Date: Sun, 22 May 2016 06:46:08 +0100 (BST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: A Little Bit Damp From Basketball Camp

A LITTLE BIT DAMP FROM BASKETBALL CAMP
By Zachyboy
M/b, fingering, cum, penetration

I love my little neighbor boy Logan from next door. He's about 9 now, and
he lets me put my semen in his bottom. But only with my finger, and only
from a Dixie cup.

I met him in a community theater play. I was doing set construction that
year. He was a Munchkin and a flying monkey. I was the guy who painted the
yellow brick road.

His single mom lived in the apartment across the hall from me. Logan was a
latchkey kid, and I told his mom it was perfectly okay if Logan wanted to
pop into my place after school and hang out with me until she got
home. Watch a little TV. Insert a little rectal protein into his rump via
my fingertips. Well, we didn't tell her that part, obviously.

Logan is a striking, beautiful 9-year-old. Especially since he started
playing basketball this summer. Now he's just as beautiful, but now he has
this healthy glow. A shine. A sweat layer. Not quite soaked, but good and
damp. Just like you want a boy to be when you're pulling down his pants and
touching and licking and breathing in the essence of him. A little bit damp
from basketball camp. That's the best way to find a boy when he shows up
daily on your doorstep. Moist and breathless, waiting for you.

Logan has a three-inch penis. He's got a skinny little butt to die for. His
ears are just a little too big, which makes him all the more real to me.

He's not a model-pretty boy, he's going to need braces someday for his
slightly crooked teeth if his mom can afford them. They're not misaligned
chompers by any means; just slightly, whitely, ever-so-tilted and spaced
wrong in the front. It doesn't make him unattractive by a long shot. He's
spectacularly impish and cute. It just makes him more real.

He has an infectious laugh and a heart of gold, and in certain smiles, the
cutest dimple in the middle of his chin, which juts off underneath his
round face and contrasts red under his pink-flushed boycheeks like an
edible apple on the branch of his beauty. The shape is so perfect I want to
give head to his chin.

As for my cum in a Dixie cup and fingering it up his sweet little boy ass,
well, that's a story in itself, I guess. Not exactly a staple in the
man-boy tangos you read here with a lotion bottle and a cum rag at your
side, so I guess I better back up and explain it.

Logan will go into my bathroom first thing after he greets me after school,
or hot and sweaty after basketball camp, and he'll grab a Dixie cup out of
the dispenser. It's the first thing he does after he drops his backpack in
the doorway.

And he'll come and join me on the couch and look up at me and giggle,
rubbing his little boner through his pants, holding out the cup out and
smiling, which is universal Logan-talk for "fill'er up," meaning fill up
his butthole with my sticky hot semen, and make it quick. I finger and fill
him while Logan jacks off.

The first time he asked me to do it – put my cum up his ass from a Dixie
cup – I practically shit my pants in surprise, but of course I agreed to
it readily. I wasn't going to look that gift horse in the rectum.

Logan and I had been talking about sex stuff already, what girls he liked,
did he think about their boobs yet, anything to make his little wiener
uncomfortably hard; something we'd done an awful lot of lately. I was
hoping to arouse him and lead him into the man-boy dance of mutual
masturbation, or God willing, oral.

I did get my hands down his pants a couple of times, and he got his down
mine. We stroked and rubbed and said a few dirty things. He whispered and
giggled when I told him to say "cock." He gave me little lip pecks on the
cheeks and he told me, "You got a big one." He told me he was glad I was
his friend and he was glad he could talk to me about "all the S-E-X stuff,"
because it felt really tickly to talk about it.

"Is there anything you want to do, Logie?" I asked him one day when my hand
was rubbing his willy and my sights were set for the stars. "Any kind of
S-E-X you want to try?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I'd kinda like your sperm up my butthole."

My eyes bugged out.

"But only with your finger," he quickly corrected himself. "Not your
thing. It's too big. Just push some of it in me with your finger."

Thunk. Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the floor. I looked at him,
dumbfounded.

"You squirt it in a cup first," he explained. "And then you take the cup of
your stuff, and you finger it in my butthole, a little at a time."

I had to count to ten and do a few deep breathing exercises until the room
stopped spinning.

Honestly, as far as a boy's opening gamut goes, asking for sperm up the
butt via Dixie cup takes the cake. It takes the whole box mix. You could
have knocked me over with a Betty Crocker feather.

