and drinking beer on my deck and finishing up a piece on the administration's bungling of the recent suicide of a high ranking official who was rumored to be gay. Since then I'd gotten Joe's call, met with my editor and hatched the plan I was now engaged up to my neck in. Following more phone calls to the island there was a hastily arranged flight to the South Pacific, a day layover in Manila, my inauspicious encounter with the delectable Jack, my whirlwind meeting with Martin Kramer and my somewhat more extended conversation with Marco. He was a young fellow who I'm sure had been a real looker in his teens, because now, apparently veering into his thirties, he still got me a bit excited. Of course, I've been known to be easily excited. I guess you could call Marco the master of the boys. It was apparently his job to know the boys and their foibles well enough to manage their meetings with clients. (Clients were always called "guests" here, I noticed.) With his charming smile, witty, solicitous manner, and what appeared through his tight fitting clothes to be a chiseled physique I could guess that boys would take to him. Marco also seemed very bright and unflappable, which I'm sure are very good things when you're in the business of managing occasionally moody adolescents. His smile didn't waver when I asked him point blank if he availed himself of any of the boys' favors. "The boys have sex with who they're assigned to, and beyond that, with who they choose to. I've -- uh -- been chosen a few times!" "I'll bet you have," I couldn't help answering. Marco's smile widened, but he chose to respond to my comment as a joke, not a flirtation. "Yehhhhp, I've still got it," he mugged. "Actually, we're all pretty sexual around here, as you'd probably guess. The staff are very careful never to manipulate or force the boys, of course, but the truth is, even the straightest boys usually can't get enough cock once they develop a taste for it. More often it's the staff that has to resist pressure from the boys. We can't keep up with `em!" "Wait, you mean not all the boys are gay?" Marco gave me a grin. "No way! My associate Evan -- you'll meet him pretty soon -- says it' s fewer than a third" "OK, you've got to explain that to me." "I know, I was shocked too at first. When the first bans were lifted of course we got applications from lots of gay and bi boys, but nowadays, I guess those labels just don't mean what they used to. After only a few months we started getting more and more kids of this new generation. Most of `em like girls but just don't have any objection to going both ways. They hear about how good the money is and that we have a -- what did Time call it? -- a "free love paradise" here. And their parents love the top flight education they get and the fact that their future is just about assured if they play their cards right." "Tell me how that works. I wanted to talk to Martin about that but we didn't get around to it." "I know what you mean -- he kind of sweeps you up, doesn't he? Yeah, so right now we take applications from any boy old enough to shoot. We're one of the few boylove organizations that observes that lower limit, as you probably know. If he's accepted he and his parents sign a contract which requires him to have as much sex as we require, of whatever sort, with whatever person. In return, he leaves here at 18 with a fantastic education and a bank account that will set him up very well. I can also tell you that, as a side benefit, he'll in most cases have way more self-confidence than the average teen, not to mention great sexual technique and a body to die for." "And he can still get marred to a girl eventually, if he wants to!" "And some do! Most don't though . . . " he laughed. "Too confining, I'd guess. Once you've known complete sexual freedom and you learn all that can happen between two boys, or a boy and a man . . . " "Two boys? So there's a lot of sex among the boys, then?" Marco glanced at me and, though he was too nice to say "DUH!" I could tell the thought crossed his mind. I laughed at my own stupidity and decided to change the subject. "How do you go about matching the customers with the particular boy? I mean, most guys have definite physical features they look for, right?" "It's actually not primarily matching with given features but with a type that implies a certain fantasy. Sure, some guests absolutely have to have blonds or Asian boys or boys with perfect butts, and we do our best to accommodate them. Tall and skinny? Short-haired and butch? Barely pubescent? Buff and manly? Tough and dominant? Sweet and submissive? We've got them all if customers have a strong preference. But our research shows that what guys are really turned on the most by is a particular type and fantasy. In fact, we've identified five common pederastic types that are by far the most in demand, and those are the five you're going to be enjoying this week. By the way, one of your five has been selected to fit your own fantasy ideal." I was taken aback. "My ideal? How would you have any idea about that?" Marco chuckled. "Well, remember those little bits of hard core porn we asked you look at online before you left the U.S.?" I smiled at the memory. "It's was sort of like when you get an eye exam: `Is the top row of letters better, or