Date: Mon, 25 May 2020 20:45:03 +0000 From: destabilizer15 Subject: "Young Lovers," Chapter 44 Chapter 44 Yes, Olympics week had been intense so far. Very, very intense. There was all the drama with Joon and Crush. There were all the intensely arousing scenes of boy flesh in all its sweaty, athletic display. There was the undeniably infectious energy of dozens of excited and horned-up men who had descended onto the small island for a few days of debauchery. And then there was James. It was the next-to-last day of the Olympics -- an unusually hot, humid mid-morning. As I walked back to the apartment from the gym the central area of the resort near the cafeteria was almost completely empty of men and boys -- everyone, it seemed, was out on the flat grassy field near the maintenance buildings where the second day of running events were taking place. I planned to head out there myself -- but first a long cool shower was in order after my early morning workout. As I trudged across the turf I happened to notice a solitary boy sitting with his back against a nearby tree. He appeared to be writing something, a large pad of paper against his drawn-up knees. Looking more closely I saw a rather ordinary looking black kid of about fifteen, a red T-shirt tight across his chest, raggedy jeans cut off at the knees, his dark shinbones glowing in the sun. What was a boy this nondescript in appearance doing in this paradise of young male beauty? I wondered if he would look up as I went past. He didn't seem like he was going to. On a whim I called to him. "Hey there! Not a sports fan?" The boy looked up. And he smiled. And then I saw what he was doing here. His whole face just lit up. His smile was broad, his teeth dazzling white. Even at twenty feet away I could see what seemed like a kind of sparkling intelligence in his eyes. I changed course and approached him. "So whatcha doing?" The boy turned his his pad of paper around and showed it to me. On it was a masterfully detailed drawing of the jungle landscape on the opposite edge of the resort, all manner of trees and vines bursting from the page with life. I knelt and examined the drawing more closely. "Wow!" I exclaimed. "You're really good!" He beamed at me again. "Thanks." And then, after a pause, he added, "I'd rather draw than watch sports." I looked up and studied his face. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new?" "I've been away a few weeks, but no, I'm not really new." "Yeah? Where'd you go?" The boy's face became serious. "I was away at school." "School? They have school here!" "Art school. In Sydney." "You mean one of those special academy-type high schools for talented kids?" "No, it's a university." I would have expected the boy to look proud about this, but he still looked serious, and maybe a little glum. I decided not to pry into the reasons he was back. "Well, it sure looks like it paid off!" "Not really. I could draw like this before." The boy seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, so I let it drop. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you. I'm Mike." I extended my hand. "James," the boy replied, his beaming smile back as he grasped my hand. "I hope I see you around again sometime," I said, glamoring him a little. Then he gave me the full smile. "Sure, that would be good." "I'm a reporter. I'll be here on the island for awhile yet." In a flash the boy's smile disappeared, to be replaced by wariness. Then he suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Well, nice to meet you, I've gotta go . . ." The boy quickly tucked his big feet into his flip flops and before I could say anything, and without a backward glance, he hurried away, clutching his drawing pad. ********************************** As I luxuriated under a cool shower I reflected on my conversation with this kid James. At first he had seemed delighted at the attention I gave him. Then clouds began to cover the sun once I asked about art school. Did something happen there that left him -- what? Disappointed? Discouraged? It was hard to imagine that some professor decided he didn't measure up. His drawing was amazing. And then, the second he heard the word "reporter," he cleared out fast. What was that about? Did he feel I was being too nosy? Was he afraid that if we kept talking I'd bring up an even more sensitive subject? Sometimes shy boys spook easily but he certainly didn't seem shy, or like he minded my attention at all, at least at first. I shut off the water and began drying off, shrugging mentally to myself. I'd run into the kid sooner or later, I was sure. It would be nice to get to know him a little bit if I didn't scare him off again. Though pleasant-faced but not particularly handsome or cute, there was something magnetic about the boy's smile that made it hard to brush him off. Maybe I'd ask Marco or Evan about him if I thought of it. In another minute James had left my mind, as I began thinking about the luscious boys I was going to enjoy scoping out in a few minutes. Sometime later I was standing in a large crowd of men and a few boys as they milled about on the field and several naked competitors got ready for the next race. There wasn't an actual running track on the island but a section of the field had been coned off, and a couple of races of various distances had apparently already been run. I knew