He said it was something he learned from another little boy in Munchkin
Land during the play we did, and this cute little scamp from the Lollipop
Guild had learned it from his somewhat-older Uncle Scott, who was a mighty
14 to the Munchkin's much-younger age. "Big Boy Games," his Uncle Scott
called it. Whoof.

Apparently horny Uncle Scott with his teen hormones raging, had a
peculiarly healthy appetite for inseminating his little cousin with a Dixie
cup and a ball load, one long finger at a time. The dirty teen also put
popcorn up the kid's butt and made him hold it there overnight. Weird.

But who am I to judge? If Logan was fascinated by the whole concept and
wanted me to put my cum slimy finger up his butthole as the endgame, all I
can say is, Uncle Scott wherever you are, thanks for the ice-breaker.

One load of man cum. One flowered Dixie cup. One little boyhole. Logan was
eager to give it a try and see if it was all it was cracked up to be. And
it turns out, it was. And it quickly became our afternoon staple.

Here's how it works.

Placing the Dixie cup next to me on the couch for a second, I'll unzip my
pants and lower them down. Logan will reach out and feel my wood through my
underwear, and then as I pull my pants down, freeing my junk to the
atmosphere, Logan will do the strangest thing. He'll lower his head right
into my pubic bush and just sit there and smell and smell and smell my
pubes, making satisfied little "ahhhhh" noises, enjoying the musky scent of
my jewels.

Sometimes he rubs his own little dickie when he does it. Sticks his hands
right down his pants and rubs up and down. Some boys just plain enjoy the
scent of man cock, and you can't quite explain it. Logan is one of those
unquestionably-needy scent-monkey bong boys. He huffs my musk like his
little lungs depend on it. And he always pops an outrageous little boner
for his efforts.

Then when he's got me hard as a rock from his sniffs and his "ahhhhhhh's,"
and believe me, it doesn't take me long to sport industrial steel with that
kind of flattering input, he'll reach for my cock with his little pink
hand, and wrap his fingers around my thick shaft. He'll spit two times
right on my crown, lovely dollops of his pure foamy white, then he'll
slowly start jacking me up and down with his saliva.

I'll lean my head back on the couch and let nature take its course. I don't
know where he learned it, but Logan knows how to jack a man cock like
nobody's business. He did from Day One like a duck takes to water, and
there's no doubt about it. He's jacked a few dicks before.

Cumming in a Dixie cup is a trick and a half, but we manage to do it. Logan
will speed up at the end when he knows I'm getting closer, and I'll sort of
maneuver sideways on the couch and he'll hold the little paper cup up over
my cock tip. It'll barely fit, I'm so hardened and quivery, but with his
practiced strokes and his good sense of aiming, I'll seize in an ass
clench, and grit my teeth and grunt out a "NNNNNGGGHHH" as my wad fires out
and Logan giggles and catches the warm load of goop in the Dixie cup
proper.

Next, it's always the same. He smells the cum, says, "Mmm, that smells
strong," then he unzips his pants, lowers them down, lowers his undies so
his three-inch ka-boinger springs free. You can almost hear a snapping
sound as it whacks up and hits him in the hairless vee. Then he gets up on
the couch, face to the wall, knees on the cushions, spreads his butt cheeks
apart for me and says simply, "Put it in me. Finger the juice."

His ass is a treasure and I can smell its sweet steam immediately when he
spreads it. Whether it's fresh home from school or a little bit damp from
basketball camp, the result is remarkable. My nose gets one whiff of what's
brewing in his sweet spot and my cock does gymnastics, even though it's
just spit out its wad in a Dixie cup.

I reach down in Dixie with a pinky at first and take a little wad of my
still-hot cum on my fingertip and press it up to his perfect pink pucker,
and I start rubbing it around him like I'm putting itch cream on a bug
bite. I enjoy the glorious smell and the tight nipping rosebud reflex while
Logan smiles and closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Good," he sighs dreamily. "I wish a mosquito would bite me right there so
you could rub it all day."

He's got no mosquito bites on his pretty little anus, that's for sure, but
he sighs anyway, because the cream of my cum on his pucker must relieve a
special kind of butt itch only budding gay boys have.

I'll rub it and I'll rub it until he says "goop it inside me," and then
I'll scoop up another portion and slowly press forward this time until my
pinky slides in, pretty easily past his first sphincter, eliciting another
deep "ahhhhhhhh" from Logan, coated and salved with the warm, gooey
mancream I plaster his tube with.

He wiggles his butt a little at this point, telling me when he wants it
deeper, and then I haul out the big guns. I holster my pinky and scoop up a
big wad of cum with my forefinger and immediately bring it up to his anus,
now a little bit open and ready for more.

