Date: Wed, 8 Jan 2003 19:03:10 -0700
From: Cotton
Subject: A Body

It was electrical -- almost a spasm. I couldn't believe how it felt.

When I first stood next to the kid, I felt the rush start in my toes, run
up my legs, flow through my balls and into my chest and face.  This had
never happened to me before - not with a boy this young.  Eighteen year
olds -- sure.  High school kids - sometimes.  But this kid?  I panicked.
Oh, man, what if one of the cops had seen my reaction?  Was it even
visible?  I glanced around.  All the uniforms were just doing their jobs.
None of the officers was even looking in my direction.  Good.

I turned back to the boy, trying to be all business.  (Don't act weird.)

"I don't think it should take much longer," I said, as calmly as I could
muster.  My voice seemed strained -- a little high pitched -- but maybe it
wasn't noticeable.

The boy nodded, but didn't say a word.  I honestly didn't want to stare at
him -- not if I was going to start panting -- but if I kept up a
conversation, I would at least have an excuse to look at him . . . to
admire him.

"So . . . ummm . . . you were the first person to see the body, right?"  I
pointed toward the big blue metal Dumpster parked in the alley behind my
store.

"Yes, sir."

Now that was funny.  You never hear kids say 'sir' anymore.

"Well, what were you doing over there?" (I sound like a real dick, don't
I?)

"Looking for stuff to sell."

"Sell?  Like what?"

He got a smirk on his face. I was just another grownup who didn't know jack
shit.  "You know.  Stuff . . . like cans, bottles."

He looked half Hispanic and half whatever.  A guess.  He was about 11 or 12
years old.  Dark complexion.  Maybe a little shorter than average.  Skinny
but not unhealthy looking.  He had smooth, flawless skin and shaggy black
hair. Needed a haircut. Real dark eyebrows and brown eyes.  Dirty
fingernails.  He had on baggy gray shorts, a green t-shirt with a picture
of a surfer, and cheap rubber sandals.  His feet were filthy.

I own a small souvenir shop by the beach -- postcards, shell trinkets,
hats, sunscreen.  You know the kind of junk.  It's a living and it lets me
stay close to the water.  I used to surf a lot, but I broke my shoulder two
years ago and I've had to slow down.  But I still like living and working
near the beach.

The kid had run into my store a few hours before and told me that he had
found a body.  I called 9-1-1.  Police got there pretty quick, putting up
crime scene tape, photographing the corpse - it was a white guy in a suit.
Looked to me like a corporate type, but who knows.  There was a lot of
blood pooled around his head.  They had questioned the kid for a while, but
apparently he didn't know much.  They were keeping the lookyloos far away,
so I didn't have any customers.

"I haven't seen you around here before.  Where you from?"

"My Mom and me just moved here from Bakersfield.  We're living in a motel
up by the highway."  He turned away, not wanting to be grilled, not by a
total stranger.  But I persisted.  I didn't want to leave him -- not yet.
I moved a little closer -- but not too close.  Didn't want to seem too
weird.

"Which one?"

"Which one what?

"Which motel?"  This conversation was a real struggle.

"The Summerwind."

The Summerwind was a dive.  It was the last stop before homelessness.  I'd
never let a kid live there -- only a few months ago, the police broke up a
meth lab in one of the rooms, and I think a couple of hookers hang out
there.

"What's your name?"

He gave me a look that told me to butt out, but he answered anyway.

"Austin . . . Austin Martinez."

"Well, Austin, if you need to call your Mom, you can use my phone."  (Just
trying to be helpful.)

"She's out looking for work.  I don't know where she is right now."

I offered Austin change for a soda.  He took the money without a word and
punched the button for a Mountain Dew.  We sat down in the two plastic
chairs I keep by the door.  It was a hot day and I was glad to have the
shade.

As he drank his soda, he seemed to warm up to me a little bit.  He slouched
in the chair with his feet firmly planted on the ground, the legs of his
shorts hanging loose.  I couldn't help but glance at his light brown thighs
receding into the dark shadows of fabric.  He was bouncing his right leg up
and down to some mysterious rhythm only he could hear.  His thin, tanned
legs were mesmerizing.

"So, . . . are you hungry?"  It was about noon, but I bet he hadn't even
eaten breakfast.

"Naw, I ain't hungry."  He was lying.