Joon and Johnny weren't competing, but Byron would be, and it wasn't long before I spotted him some distance away, talking with a couple of other kids, his naked body already glistening with sweat. At the other side of the crowd I spotted Johnny and Joon, and I made my way over toward them. Before I got there I was startled to nearly bump into -- was this Nelson? The boy was next to a burly young man who stood, one hand on the boy's shoulder, gazing out toward the runners who were assembling. Nelson and I stared at each other. "Hi Nelson," I smiled at the boy. "Hey," came his gruff little voice. "Boy, you've really changed!" I exclaimed. And indeed he had. Gone was the little-boy bowl haircut -- instead his hair was combed and gelled in a 1950's style, a medium-length flattop, left long and swept back on the sides. He wore a dark green tank top that showed bulging little biceps and a hint of some very nice pecs. "Where'd you get those muscles, man?" The boy just gazed at me without replying. He must have gotten augmented, I realized -- there was no way he could have gotten those muscles naturally in just a few short weeks. Even if he did have enough testosterone, which he probably didn't yet. He wore tight white shorts, and I noticed that there was lot bigger bulge in them now than I remembered from the front of those black batman trunks. Before Nelson had been cute. Now he was hot. And still only, what, 11? Amazing. "So, you likin' it here at Young Lovers?" I asked. The man next to him seemed to have heard me for the first time and turned to me. "Hey how's it goin'?" he smiled. With a start I recognized Garth Slatter, a guest I'd chatted with a couple of times in the last week, who'd seemed inclined to be friendly. He'd even invited me to his apartment for a drink, an offer I'd somewhat reluctantly had to turn down. "Good! You've got a very hot little friend here!" The man grinned lopsidedly down at the boy. "Yeah, he's all right. He thinks he's a tough guy though! Dontcha, tough guy?" The man gave Nelson's shoulder a playful punch. With a little wordless smile Nelson wound up and gave the guy a good punch in the butt. "Ah! There! See!" the man laughed, and grabbed the boy and threw him over his shoulder. Nelson struggled as if trying to get away, but I noticed he didn't really seem to be trying too hard, and when the guy gave him a couple of spanks on the butt the boy grinned and began pounding the guy's back. At that the man cradled Nelson in his arms and, with a growl, grabbed the boy's pec in his teeth and worried it back and forth. "Ahhhh!" Nelson laughed, kicking his bare brown legs about. I'd have liked to chat a little more with Nelson, but the two of them were obviously wrapped up in each other, and I left them alone. Good for Nelson, I thought to myself -- I was glad he was having a good time with his guest, and apparently adjusting to his new life. A sweet boy, I mused. Little did I know then what I would eventually find out about the other side of this sweet boy. ********************************** When I got over to where Joon and Johnny stood they were talking with Marco and a staff member I'd briefly met named Coco. "I guess old Crush didn't completely wear you out!" Marco cried cheerily as I approached. "I see you're back for more victims to therapize!" "Shit, you wouldn't let me therapize him! If you had I'd probably be with him now instead of looking for this sex maniac," I replied, grabbing Joon playfully by the neck. I then fist bumped Marco and Coco as Joon irritably snatched himself from my headlock. I turned to him. "Did you want to say something, Joon?" I gave him my don't-even-think-about-it stare. He stared back a second, then looked away. "I didn't hear you," I persisted. "No." His voice was fire and ice. I knew he hated it when I made any kind of public display that he felt might look like dominance over him, like my affectionate headlock, and I'm sure he didn't appreciate my joke about Crush either. I decided not to push it. "I didn't think so. So," I continued, turning to Marco again, "what's on tap? Looks like the next race is coming in a few minutes." "Um . . . " Marco looked at Coco. "Hundred meter dash," the young man replied briskly. "See where those two orange cones are? That's the start -- you can see a few kids over there, kind of warming up." "The naked ones," Marco interjected with a grin. "I'm sure you noticed them." Coco continued, "Then the finish will be just over there, near that big . . . uh . . . " "Ficus," said Marco. "Yeah, ficus. The finish is coned off too but the crowd's in the way." "Looks like Byron's in this one. What does he say, Joon? Is he expecting to win?" "He expects to win everything," Joon replied truculently. "He gonna win!" Johnny piped up, loyal as always. "Hey Marco, talking of Byron reminds me," I said. "I ran into a guy this morning I'd never seen before -- black kid, big beautiful smile, with fantastic drawing ability. I mean really good. He--" "Yeah, that's James," Marco replied. He was smiling, but there was suddenly tension in that smile. What was that about? "Somebody new for you to fall in love with and fuck?" snapped Joon. I glared at Joon. I felt anger rising in me but I was in a good mood and decided to let Joon's jealousy pass. There was silence all around. "Well, looks like they're about ready to