Date: Fri, 29 Jan 2021 10:40:08 +0100
From: roby bobby <de182tg@gmail.com>
Subject: A-Romanian-in-Paris-1

This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males under 18. If
material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story.

Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states, the state
may have forbidden you from reading this story by law.

Please understand this is a work of fiction. The actions described in the
story are not real nor encouraged or condoned in real life. It's fiction,
folks, and remember that, please.

While most of the locations are real places in the real world, all the
characters are absolutely fictional and any reference or resemblance to
real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental or just functional to
the plot.

Feedbacks welcome at gbj808@tutanota.com. I'm not native English speaker,
so please be kind to me!

Thank you!


*** A Romanian in Paris *** Part 1 - A Bright Future Ahead


Paris, France – 24 October 1960

My name is Oguzan Dragoul, all my friends call me Drago: they say it sounds
much better than Oguzan. I'm Romanian, I'm 32 years old and quite good
looking, if you ask me. I was born in Wallachia, homeland of Vlad Draculea,
"The Impaler": that's why I called my only boy Vlad, to cherish the name of
our national hero. Today it's his ninth birthday but my little love won't
have a party, at least not today: I have an important business meeting with
my publisher (yes, I'm a writer), and my wife has gone to Geneva,
Switzerland, for a meeting at the UNO.

Ten years ago, I met my French wife, Amanda, in Bucharest, where I was a
student at the State University, and she was a cultural attaché at the
Ambassade de France. Romania is tightly ruled by the Communist Party, under
the iron fist of CCCP... cultural events are welcome and seen as a powerful
means to convey propaganda. I met Amanda in one of these events and we
immediately fell in love... When she got pregnant, I married her and, as
the husband of a French citizen, I got a French passport: I've never been
prouder of my dick's achievements! When Vlad was 4, we finally got all the
papers sorted out and we all moved to Paris. Fucking time to, if you ask
me...

Amanda is working her career in the diplomatic world and I'm trying to
become what I've always dreamed of being: a novelist, a writer, the
"Romanian Hemingway". Today I'm closer to get my dream become true, as I
have finally to meet with my publisher.

There is only one problem: I can't take little Vlad with me. I'm going to
ask our neighbour Thomas, a penniless musician from the USA who lives in
basement of our building and good friend of mine, to babysit him.

Thomas is in bed when I enter his miserable, smelly apartment. Thomas acts
uneasy, and I think that he may be sick. He lies with his knees drawn up
and the covers bulked around them and apparently intends to stay in bed all
day. I ask if he's feeling well. Oh yes, he's fine, just a bit tired
. . . and he fakes a ya<wn. Well, I tell him, I need a favour . . . and
just then something moves under the bedcovers, at Thomas's knees. I've
seldom seen a man look so sheepish as Thomas is now . . . When I see what
he's been hiding I have to laugh.

"Which sex is it?" I ask him. Thomas pushes back the covers and a boy of
eight or nine climbs out from beneath his knees.

"Another two minutes and you'd never have guessed it," he says. "But now
look, Drago, Jesus Christ, keep quiet about this, will you? You know how it
is."

The boy pushes back his straight black hair and wipes his forehead, on the
sheet. He complains that it was too hot under there . . . he was ready to
die. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at me.

"How the hell long have you been keeping this around?" I ask him. "What do
you do? Give him candies to get him up here?"

Joel, that's the name of the little bitch, is the son of the people who
keep the bar next door, Thomas tells me. And, he says defensively, he
doesn't visit him only . . .  everyone in the neighbourhood knows about
him. "It isn't as though I just picked him up somewhere," he says. "Shit,
there isn't a fucking thing I can teach him . . . he knows everything
already. I'm not shitting you. It's only that he's learned to fuck a little
earlier than most boys do."

The boy spreads his legs and shows me his hard, 3-inch-long dicklet. He
even pulls its hood down to be certain that I get a good peep at his
pointy, little head. "You can... baise moi (fuck me) ...  if you want to,"
he pipes up. "Only let Mr. Thomas to... uhmmm... baise moi... first!"