"Well," I sighed, "I'm going up the street to get a burger.  Why don't you
come along?  I think the police are done with you."  I hardly ever leave
the store at noon, but -- like I said -- I didn't have any customers.

He didn't say anything, but he grinned at me.  What a smile!  He had full
lips and a wide mouth.  His teeth were perfect.  I was entranced.  He stood
up like he was ready to go.  We turned to head up the block, but one of the
policemen called out, "Sir, sir, where are you going?"

"We're just going to get something to eat."

The cop shook his head. "We've still got some questions.  You can't leave
yet.  The boy, too."

"Well, I don't know anything.  I'm the one who called 9-1-1," I replied.

"Just wait until we say it's okay to go."

Austin and I sat back down and waited for another hour.  I tried to keep up
a conversation, but it was slow going.  Finally, another policeman -- an
older one -- walked up.

"Your name, sir?"

"Mitchell . . . Aaron Mitchell.  I own this store."

Address, phone number. He wrote down everything.  Had I seen or heard
anything suspicious?  No.  I had had plenty of customers that morning --
before the cops chased everyone away -- and I keep background music playing
all day, so I don't hear a lot outside unless it's loud.  I had put out my
trash the night before, so I hadn't been out to the alley yet.

The policeman turned to Austin, who was now leaning against the soda
machine.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I already told another cop."

"Tell us again if you don't mind.  You never know when you might remember
something else."

Austin gave a long sigh, then started.

"I was walking on the beach.  My folks are staying at that hotel up there."
He pointed toward the Sheraton.  "They're millionaires."

The officer looked up from this notepad.  "Cut the bullshit; just tell me
what you saw."

"I was walking on the beach collecting cans and bottles.  Sometimes I find
money.  Anyway, I went over to the Dumpster to see if anybody had thrown
away sumthin' I could sell.  That's when I saw that man."  He pointed.  "He
looked dead."

Austin nodded my way. "I ran over to the store and he called you guys."

The policeman asked, "Did you touch the body or pick up anything?"

"Hell no! . . It was too gross.  It smelled bad, too."

"Did you see anybody, or a car, or anything?"

"Uh . . . I didn't see no car.  There was a lot of people on the beach.
There was like some people over by the picnic tables.  Black guys.  And
there was two men rollerblading -- one was white and I think the other was
Chinese or suthin'.  And, oh yeah, there was a weird dude.  He had a long
beard and a funny hat, like he was in the army, and he was talking about
Jesus."

"That's General Mike.  He's harmless," I said.  The officer nodded.  Every
local cop knew General Mike.

The officer asked for descriptions of the other people, but Austin couldn't
add much detail.  I kept my eyes on him, trying to look like a concerned
citizen.  But I was studying his features -- his round face, his hair, his
tanned arms, the sinewy muscles of his legs, his mouth, his white teeth.
He was really a cute kid.  I moved a little closer, hoping to brush up
against his body 'accidentally'.

The officer told us to wait -- so we waited.  The cops were letting people
through now.  Occasionally a customer would come by, and I would sell him
something, but most stayed away.

"You sure you don't want something to eat?  I can get a candy bar out of
the store."

Austin nodded and asked, "Do you have Twizzlers?"

I got up, grabbed a pack of Twizzlers from in front of the register, and
tossed it to him.

We chatted for a while, and I learned a little more about him.  His father
was Mexican -- a mechanic -- but had disappeared long ago.  Austin and his
mother had lived with her parents in Visalia most of the time he was
growing up, and when he was 9 the two of them moved with her boyfriend to
Bakersfield.  He was a jerk, so she left him and decided to find something
better over here on the coast.  (Good luck.)

Finally, the officer told us that he was through.  He said to Austin, "You
can go home now."  It was nearly three o'clock, so Austin headed up the
beach.  It would have been at least two or three miles to the Summerwind,
but I didn't know if he was heading back that way.  I should have offered
him a ride, but I spaced out.  I was watching his tight little ass as he
walked away from me.  Wow!  He was something else.  Maybe I'd see him
again, but probably not.

I turned back toward my store and saw the cop staring at me staring at
Austin.  (Damn!)

"Nice day, isn't it?" I offered.

"Yeah . . . right." He shook his head and looked pissed.  The hell with
him.  I never touched the kid.  I walked into the store.  I still had a few
hours before I could close it up for the night.  And I had things on my
mind.

