Date: Fri, 27 May 2022 22:18:43 +0000
From: linden-doug <linden-doug@proton.me>
Subject: Scotty and Mike 1 - Adult-Youth, Urination, Scat

Scotty and Mike - 1

A first attempt, a total fantasy. I dredged it all up from a fertile
imagination, i.e. I've never done what follows and never would. Not
appropriate for under 18. Hoping what I'd like to read is what you'd like
to read. Let me know what you think - linden-Mike@proton.me


    So, I'm Mike. Just another eternally horny 30-something perv in love (I
think) with Scotty, my sister's kid. Just shy of ten. It was the first
weekend in September and Eileen and Bailey-the-Second-Husband were going
away for the weekend. Their regular babysitter, Traci (yeah, with an "i"
that she dots with a little heart) wasn't available so Eileen calls me up
and asks if I can stay with Scotty for a couple days. "You wouldn't mind,
would you?" You know, assuming I've got nothing better to do. Truth is, I
didn't, so I said yes.

    The other truth is, as long as we're getting all truthy, I had kind of
a crush on Scotty. I knew it wasn't right and I'd be going to Hell and all
that... but there was something about him. He was definitely all boy, cute
as a fuckin' button Ð big, wide green eyes, with a mop of silky red hair
and a little gap between his two front teeth. Sprinkle of freckles across
the bridge of his turned-up nose and cheeks. Loved soccer and Marvel
Universe movies. Small for his age, I'd say, and while he played a lot of
soccer and did pretty well in gym, from what Eileen said, he still had a
kind of softness around the edges. And there was something else.

    Whenever I'd visit, which wasn't often Ð I always thought Bailey the
Second didn't like me much -- we'd be in the den having drinks, or at the
dinner table or out back on their deck grilling, and Scotty would catch me
looking at him. I'd get lost in thought, especially if the weather was warm
and he was wearing his soccer kit (he insisted on using the British term
and called soccer "football", which he learned from his stepfather who was
British Ð Surrey, I think). He'd be kind of sweaty and glowing, and
there'd be a few curls stuck to his forehead and the next thing I know I'm
imagining him naked in the locker room at his school, naked among a sea of
likewise naked boys, talking too loud, taking showers, their smell
just... making me hard.  I remembered it from my school days and I was sure
it hadn't changed much.

    Anyway, there I'd be, staring, and all of a sudden Scotty would turn
around and catch me and meet my gaze, real serious, as if to say "I know
what you're thinking, you dirty pervert". Then he'd do something silly,
cross his eyes or stick out his tongue and I'd do the same and he'd crack
up. But, boy, I sure thought there was something in his eyes when they met
mine. And hoped.

    And, damn, was I right.

    So, I'm the uncle, right? Early-30's, tall, fairly thin, dark blond. I
keep myself in pretty good shape Ð (I've always thought my legs were my
best feature) Ð and on a good day I can look in the mirror and be okay
with what I see. Chest and abs with the proverbial light dusting of
hair. And endowed just fine, thanks. So, there you have it.



    Summer still wasn't over that weekend, when Eileen and Bailey drove to
the mountains to his cabin in the woods. She asked me to pick up Scotty
from soccer practice and take him home to their place. She didn't want him
sleeping in an unfamiliar room, she said, he has his special sheets and his
night light, blah, blah, blah. And there he was, out front of the school in
his sweaty T-shirt and shorts, hair damp, left knee skinned, beat-up kid's
cleats muddy like his shins. Dang, a hot, dirty, sweaty little kid! When he
got in the front seat next to me, he smelled so damn good! I swear I could
hear the hormones racing through me.

    He didn't want to go for a burger, like I suggested, just wanted to get
home and take a shower, so I drove to his house and I got him and my
overnight duffel bag inside.

    He bounded up the stairs to his room and started getting undressed,
throwing his shirt, shorts and cleats to one side, along with the damp,
dirty socks and his youth jock strap, complete with a little cup.  Totally,
unabashedly naked he dashed out of his room and into the bathroom. I went
into his bedroom to pick up.