the bottom row?' Over and over. I'll admit, it was so good I looked at every bit of it, and did all the comparing." "Sure you did -- any red-blooded ped would. Once a guest has compared several dozen boys and fantasy scenarios and picked his preference each time we've got a solid idea of what turns him on the most." "Well, I look forward to finding out what you think my ideal is." "Actually, I don't even remember what it was myself. I do a couple dozen of matches a week. I just remember it's one of the classic five." I felt a bit disappointed. Was I so mainstream? "What are these classic five, then?" Marco recited: "Fun-loving boy next door. Insecure virgin. Newly pubescent. Bad boy who needs discipline. And of course, little guy with huge dick." I pondered these a moment. "That's good," I finally admitted. "And you've found boys to fit these fantasies?" "Yes. As you can imagine some are much easier than others. The boy next door type is the easiest to get. And once a boy with potential arrives here we're pretty good at working with his hairstyle and clothes to maximize his attractiveness. Most of them arrive looking like typical contemporary American teens, which is to say, like shit. Hideous clothes, bad hair, pasty skin. We fix all that pretty quick. Almost all the boys also begin working out, with specially personalized routines to develop them for maximum attractiveness. Each of them follows a strict diet for his unique needs. We've got a genius tailor who form fits all the boys. Also, a lot of guests are sensitive about race, and we take that into consideration when we match too. Some want a specific race, others may have an aversion to a certain skin color. That can make it tougher. Virgins are the toughest of course, and clients pay plenty for them." "I'm sure a lot of the kids really just feign virginity, right? They fake it?" The smile left Marco's face for the first time since I'd met him. "No sir," he replied sharply. "Martin is committed to transparency and honesty, and doesn't allow any false advertising. I'll admit, it would be easier on the staff if we could fudge things a little, but he won't hear of it." "I gather that's one of the differences between you and all those competitors that are springing up all the time. " "Yep." I had liked Marco from the beginning, but there was something in the steady unsmiling gaze now holding mine that earned my respect. Suddenly the smile was back. "So would you like to start with your all-American boy? When guests are sampling more than one fantasy that's usually what we recommend for the first night. It's late and I'm sure you're exhausted after your flight, but there are several boys available tomorrow night." "Actually, I was wondering if there was any way I could -- uh -- spend some time with Jack. I kind of have some unfinished business with him, I think." Marco frowned. "Oh yeah. I heard you got off to a little bit of a rocky start with him. That's not acceptable. He's supposed to make you comfortable however he can. He'll be spoken to about that." "Actually, I'd prefer that he not be disciplined, if that's what you had in mind. It really was my fault -- I kind of overstepped. Why don't you assign him to me for one of my -- uh -- appointments. Let me sort it out. He's such a sweet boy, I'm sure he'll come around." "He is a sweetheart but he's touchy too. Complicated kid. Smart. He's was actually going to be one of your five. I'll let you guess which." "Judging from how hung he obviously is, I think I know!" "Don't be too sure. Lots of our boys are really well hung. We pay top dollar for that, as you can imagine. Let me see what I can do. I think he was supposed to be with another new arrival tomorrow, but I don't think that guy's been given his schedule yet, so I'll see what I can work out. If I can set it up fine, otherwise he'll come later in the week. Either way, you won't be bored tomorrow night!" ************************************************************* I spent most of that afternoon walking the grounds, getting a feel for the place, and doing some interviews, primarily with staff and guests. I had wanted to connect with my old friend Joe whose phone call had started this whole adventure, but Martin had said he was in the U.S. at the moment. Eventually I made my way to the lab to see if I could get some insight into his research. Jonathan, the young fellow who greeted me, explained that Joe actually was not often there. "He's in research, see, and the good labs, the equipment, all the stuff he needs is there, not here. Research assistants, postdocs from UCLA. All that. He's usually only here, maybe a quarter of the year. He will be here in a couple of weeks, though, if you're on the island that long.' `Hmm, looks like I won't be seeing him then. I guess I'll have to email him my questions." Little did I know then that I would be at Young Lovers much longer than I thought. I spent a few more minutes at the lab talking with Jonathan, but by the time I left it was still quite unclear what the research involved. It seemed as if it might involve some kind of drugs designed to increase sexual arousal, or perhaps stamina. Every time I tried to dig deeper the guy began with long explanations involving eight syllable science words. Like a lot of people who spout jargon he