* * *

The rest of the week was pretty uneventful.  The weather had gotten warmer
still, so I was busy with customers. I tend to get the out-of-towners
coming through looking for tourist stuff -- and there were a lot of
out-of-towners enjoying the last days of summer.  School hadn't started
yet.  There were a lot of local kids around, but they usually hung out at
Chilo's or at the Arcade.  Kids don't interest me that much, but I have to
admit that I often thought of Austin.

Sunday morning, I had just unlocked the door and flipped the sign over
announcing that I was open.

"Hi."

I recognized Austin's voice immediately.  I spun around.  He looked as cute
as ever and had a radiant smile.  He was wearing the same clothes (Are they
all he has?).  The feelings all rushed back in a second.  (Shit!  What am I
turning into?)

"Well, fancy seeing you again.  Where you been?"

"Nowhere."  He picked up a Sports Illustrated and flipped through it
quickly.  Hoping it was the swimsuit issue, I guess.  "I was just wondering
if they found out who killed that guy."

"I don't know . . .but they probably wouldn't announce it if they did.  You
know, most of the time when they find bodies dumped like that, they never
figure out why."

"Oh."  He was disappointed. I should have dreamed up a more exciting story
-- maybe a Colombian drug deal gone bad or something.

"So . . .  are you going to be hanging around here all day?

"I dunno . . . maybe."

God, he was beautiful!  He stood in front of the door.  The sunlight
silhouetted his body.  You could barely see the shadows of his legs through
his shorts.  I went up to him and pretended to be getting a stack of
newspapers so I could squeeze by him.  My butt rubbed up against his side.
I felt his warmth briefly as he moved out of my way.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Nowhere, yet.  We just moved here and school doesn't start till the week
after next.  My mom said we'll go register on Monday."

"Did your mom find a job?"

"She was a waitress for a couple of days.  She quit 'cause it hurt her feet
too much."

I had an idea.  (Maybe, just maybe.)  "If you don't have anything else to
do, I could use a little help around here.  You know, sweeping the floor,
cleaning the windows, taking out the trash.  You interested?"  I tried to
sound nonchalant.

He grinned.  "What are you paying?"

"Now, don't get me wrong.  This isn't a permanent job.  I only need help
today.  If you work till six o'clock, I'll pay you . . . oh . . .
twenty-five dollars."

"Twenty-five dollars!  All right!  I'll do it."  Austin immediately ran
over to the corner, grabbed the broom, and started sweeping.  I laughed.

I soon learned that Austin talked a lot -- sports, movies, video games, TV.
I had to stop him when I was dealing with a customer.  Otherwise I let him
jabber away.  Whenever I got a chance, I'd look at this body -- but I was
careful not to let him catch me staring at him.  Except once.  I had asked
him to clean the front of a cooler where I kept ice cream.  He was spraying
Windex and rubbing the glass with a paper towel.  I found myself gazing at
his butt as it moved back and forth -- thinking how I'd like to see him
without those shorts.  Before I realized it, Austin had turned his head and
looked up at me.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Wha . . ?

"I said, am I doing it right?  You were looking at me like I was doing it
all wrong."

I must have blushed.  "Oh, no. . . uh . . . I was, I was just daydreaming.
You're doing fine."  (Damn, that was close.  Don't blow it!)

I gave him Doritos, more Twizzlers, and another Mountain Dew for lunch.  I
know . . . I know.  Poor nutrition, but it suited him fine.  He ran out of
stuff to do by four o'clock, so I let him read magazines.

At six I decided to close up shop.  I usually stay open until seven on
Sundays, but what the hell.

"Austin, you did a good job.  Here's your twenty-five dollars."

He had a huge grin as he took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket.

I had to figure out a way to keep him from leaving.  I had to have a plan.

"I tell you what.  How 'bout we get dinner?"

"Okay."  He didn't hesitate.

"But don't you need to go home pretty soon?"

"I don't know.  It don't matter.  My Mom won't get back 'til late, anyway."

We went over to Chilo's and each got a burrito.  We sat on their patio and
Austin scarfed his down.  He was a lot hungrier than I realized.  I gave
him half of mine, and we ordered nachos.  He inhaled those, too.  And, of
course, he drank Mountain Dew.

As we sat there digesting and chatting, I had another idea.