I swirl the goop around on his ring before pushing forward firmly, past the
first sphincter, stopping at the Fort Knox of the second, letting him relax
and push out. Then I want for him to say "Good! Nnngh! Push! Nnngh!" He
calls the shots.

As soon as he says it, I know he's ready for the final plunger, so I give
it to him kindly, always feeling my dick fully harden instantly when he
makes that little hissing sound that lets me know he can feel it in a big
way when my hard, long finger slides firmly into the inside of his fuck
chute, prostate deep and right down to the knuckle.

Logan is hot as a furnace in there. I swear, I could just sit there with my
finger up Logan's tiny little pussy for hours. His rectum pulses and
nibbles around my cum-covered digit. I swear I can feel his heartbeat. If I
were a nurse and they told me to take Logan's pulse, I know where I'd
start. I sure wouldn't be grabbing his wrist.

I finger fuck him slowly in and out. I pull my finger out, scoop up another
wad of cum and feed it inside. Again, I push it deep. I swirl it
around. Logan is surprisingly limber inside for an 9-year-old. By this
time, his eyes are closed and he's got a smile on his lips, and his little
hand comes up to stroke his own willy. It's funny to watch him, because
he's got more hand than willy almost, but that doesn't stop him from his
awkward, out-of-sync masturbation as I continue to feed my cum up his
bottom.

By this time, there's not much left in the Dixie cup, but I feed it into
his rectum, whatever's left over, and when I run out, I just swirl and push
and finger-dig his squishy chamber as Logan speeds up and with a quiet
little whimper-grunt, his chest seizes up and his hole muscles contract and
he quivers and he shakes from his toes to his tummy with a rollicking
little dry-cum that gives us both the shivers.

"Good," he whispers. "That's a good one. It's all in me now. Your juice."

When he settles back down, I slowly pull my finger out. I can't help
licking it, putting it all the way in my mouth, sucking it all off, tasting
my semen and the inside of Logan's rectal tube.

He sighs and smiles and says "here it comes," and then he pushes out with
his stomach muscles, sometimes with a little air fart which makes him
giggle, sometimes not, and my white glops of mancream, now tinged with just
a little shade of dull yellow, blurble back out of Logan's asshole and run
down his starfish.

One, two, sometimes three little globs, all roll down his baby ball sack
and run down his legs and onto my couch. I long ago stopped caring about
cum stains on my couch after Logan moved in next door.

Sometimes I'll re-scoop a little wad on my forefinger and bring it around
to his lips, to coat him like lip balm. He'll give it a curious tongue
lick, and most times he'll make a face. Boy's aren't quite used to the
flavor of sperm yet.

"I'm not sure if I like that flavor," he'll tell me.

"That's okay," I assure him. "Sometimes grown-ups aren't quite sure if they
like it either."

"But you all eat it anyway?"

"Oh yes, Logan, we do."

Logan knows I love the smell of his boyhole. I love it, I love it, and I
love it some more. I can't get enough of it in fact, and I've got a bunch
of its smelliest souvenirs all over my apartment.

It started with his undies. After he felt me deep-sniffing his anus before
I Dixie-cupped him one day (something he tolerated with an "ewww" and a
giggle), he started going out of his way to leave me mementos of his creamy
little french-dressing boy smell.

First he'd just smile at me when he left the apartment to get back to his
before his mom got home from work. He'd reach into his school backpack and
pull out a pair of freshly-used undies in a Ziplock bag.

"Enjoy, Sniffy," he'd giggle at me. And he'd be off like a shot, leaving me
with Fruit of the Looms and a spring in my step.

But as our play progressed, he'd actually let me rub and wipe him with the
items of my choosing, and memory-save my own Logan-ass scent-keepers. A
Crayola crayon. A Sharpie marker. The handle of my toothbrush. The TIP of
my toothbrush. A whole host of nasty little items went up Logan's butt, to
be sniffed and sucked and enjoyed later with my cock in hand and my moans
coming out. I'd jack off to a shattering orgasm later that night sucking
the caverns of his boy-flavor off an Oral-B Soft Bristle. Sweet little ass
taste.

He'd also let me wipe the stickiness off his ass crack with whatever I
wanted. Dookie butter, he'd call it. "That's my dookie butter!"

His undies, a tissue, a piece of Saran Wrap, a gauze pad, a t-shirt. Once I
even wiped him with his unfinished math homework and the next day he had to
tell his teacher he lost it.