    Typical boy's room, I guess. Unmade bed with Spiderman sheets, posters
from three of the ninety-seven Avengers movies. A small desk with a chair,
a bookcase. And the clothes. All over the place, thrown helter-skelter. I
started picking it all up and threw it into a hamper right inside his open
closet. And finally, I had the soccer "kit" in my hands. It was still
miraculously warm and damp.

    I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and lifted the boy's dirty
clothes to my face.

    It made me high. Honest to God, my head swam, thinking about who had
just torn these dirty clothes off his smooth, perfect, sweaty little
body. I took deep whiffs of the underarms of the shirt, and the socks. The
socks! Which had been worn several times before today without a wash. I
pushed the toes into my mouth, just for the hell of it. Tasting his
feet. His stinky feet.

    Then the shorts.

    A bit damp, like I said. I brought them up to my nose and sniffed long
and hard. Especially the crotch and the seat, the seat! Where his peachy
boy butt had recently been nestled. I pinched together the point in the
seat where the seams all came together, the part that had probably been
rubbing up against his perfect (I imagined) little rosebud of a
butthole. It was pretty ripe. Lovely. Sweat. Pee. Poop.

    Head still swimming a little, I took long whiffs of the jock and the
little cup which had yellow stains on it. More pee there, stronger. And the
juncture of the boy's jock, where the straps came together and got real
close to that perfect (I imagined) poopy pucker, was stained
brown. Scotty's poop stains. Still almost fresh. It smelled pretty good,
although I might have been imagining it was hotter than I thought. But I
didn't care. I licked the stain, then stuck it in my mouth and got it good
and wet with spit and swallowed whatever flavor I was able to suck out of
it. I was getting totally boned, tasting him, smelling the dirty jock, the
boy's socks and sweat, sucking the boypoop stains.

    Then I realized I had to take a piss and had to wait a minute for my
boner to go down enough so I could. When I was more back to normal, I
adjusted my nuts in my cargo shorts, then dropped the dirty soccer stuff
into the hamper and headed to the bathroom. As I got closer, I heard the
water running in the bathtub. I guess he had decided against the
shower. The door was open and when I stepped in, I saw him. He was still
butt-perfect-naked, standing at the toilet, pissing. The beautiful boy dick
held between his fingers was squirting a good, healthy pee stream.

    "Oh, sorry!" I said and took a step back.

    "It's okay, Uncle Mike. I'm just pissing," he said.

    "Yeah," I said, mouth suddenly dry, "you are." And instead of stepping
out and letting him finish, I just stood there, gazing raptly as he pushed
his hips forward, flexing his plump butt and rising up slightly on his
toes.

    I wanted to say something, to get the hell out, to not seem so fucking
interested in a pissing 10-year-old. But I was glued to the spot.

    Then, real slow, he turned his head and looked at me, as if to say "You
are one weird fuckin' dude!" Then cutting off the flow of his warm, yellow
piss, he walked over to where I was standing, the hot hooded boycock still
dribbling. He got real close and, with a slight grimace as he got things
going again, he shot several spurts of his hot piss onto my bare left
shin. The kid was pissing on me! I gasped, breath caught in my throat, but
I still couldn't move. Then he smiled a little and looked up at me, took
aim, and pissed on my right leg. And not just a spurt this time. This time
he squeezed out a good four or five seconds of hot, pale yellow pee. My
cock started tenting out my shorts. Fucking warm, stinky boypiss was
dripping down my legs. I'd say this was beyond my wildest dreams but trust
me, this was just the start of my wildest dreams. But I sure as hell didn't
expect it.

    "What'd you do that for?" I asked. I wasn't angry, far from it. It was
just a question.

    "I dunno," Scotty said. Then he looked up at me, crossed his eyes and
stuck out his tongue.