"Austin, I'd like to do something else for you."

"You would?"

"Yeah, I like to be generous with my friends.  How would you like it if I
bought you some new clothes?"

"Huh?"  He looked mystified and a little offended.

"I don't mean fancy clothes -- I mean newer clothes like what you have on."

Austin thought for a second and said, "Yeah, sure."  He sounded as if he
were thinking, 'If this guy wants to give me presents, it's okay by me."

I paid the bill and the two of us strolled down the beach to Dude's.  I
knew it would be open this late and none of the clerks would know me or
wonder why I was bringing a young boy into the store.  As we walked along,
I reached over and carefully draped my arm over Austin's shoulder, like we
were buddies.  He didn't seem to mind.  He grinned at me (Keep it slow.
Keep it slow.)

Once we were in the store, Austin got into the ritual of picking out his
clothes.  He selected white shorts that reached his knees, a bright yellow
shirt with a skate boarding logo, and rubber flip-flops.  I told him that
he could get Tevas instead.  He was jazzed about that.

"My Mom is going wonder where I got this stuff.  She'll be mad if I tell
her you bought it for me."

"Tell her you used the money you saved from collecting bottles and cans and
doing chores."

He changed in the dressing room.  When he came out, he looked great --
light brown skin and dark hair against the shiny new clothes.  His feet
were as filthy as ever, but that just added to his boyish glow.

We walked back toward my shop, carrying his dirty clothes in a plastic
sack.  He finally said, "I guess I gotta get home."  I offered to give him
a ride, but he refused.  Maybe he was ashamed.

* * *

First thing Monday morning, he was back -- wearing his new clothes.

"Austin, I can't afford to pay you to work every day."

"That's okay. I don't know any kids yet and you're my only friend.  I'll
hang out here."

And that's what he did.  He would occasionally clean up something or do a
small chore.  He didn't ask for any money, but at lunch I sent him off for
burgers and fries.  He kept me entertained with all his stories, and he
didn't bother the customers at all.  And I watched his every move.  I gave
up trying to hide it.  He had a gracefulness -- almost gazelle-like -- that
was enticing.  On more than one occasion he'd catch me gazing at him.  He'd
smile back, which made it even worse for me.  Surely he didn't know what
was going through my mind.

Austin stayed with me until closing time.

"Well, Austin, another day.  You gonna head home?"

"Yeah . . . I guess."  He headed for the door, but stopped and asked,
"Where do you live?"

"A little ways up the block."  I pointed toward a two-story stucco
apartment building with a red tile roof.  "It's a small place, but it's all
I need."

"Can I see it?"

(Holy shit!)  "Sure, . . . if you want to.  It's not too exciting."  (Don't
get any ideas, Aaron.)

We took out the trash, turned off most of the lights, and locked the door.
Austin and I slowly walked up the Cielo Azul street side by side, with our
backs to the sunset.  I put my arm around his shoulder again.  He didn't
seem to mind at all.  When we got to my place, I checked for mail and we
climbed the stairs to the second floor.  We had to step over General Mike,
who was asleep -- or passed out -- on the steps.  Fortunately, there was
nobody else around -- I didn't want to arouse suspicions.

My apartment is fairly small, but it's still expensive because it's so
close to the beach.  I can barely afford it.  It's got a small living room,
a kitchen with enough room for a table and two chairs, my bedroom, and a
bathroom.

The first thing Austin did was flip on the TV.  There was a baseball game
on.  I fixed myself a Diet Coke.  I didn't have any Mountain Dew, so Austin
took a Sprite.  I pulled some crackers from the cabinet and some cheese
from the fridge.  We sat at the table, snacking away and ignoring the game.

Watching Austin as he munched the crackers, it hit me.  I had to take a
chance.  Now.  I was nervous.  I was almost shivering.  (Damn, Aaron!  Get
yourself under control.)  I had no idea how he'd respond, but I knew I had
to try.

"Austin, I am so glad I met you."

"Really?" He smiled.  (That mouth!  Those teeth!)

"Yeah, really.  I mean, I don't know too many kids your age, so . . . it's
been cool.  You're cool."

He was embarrassed.  He looked down at the table, grinning.

"Austin, I hope you're glad you met me."

Austin looked up, "Oh, yeah.  You're cool, too."  He stuck another cracker
in his mouth and took a swig of Sprite.  I stood up and took a few steps
toward the refrigerator.  (Take a deep breath.)

