Date: Fri, 16 Oct 2015 15:29:37 -0400
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rachman

Rachman
By Lance Kyle

Of course I saw Richin's mom, Tama, throughout the next week, since she's
doing research in my lab.  She whispered "thank you" once and then
maintained a professional demeanor the rest of the time, with the
occasional smile flashed in my direction.  A couple of weeks passed in this
way with no further mention of Richin and his initiation.  I had fond
memories, but I hadn't agreed to do it in the first place out of any sense
of long term promises, so I was content to let it go as it was.

Toward the end of the second week, Tama asked me to coffee with her and her
husband, Abay again.  I agreed, but then immediately thought of the list
time the three of us had coffee.  And I thought about Abay's parting
comment after Richin's initation, that they had a second son who was about
to turn eleven.  So it was with some anticipation that I met them in the
coffee shop.  Pleasantries were exchanged all around, and there was some
small talk about work in the lab and Abay's work in the hospital.

After a few minutes of friendly chat, Abay jumped right in: "Joe, you may
remember I mentioned to you that we have a second son.  His name is
Rachman, and he's just turned eleven."  I nodded, smiling.  Abay seemed a
great deal more relaxed this time than he did in explaining the situation
with Richin.

"You were so helpful last time—and really, we don't assume one way or
another what your inclinations may be personally—but we were wondering
if you can help again in the case of Rachman.  We think time is not so
pressing as it was with Richin, but you never know, these days children
seem to mature physically at younger and younger ages.  Are you...are you
willing to do the same with Rachman?"

I replied, "Yes, but tell me how Rachman feels about it.  Richin seemed
perfectly OK with the ritual, but how about Rachman?"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then the parents seemed to push right
on ahead, with a palpable sense of putting the best face forward.  "Oh yes,
he is willing," Tama said, and Abay quickly broke in, "You know he is
younger than Richin, and I think younger sons don't necessarily align
themselves with the ways of the parents quite so much.  But," he hastened
to add, "he does accept the ritual and the need to go through with it.  Of
course, Richin told him all about his experience, and believe me, I assue
you, Rachman is OK with it."

Well I did sense a certain hesitancy there, but who knows what it meant.  I
resolved privately to be quite sure between Rachman and myself that all was
acceptable to him before doing the deed.  To Abay and Tama I readily gave
my agreement, and a night was settled on when they would bring Rachman to
my house, as they had Richin.

As before, I had showered and dressed in sweats.  The doorbell rang and
there were the parents, looking all happy and encouraging.  In front was
Rachman.  A little smaller than Richin, same lovely features and medium
dark skin, straight black hair a little longer than his brother's. He was
dressed in the same antique robe, and another new sash around his middle.
He smiled politely and shook hands, but otherwise kept his head down.  He
was clearly more reserved than Richin had been, or was it something more?
His parents had to push him in the door gently, then said they be back in
four hours, and walked on down the path.

Rachman and I stood there in the hallway, he with his head down and a
noncommittal look of determined detachment on his face.  He said nothing.
"Hey," I said.  "Hey," he replied, flatly.  I thought for a moment.  "Look,
come on into the living room, let me get us some sodas, we can talk," I
said.  He shrugged but followed.  We sat together, but not close together,
on a sofa, and sipped our sodas for a minute.

"So, I get this sense that you're not enthused by all this," I said.
Again, a noncommittal shrug.  "Well look, Rachman, I was with Richin as a
favor to your parents.  I mean, I like you, but if you don't want to do
this, no problem.  There's a game on, we can watch it, you can tell your
folks whatever you want to tell them, we're good."

That seemed to rouse him.  He practically writhed, shot a clearly
apologetic look in my direction, and sighed.  "I dunno," he said.  "Richin
is all into doing what our parents want him to do.  I mean, I guess I
believe in the ritual.  I guess.  But..."

"But what, tell me, it's OK, I'm not judging you," I said.

"I guess the whole thing seems...I'm sorry, no offense to you
Dr. Scarborough—"

"Joe," I said.

"OK, uh...Joe...no offense, but it just seems nasty.  Having to...to
swallow it and all.  I just...I just don't know if I can. It's gross."

I nodded.  "Hey, I understand perfectly.  Well, what should we do?" I
asked.  Rachman signed deeply, even bitterly, shook his head, and said "I
don't know.  I don't want to lie to my parents.  I don't know."

I thought for a minute.  "OK, let's not rush things.  How about we watch
some TV, I think there's a ball game on tonight...you like baseball?  OK,
let's just watch that and get comfortable and think about it."