We tried a whole host of carrier agents, again, leaving me with an imprint
for the evening. A smell to jack off to when I was in my bed and he was in
his, across the hall, dreaming peacefully all night long before waking up
and heading off to school the next morning.

One memorable time, Logan had just come home from some award ceremony at
school, or picture day or something, I can't remember what...but it
required him to be dressed up, and him mom had gone all-out to the point of
ridiculous fashion. Logan showed up at my doorstep wearing a little brown
pinstripe suit and a little tan bowtie with white polka dots.

"I know, I know," he said. "I look like a doofus."

"You look like a cute doofus," I grinned. "Come in, Dapper Dan."

He was out of that itchy suit so fast, my boner barely had time to snap to
attention as he stood there naked and giggling before me, saying, "Pick me
up. I need a hug."

I picked him up and hugged him. He nuzzled into my neck, again, deeply
smelling my man scent. Logan was a dadless boy, so I imagine affectionate
men smelled good and safe and secure to him. I was all of those things, but
I also had a raging boner and I wanted it inside him. His
equally-enthusiastic boy bone was poking into my tummy like a little Nerf
shooter-dart as he clasped his legs around my waist.

He looked down at his little tan bowtie on the couch with disgust he didn't
even try to hide.

"I can't believe she made me wear that bowtie," he said, rolling his
eyes. "I hate that thing. It looks like I wiped my butt on it."

We both smiled instantly.

"Maybe you should," I shrugged.

He grinned with a smile as bright as the sun.

"Maybe I will."

I felt his cock growing hard against my tummy.

"Maybe after I do, you should keep it for a souvenir..." he said.

My cock was getting hard too, and he knew it.

"Sniffy," he added with a peck and giggle.

We looked in each other's eyes, grinning and understanding.

I picked it up off the couch, and I felt him scooch around over my waist
with his legs, ready for the crack wipe he knew was coming.

I took the unfolded bowtie, and with a wicked grin from Logan, I brought it
up the length of his butt crack, wiping all the sweet stickiness from his
snug little nestler one, two, three passes from bottom to top.

Logan never has poo smears in his butt crack, just the sweet, glistening
natural sheen of a boy. Nothing alarming or colorful at all. Just the
natural gloss of an active kid. It looks like nothing. It's clear to the
naked eye. But it smells so strong, so wicked and good. Like the orange
chicken from Panda Express with just a hint of vinegar.

We both giggled as I flossed his butt crack with his bowtie.

"I won't be using that again," he grinned. "I'll tell my mom I lost it."

"I'll be using it tonight," I promised him. "Jacking off and thinking of
you."

"Tie it around your nose, Sniffy," he grinned at me. "And don't forget to
smell the polka dots!"

We both laughed and then he whispered in my ear, "Finger me."

I shivered. He nibbled on my ear lobe.

"Finger your butt while I hold you like this?"

He didn't answer. Just nodded and kissed me, his little tongue prying past
my lips for the sweet, wet grown-up kisses he loved to collect. Logan was a
really good kisser.

Supporting him with one arm, I brought my finger up to his mouth and let
him suck it. Get it wet.

I reached back around and rubbed it on his sticky rosebud. I pushed. It
popped in.

He wiggled and sighed. I coochie-cooed his anus.

"Finger me harder," he whispered. "Stick it way in me."

I pushed it inside him as deep as it could go. He winced and he moaned and
he shivered and hugged his legs around my hips.

"Let's get the cup," he whispered. "I need your stuff inside me."

I took out my finger and put him on the ground. He ran to the bathroom for
his daily dose of Dixie cup.

I put my finger to my nose, inhaled and smelled magic. I moaned. Leaked
pre-cum. He had me.

I was his Sniffy. I was his kept man.

Little do they know we'll do anything they want us to.

It really didn't change, that pattern of fingering and scent-wiping and
smelling and souvenirs, until summer started and Logan went off to a
basketball day camp at a community center down the street from us. This was
unusual, because like I said, Logan was a community theater kid. That's how
I'd met him and I didn't have him pegged for sports, but he was clearly
excited about it, so who was I to argue?

The first day he came back from basketball camp, he was all flushed and
excited and sweaty and happy, wiggling like a whirlwind and chattering like
a monkey while he told me about all the free throws he'd made that day.

"I'm the best in the camp!" he beamed. And when he went to get the Dixie
cup out of the bathroom for his daily insertion, he whipped his pants down
double time, spread his ass cheeks extra wide and said, "Do it really fast
today. Really fast and really hard."