start," said Marco. "I'm sure Byron is fast, but I've heard Scott is fast too. He's the older white kid there, next to Nilai, with the shoulder length hair." Marco was obviously changing the subject. Just to avoid Joon's unpleasantness? Or did it have something to do with that tense smile when I mentioned James? I thought of the mysterious abruptness of James' departure once he'd heard I was a reporter. Was there a connection? The group of us remained where we were, chatting occasionally, and before long the race was about to start. The crowd had grown larger, and Coco left us to join Will, of the ubiquitous bullhorn, who was now urging guests to finish placing their bets. In another minute six naked boys were lining up. I recognized Byron, of course, and Nilai. Scott, the kid Marco had mentioned as a possible challenge to Byron's speed, seemed to have a nicely developed body -- muscular, but not overly so -- and a very nice cock, although we were standing too far way to tell much. A tall rangy black kid, an Asian youngster just now tying back his long hair into a ponytail, and a stockier-built boy of indeterminate ethnicity rounded out the field. "Stand back, stand back, give `em room to run!" Will admonished the press of guests, staff, and boys, seemingly all vying for a better view of the impending race. "John, you ready?" Over at the finish line I saw John and another staff member I didn't recognize, each holding one end of a long rope across the open area that would serve as the track. John waved in assent and held up a small rainbow flag attached to a stick. The runners had all gotten into a a crouch and were holding still, all focused on John's flag. "OK folks, when John over there drops the flag the race begins!" cried Will. There was a hush of expectancy, and then the flag dropped. Instantly six boys bolted forward and the crowd began yelling, each guy presumably cheering on his favorite. The white kid Scott had gotten off to a lightning start and was in the lead immediately. He had a short choppy stride but his legs moved so fast they were like a blur. Knees lifting high, hands knifing the air, faces contorted in concentration, cocks flopping about, the six competitors sped across the grass. Byron seemed to be in third place as the pack whizzed past us, standing as we were at about the halfway point. He had longer legs than the other runners but his strides weren't quite as quick. But as the boys barreled toward the finish he was cutting into Scott's lead, first passing the long-haired Asian kid, then gaining on Scott more, gaining relentlessly, then nearly tied as the crowd's roar rose to a crescendo -- and then the race was over. From where I stood some 40 meters away I really couldn't tell whether or not Byron had caught Scott at the finish. The crowd around me didn't seem to know either, and everyone hurried to the finish line to find out the results. As the five of us drew close we were blocked by the crowd from seeing what was going on, but then came Will's voice. "A very very close race, but the judges all agree that the winner by an eyelash is . . . Scott!" This was a surprise. I wondered how Byron would handle this. His whole image among the boys was of the top-dog athlete, the guy who could beat anyone in any sport. He was the guy with the best body, the most cut muscles, the guy who jumped the highest, lifted the most weight, ran the fastest . . . but, I guessed, not any more. Will went on to announce the winner of the bidding war for Scott, and as the crowd cheered the guy who emerged to claim his prize I felt Johnny press up against me. I looked down at his sad little face. "Byron loss," he murmured. I caressed his hair and then knelt down. "Maybe he'll act like he doesn't care but you know he's disappointed inside, right?" Johnny nodded. "This is when he needs his friends the most." Johnny was pensive. "Can he sleeping with us tonight?" "He can sleep with us any night, you know that. But it's not me you have to ask. It's him." "Hmm," Johnny murmured. **************************** Byron was not in the mood to be consoled. He maintained a facade of indifference. "Yeah, he beat me. Barely. I beat his ass nine times out of ten, but I got a bad start. It happens, man." "You disappointed, although," murmured Johnny. "It ain't nothin'," Byron sniffed. "Now I don't have to get messed with all night by some guest, like that fool last night! I got the evening to myself." Byron wiped his sweaty face with a towel. He turned to Joon. "I'm goin' to the gym. You wanna work out?" "Good idea," I opined. "Get your mind off it." Byron shot a glare at me. "Johnny, you going too?" I asked, hoping the little guy wouldn't feel left behind, as I knew he often must have. "Joe coming for homework." "Homework? There's no school this week, how can you have homework?" I asked. "Not me, him. He being behind. I'n tell him I catch him up." "But you're gonna miss the rest of today's events." "Don' matter. Him and me not doing anything of Olympics today. Him tomorrow, although," Johnny added. "Oh yeah? What event's Joe in?" "He in the big final one. With ever'body, almos'. `Cep, not me." A wistful look passed over his face. I looked at him, then the others, not comprehending. "It's this big community blowjob," Joon explained, with a sour look. "Whoever goes the longest without cumming while he's getting