He looked at me as if to see whether I meant it.  When he saw that I
did...and I truly did...he nodded and seemed to relax a bit.  I got up to
get some snacks, turned on the TV, and sat back down, a little closer to
him this time.  I sure didn't want to force him, but for his parents' sake,
I wanted to give him every chance.

So we watched a little TV, and then I ventured over a hand and rubbed his
neck a little.  "That feel good?" I asked.  He nodded, neutrally, watching
the TV.  My hand slipped down to his shoulders and he actually arched his
back a little.  All this through the cloth of the ancient robe, mind
you. He gave me a quick appraising sideways look, as if to assess my
intentions. "That OK?" I asked, and he said "Yeah."

"Would you like me to rub your back a little, it might be relaxing?" I
asked.  He thought for a moment, gave me another appraising glance, and
then nodded.  At first I rubbed through the ancient robe, and then said,
"Let's hitch this up a little," and pulling it out where he was sitting on
it I slid my hand up and began slow, gentle rubs up and down his back.  Of
course, he wore no underwear.  He actually sighed, and he did seem to relax
a bit.  "OK?" I asked, and he nodded, sipped his soda and looked intently
at the TV.

Now I rubbed down lower, and had enough space to rub the top of his hips
and lower back, even just the top edge of his buttocks.  "OK?" I asked.  He
turned to look at me, frankly appraising me.  He nodded yes.  "Want me to
rub a little further down?" I asked.  He paused and nodded again, looking
back at the TV.  "How about you stretch out on the sofa and maybe put your
head on my thigh so I can reach," I said.  He thought about it.  Did he
know what was coming?  Was he warming up to it?  I wondered, because he
shrugged, but then did just that.  I was rubbing under the robe but he had
nothing on beneath the robe, and now I could rub down onto his actual
bottom.

And I did, deep massages into the muscles of his buttocks.  He sighed a
little and gave a very soft groan once or twice.  "OK?" I asked, and he
whispered "Yeah."  Then I slid my fingers between his buttocks and slid up
and down and then, rested a finger on his anus, slowly rubbing, pressing
gently.  "Is that OK?" I asked.  This time he replied a little more
enthusiastically with "Oh, yeah."

"Wait a second, guy," I said, jumping up and running to the bathroom where
I retrieved a small bottle of baby oil and brought it back.  I went right
for the buttocks and anus, rubbing now with a well oiled hand, describing
circles around the anus with a little more pressure, and then—I pushed
in.  He gasped and jerked, uttered a "What the!" but didn't say no.  And so
slowly I pushed one well oiled finger in and then two.  He moaned a little
but he took it, and actually brought a hand up to steady himself by placing
it on my knee.

"Guy," I said, "I have a proposal that might be a solution."  Now he pushed
himself up on an elbow to look at me.  "The rule is, you have to take my
semen in, right?" I asked.  He nodded.  "Well," I said, "you have more than
one entry for that."  It took him a second and you could see awareness
dawn.

"Oh man, will it hurt?" He asked.  "Does this hurt?" I asked, slipping two
well oiled fingers in and out gently.  "Naw, it feels kind of good," he
said.  "Well, I think it might hurt a little at the start because, you
know, I'm bigger than two fingers.  But this way you wouldn't have to
swallow.  And some guys seem to enjoy it that way."  He thought for a
minute—was he breathing a little more heavily with my fingers in his
anus?—and then said "OK, I guess, let's try it.  But we have to stop if
I say so."  "Sure," I replied, and then got up gently, taking his hand in
my well oiled hand, and led him to the bedroom.

Standing by the bed, remembering the ritualistic purpose of all this, he
gravely removed the sash and gave it to me.  I thanked him and put it over
a nearby chair.  Then I quickly slipped out of my clothes, thinking he
might feel a little more comfortable if I were naked first.

As with Richin, he stared intently at my body, likely the first white male
body he'd seen.  His eyes moved up and down my torso for a moment, and then
he suddenly looked me in the face and said, "Oh, yeah...want me to get
naked, too?"  I nodded.  He swept the robe off and quickly put it over the
chair.

He was a younger version of Richin, a beautiful almost gleaming middle
chocolate color, but lagging a little in muscular development, his torso a
slim tube of chocolate.  His penis was not as big as Richin's, but my
stimulation of his other side had evidently had an effect, as it was semi
erect.  It was pushing out beneath a cute little collection of three or
perhaps four black pubic hairs that sprayed out wildly.  Richin had the
Asian's typical curved spray of black pubes in a small bush, and you could
tell Rachman would get there, but had only started.  His penis was a purple
black, darker than the rest of his skin, and sat above a tight scrotum
holding balls not yet fully developed.  He was starting puberty, but had a
ways to go.