    After a couple seconds I laughed a little and did the same.

    Then Scotty went over to the tub and, leaning over, turned off the
tap. He was up on his toes a little again, and that delicious butt flexed
again.

    "I'm gonna take a bath now. You wanna watch?"

    "No," I said, "heck no!" As if it were the most unthinkable, ridiculous
idea in the world. Fact was, I did want to watch. To see him get all slick
with soap and water, farting bubbles, maybe pissing a little more in the
bathwater. Which I then would happily have drunk. But instead, I turned and
walked out of the bathroom and back into his room, where I sat on the edge
of his bed. I dragged a couple of fingers up my left shin, through Scotty's
piss, collecting some on my fingertips, and sucked the result off my
fingers. I was tasting Scotty's piss. Would have liked it right from the
tap, but you take what you can get. I did it again and again until I had
wiped up all the kid's piss and swallowed it down.



    Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of men Ð of all ages, types,
whatever. Dads. College boys. Jocks. State troopers in tight pants and
tall, black boots. Even Bailey-the-Second-Husband had something going for
him. But the boys! The young ones, the littles, oblivious to how beautiful,
how hot they are. Don't know where this began for me Ð the boys, the
raunch, but it's in my DNA, you know? And Scotty! Fuck!

    As I sat on his bed while he took his bath, I rubbed my crotch,
thinking about that hot little dick, how it would feel in my mouth, getting
him stiff, swallowing whatever piss there might be for me. I'd be on my
knees, sucking him, grabbing his ass cheeks and pulling him closer, my
fingers sinking into that steamy, smooth butt crack, slipping deep on the
smears of his last ill-wiped shit, until I touched the sticky starfish of
his 10-year-old anus. Fingers I'd then pull out, studying the light brown
streaks on them, before jamming them into my mouth to suck them clean.

    Fuck!

    We had Marie Callender's frozen pasta for dinner (lousy, by the way),
watched a movie (one of the "Thor" sequels, which confused the hell out of
me), and then to bed. I was camped out in the guest room, but I stayed up
after Scotty went to bed to watch some reruns. Finally, I locked up, turned
out the lights and went upstairs.

    I tossed and turned for a while and thought about going back down to
watch more TV till I fell asleep, but my mind kept going back to Scotty:
Scotty all sweaty in his soccer kit, Scotty's damp, stinking shorts and
jock, Scotty pissing on me. It didn't take long before I was half hard and
trying to stroke myself full hard so I could just cum already, visions of
that dirty, beautiful, stinking kid down the hall dancing in my head.

    I had tossed back the covers and was really getting into it, when I was
suddenly aware I wasn't alone. I opened my eyes and saw Scotty, highlighted
from behind by the night light I had left on in the hallway. He was in his
little tighty-whiteys and a baby wife-beater, just standing there.

    I sat up like a shot and tried to cover myself up, at the same time
trying to be all nonchalant and casual. "Hey, uh--- Scott!
Hi. Scotty. What's up?" It was instant loss of boner. I raised myself up on
my elbows.,

    "Um... I just... you know..." His voice was soft and he sounded a
little nervous.

    "What?" I asked.

    "Well, um... you know, before? When I peed on your leg...?"

    "Oh... oh, that!" I said, trying to sound as if I'd clean
forgotten. "What about it?"

    "Well, I'm sorry. I mean, if you didn't like it. It was kind of stupid,
I guess."

    "Forget it. You were just trying to be funny."

    "Well, yeah... but... I thought you might, you know, you might like
it."

    I had to pause for a second. "Why would you think that?"

    He paused. "Well, you know, when you walked in while I was
pissing... you kind of... You had this look on your face? Like you were,
you know, turned on or whatever?"

    I tried to assure him he was wrong, that he had totally misread me,
blah, blah, but there was more.

    "I saw you, before, when you were, um, sniffing my soccer stuff. And
you put my jockstrap in your mouth."

    Busted!