seemed so immersed in what he was saying he had no sense at all that I wasn't understanding much of anything. I finally thanked him and took my leave, resolving that before I left the island I'd send Joe some questions. He had always been an articulate guy -- pretty nerdy, but articulate -- and I felt sure he could dumb down his explanation so even I could understand it. The one very strong impression I came way with was that my old college friend had made as big an impression on Jonathan as he had on his professors long ago. "Mr. Collins is a -- well, he's kind of a genius in the field," Jonathan had said, obvious admiration in his voice. I just hoped at some point I'd understand what that field was, exactly. ************************************************************** The knock on the door was soft, tentative. I opened it and there stood Jack. He was trying to smile his big, broad, knock-em-dead smile, but it wasn't in him, I could tell. I had decided on what my approach to him would be if he came tonight. The tender, seductive thing I'd thrown at him on the plane had obviously been a disaster. I decided instead to treat him as he seemed to be comfortable being treated. I scanned him slowly from head to foot, openly ogling him. The adorable mop of hair, the sweet face, the little body -- what was he, a hundred pounds? "Woo hoo, man, Jack, do you look hot tonight!" I cried. The truth was, this boy would look hot in a garbage bag. Instead, he wore one of those classic, midriff-exposing T-shirts from the 80's, along with a pair of jeans that looked even tighter than those he's worn on the plane, if that were possible. It was hard to look away from the kid's abs -- a beautiful six-pack, not bulky and worked out, but with every muscle softly defined. Despite the incredible hotness of his belly I was somehow motivated to look lower, and Jack dd not disappoint. His bulge was breathtaking. It seemed as if he might not be wearing underwear because I could see the coronal ring clearly. His cock looked even bigger than before. I looked up and saw Jack's sparkling eyes. The big smile was back. He like me scoping out his goodies. He was back on comfortable ground. "Can I come in?" "You have to take off an item of clothing first." "Huh?" he grinned. "Like a shoe." "Yeah?" he had a devilish twinkle now. He reached down and unsnapped his jeans instead. "Or like these?" ""Ooh boy. No, no, I want to do that another way! Here," I knelt before him, lifted his foot, and slowly began untying his sneaker. I took it off, and with it his sock. His smallish feet were neat and beautifully arched. "Are you one of those foot guys?" he asked. There was no judgment in his voice, only curiosity. "Well, I believe in keeping all options open so I guess I might become one someday, but right now, no. I am, however . . . a nipple guy!" With that I roughly pushed up his T-shirt, leaned in and sucked one of his nipples hard. Jack screamed with laughter and tried to push me away. "No, stop, I'm ticklish!" Relentless, I wrestled him to the floor and kept attacking him. He writhed and bucked, howling with laughter, as I sucked first one nipple, then the other, then gnawed on his spectacular abs, then his navel. Finally I stooped, holding both his arms to the floor. and pressing him down. I met his gaze steadily. "You are so . . . fucking . . . sexy." I breathed. Pride and embarrassment and something else chased each other over his face. I grabbed the T-shirt and began to pull it over his head; he lifted up to help. He flopped back down shirtless. Gently I nibbled his nipples again, then licked up his firm chest and into his armpits, where there were just a few hairs beginning to sprout. I licked and sucked them as he writhed, but his squirming now was punctuated not with giggles but with gasps. I kept at this for quite awhile, then stopped, resting my head on my hand, lying next to him. I slowly placed my hand on his crotch. I gazed at him. His body was radiating heat. He looked back at me, not exactly smiling. I could see the lust beginning to take him over, hooding his eyes, making his mouth slacken. I squeezed gently, feeling the girth of him, and slowly slid my gripping hand downward, measuring the length. "When you get hard it must be uncomfortable in those tight pants, because it's so big." "Yeah," he breathed. "I want you to strip for me." He grinned. "Yeah?" "Yeah." Here, let's get up." I pulled him up, got onto the couch, and set him in front of me. "I want you strip for me like you know you've got the biggest, hottest, horniest cock there is. Strip like you know that anyone who sees you wants you. Like anybody who sees it can't stop thinking about sucking it. Like they're hypnotized by it. Come on, baby, hypnotize me." The boy grinned, and seemed to grow taller as he raised his hands theatrically over his head. Then he began to sway. At first he giggled and moved self-consciously, a bit comically, but he was not ungraceful. Eventually, as he got more into it, his smile vanished. He caressed his belly with his hands. Then he kicked off his remaining shoe and reached down, and pulled off his sock. He stepped over to me and dragged it slowly over my face. Then he draped it over his shoulder, turned his back and, looking seductively over his shoulder, licked his