I did as he asked – I fingered him like a madman. His little ass crack
was absolutely slick with sweat that day – and he fired off his
invisible cum rockets like a champion. Dry and shivery as always, but with
an added grunt and a "Yeahhhh, that was GOOOOOOD!" at the end.

This was a more aggressive Logan. Hopped up on basketball dreams and little
boy adrenaline.

The next day Logan came over, he didn't go to the bathroom for the Dixie
Cup, per tradition.

"You okay, buddy?" I asked him, thinking he might have a touch of a bug or
a little diarheea, or one of the rare things that kept my fingers out of
his ass from time to time.

"I'm good," he said confidently. "I was just wondering if you could put it
in me with your thing this time. You know. Not all the way so it hurts me,
but just stick the head inside me till you shoot your squirts."

Jesus. Where's that feather I was talking about? If you find it, knock me
over with it again.

"If you're sure you want me to," I said with genuine hesitation and concern
for his comfort.

Logan nodded. "There's this kid in my basketball camp, a counselor named
Casey, and he's 16 or something. And he wants to do it to me right up my
butt. He's got a clubhouse in the woods. He told me I'm invited. But I told
him I had to practice for it first."

I nodded, dumfounded and cock-leaking.

"So, do you think you can do it?" Logan asked me sincerely. "Just put the
head of your cock inside?"

Put the head of my cock inside him? Hello? He didn't have to ask me to do
that twice. My pants were around my ankles so fast you could see the
animated vapor trails like they draw in the cartoons. Thanks, Casey,
whoever the fuck you are.

Logan lined himself up on the couch with his knees on the cushions and he
spread his ass cheeks apart the same way he always did, only this time I
stood behind him and gently placed my cockhead in his crack, and oh, it was
warm. Oh, it smelled good. Oh, it was slippery with the moisture of his day
camp. "A little bit damp from basketball camp," I giggled, as I slid my
cock head up and down, and Logan giggled too.

Well, he giggled for a minute anyway. And then like me, he was lost in its
slippery glide and the power it held over us. I grabbed his hips as I slid
my cockhead up and down, practically seizing up at the warm, cozy wetness
of it. Hot dog in a bun. Up and down. Side to side. Man cock sliding in
sweaty, fragrant 9-year-old boy ass. There are moments you remember as
clear as your wedding night, and this sir, was one of them.

"Spit on my butthole and push it in a little," Logan told me, reaching for
his own little stiffy to begin his bumpy masturbation. "I gotta get used to
the feeling of a big one."

I spit downwards and with an audible "pip," and a wad of my spit landed on
the vortex of my cockhead and his boyhole, and I began slowly pushing it
back and forth, not breeching his pucker yet, but applying firm pressure
and making it malleable.

"Oh yeah," Logan whispered. And then ridiculously, "I made so many free
throws today. Put it in me. I made so many free throws."

I had no idea what one had to do with the other, except perhaps this
once-geeky community theater boy was finally finding the fresh testosterone
of his own perceived masculinity, and the feeling made him brave, made him
puffed-up and lusty, made his little boy hormones and his itchy-sweaty damp
little shithole want to be opened up and fucked just a little bit harder
today, old-school, daring me to take him there; a new level. Sometimes a
boy's butt gets itchy and he doesn't understand what it means yet, but
sometimes a man cock is all that puts the itch out.

So I pressed repeatedly forward until I actually saw his rosebud bend, ply,
and actively open like a flower blossom, stretching slowly and perfectly
around the crown of my glans. Before I knew it, whoosh, plop, my cockhead
was in him, he jerked with a start, and his ring snapped shut around me
like a glorious little rubber band. Only this sweet rubber band smelled
like boylust and basketball dreams.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah," Logan mumbled as he stroked himself. "Put your stuff up
in me. Wiggle around until your stuff shoots out. Fuck me like a free
throw. Fuck me like a free throw."

I had no idea what that meant, but I'd sure die trying.

"Good boy," I whispered close down to his ears. "You made so many free
throws today. Good boy, baby. I'm proud of you, Logan."

He shivered in bliss. He shivered and moaned.

Almost imperceptibly, I made short movements in and out of him. I felt my
dicktip press against his second sphincter, nudging it a bit and testing
the limits, but I knew there was no way I was getting through that magic
portal today, so I more-than-happily resigned myself to shallow-stroking
him in and out until I felt the familiar, tensed-up feeling about to erupt
from my balls.

"I'm gonna cum in you, Logie," I smiled as I shivered. "I'm gonna cum in
you, big boy. So brave. Such a brave boy."