    I sank back down on the bed, grinning at myself, even snorting a couple
of laughs through my nose.

    "You can't tell your mom, right? I mean I was just being..." I couldn't
come up with anything.

    "You were just being horny, huh?" Scotty asked.

    I paused, then figured it wasn't worth coming up with some lousy,
tortured lie so I simply said, "Yeah, Scotty, I was."

    There was a moment of silence before he stepped into the room. The
light from the streetlamp outside caught the shine of his hair, the perfect
contours of his smooth body.

    "Yeah. Bailey likes it too."

    "Bailey? You mean...?

    "Yeah, him. He really likes it. Smells my underwear and jock and
everything. And he likes it when I pee on him, so I thought you would too."

    I was still processing this information. "You mean Ð ?"

    "Yeah, I mean! Geez!"

    "Does he ever... I mean, do you ever... with him?"

    "Do I what...?" Poor kid was confused.

    "Do you and Bailey ever have, you know... sex?"

    "Oh, that." Scotty shifted his weight to his other leg. "A couple
times. I put his penis in my mouth and sucked on it till it got real hard,
and then he jerked it off for me and made me open my mouth so he could
shoot his stuff in my mouth. Then he put my penis in his mouth and told me
to pee so I did and he liked it, `cause he came again and shot his stuff
all over my feet."

    "Wow," was all I could say.

    "And then... well, I don't know if it's sex or not. I mean, a couple
times when I had to poop he asked me if he could watch, and so I said
`yeah', and he got down on his knees in front of the toilet and smelled my
farts and watched me while I pooped. Then he told me to stand up and turn
around before I wiped, and he looked at my butt. He told me to bend over,
and I pulled my butt cheeks apart and he said,
`Oh-fuck-look-at-that-hot-dirty-little-asshole." Scotty ran the words
together as though the whole thing had bored him
senseless. "`Hot-dirty-little-asshole.' He kept saying it over and over and
his face got real close to my bum and I could feel him breathing on it. So,
is that sex?"

    "In a way," I said.

    Meanwhile, as the boy talked, as he told his perverted, dirty story, I
was getting hard again, imagining the scene. Bailey, truth be told, isn't
bad to look at. Had been an athlete in Australia somewhere, I think, and
his dad bod still held hints of what he must have looked like in high
school. They have a pool and I've seen him more than once in his board
shorts, patch of hair between his pecs, nice treasure trail, good
legs. Nice ass, and I mean a NICE ass. Kind of cute, with his pouty lips
and heavy-lidded eyes and red hair. And there he was in my mind, kneeling
on the floor of the bathroom as his 10-year-old stepson bends over to
display his freshly dirtied little butthole. Bailey leans in and sniffs
hard and he's so close he could probably lick it. He's groping his groin,
where his not inconsiderable dick is raging hard, leaking, thinking about
what that kid's poop would feel like, taste like, on his tongue. "Look at
that hot, dirty little asshole. Hot dirty little asshole..."

    "Hey!" Scotty said.

    I looked up at him, snapped out of my fantasy, and he was smiling and
pointing at my stiff dick, which I was stroking absently.

    "So you liked my story, huh?"

    "Yeah, Scotty," I muttered. "Yeah, I liked your story."

    He took a few more steps into the room, almost next to the bed. I
didn't let go of my cock, which was leaking like the faucet in a cheap
motel. Scotty looked at my dick.

    "Bailey's penis makes that stuff too," he said.

    "Yeah? When?"

    "When he watches me poop. It gets real hard and he starts to play with
it and then that stuff comes. He calls it `cock slime'. He smears it all
over his big dick and plays with it and..."

    "And...?"

    "I told you! When I'm done pooping, I get off the john and show him my
stinky poop hole and he makes it shoot."

    "He cums," I said.