"Austin, . . . I got a question."

"What?"

"It's sort of embarrassing, but I'm . . .  uh . . . I was wondering if
you'd do something for me."  (Be careful . . . careful.)

"What do you want?"  He was looking right at me. He had no idea where I was
heading.  (What am I doing?)  I paused for a few seconds.  I was too
nervous to look him straight in the eye, so I turned toward the window.
(Why can't there be a car crash or a house fire -- anything -- to
interrupt.)

"Austin, . . . do you know what . . .  do you know what . . . 'gay' means?"

I couldn't look at him.  The silence seemed interminable, but it probably
lasted only a few seconds.

Finally, Austin replied, "It means the same as queer, don't it?  Like men
who get necked with other men?"

I turned toward him.  His dark eyes were penetrating -- like nails. (Maybe
he's beginning to suspect something.)

"Yeah, . . . sort of.  'Gay' is a nicer word than 'queer', but it doesn't
matter."

He didn't say anything else, but he was still staring at me.  His eyes --
those incredible brown eyes -- were making me even more nervous.

"Well, . . . Austin, . . . ummm . . . I'm part gay.  I mean, I'm what they
call bisexual -- I like both men and women."

"Oh . . . like sex and stuff?"

"Yeah, . . . like sex and stuff, and . . . anyway . . . I also like seeing
pictures of men and women without clothes."

"Oh."  Austin pondered that image.  He looked down at the table and fooled
with the cheese.  He was obviously a little uncomfortable, and that was
making me feel bad.  This was a lot harder than I would have thought.
Things are always easier in your fantasies.  (Maybe I should stop.  Austin
is a nice kid, and . . .)

"I just thought I should tell you 'cause we've become friends -- good
friends.  And friends have to be honest with each other, right?  And 'cause
. . . I think you're cool."

He glanced up.  He raised his eyebrows.  He was about to ask a question.

But I continued, "And I wanted to ask if you'd do something for me."

"What do you want me to do?"  (Doesn't he suspect anything?)

"Well . . . I've never . . . ummm . . . how should I say this? . . I've
never . . . seen a boy . . . your age . . . in person . . . without any
clothes on.  I mean, not since I was a little kid when I lived with my
brothers."

Austin looked even more uncomfortable . . . nervous.

I plowed on.

"I don't want to embarrass you, Austin.  If you don't want me to talk about
it, I'll stop."

I paused, but he didn't say anything.  I opened the freezer and got more
ice for my Coke.  I plopped the cubes in and let them fizz.  Austin was
silent.  The TV was still showing the Angels game, but it was turned down
so low you could barely hear it.

"Austin, I was . . . uh . . . wondering if . . . if it would be okay if
. . . I could see you naked."

There, I had finally gotten it out.  I half expected him to scream and run
out the door.  But he didn't.  He sat there, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"I can't explain it, but I really want to see you . . . without any clothes
. . . I told you I like seeing pictures of naked people and I . . . I think
it would be fun."

(I feel like an idiot, like a perverted idiot.  Where am I going with this?
Even if he doesn't run to the cops he might still leave and I'll never see
him again.  Why did I even bring it up?  Why can't I be more patient?  Why
can't I control myself?  I shouldn't be doing this.  He's just a kid.  He
isn't even a teenager yet.  What the hell am I thinking?)

"I . . . uh . . . I guess it would be okay.  You wouldn't tell anybody
would you?"

(What a relief!)

"Oh, God, Austin, no!  I'd keep it a secret, I swear.  And I hope you
wouldn't tell anybody either.  I'd get in trouble if you did.  I might even
get arrested."

Austin cried, "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble.  I wouldn't do that.
I'd never tell anybody."

(What a kid!  He is the nicest kid I've ever known.)

I asked, "So. . . what do you think?  I mean, if you don't want to, that's
. . . that's fine.  Honestly."

He paused again and then said very carefully, "I . . . guess . . . it would
be okay.  But . . . would you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get necked, too."

(Oh, man!)  I couldn't believe it.  I tried to hide my excitement.  "Sure
. . . if you want me to."

"When do you want me to do it?" he asked.

"How about . . . right now?" (I can't let this opportunity pass.)

"I don't know what I'm suppose to do."