We stood there a moment, appraising and assessing each other's body.  I
took a step closer and put both hands on his shoulders, kneading them
gently.  We locked gazes and both smiled, me with delight that things
seemed to be working out, Rachman with maybe a little embarrassment and
certainly anticipation—and maybe even a little pleasure.

"Uh, n..now what?" he stuttered.  By answer I reached down and gently
grasped his penis with my hand, and with my other hand raised his hand
toward my own organ, now rising into full erection.  He grabbed it gently,
uttering a soft "Wow," and then began to follow my lead in gently stroking
it.  At that point I dropped his penis and pulled him in for a tight
embrace, which he returned, head craned up to look at me all the time.  I
decided to chance a kiss, lingering but light, just in case he found such
things "gross" as well.  When I pulled away he looked thoughtful and
grinned a little—but didn't ask for more.

Taking him to the bed I stretched out next to him and initiated gentle
touching and rubbing, nuzzling his neck, kissing and lightly biting his
small dark nipples that now stuck out a little from his chest.  I could
tell he was getting into it by his heavier breathing but also by the full
erection he now sported, his thin, nearly black penis coming up in a curve,
the tip nearly touching his abdomen.  Breaking away for a moment to oil my
fingers again, keeping him on his back but pulling his knees up and then
apart, to the side, I gently inserted my fingers into him.  He gasped but
took it.  Now it was time.

I put a pillow under his butt and positioned myself between his legs, then
pushing gently but insistently I had my penis at his wrinkled hole.  There
was resistance but I gave steady pressure, and then with a pop! I was in.
He gasped and placed his palms against my abdomen as I crouched there,
breathing heavily.  I pushed in another inch.  More gasping and heavy
breathing, a wincing expression on his face.  "Ouch!" he said.  "I think
that's far enough."

I nodded and squatting there, my hands holding his slim, dark legs apart,
staring down at the beautiful dark boy beneath me, I began pushing in and
out slowly, slowly.  He gasped and pressed again at my abdomen.  I was no
more than halfway in, but it was far enough for the purpose.  Pain and
pleasure warred on his features, grimaces alternating with grins and
panting.  I did not want to prolong it.  If he wanted to do more of this
later, or with another man or boy, that would be his decision.  The task at
hand was to cum in his butt.  I bent all my concentration to it, using his
anus to sort of tease my own cockhead, and when I finally felt my climax
rising I dared to push in just a little more so that none of my fluid would
be lost, and then I clenched, groaned, shuddered, tightened my buttocks to
push it out, and sent a full load into his rectum. I kept that squat,
shivering, then milked my penis with my own fingers to get out all of the
semen that I could, and then withdrew and stretched out beside him again.

His face had a look of wonder about it.  "That's it, isn't it?" he asked,
still panting a little.  "That's it," I said.  "You have the seed of an
elder inside you.  You are a man of your tribe now."  He actually giggled,
in relief and pleasure.

Then I said, "Rachman, you have been very brave. Can I do something for you
that might make you feel good?"  He flashed a smile and nodded.  Keeping
him on his back, I slid down and took his penis, still erect, into my
mouth.  Sucking, tonguing his knob, reaching beneath to knead his buttocks
again and to encourage an up and down rhythm with his pelvis, his breathing
became heavier and heavier, punctuated with "Oh!" and "Man, that feels so
good!" and "Man, do that again!"  And then, I think it came as a surprise
to both of us when he cried out and bucked his pelvis, shivering, his penis
jerking in my mouth.  He did not ejaculate, still a little too young, but
it was clear he had just had his first dry orgasm.  I let him relax and his
breathing return to normal and then I slid his wilting penis out of my
mouth, slid up alongside him and kissed him again, and this time he
responded more willingly.

We showered and dressed and went back to the living room to watch TV,
cuddling a little.  Rachman was talkative in a way he had not been before,
but not about the ritual.  It's as if it hadn't happened, or more to the
point, as if he needed to process it further.  When the doorbell rang he
sprang up and answered it, and his happy face told his beaming parents all
they needed to know.  Once again they thanked me with great sincerity.  As
they were turning to walk down the path, Rachman quickly stepped back to
give me a hug.  "Thanks," he said, and then they were gone into the night.

Comments welcome, lokiaga@austin.rr.com

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