sucked is the winner." "You mean all the boys are getting sucked, like, at the same time? Like they're all in a line, or something?" "I don't know. Show up tomorrow and find out." "You gonna be there?" "Shhht," Joon snorted. "I got better shit to do than watch of bunch of teenagers get sucked off." He turned to Byron. "You ready?" ******************************** Johnny and his little friend Joe had spent much of the evening sprawled on the living room floor, while I spent my time half-watching them and half-scrolling through email. Joon had returned from the gym before dinner and had gone to eat with us. Byron were nowhere to be seen. The two younger boys had done some schoolwork for awhile, Johnny frequently getting up to visit with Joon in the bedroom, to pee, to go outside for who knows what, while Joe stayed focused on whatever it was he was writing in his notebook. Soon enough the TV came on and they watched some inane move, Johnny occasionally tickling Joe at particularly boring moments, trying to elicit some play from his always-serious friend. Finally he bounced up and plopped onto the couch next to me as I worked on my laptop. "Joe want something," Johnny whispered none too quietly. "What does he want?" "He want you telling us a story." I looked at him. "Joe wants it or you want it?" He gave a Cheshire cat smile. "He want it." "Yeah, you do too. You like stories cause you just wanna cuddle up to me and get all sexy!" "Joe too!" he exclaimed, looking like he'd just gotten caught. "You want a story, Joe?" I called to the other boy, who was sitting a ways away, a serious look on his face, organizing some papers in a folder. He turned and looked me, his big eyes solemn. "OK, come on over here. It's gonna be a sexy story this time, not like the last one, so there's a couple of rules. "We gotta keep our clothes on?" Johnny asked, looking a bit dubious. "No, you gotta take em all off!" I grinned. Johnny thrust his arms in the air and began throwing off his clothing, T-shirt flying in one direction, shorts in another. Joe sat watching, looking nonplussed. "Come on, you too, Joe. I know you're not shy. I've seen that beautiful cock of yours in action!" The boy smiled a little awkwardly, then stood and slowly began stripping. I tossed my clothes off too, then headed into the bedroom to get my other laptop. Joon lounged on the bed naked, as was his habit when engrossed in a book. I plunked down onto the bed, shoved one of his legs aside, and with a cry of "OOOOOH!" tucked my head into his lap and began licking his cock. "Ah, Jesus," he mumbled. Despite his irritation at being interrupted, Joon leaned back onto his pillow to give me better access. I sucked his organ all the way into my mouth, worked it over with my tongue a bit, then pulled off it with a smacking sound. "MMM-MMM GOOD!" I grinned at him, then popped up and reached into the closet for my laptop. "You're fucking weird," he muttered. I looked at him with narrowed eyes and gasped theatrically. "I can't help it!" I gushed. "You're so hot!" He rolled his eyes and returned to his book. Back in the front room the two boys were perched naked on the couch, looking up at me expectantly. "Why you needing that? Johnny asked, gesturing with one hand at the laptop while scratching his balls unselfconsciously, making his big cock flop a bit. "The other rule is, I'm not gonna tell you a story, I'm gonna read you one from my laptop. It's a sex story, about me and a boy. A true story. From many years ago." There was silence. "When you were a kid like us?" Joe asked, his voice plaintive. "Not that long ago," I smiled. "But it involved a kid like you guys." "Yeah?" Said Johnny brightly. "Yeah. Only he was real cute. Not like you ugly punks." Johnny wrinkled his nose at this, while Joe looked uncertain. I realized he didn't know me well enough to know my deadpan humor. I put my arm around Joe's broad little shoulders. "Except for this guy," I grinned, hugging him to me. "He's cute as hell!" Joe gave a game half-smile. Johnny snuggled up to me on the other side. "So you starting now?" "Patience, my little cherub." "What cherub mean?" "A cherub is kind of like a little boy angel. Only fat." Johnny patted his eight-pack belly with a grin. "I'n not fat!" "What do you mean?" I grabbed his cock. "This thing right here is fat! Fat and juicy!" Johnny gave a big grin, reached up and kissed me on the cheek. I gripped the hardening warmth of his big organ and stroked my thumb over the head a couple of times. He and I gazed into each others' eyes, and I felt for the hundredth time my deep affection for him. Yes the boy had amazing looks, with his cute-as-hell 13-year old's face and his remarkably muscular, defined little body, but that was nothing compared to his adorable personality. Well, maybe not quite nothing . . . I reached for my laptop and, while the two boys waited, tucked on either side of me, I searched my stored documents for what I was looking for, a journal account I'd written many years before. "OK, guys, I'm gonna read this to you just as I wrote it a long time ago. It's a true story, but I kind of focused on the sexy parts. That way, when I was old, I could remember back to that night and feel horny again!" "You feeling horny alway, almos'!" Johnny teased. "So do you!" I replied. I turned to Joe. "What about you, Joe? Are you horny