Date: Sat, 3 Dec 2016 20:18:20 +0000 (UTC)
From: clover2209@yahoo.com
Subject: WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

If you are reading this story then you are using Nifty, which cannot
continue to provide this service unless committed readers like yourself
help underwrite the costs. Even a $5 donation is useful. If you would like
to help Nifty continue its service of providing the finest erotic fiction
on the web, follow this link: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.


WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

By anonymous.a



Everybody loves yardwork, right?

Right.

It's the only downside of the place I'm living at now. The house has a
small yard with lots of trees, some of which shed in the fall, and others
that shed in the spring. I have a never-ending supply of yardwork.

But that's OK because yardwork is good for a body. Sunlight on your skin
causes your body to manufacture vitamin D, which boosts your testosterone
levels. God knows I need my testosterone levels boosted, what with all the
hot men in my neighborhood.

Some of those men are "newly minted." For instance, the young man down the
street, and I emphasize the "man." Believe me when I say I am not
interested in underage males. But I have to be careful, because kids seem
to mature earlier these days. When I was in high school it was damn near
impossible for me to grow a beard, and none of the guys had hair on their
chest. Today, high school kids look like lumberjacks. What's going on? Are
they putting something in the water? Anyway, I'm always careful to confirm
that my hookups are at least 18 years of age, even if they look older.

The kid down the street presented the opposite problem. He didn't look
anywhere near 18. He rode in the back of his parents' car, like a little
kid, and walked to the bus stop. I never gave him a second thought because
of his apparent youth until one day when I was out in the front yard raking
the ever-present leaves into neat little piles that the wind was doing its
best to spread.

As I hurried to gather the leaves and dump them into the leaf bag before
they scattered back across the yard, a voice behind me said, "You're
wasting your time. It's too windy. An hour from now and it won't look like
you did a damn thing."

Oh really? I turned around to see the afore-mentioned kid standing
there. He was about 5-7, maybe 140 pounds, with shoulder-length
brownish-blonde hair. He was wearing some kind of pullover that looked like
a flannel throwback to the grunge days of the early '90s, and rumpled
corduroy pants that were too long for his compact frame. His pants almost
hid his black high-top sneakers. A black book bag, probably containing
everything but books, was draped over his shoulder.

I said, "Aren't you observant. Unfortunately my boss doesn't schedule my
days off according to the weather, and I can't get this yard cleaned up
from my desk at the office."

"Hire a lawn service," he said.

"OK moneybags, you want to float me a loan?"

"I can't even afford a burger at the place where I work."

"I'll give you five bucks to help me pick up these leaves," I joked.

The kid actually seemed to be thinking about it. Seeing his willingness, I
quickly added, "Look, I'll give you twenty if you're serious."

He dropped his book bag right there in the grass and got to work stuffing
hands-full of leaves into the leaf bag. Soon, all the leaves were picked up
and four plastic bags were sitting at the curb, waiting for the yard waste
guys to come by and take them ... although just as the kid said, newly
arrived leaves carried on the wind began to settle across the yard. Oh
well, it looked good for a few minutes anyway, and it gave me a chance to
meet Justin.

That was his name, I learned, as I peeled a $20 bill out of my wallet and
handed it over. He was 18, about to graduate from high school, and didn't
have a penny to his name, which would explain the rumpled clothes and lack
of a car. His dad was disabled and got a crappy Social Security payment
once a month. His mom worked at one of those dollar stores for below
minimum wage. Incredibly, Justin was the high wage earner of the family,
making $11 an hour at his part-time job at Mickey D's. All his money went
to helping the family household.

As I learned more about Justin I began to feel sorry for him. Obviously he
was a good kid who had been handed a crappy lot in life and was trying hard
to overcome it. If he failed he would become just another face in the
overwhelming crowd of people flooding America these days –
poverty-stricken individuals with no hope for the future beyond making it
from shitty paycheck to shitty paycheck. Even hardworking folks, who
sacrifice and do everything right, are more likely to fail these days,
while the rich get richer and the corporations become more powerful.

Wow. Did I just rant? This is supposed to be a sex story, not a political
diatribe.

I vowed to do what little I could to help Justin and his family, even if
that meant giving him small yardworking jobs if he had time to do them. I'm
not wealthy by any means but I could spare a few bucks here and there to
help him out.