Does Mr. Thomas fuck him very often, I ask him? No, this is only the third
or fourth time he's been here. He was just ready to fuck him when I came
in. . . . "Go right on," I tell Thomas. "I don't want to spoil anything."

The boy has begun to play with himself with one hand and he's using the
other to shake Thomas's cock up. Thomas thinks that I don't
understand. He's not doing anything that anyone else might do, etc. etc. On
the other hand, I do understand, I assure him. I came close to doing the
same thing myself. . .  So, Thomas feels better. "By God, Drago, " he says,
"you ought to try him once. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd admit
it, but it really does give you a kick." He pushes the bedcovers back with
his feet and sits up. He gives the boy a pinch on his ass and sets him
shoulders straight. "Look at him. Isn't he a little beauty? He'll be a fine
ass when he grows up. And he's filthy as hell . . . you ought to hear the
line of gab he can toss out at you when he gets sore. And Christ, the
stories he tells me! I don't believe half of them, but the half I do
believe is bad enough." The boy stops playing with himself and grabs his
dong with both of his hands. He knows enough about pricks to understand
what makes them big. . .  He bends over and lets his long, black hair
tickle it while he slides his fingers up and down.

"It's not like this was all I liked to fuck," Thomas goes on. "Shit no! I'm
only trying this as a change. And he's big enough. . .  it doesn't hurt him
or anything. Jesus Christ, Drago, he's getting laid anyway... I might as
well try it and find out what it's like." He'd be singing the national
anthem in a minute, but the boy has him so excited that he's begun to
stutter.

Joel brings his mouth very close to Thomas's cock time after time and then
draws away just as his lips are about to touch it. Eventually, he dives
forwards and swallows half of Thomas's fat prick. "He wants to charge extra
for sucking you off," he explains, "but he always forgets about it and does
it anyway."

"Charges extra!" I shout. "Do you mean that they know enough to sell it at
this age? By God... when I was a kid ..."

"Sure, he sells his ass and mouth. But that doesn't make it any less of a
good fuck . . ." The boy stops playing with his dick and starts to
fingerfuck his ass, defiantly looking straight at my eyes. "You see that?"
Thomas says. "He's nuts about that boy-cunt and the feeling he gets out of
it. The money part doesn't have anything to do with it, some dope probably
gave him a few coins once and he found that he could get money too. But
Jesus, Drago, when you get your prick into that little ass hole, when he
starts to wiggle under you and rubs that little belly against yours
. . . I'm telling you, it's like nothing you ever tried before."

"I don't want to talk," the boy complains suddenly. " Je veux être
baisé." ("I want to be fucked")

"That's the way it is, Drago . . . just like that, just like he said. Now
watch him when he feels it between his ass's bums. Shit, you'll think he's
going to kill himself getting onto it. But he's plenty big enough
inside. It's just the way it looks . . . he doesn't take it in his ass, he
wraps himself around it ..."

Joel lifts his ass a good six inches from the bed and seems to throw
himself downward. It's amazing, but he has half of Thomas' dick into
himself with just that one movement. "The first time he did that I thought
he was a goner," Thomas declares, "but that's how he seems to like it
. . . can you see it? Christ, I used to hold a mirror behind his ass just
to watch it. You can see the whole machinery with this little ass, not a
hair to hide the facts of life. And you ought to see . . ."

Whatever it is that I ought to see, Thomas forgets it. The tiny boy has
begun to wiggle, and each time he gives his ass a shake it squeezes
Thomas's dick in a little further. Thomas wasn't cheated when they were
handing out pricks, either, with almost 9 inches of solid meat; and it
really does begin to look as though the boy might do something to himself
that can't be repaired without some fancy hem-stitching. His boy-cuntlet
stretches and stretches, until it's more than twice the size that it ought
to be able to reach. But never a squeak out of the little boy . . . he
shakes his ass and tightens his legs around Thomas like a veteran. When it
stops going into him it's because there isn't any more . . . all that he's
left outside of himself . . . except Thomas . . . is a mop of pubes and a
pair of balls.