wide lips lasciviously. Where had he seen this? He tossed the socks aside and, swaying more vigorously, began massaging first his abs, then his thighs, then his butt. He bent over and still swaying from side to side made as if to peel his butt cheeks open. "Oh yeah," I encouraged him. Turning around and facing me again he began making more elongated caresses so they now included his nipples and his crotch. Eventually he kept one hand on his cock, rubbing the long tube up and down in the confines of his jeans, as he flicked one nipple with the other. Gradually, as the minutes passed, he was not so much dancing as swaying while he masturbated. Eyes closed, hissing breath in between his teeth, gasping as if in the throes of passion -- whether he was copying something he'd seen somewhere before or just inventing this dance spontaneously, he was getting so into it he seemed to have lost awareness of me. It was as if he was embodying eroticism itself, displaying himself to the entire universe. Eventually he stopped and, eyes still closed, began slipping his palm slowly down his abs and then into the front of his pants. The pants were so tight, however, he could get only his fingertips past the waistband. He reached down slowly with his other hand, slid it to his fly, and began unzipping it. When he had enough room he plunged his hand all the way down his front. Swaying again to imaginary music he began moving it slowly up and down. Turning his back to me, he pulled his pants down just far enough that i could see the top of his butt crease. Swiveling his hips, then slowly humping them, he tossed his head back and forth, wild brown curls flying. Finally he stopped and, very slowly, inched his pants down until the top half of his small butt cheeks were visible. They were white a snow. Then he pulled his pants back up, pulled the zipper most of the way up, and faced me again. Looking directly at me now, he began humping at me, snapping his hips at me forcefully. Something had changed. His lips were drawn back a bit in a grimace, almost a snarl. Suddenly he stopped and stepped toward me. "Enough of this!" he barked, and with both hands yanked his pants halfway to his knees. "There it is! That's what you want!" Despite an overpowering urge to admire his cock -- and to swallow it, consume it -- I refused to look at it. Instead, I met his defiant gaze. I rose to my feet, more than a head taller than he. Matching my passion to his I snatched a handful of his hair and pulled his head toward me. He flinched but then toughened and stared back, his little chin jutting out stubbornly He was breathing hard. I put my face close to his. "Yes, Jack, I want it!" I whispered, a snarl just edging into my voice. "I want it bad. But that's not all I want." Putting my hands against his chest I shoved him hard onto the couch. He lay there, panting, glaring, legs spread, pants down almost to his knees. Finally I allowed myself to look. Thick. Fiery red and bulging as if inflamed. Curving upward past his navel, nine inches or even more! Swollen cum tube, wide as pencil. A head so aroused it stood out distinctly from the shaft, like the crest of an aroused bird, purple with the need to cum. A thick drool of clear precum dangling from it. The whole thing seeming even more massive because of his narrow hips and slender waist. A small, neat nest of dark brown pubes, almost concealed by the girth of his cock. A shiny sack resting on the bedspread, and, as I watch, olive-sized balls that crawl slightly as he breathes. As awed as I am by what I see -- as much as my mouth aches to enclose it, my tongue to taste it, the back of my throat to feel its thick slide and retreat, my nose to feel the brush of his sweaty pubes as the angry red fist slides deeply down my throat and fills me -- as awed as I am, my mind somehow goes elsewhere for a moment. What must it be to be a boy with such a remarkable organ? This unbelievably hot, desirable thing -- is it really such a blessing? Or is it even more a curse? Is he in a way a freak? I wait another moment until I know I can control my voice. "Put your pants back on, Jack." He lies there unmoving. "What?" he snaps. "Put your pants back on." "No way!" he shouted. "This is what you want, right? This is what you want! Well, this is what you're gonna get! Look!" He shoved his tight pants down to his ankles, struggled with them, cursing in a rage now, finally kicking them off violently, and, roughly grabbing his huge organ, began masturbating furiously, his teeth gritted, his eyes mere slits. "Watch!!!" I watched, motionless. He began breathing more raggedly and I could tell he was close already. He had aroused himself so much with the dance it wasn't going to take much to send him over the top. His little body writhed as he humped the air rapidly, legs spasmodic, toes splaying. "ShiiiIIIIITT! he yelled between gritted teeth. "AH, AH, AH, AH, MM, MMmm, MMMPH!" "AAAAAAAAAHHH!" he suddenly bellowed, and arching up from the bed, thrashing at his monster cock so fast his hand was a blur, he began shooting, Blast after blast of thick semen sprayed his face, his chest, his belly. His body twisted and snapped, his hair flew everywhere. "AAAAAHHH SHIIIT!! AAAAAHHHHH!" he continued to scream, as an amazing amount of semen sprayed forth. "YAAAAAAHHHHHUUH!!" Still