Spring led to summer and the relentless tide of leaves finally ended as all
the trees were fully leafed out. That meant Justin's yardworking duties
switched from raking to mowing. He didn't have a mower so I let him use
mine, which I had picked up secondhand at a garage sale. I even let him use
it to mow other people's yards. He had graduated from high school and was
only a few weeks away from turning 19. His part-time fast food job had
become a full-time night shift position, so he could squeeze in yardworking
jobs during the day. Things were looking up.

If he came by on weekends I'd join him in the yard duties, trimming hedges,
weed-whacking along the curb and driveway, and generally neatening up the
place. It wasn't that I was such a yard-working fiend. I enjoyed Justin's
company. Despite his disadvantages he was a smart kid who had a generally
positive outlook, and he was willing to work hard. I admired that, and I
admired him.

It didn't hurt that he was a little hottie.

I don't know when I began checking him out, but I guess it was inevitable.
I am a guy, after all, and guys are always on the prowl for their next
sexual liaison. It started when he began showing up to mow the yard wearing
nothing but baggy cargo shorts and sneakers. His smooth, flat chest looked
like a velvet playground for my hands. He had an innie bellybutton, and I
pictured myself sticking my tongue into that socket and tasting whatever
essence had gathered there. He tanned easily, so his skin was dark, yet
covered with a thin layer of fine blondish hairs. And despite those baggy
shorts, I could see he had an admirable bubble butt. When he bent over to
pull the grass bag off the lawnmower, the seam of those shorts crawled into
his butt crack, and his ass cheeks leaped into definition.

I tried to dismiss all the impure thoughts I was having about Justin, but
every time I saw him the devil on my shoulder dropped into my crotch.
Sheesh, I was walking around half-boned all the time. No amount of jerking
off provided any relief.

I didn't even know if he was interested. He never talked about girls and I
never saw him with a girlfriend. I assumed that was because he was always
working, but who knows. Finally, one day, an opportunity to bring up the
subject presented itself and I jumped on it.

We were sitting on the porch. I was drinking a Diet Coke; he had a plastic
bottle of water. He'd been trimming tree limbs that were rubbing against
the soffit, and had worked up a fine sweat. His skin was covered in a thin
layer of moisture, just enough to give it a shine. I still couldn't get
over how well tanned he was.

Finally, I said, "Justin, what's a good looking guy like you doing without
a girlfriend?"

He didn't look at me but I saw a faint hint of amusement creep into his
expression. "You think I'm good looking?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"What are you? Gay?"

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

Then he did look at me, with concern. "No. Not at all. I just didn't know."

"So what's the deal? Why no girls in your life?"

He seemed to think that over for several seconds, then said tiredly, "I
don't know. Maybe I just haven't met the right girl. Maybe I'm not
interested in girls. I don't know."

Now he had my attention. I said, "When you beat off, who do you think
about?"

"My God that's personal," he said with a shocked sneer, "but if you must
know, I watch porn videos online."

"Yeah, every guy in America does that, Justin. What I'm asking is, when you
watch the porn, who are you looking at? The girls or the guys?"

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, clearly not happy with the
question. A drop of sweat collected at the edge of his chin and dropped to
his perfectly smooth stomach. I longed to lean over and lick it off.

Finally, he answered with a long, put-out sigh. "Well, I guess I look at
both. But I'm not sure. I really won't know the answer to that question
until I try it."

So I said, "You want to try it?"

"With you?" he asked, turning to me, his eyebrows arched in surprise.
"You're a lot older than I am. ..." He thought for a second. "But I guess
you'd be a lot better than some skag off Craigslist."

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you for that ringing endorsement."

He laughed and added, "No no, I didn't mean it that way. C'mon, you know
what I meant."

I got out of my chair and motioned for the front door. "Let's go inside. I
don't want the neighborhood watching me suck your dick."

He got out of his chair with a spring to his step, which suggested he was
more interested in this guy-on-guy stuff than he had let on. Once he was
inside, I closed the door, pushed him up against it and ordered, "Drop
'em."

He didn't even unbutton his shorts. He just slid them down over his sweaty
hips.