He grunted and shuddered and stroked his little dick faster. I wiggled and
gyrated and stirred the pot until fireflies and sparkles exploded.

I grasped his hips with a quivering "UNNNNNGGGGHHHH!" as I fired off a
tipload of semen straight up the sucking, nibbling, squeezing wet glory of
him.

"NGGGGGH!!!" he squealed, his own shaking boygasm crashing and
grasping. His ass sucked my cocktip like an 9-year-old vaccum cleaner. I
smelled cock and musk and sweet open ass, and I leaned down and licked the
hot sweat off his neck.

"A little bit damp from basketball camp," I whispered, licking his
saltiness. Spicy like graham crakers. Salty like olive juice.

"I'm wet," he whispered dreamily. "I made so many free throws."

I kissed his matted hair and I licked the salt from his shoulder blades. So
young. So sexy. God, I couldn't wait for the day when I could deep fuck
this little boy and cum all the way up into his colon.

"So good," Logan said quietly as I started to soften. "That was way a lot
better than a Dixie cup, Sniffy. We should tip me more often."

"Anytime you want, Logie," I assured him. "It gets way better than that
one, kiddo. Way deeper too, when you're ready for it."

He giggled. "Maybe next time. We'll see how many free throws I make
tomorrow. We'll see if Casey stretches me first."

He quickly dressed and scampered off before his mom got home, leaving me
with the best souvenir of all; his wet, tasty ass molecules all over my
cock crown. I licked my thumb and forefinger and rubbed them on my puffy
cockhead, still swollen from the grip of his ring. I brought them to my
lips and savored the flavor of Logan's sweet asshole on my fingers.

I sat on the couch in my empty apartment, and even though I'd just cum in
his butt moments ago (I hoped he'd have the sense to push my load out in
his toilet before his mom found it leaking in his underwear), I sat and
masturbated and came again almost instantly, smelling and savoring his
sweet little ass taste on my fragrant-fresh fingers as I fellated and
gobbled them.

In days to come, not only would Logan get fucked by Casey the counselor,
I'd also get all the way up inside him, right straight down to the root,
but that's a story for a different day.

It started a long, deep tradition of satisfying Logan and his deep, daily
boy itch that lasted all the way until he started high school many years
later, and with sperm of his own by then, started putting it in every
available boy or girl he could find. And those are some stories for a
different day too.

But it all started that summer, with semen in a Dixie cup and then straight
from the source, as Logan came into my apartment that day, fired up on
adrenaline and self-confidence, pride and free throws eternally blazing,
Michael Jordan dreams dancing like sugarplums, alive with the joy of being
9-years-old and invincible, and brave like a champion, with an itch in his
butt that finally got scratched, just a little bit damp from basketball
camp.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

THE END

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The gloriously beautiful line "sweet little ass taste" comes from one of my
all-time favorite crayon up the butt scenes, Taevion and Vytal in chapter
six of "Mike's Poolside View."

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/mikes-poolside-view

I just did a search for the phrase "sweet little ass taste" in the Nifty
search engine, and I'm laughing because this is the 5TH time I've
shamelessly stolen that phrase verbatim from its author "KK," circa
2013. Thanks, Double-K! I owe you one, two, three, four, five now, I
guess. "Sweet little ass taste." Man, that one never grows old.

And the whole idea of scooping cum out of a Dixie cup and feeding it up a
young boy's bottom comes from the deliciously pervy old story that
mentioned it first, "Big Boy Games" by Christopher, circa God-knows-when.

I've searched and searched the Nifty search engine for that one to no
avail. It's not the same "Big Boy Games" by Nathan Hews archived and easily
found in the Nifty library (although that one's a great story too, so damn
it, people, read it!)

Well, if I ever find the Christopher/Dixie cup one I'm referring to again,
with it's nasty-young Uncle Scott scooping a cupload of teen goo up his
little cousin's boo-boo, I'll be sure to let you know, and probably write
the damn sequel. Consider me your pervy, joyful, out-of-whack librarian's
aide, occasionally picking up those old, unfinished one-hit wonders like a
dirty old man in a relay race.

Thanks to all the Nifty writers through the years who've inspired me with
your firecracker-hot, snapping dirty dialogue. It's fun to borrow
micro-snippets of my favorite lines from your magnificent old stories all
these years later. Some would call that plagiarism, I guess, but I hope you
know it's my grateful homage. Thanks to all of you great erotica writers
who came before me. It's a pleasure to wipe up what you left behind.

Yours faithfully,
Zach

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