more cum. "UHHHH!! UHHHH!" Until he was finally spent. He lay there slumped, panting, eyes closed, his wrist silver with semen. I quickly slipped my clothes off and slid next to him. Only then did he open his eyes. Startled, he looked awkward for a moment, uncertain. The he abruptly said, "I've gotta leave," and jumped up. I expected him to begin dressing but he just headed for the door naked, his huge, still deflating cock wagging almost obscenely in front of him, still dripping cum. I suddenly decided I wasn't going to allow him to get away from me this time. I wasn't going to let him avoid his feelings, whatever they were. I bounded from the couch and caught him as he reached the door. I grabbed him in a bearhug. He struggled mightily for a moment, grunting, saying nothing. But I was much bigger, and though he seemed strong for his size I was able to restrain him. Then he suddenly went limp. I picked him up, cradled him, carried him to the bed and placed him there. I lay beside him and held him as he began to cry. For at least five minutes I held him as he simply sobbed and sobbed. ****************************************************************** It was an hour or more later. We sat Indian style on the bed facing each other. His massive organ, shrunk down to a "mere" six or seven inches, draped over his balls onto the sheet. My more modest endowment was on open display too. But neither of us was paying any attention to cocks or sex. We were simply talking. Mostly he was talking and I was listening, asking gently probing questions, making sympathetic sounds, as he told me his story. Mostly he talked about boys and men and his cock. How they teased him.. Viewed him as freakish, just as I had guessed. He told me how his boyhood friend has seen it, wanted to play with it, then afterward laughed at him. How the two girls and one boy he'd tried to have sex with had all been scared off by his huge size. How a teacher he had admired and felt especially close to finally came on to him and, with the pretense of after-school tutoring, successfully sucked his cock in the back of the classroom, then coldly kept him at a distance afterward. It was heartbreaking. Apparently, once people saw it, it was all they knew him by. The beautiful organ became who he was, how people thought of him, what people wanted of him. The boy had such charm and sweetness, I could see that already -- but where was that once he was naked? Gone. Gone once the organ appeared. Gone, because no one wanted that sweetness anymore. They just wanted the great cock. He had come to work on the island because he had decided he might as well make money from a cock that had become a burden. And he had made a lot of it in a short time. Men worshipped his cock, licked it, wanted it inside them. Some didn't even care to get to know him at all, but just wanted his organ and the unusually large amount of juice he could shoot. He cried again a bit when telling me about the customer whom he overheard saying he wanted, "the kid with the cock." Not Jack, not that nice, smart, sexy boy. Just the kid with the cock. As it turned out, Jack was a small, young-faced fifteen. But I couldn't believe how much he had been through already in his few years of sexual maturity. As he talked about his past, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with remarkable insight, I began to see what a smart and sensitive boy he was. Yet passionate too, and, despite the curse of his giant cock, surprisingly sex-positive. Finally, late in the night, he was all talked out. "Tell you what, Jack, I want to do two things with you." He looked at me warily. Had my kindness and sympathy just been a ploy, a ruse to get under his defenses? In the end was I just going to try to get at his cock, like every other male he'd known in his young life as a sexual person? "I want to take shower with you and wash you. No sex, you get plenty of that. I'd like to show you something you don't get much of but need a lot more." "What's that?" "Tenderness." "Oh." He dropped his eyes. "The other thing I want is to sleep with you. Not fuck you, or get fucked by you, or suck you. Not even jack you off. Just sleep with you and hold you. Would you like that?" The boy slowly nodded. His eyes were filled with tears. Jack and I spent an affectionate half hour or more in the shower, gently washing and caressing each other. As I shampooed his hair he leaned against me, and I embraced him as I washed his long locks. We did both get a bit hard at times, but sex really was the farthest thing from either of our minds. And we really did spend the night together cuddling. In the morning he told me it was the best night of his life. At that tears came to me without warning, and I cried a bit. He set off shortly after that for breakfast and school, and I was sad to see him go. My appointment with Jack had been for just one night, but I found myself longing to see him again only a few minutes after he had vanished beyond the hibiscus hedge at the corner of my building. I was sure with his beauty, sweetness and cock he would be in huge demand, but maybe there would be a time we could hook up again, somehow, some way. I would be lying if I said I didn't long for his cock. But I longed to hold his sweet little self in my arms even more.