all the time like Johnny?" The boy laughed bashfully. I hugged him to me. "It's cool to be horny, man! Like, when I read you this story, you might start feeling horny, so if you want you can play with your cock, or even jack off if you feel like it. Johnny probably will, he loves any excuse to cum! In this cabin, everybody likes sex! And we like each other too -- and anybody who visits!" I gave the boy a little kiss on the cheek. I couldn't read his expression, but I thought I could see some kind of emotion in his face. I turned to the computer propped against me knees. "OK, here we go guys." And then I began. "The knock comes more than an hour late. I open the door to see two figures, the taller, his face fully illuminated by the porch light, is obviously the pimp, whom I'd spoken to briefly on the phone; he wears a shirt open to the waist, and has long black hair hanging past his shoulders and watery dead eyes. He looks like an Indian. The figure behind him is much smaller and his face is lost in the shadows. I try to mix calmness and a businesslike tone in my voice; I am only moderately successful. He barely grunts in answer to my greeting and moves into the room. Though the man's unfriendliness is unnerving and I --" "What unnerving?" Johnny interrupted. "It means, kind of upsetting and confusing. Like it makes you uncomfortable. Anyway, um, where was I? Oh here . . . I feel I should keep an eye on him, my eyes inevitably flicker to the boy, and I am shocked. I had of course hoped for the best -- for a teen boy who was very young, with a slender, just-developing body and a pretty face -- but I knew I wasn't in much of a position to be choosy. DaSilva had told me I'd pretty much have to take whatever I got, and the very young ones -- "chickens," he called them -- were hard to get, and risky. He is breathtaking. He can't be 14; thin, but, as I see him walk into the room he moves very smoothly, with no gangly awkwardness at all. Very red lips, high cheekbones, milky skin, yellow hair just getting long, and a lost and hunted look in his dark blue eyes. I feel rush of excitement, yet it leaves me with something like fear. Still a bit dazed, I turn to the pimp. His colorless fish eyes are searching the room with an utter lack of subtlety. He turns to me and looks at me as if I am a piece of furniture. "Fifty an hour," he says, the thick, slow voice indeed recognizable from the phone call. That was a lot of money way back then. "How much for the night?" I hear myself asking, in a voice that's not my own. He looks away and then back, with a disgusted expression. "It don't work that way." He reaches into his pocket then and I panic for a second before he pulls out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. As he lights a smoke I ask, amazed at my own boldness, "How much would it take for you to work it that way?" He looks at me an uncomfortably long time and then begins cleaning his teeth with a fingernail and staring across the room. "Seven hundred dollars." I didn't even hesitate. ****************************** The door closes, I lock the door behind the pimp, and I am alone with the boy. He is standing awkwardly near the center of the room, one arm gripping the other elbow, slouching, eyes cast down into a corner of the room. I approach him, and his eyes jump, but he doesn't move. I touch him lightly on the arm. "What's your name?" I ask, cheery and brisk as a coach in a TV commercial. His eyes flicker to my face for a fraction of a second, then roam quickly around the room. He shifts his weight, fear and stubborn defiance seeming to fight each other in his face. "Bobby," he finally answers, in a soft, rather melodious voice. I pat his arm. "Sit down Bobby." I move in to the kitchen to make drinks. When I return after a minute he is sitting perched on the edge of the couch, eyes still cast aside, face still petulant. "Have a drink?" I offer, plunking one down in front of him. "I don't want a drink." He seems acutely uncomfortable. "It's not too strong," I smile. "Come on, it'll relax you a little bit." He shakes his head. I shrug and sip a couple of minutes in silence. During that time he refuses to look at me, but I study him carefully. He has clear, beautiful, remarkably white skin, which makes the color of his hair, his eyes, and particularly his red, pouting mouth so striking. He is wearing a black and gold motorcycle shirt, made of the same very light mesh fabric they sometimes make cheap football jerseys of, with tiny holes that make the fabric lie limply on the body like tissue paper. It seems several sizes too big for the boy and it hangs loosely on his thin frame. Faded powder blue jeans cling tightly to his legs. My eyes search his crotch, but there isn't much to see. After a few minutes I actually begin to get a little nervous myself. I set my drink down, go over to him, gently bend his head back, and kiss his lips as delicately as I can. He does not resist, and the sensation of his lips on mine is nice, but there is no feeling in him. I draw back; his eyes search mine, his face expressionless. I caress his neck with my fingertips and am not satisfied. There is something in me that occasionally rises up and demands straightforwardness. I sit back down and, dropping my jovial tone, I say simply, "I don't want to make you do something you don't enjoy, Bob." He looks