He wasn't wearing any underwear. Somehow, that was as big a turn-on as the
fat dick hanging between his legs. And fat it was, about 5 inches soft and
tapered to a blunt, uncircumcised point, but wide at the base, springing
from a pair of equally fat balls and a nest of dark pubic hairs that were
plastered to his thighs and crotch by sweat. I dropped to my knees and
planted my hands on his hips. My fingers slid a little because his skin was
slippery. A wave of musk rolled toward me as I closed in on his crotch, a
blend of perspiration and the supercharged funk exclusive to young males in
the prime of their sexual potency.

I dipped my mouth below the tip of his cock and sucked it into my mouth,
plunging my face into his crotch. When I had his dick all the way inside, I
just sucked and sucked, pulling back to taste the meaty flavor. Salty, with
an unidentifiable but pleasant aftertaste. I pulled back his foreskin and
began cleaning out the mushroom cap, licking around and down, then sliding
his cock back into my mouth, past my gag reflex to the very back of my
throat. He had grown hard in this short period of time so his dick was able
to penetrate quite deep.

I pulled off long enough to lick his balls. His scrotum was covered with
coarse pubic hairs, so unlike the rest of his body, which seemed to have
concentrated all of its hair-growing efforts to his head and crotch. I
wondered if his ass was equally hairy. Perhaps I'd have a chance to find
out.

I licked hungrily over the entire surface area of his ballsac and then
under his nuts, where the air and the scent grew steamier. Then my
wandering mouth traveled back to his cock, which was standing straight out
from his body now. As I took it deep into my mouth Justin let out a
contented sigh and whispered, "Man that's good."

By this time his cock had outgrown the foreskin and was rigid as a length
of pipe. I'm guessing hard it was about 7 inches, not bad for an
almost-19-year-old who didn't stand taller than about my earlobe. As my
mouth opened and took it in again, he pushed it to the very back of my
throat, and made sure it stayed there by wrapping his hands around my head
and thrusting with his crotch.

And that's the way we did it for the next 5 minutes. He fucked my face,
making little "Ungh" sounds every time he pushed that meaty cock down my
throat, his balls bouncing against my chin, his smell invading every pore
of my skin. My own cock was straining against my shorts and I wanted to
reach down and stroke it, but I wanted more to keep my hands planted on his
butt cheeks, where I could feel his muscles working to thrust his crotch
into my face.

His strokes began to speed up and I knew the inevitable was about to
happen. I grabbed his butt hard and tried to push my mouth farther down on
his crotch, sniffing frantically to catch the odor a man gives off when
he's about to spill his essence. Justin simultaneously gripped my head with
equal force and thrust harder and harder into me, until suddenly the dam
broke and a flood of 19-year-old sperm gushed into my mouth, accompanied by
a loud wail of delight from its owner. I could feel spurt after spurt of
semen filling me up, almost defying my efforts to swallow it as Justin
emptied his balls into me. I might as well have stuck a straw down his piss
hole and sucked it out, for all the fluid that was entering me.

Finally his passion began to let up and the flood jizz slowed to a trickle,
then stopped altogether. His cock began to soften, but he remained where he
was, slumped just a little, his crotch in my face. He let out a short,
barking laugh as I pulled off his cock a final time and ran my tongue over
my teeth, licking up the film of cum that covered my teeth. His cock wilted
against his balls, but the tip remained a fiery, glistening red.

I got up. My boner had the front of my shorts tented obscenely. I would
need to take care of that pretty soon; otherwise I might die of a ruptured
penis.

Justin bent down and pulled up his shorts. His eyes remained glazed with
lust, and he was smiling. We looked at each other a moment, then both
laughed.

He said, "That was definitely better than some Craigslist skag."

"Get back to work," I replied and slapped him on the butt.  "I'll show you
Craigslist."

I had a feeling I'd be doing a lot more with that butt in the near future.

---

Remember to donate to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

If you enjoyed this story from anonymous.a, please visit his author's page
on Amazon at
https://www.amazon.com/anonymous.a/e/B01DIB9L3O/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Most of his books are priced at 99 cents, but you'll get more than a buck's
worth of hot action!

Remember, you don't need a Kindle device to read a Kindle story. Download
the free app for your phone, tablet or PC.

Anonymous.a is on twitter at @anonymous_sexie .

He's also on tumblr at theanonymousa.tumblr.com .

Email clover2209@yahoo.com

The author wishes to make it known he does not want to receive
communication in any form regarding issues of underage individuals.