    "Yeah," Scotty said. "He cums. I told you. Geez!" I closed my eyes,
bringing up the hot, perverted scene again: hunky Bailey on his knees in
the bathroom, stroking his thick, dripping cock as the kid turns around and
presents him with that hairless little buttcrack, sticky smears of kid shit
surrounding the tiny anus, longing to get his tongue in there to lick and
clean and swallow it, his mouth to latch onto Scotty's shitlips, sucking on
it as Scotty pushes and he shoots five or six volleys of thick cum onto the
floor, writhing and moaning into the kid's ass.

    I'm stroking faster now and Scotty steps up to the side of the bed and
says "You wanna watch me poop, Uncle Mike? I've gotta go and you can watch
if you want. You wanna?"

    I hesitated and tried to turn down the invitation. "No, thanks
Scotty... no, youÑ"

    "Oh, c'mon! You wanna? I want you to."

    "You do?"

    "Yeah, man," he says, smiling. "You wanna watch me poop, huh?"

    "Yeah, Scotty," I say in some kind of trance, "I wanna watch you poop."
I sit up and as I stand, he takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom
down the hall, lit only by a seashell nightlight. He pushes down his little
tighty-whities and starts to sit on the john, but I stop him. I kneel and
without thinking I just take his three or four hard inches between my
lips. "Pee," I mutter. "Pee, Scotty. Give me some boy piss..." He says
nothing but I hear his breathing and a little grunt from the back of his
throat tells me he's pushing hard and then I feel it: the hot, sharp stream
of his pee. His boy pee. This hot, dirty little boy is pissing in my
mouth. It's warm and it tastes pretty much like I thought it would. My dick
throbs. Hell, it never went down. When he's done he doesn't wait but gets
right up on the toilet and proceeds to poop. I move closer to the john,
between his fucking, oh-so-smooth thighs and, as he shoots another couple
jets of piss, I hear a soft fart and I can smell the turds.

    "I'm pooping, Mike," he says, real serious, as if he knows how serious
this is. How hot he is.

    "You're shitting, Scotty. You're shitting for me, huh?"

    "Yeah, Mike, I'm... I'm shitting for you."

    "Boy turds."

    A pause. "Boy turds."

    "Hot little boy turds."

    He's clearly getting into the dirty talk. "Hot little boy turds," he
spits. "It's my shit, Mike!" I moan and take in deep lungfuls of the foul
air coming up from the bowl. Scotty is fiddling with his stiff little boy
cocklet, hard from all his talk. I take my hand off my dick which is ready
to unload any second and I reach into the toilet, between his thighs, past
the tiny ball sack and rub a fingertip on his greasy hole. Fuck, I'm
touching his shit! I pull my hand out and look at the finger and the tip is
brown with a thick coating of boymud. I bring it to my nose and sniff, long
and hard and it's enough to knock me out.

    "You smell my shit, Mike?" he asks.

    "Yeah, baby boy, I smell it."

    "Mmmm, baby boy shit," he whispers. This is coming from somewhere,
someone else. He hops down off the commode and steps close to me, his
little stiffie right in front of me. "You wanna taste it, huh, Mike?"

    "WhaÑ ? No! Oh, no, I don'tÑ"

    "Yeah, you do. Bailey does. He says so."

    "Has he...?"

    "Nah. Maybe he will someday. But you do, too. You can if you want,
Uncle Mike."

    I look up at him, his eyes big and questioning, a slight smile on his
beautiful, young lips. There is what seems like a long silence between us,
and then the boy nods and smiles wider. Slowly I straighten my legs out, my
feet on either side of the commode, and I lie back on the shaggy, blue
bathmat and I tell Scotty to put his dirty ass on my face.

    Without a word he steps forward, standing over me, then turns to face
the toilet and begins to squat. I groan and start to close my eyes, but I
want to see it all, I want to watch that heavenly, perfect butt spread
slightly as he squats deeper and it gets closer to my face, my mouth, and I
can see the little hole opening slightly amid the smear of light brown,
little boy crap. I'm jacking furiously as it touches my lips, the sticky,
warm smear of little Scotty's crap and without thinking about it I stick
out my tongue and taste it, pull a morsel of it into my mouth and suck on
it and swallow it, then lick again and Scotty gasps, feeling my tongue on
his anus, licking him.