at me, surprised, I can see. Then he looks down and fidgets, a bit guiltily, I think. I am almost going to say we'll do whatever he wants, but I can see now that, more than anything else, he is confused and upset, and can't really suggest anything. I get a flash of inspiration. "Look," I say in a confident tone, "here's what we'll do. Whether there's sex or not, one thing I really enjoy doing is giving massages -- you know, rubdowns. They're great for relaxing you. Come with me into the bedroom and I'll give you one. If you feel like doing something else after that, we can. If you don't, you can just go to sleep in there and I can sleep in the other room. That sound good?" I can see it worked. He is unwilling to say so, but I can see it got him out of a hard situation. When I rise and head to the bedroom he obediently follows me. He sits down on the bed. I go to a shelf in the closet where I keep scented oils. I pour some into a bowl, smiling at him as he watches me. I dim the light a little. "OK, I want you to take off your shirt and lie on your stomach." Just saying that I begin to get even harder, and as the shirt slips off and shows his slim, clean torso, small muscles glowing in the dim light. I probably could cum in about five seconds. Settling himself into the bed the boy actually seems pretty comfortable. I felt a movement to my left. Johnny was slowly masturbating, his cock already swollen to its full eight thick inches. "See Joe, he's -- oh, looks like you're getting horny too!" Joe arrow-straight cock was jutting erect from his scantily-haired groin. The boy smiled a small smile up at me, searching my face for something. I hugged him to me tighter. "See if you can stay hard without cumming for the whole story!" I challenged. His grin broadened a little, and he tentatively gave his cock a tittle tug. "No need to be shy, cutie!" I murmured, hugging him again. "OK, back to the story. I rub some oil into my hands, sit straddling him, and begin to massage his back. He skin is very smooth, his muscles supple, and it isn't long before I can see and feel him relaxing. When I begin working my thumb and finger gently into the muscles at the base of his neck, probing and smoothing out tension, he groans softly, and I feel elated. There was a little resistance at first in his neck, but after only a few moments it lolls as loosely as a broken doll's. I tug slowly and gently on the hair at the base of his scalp, caressing it. "You like that," I say quietly. He almost smiles. "Mmm-hmm," he answers. His face is relaxing. Lying there with his eyes closed, his delicate mouth slightly open, his hair tangled on the pillow, his face that of a child, he looks like an angel. Finally I ease off of him. "OK, let's turn over now." He is reluctant to move, sort of like an old dog dozing by the fire, but in a moment he turns over and lies on his back, eying the ceiling. A little nervousness again, I think. I kneel beside him on the bed and close his eyes with my fingertips. Then I caress his face until it begins relaxing again. Gradually I move to his chest, shoulders and arms. He has no hair in his armpits, I notice. As I gaze at his sweet little face I suddenly feel a deep affection, a kind of love almost, as he lies there so vulnerable, so willing now to be touched. I massage his belly for a bit. It is not the washboard-like stomach you sometimes see on boys a few years older, but the muscles were taut and there was no baby fat at all. I wonder, not for the first time that night, how old he is. As I work on his soft, narrow belly something runs through my mind that I'd read once in a massage book: the stomach is the most crucial area of the body in a massage. Either all resistance is lowered when the massage reaches that point, or tension rises again, harder to dispel than before. The boy seems completely receptive as I push very gently and rhythmically into his abdomen and feel his bowels give. As my hands move toward the top of his pants I have my second shock of the evening. For the first time mine is not the only erection in the room! I feel a rush of elation. Little Bobby is horny! I gaze --" Johnny giggled next to me, snuggled his head into my chest, and began working his cock faster. "Remember, patience." I grinned. Johnny grinned back, still masturbating. "OK, let's see, where was I . . . ?" "Bobby has a hard on," said Joe. I smiled at the boy to my right, kissed him, and gazed into his eyes. "You're such a helpful boy. I really like you, Joe." The boy dropped his eyes. Hugging him to me tighter I was able to reach around him and playfully tickle his cocktip with one finger. He sucked in air in surprise. I kissed his cheek again. "OK, um . . . here we are. I gaze at Bobby's face again and feel even deeper affection than before. "Oh, baby,'" I think to myself. "I'm going to take your pants off now, Bob," I say matter-of-factly. I give him a second to reply. He doesn't give any sign he's heard me, but I know he isn't asleep. I unfasten the waist button and quickly draw down the zipper. His erection, hidden by the white cloth of his underwear, pushes out a bit through the opening. Raising his hips with one hand in the small of his back I slide his pants halfway down with the other hand. Easing him back down I untie and remove his sneakers, pull off his socks, and then take his pants off the