"Do it anyway that feels okay to you.  If you want, do it in the living
room, . . . but let me close the blinds first.  We don't want anyone to
see, right?"

Austin nodded, got up from his chair, and headed to the living room.  He
stood there for a second with his hands on his hips, looking around like he
had misplaced something.  He glanced at me, smiled sheepishly, and shrugged
his shoulders.  He took off his new sandals and carefully placed them by
the front door.  I turned on one of the reading lamps to see better with
the blinds closed.  I turned off the TV.  Who the hell cared what the
Angels were doing?

Austin used both hands to grab the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over
his head.  Oh!  Those slender arms and that beautiful chest.  That flat
stomach.  When he was older and filled out, he would have a fantastic body.
He tossed his shirt onto the back of a chair.

"I don't know what I'm suppose to do next."

"Just . . . take your pants off."  (Don't rush him.  Relax!)

He looked slightly puzzled; he had sort of a "What the hell" expression.
He pulled his shorts down and stepped right out of them.  He had on white
briefs.  They were a little large and loose around his legs.  I could see
the slight bulge of his soft dick hanging down.  (God!)  His tanned stomach
was flat and beautiful.  The white band of his underwear was . . . I wanted
to reach out and touch him.  To hug him.  He looked up at me.

"You are a beautiful kid."

"Shut up."  That annoyed him.

"I'm sorry.  But you really do look handsome."

He smirked.  "Now it's your turn."

I had done this with other guys many times, but never with an 11-year-old.
With Austin watching me intently, I unbuckled my belt, unsnapped my jeans,
and slid them down to the floor.  I stepped out of them and kicked them
over to the side of the room.  I pulled off my t-shirt.  I had gained a few
pounds over the previous few years but was still reasonably well built.  I
tried to work out a few days each week.  Of course, Austin didn't give a
shit what I looked like.

So there stood Austin and me in our underwear, facing each other.  I was
still nervous -- but I was excited, too.  My dick wasn't hard yet, but I
could feel it coming.  (Not so fast.  Not so fast.)

He looked at me.  "I don't know what I'm suppose to do next."

"Shhhh."

I reached over and touched his shoulder with my left hand.  I caressed it
gently and brought my fingers up along his neck to brush his jawline.  I
let my fingers run up around his ear and into his hair.  Austin looked
straight past me toward the sofa.  He was shivering every so slightly.  He
inhaled deeply and swallowed.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he repeated.

"Just . . . just stand there for a minute."  (Let me enjoy this moment.)  I
continued stroking him.

Twirling his hair with my fingers, with the other hand I reached out and
with two fingers touched his sternum, then ran the fingers down toward his
navel.  I stepped to one side so I could press my palm firmly against his
tight stomach.  (Someday he will have great abs.)  I let my left hand slide
slowly down his spine to his ass.  I cupped his cheeks.  It was hypnotic.

I could see now that he was getting an erection.  I reached down slowly
. . . slowly . . . and touched his fly.  He jerked.

"Don't worry.  I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."  (Slower . . . slower, Aaron.)

"It's okay.  I'm new at this, too," I whispered.

He was getting a little scared, so I said, "I tell you what.  Why don't we
stay in our underwear for a little while?  Maybe we could play a game or
watch TV."

"Like what kind of game?  You don't have any video games."

"No, no video games."

I racked my brain.  "I know.  How 'bout we sit around and I'll order a
pizza."

"That'd be cool."

* * *

I had to regroup -- refocus.  Catch my breath.  I got on the phone and
called Dominos.  Austin wanted a 12-inch pepperoni with extra cheese.  I
turned the TV back on and Austin curled up in a chair to watch it --
changing channels every few seconds. I could see his butt pressed up tight
against the white cotton.  He looked like he was a little cold and held his
arms close to his chest, his legs tucked underneath him.  He was intent on
the TV -- but was he thinking about us?

A half-hour later when the bell rang I got my bathrobe on and answered the
door.  I stepped out onto the balcony so the delivery guy couldn't see
inside.

I brought the pizza in and set it on the kitchen table.  Austin was waiting
and he was hungry.  There we sat, in our underwear, eating slices of pizza.
I hate pepperoni, but it was serving its purpose.  Austin loved it.  He
relaxed and started telling stories about one of his favorite movies.  He
was laughing hard as he held a slice in his hand.  Suddenly, a glob of
melted cheese and tomato sauce fell off, landing on his chest and dripping
down his stomach onto his white briefs.