    "Oh! Oh... Mike!? Hah! Oh, hah! That feels soooo... good!" He's
half-laughing, half gasping for air at the strange sensation of my
now-dirty tongue on his little anus. "Oh, God! Eat me, Uncle Mike, swallow
it down and we can show Bailey how you eat my boy turds...ah!" I feel his
body spasm and he farts and a spray of wet soft serve explodes out into my
mouth. I gulp it down, then go back to kissing his hole. Tonguing Scotty's
anus, sucking the little 9-year-old anus, tongue fucking it,
sucking. Sucking the boy's shit lips, drilling my tongue inside him.

    He must have been playing with himself like crazy, because I know he's
having his kid's orgasm at the same time as I swallow down the flecks of
turd he's blown down my throat. Then his hole opens and squeezes out a hot,
soft little dollop of the boy's delicious crap that slides onto my
tongue. I start sucking on it, and Scotty is shouting "Eat my turds, Uncle
Mike! Eat! Hot boy turds....!" and I cum. And cum. And cum. I'm moaning
making crazy, guttural noises into the boy's slimy ass crevice.

    Scotty stands up and looks down at me. "That really felt good," he
says.

    "You liked it, huh?"

    "Yeah, like when you licked my... you know, hole. That was amazing!"

    I stand up, woozy and a little stiff. I regain my balance and wipe my
mouth off with the back of my hand. "Yeah, amazing all right," I say.

    I step toward the toilet to pee, but Scotty puts the seat down, then
gets up and, leaning forward, kisses me on the mouth. He pulls back and
wrinkles his nose. "Not bad," he says, hopping back down.

    The kid is amazeballs.

    "Now, Scotty," I say, "Bailey doesn't have to, you know, know about
this. This was just once, okay? I just went a little crazy, right?"

    "Right," he says, going to the sink to wash up.

    "I mean it, Scott."

    "I know. It's okay. Just this once, okay." He sounded supremely
annoyed. "Anyway, that's what Bailey said the first time. And Eric, too."

    Eric. Eric. I couldn't think whoÑthen it hit me.

    "You mean Eric, Traci's boyfriend?!" I said, incredulous,

    Scotty nodded. "Yeah. He liked it once and then he liked it another
time. He's real dirty, too."

    Without waiting for him to finish washing up, I go to the tub, turn on
the tap and begin washing my face there, with special attention to my
mouth. I don't say anything else. I don't know what to say. But, Jesus
Christ, Bailey and Eric Nelson? The 16-year-old Traci is so crazy about,
that Eric Nelson? With the dark hair and the dimples and the chest, and
that ass that looks so good in his baseball uniform pants? The boy who
looks like the young Nick Jonas. Not dumb, but not the brightest bulb, but
who the fuck cares? He's an eyeful. And now to find out...

    "Scotty, when did you and Eric...?"

    "Oh, Traci was s'posed to be watching me but then she had to go `cause
her grandmother's heart got sick and she had to go to the hospital, so she
got Eric to come over and we were playing catch out back and got all sweaty
and stuff? So we came in to take a shower and he was lookin' at me the way
you did and he was getting all sexy and everything, but then I had to
goÑJeez, do I hafta tell you everything? We did it and he liked it when
I got dirty and then he got dirty too."

    "Did you like it, Scott?" I asked.

    "Yeah, it was cool for the first time and all. I really like the way he
smells." He finished washing up and dried his face on a hand towel, then
walked out of the bathroom toward his bedroom.

    "I mean it, Scotty!" I called after him. "What I said. About just this
once. I really mean it!"

    "Okay!" I hear him call.

    Yes, this has got to be just the one time.

    Just the once.

    Yeah.