rest of the way and toss them aside. His legs, though slender, aren't skinny, and I admire the slight swell and curve of his thighs. Down by his ankles there is a fine gold down, so fine it would only have been visible in direct light like that of the nearby lamp. I massage his legs in long, slow strokes, and he seems sunk again into peaceful relaxation. After a few minutes I pause and pick up the drink I had brought with me from the other room. "Bobby, I want you to drink this." He opens his eyes and after a second half-sits up. I hand it to him. "What is it?" He smells it cautiously. There is little of his former petulance evident now. He just seems curious. "It's not strong, you'll like it." He drinks a few sips, seems to decide he does like it, and drains the glass. "That's the way," I soothe approvingly, as he lies back down. After another couple of minutes gently stroking him I decide the time is right. I move up, make a couple of sweeping passes over his chest, face and arms, sweep down to his waist once and back up, then slide my hands down under the elastic band of his briefs and quickly slip them down and completely off him, untangling them from his feet and tossing them aside. He doesn't even open his eyes, and of course my stare fastens at once on the small golden nest of hair and the the organ straining upward from it to lie against his belly like a battle standard. As cocks go it isn't very big -- maybe four inches long and as big around as my thumb -- but my heart is in my throat as I gaze at it, pink and excited against his pale belly. His balls lie like marbles in a small loose sack. I bring my trembling hands under control and begin kneading his lower abdomen, not touching his cock. He seems to be breathing a bit more quickly. My thumbs slowly rotate on the muscles of his bare groin, their tips barely touching the fine blond hairs. He doesn't have much pubic hair -- probably as recently as a year ago there might not have been any, and his cock just a little lump of immature flesh. I spread his legs slightly, and again there isn't the slightest sign of resistance. I tuck my fingertips behind his balls, and his small scrotum lies damply on the backs of my fingers. Then I bring my fingertips around to the base of his straining cock. Slowly, trying to make him ache, I stroke my fingertips up the bottom of his shaft, touching him so slightly there is barely contact at all. His groin twitches and I hear a small gasp. I smile to myself. He is mine. I near the head and he gasps again, and as my fingertips separate and follow the coronal rim around he exhales jerkily. My fingertips meet. I draw my fingernails very gently, very slowly forward over the tip of his cock, down on either side of the slit, into the V at the bottom of the glans, and terribly slowly down his shaft to his balls again. Then, exercising more patience than I would have imagined I could have with such a beautiful creature at my complete command, I slowly, slowly repeat my exquisite torture of his cock all over again. He is breathing more quickly now. It is all I can do to keep from eating him alive. I lean forward and kiss his lips. I lick his little mouth open and then find his tongue with mine. I writhe against him and his tongue squirms back against me. He gasps a little, his eyes still closed. This is too good! I withdraw from his mouth and nibble on his lips with mine -- they are like butter. I carefully kiss his eyelids, then his lips again, then the point of his throat. Lying down beside him I brush his nipple with my lips and feel it contract slightly. I wash it with my tongue and it hardens further. I surprise him by biting it, just enough to hurt a little -- he sucks in his breath and squirms. I drive my tongue into his armpit, the faint musk of him somehow making my affection for him even stronger, my desire for him even more intense. I gaze on his face again. His head is thrown back a little, exposing more of his delicate white throat. His body is tensing up now with passion. I draw the tip of my tongue downward slowly, lick his belly button, the move farther down. My balls are aching, my cock splitting hard, but I force myself to go slowly. I pause and breathe hot breath onto the tip of his cock. Then I take hold of his little organ with two fingers at the base and bend it down a bit as if I am going to eat it. I blow hot breath on it again, watching his face as I do. He licks his lips, and his back begins to arch slightly. His narrow belly is rising and falling faster. Finally I plunge the warm, meaty organ into my mouth and, sucking hard, lock my cheeks and tongue around it. He grunts at the same moment I do. Cradling his balls as gently as a baby bird I begin driving my firmly pursed lips up and down on his cock. Instantly gives a cry and his hips begin to surge and thrust; only a few seconds more and his hips are thrashing wildly, as drives for his cum. Just before I think he will cum I take my mouth away and pull down forcefully on his cock. He gives a little cry and stops humping. I squeeze his cock tightly and a drop of clear liquid forms at its tip. I begin kissing and licking his cock more aggressively, kneading his groin with my fingertips, then taking his little hairless balls in my mouth and licking them until they glisten. His cock has gone from a bright pink to a dark, angry