"Oops!" he laughed with his mouth full.

I got up and grabbed a dishrag.  I ran it under the faucet and was about to
toss it to him, but stopped.  Instead, I walked over.

"Stand up."

He did so, and I used the wet cloth to rub the cheese and sauce off his
light brown chest.  Next I slowly rub the gooey red and white strands off
his stomach.  Then I began blotting the front of his underwear.  I was
expecting him to stop me -- to grab my wrist -- but he didn't.  He looked
down at what I was doing.  Since he hadn't said anything, I took a chance
and pressed the cloth a little more firmly against his fly, getting the
cotton a little damp, a little translucent.  He didn't resist.  I could see
the outline of his penis though the wet cotton.

"Why don't we step back into the living room?" I said.

He did as I suggested. I could see he was starting to get a hard-on.
(Don't push him.  Don't go too fast.  Take it slow and easy.)

"Why don't we stand here for a minute?" I said.

The yellowish light from the reading lamp made his tan look even darker.
From behind, I placed my hand on his left shoulder and massaged it.  With
the other hand, I ran my fingers through his hair.  He closed his eyes.
His lips parted.  He was enjoying it.  I looked over his shoulder.  His
little dick was now hard and pressing against his fly.  I held him closer.
My dick was hard, too, and I held myself against his back.  It was
wonderful.

I let go and stepped around to stand in front of him.

"Okay, Austin, I'm going to take my underwear off first.  Okay?"

"Okay."

He opened his eyes.  I stepped back and pulled my briefs off, slowly.  My
dick was erect and sprung out.  I tossed the underwear aside and stood
before him with my feet apart and arms hanging by my sides.

"See, I said I would do it."

Austin was wide-eyed at the size of my erection any my pubic hair, but he
didn't say anything.  He stood there silently for a full thirty seconds,
but slowly the turned his head up and his eyes met mine.

"Now it's your turn," I said with a grin.

He hesitated, but slowly pulled his briefs off, lifting one leg at a time.
He dropped them by his feet. He stood like me, feet planted firmly on the
floor and his hands by his sides. His hard, hairless dick was poking out
like mine.

(This is amazing.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would
be doing this -- and with this incredibly beautiful kid.)  I again reached
out and stroked his chest, moving my hand down toward his navel.  He
breathed shallow breaths -- almost little gasps.  I moved my hand back up
and then down again a little below his navel.

"Austin, . . . would it be okay if I touched your penis?"

"Uh . . . I never had anyone else touch it before."

"It won't hurt," I whispered.

I didn't wait for an answer.  I kneeled down before him.  I let my hand
drift down lower and with two fingers gently touched the shaft, then
wrapped by fingers around it.  Slowly, carefully I moved them up and down
along its length.  He stood there, looking down at what I was going.  He
was breathing more slowly now, more deeply.

"That feels good."

"I know it does."

I leaned over and kissed his chest, barely grazing his skin with my lips.
I let my hand form a cup around his dick and balls.  I moved them back and
forth slowly, while with my other hand I massaged his butt, letting one
finger slide between the cheeks.  I continued to kiss his chest as it moved
in and out with each breath.  Slowly my lips moved down to his stomach.

"Austin?"

"Yeah," he gasped.

"You can touch me if you want."

"Okay."

His eyes were closed but he reached down with his right hand and wrapped
his fingers around my hard shaft. It was electrical -- almost a spasm. I
couldn't believe how it felt.

I couldn't resist.  I moved my lips still lower . . . lower.  I bent down
slightly and kissed his dick.  I licked it with a tiny flicker of my
tongue.  And then I opened my lips wider and took his penis entirely into
my mouth.  He shuddered. I sucked it gently, being as careful as possible.
Austin let go of my dick and clasped his hands behind my head.  He pulled
me in closer.  I sucked a little faster.  He groaned.  I sucked a little
faster.

Austin suddenly thrust his pelvis toward me, stood on his tiptoes, and jerk
three or four times as he had his orgasm.  There was very little cum.  I
kept him in my mouth.

As he stopped, I opened my mouth and raised my head.

He stepped back, standing there with a strange expression -- he looked
drained.  His dick was limp and moist.

"Was that fun, Austin?"

"Yeah."