"AHHHHHWWW FUUUCK! Just take a good look at it now, will you, Drago, "
Thomas begs me. "Just as a personal favour to me. I want you to take a look
at it and then tell me it's possible. Christ, I have had bad dreams about
it at night, but I can't leave him alone. AHHHH FUCK, you little bitch,
that's it. Wiggle some more! JESUS.FUCKING.CHRIST. I never had anything
that was more like fucking a snake . . ."

"I'm not the only one that fucks him. Look, Drago, you wouldn't believe it
if I pointed out some of the guys he tells me he's been fucked by." He lies
there with his huge cock shoved into the little boy's ass and argues with
me about who in the neighbourhood is fucking him.  Go figure!

But Joel gets tired of hearing us talk . . . he wants to be fucked, he
says, and if Thomas isn't going to fuck him the right way, he won't come to
see him anymore.

"Get this," says my friend. "See his dicklet twitching, sort of? He swears
he's coming when he does that. Do you suppose he really goes? That's all
that happens . . ."

He goes to work fucking him again. "But Holy Jesus, when I come in the
little bitch..." He grabs his ass and half lifts him off the bed. His dong
drives in and the bed groans... or perhaps it's Thomas. The boy keeps his
legs far apart to help him go in as far as he likes, and I imagine that I
can see his belly filling out. . . "God, he takes gallons," Thomas
gasps. "Imperial gallons . . . UUUAAARRGHHHH" He noisily cums into the
boy's overstretched ass, shooting volley after volley of thick spunk into
him.

I'm actually shaky on my legs when it's over. I'm in worse shape than
Thomas, and he doesn't look exactly like a daisy. The boy passes the whole
thing off with innocent nonchalance. He wants to know if I'd like to fuck
him now!

"Go ahead, Drago, " Thomas advises me from the bed. "You won't find
anything like it again. But you'll have to do it on the floor or someplace
. . . I simply can't move an inch from the spot I'm in . . ."

I tell the boy that I don't want to fuck him just now . . . some other day,
perhaps, but he comes over anyway and rubs his baby ass against my knee. If
I'll feel him up a little, he tells me, I'll want to fuck him. "They all do
after they've felt me," he informs me. "Put your hand between my legs
. . . you can feel Mr. Thomas's ... sperme... coming out of my poo hole now
. . ."

But I don't, I insist, I don't want to screw him, and I don't care to feel
of Mr. Thomas's sperme. Then would I like to be sucked off? He slips
between my knees and presses his belly against my cock. . . I have a
painful hard-on by now, he can feel that and, probably, even smell my
precum. But no, I don't want to be sucked off, I have things to do today,
important things, life changing thins... Maybe next time...

So, a pissed off Joel gets dressed and leaves stomping his little feet on
the floor and cursing in French, leaving me alone with my exhausted
pedo-friend.

I tell him I have great news. My publisher called me this morning and I
have to meet him in a couple of hours at Galérie De Vil, in
St. Germaine. It seems they are willing to publish my first book... since I
moved from Bucharest to Paris two years ago, this is the first time that
anyone is willing to publish something I've written... Fucking time, I'd
say...

He can't say no, can him? We have had so much booze schmooze together that
we are closer in life than many blood brothers are. Hell, we even shared a
few chicks, excluding Amanda... she doesn't know about my sexual escapades,
and it better stay this way, I guess...

Thomas says no... he blabbers about having to meet a chick to drain his
nuts because little Joel left him with a hefty load that's still waiting to
be shot from his balls. "I'd probably end fucking Vlad's lovely chubby ass
if you were to leave him alone with me...".

Hell yes, Vlad at nine is a chubby boy, with a mop or red hairs on his head
(from my family's side), green eyes (from his mother's side), adorable boy
titties and a round, fat ass. But I'm not risking Thomas to get under his
pants... he's my son, not an anonymous bitch.

I go back to my apartment and have little Vlad dressed and ready in less
than 10 minutes... well, I had to promise him an ice-cream to speed things
up a little... the greedy bitch...

It's just after 1 in the afternoon when we finally move out and take a
taxi, heading to the Galérie De Vil.

Heading to my bright future!


*********

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My stories on Nifty:

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/little-alex/
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/little-alex-friends
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/incest/little-alex-jenny-and-the-machine
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/a-romanian-in-paris/