pink-purple, and a little vein bulges out like the vein on a man's forearm. When I take his cock in me again I take it all the way, my lips meeting his body in the dampness of his pubic hair. Then I pull off him slowly, gripping him with my lips as hard as I can, and then nip at his cock with my teeth. Overwhelmed now with my desire for him, I begin gnawing it wildly like a dog gnaws a bone. His hips hump wildly, he gives a gasping groan, his body arches -- and then he cums. Spurt after spurt, hot and sticky, more than I would have thought his young balls could possibly produce, and with each spurt a cry of ecstasy. At last the spurting stops, I draw my mouth off his hot, glistening organ, close my eyes, and experience the taste of his sperm. I slowly swallow it. Then I open my eyes and look at him, panting and spent, a trickle of sweat running slowly down over his ribs. We gaze into each other's eyes, and I reach up and caress his hair. Suddenly he smiles a little smile, an unbelievably sweet smile, and my heart melts. At that moment I think I would kill for him. In seconds I have risen and stripped off my clothes. I lie down again, this time with my hips near his head. Before I even have a chance to reach for him he leans forward, takes my cock in his mouth and begins sucking me like I had done him. The pleasure of his wet mouth and swirling tongue is fantastic, but it is nothing compared to the thrill I feel at his willingness, his eagerness. He is inexperienced, I can tell, but he is trying hard to please, and I have to withdraw to keep from cumming right then. He looks at me questioningly. I smile, reach for his hips, and gently turn him over. "His buttocks are slender and loose, like two small, creamy cantaloupes. I knead them strongly, feeling their firmness, as he first tenses and then, after a second, relaxes. He is completely still as I caress him. His butt cheeks seems completely devoid of fat -- they are just two small, voluptuously curving muscles. After a minute I spread his legs a little, then bend down and kiss his tailbone. Then I slide my tongue slowly down his damp, warm crack, pulling his butt open with my thumbs as I go. My face buried in his flesh, I finally reach his anus. I spread his buttocks even father apart and drive my tongue against tight little anal knot. At first he seems impenetrable, but before long I have succeeded in driving my tongue tip nearly an inch into his body. He squirms as I move it around and draw it out and then press in, out and in, out and in. I lick my index finger then and insert it as far as it will go into his ass. As gently as I can I move it in and out, gradually lengthening my thrusts until finally I am in him to the knuckle. He seems to be ready, but I am determined to make this pleasurable for the boy, so I keep massaging the interior of his rectum for a couple more minutes, and I can feel him loosen still more. Finally, I decide it is time. I gently lie down on top of him and kiss his neck affectionately. Feeling the warmth of his body against my own I lie still a minute longer, caressing again his young bicep. His fine hair is against my cheek as I squirm my hips against his and feel my cock dig like a steel rod into the clenching muscles of his butt. Finally I reach beneath him, dig along his groin with my hand and reach and spread his buttocks from below. Then I try to find his hole with my cock three, four, five times, without success; he is arching his hips, trying to help, although he isn't. Finally my cock finds a place that yields. I drive forward hard, he gives a groan, and I am in him. It is so, so good. I am possessing this beauty, this tender, barely mature boy. He is mine. Slowly, gently, allowing him to adjust, I begin to hump, driving my cock into him a bit farther each time, like a stake. Finally I am in him to the hilt; he has groaned at every thrust. Then I cup my hands under his shoulders and begin riding him like a bucking horse. All the foreplay, all my efforts to slowly build up his pleasure, and mine, and above all the amazing knowledge that, yes, I actually have this beautiful creature all to myself, has me ready all too soon. I feel my orgasm coming slowly and I urge the boy on, wanting him to keep thrusting back at me, meeting every surge of mine with one of his own, not wanting him to tire. "Come on Bobby . . . atta boy . . . atta boy . . . oh yeah . . . come on . . . ooh, you're so good . . . come on Bobby boy." He humps harder, responding to my words, and it's all so intense that I begin to lose my mind. I begin pounding him savagely, my cock coming nearly out, then surging back into his little body. The last few seconds I seem almost to draw him up off the mattress with me as I withdraw, then slam him back onto the mattress as I drive into him. One of my arms is gripping his chest, the other hand squeezing his flaccid cock. I pump still more violently, he screams, I bite his neck, and then it comes, wave after wave come pounding through me into the boy's body. Even as the ecstasy passes through me and begins to fade I feel his heaving muscles, smell his sweet sweat, hear the release in his gasps, and I can tell, though there are no words, that he loves this, loves what I've done to him, loves what I've made him feel. And I know that in this, his wordless, mindless moment of sweet relief, he loves me."