Date: Sun, 19 Feb 2012 19:45:49 +0000 (GMT)
From: Tom Brown <wolfman2585@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: My Best Friend's Dad Part 2

This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is
entirely coincidental. It involves adult situations between a minor and an
adult male. If you are too young to be reading this, or if such material is
prohibited in your community, please leave.

This is my first attempt at this kind of fiction. It is intended as the
first of a multi-parter. It's more of a slow intro than a hard core sex
story. Send any comments, suggestions, pictures or ideas to
wolfman2585@yahoo.co.uk.

My Best Friend's Dad -- Part 2

I couldn't get Anna's dad out of my head for a long time after our
encounter at the swimming pool. Every time I let my mind wander, there he
would be, smiling at me as soapy water cascaded down his muscular body,
running through the forest of hair on his chest and stomach before coursing
over his thick cock and dripping onto the tiled floor; or standing directly
in front of me, his leg on the bench where I sat, rubbing my towel all over
his wet dick and balls. I tried hard to banish him from my head, unwilling
to admit that I was attracted to this man, but he could always find a crack
in my mental armour and sneak back into my mind's eye. Evening was worse,
just before bed, when I would usually have a wank before sleeping. Hard as
I tried to picture a girl from my class, or a female celebrity,
Mr. Patterson would stride into view, knocking the puny female aside, and
stand before me, proudly naked, inviting my eyes to travel over every
surface of his body. I attempted to avoid wanking for a time, was
determined not to, but I managed only three days before, lying in bed with
my thirteen year old cock so hard it ached, leaking precum onto my clean
sheets, I gave in. I reached down to it, feeling miserable at my lack of
willpower until the force of Mr. Patterson's sheer eroticism swept over me
like a tsunami, leaving nothing but physical pleasure, until my whole body
juddered and jerked, and I shot thick, heavy ropes of come over my young
body.

I wasn't safe from him at school either. During one maths lesson, having
grasped the problem the teacher was explaining long before she had finished
talking about it, I was staring absent-mindedly out of the window at the
lawn. The stripes of grass reminded me forcefully of the lanes of the pool,
and without meaning to, without wanting to, I pictured Mr. Patterson
cleaving the water with strong, sure strokes of his arms, the muscles of
his back moving under his skin, and then tumble turning at the end of the
lane so that his buttocks, clad only in the smallest, tightest, thinnest
layer of black lycra, broke the surface of the water, sunlight scattered by
the droplets of water in the air, until his sturdy arse sank below the
surface once more, with a pause of seconds until he emerged a couple of
metres away to begin the cycle again. I felt my cock begin to swell, felt
the head push against the cotton of my briefs and the cheap polyester of my
school trousers, until:

	"Daniel! Are you paying any attention at all? Why don't you come to
the front and work the first example for us?"

I gulped. Standing up and walking to the front of the class with the hard
on I had just developed was not at all what I had in mind. She thought my
hesitancy was due to nerves that I wouldn't be able to answer the question,
and said,

	"Come on! I haven't got all day."

I swallowed again, then stood up and walked quickly to the front. If
anybody noticed the prominent bulge in my trousers they didn't say
anything. I took the chalk and worked through the question, taking a little
longer than I needed to give my cock time to subside as I focused all my
attention on the maths. I returned to my seat in silence, while the teacher
said,

	"Yes. Well. That is correct. But make sure you pay closer attention
in future!"



I was forced to confront the nature of my feelings for Mr. Patterson again
one break, when a boy in my class beckoned me over. There were a few boys
clustered round him already, to the side of the bike sheds, out of view of
most people who might be around. I could hear the boys were giggling and
pointing at something, and as I walked over it was held up for me to
see. It was a glossy, lurid porn magazine, the word `Penthouse' stamped
across it.

	"Nicked it from my brother!"

the boy admitted, with a wide smile on his face.

	"Come and have a look Dan! This is unreal!"

said another boy. I craned over someone's shoulder to see a young woman in
a short skirt, photographed from behind, bent over and looking back over
her shoulder. She wasn't wearing underwear, and her pussy was clearly on
show. I stared at it, bewildered and faintly queasy. Girls had pussies, of
course I knew that, but I didn't know they looked like this --
purplish-red, and visceral, and raw looking. The other boys didn't seem to
be thinking along these lines at all, they were chuckling inanely, and one
boy had even grabbed his crotch and started rubbing it in a childish mime
of sexual arousal.



I couldn't work out, as I walked away, how much of their apparent enjoyment
of the magazine had been affected. They couldn't all have been as ecstatic
as they seemed, just at the sight of a shaved vagina; but then, none of
them had looked as though they weren't enjoying it at all. Was I really
different from them? Or was I just getting into things a bit slower than
they were?



A week later, Anna invited me to stay over at her house. This had occurred
several times before -- I suppose her parents thought we were too good
friends to be worried about anything untoward occurring between us. Either
that, or they had picked up on my leanings quicker than I had myself. At
any rate, we had shared a few evenings together before, talking and
laughing, before Anna went to bed and I headed to the Pattersons' spare
room. However, this time, Anna informed me excitedly, was to be slightly
different.

	"They're both going to be out for the evening! Mum's visiting a
friend and Dad's going out to the pub, so neither of them will be back till
really late. We can stay up as late as we want and watch anything on TV!"

This sounded like it could potentially be a very good evening, and I looked
forward to it all week. I was particularly glad that I wouldn't have to
spend any time with Mr. Patterson. Even though usually at his house he
would be holed up in his office, evaluating risk and probability, I didn't
want to have to see him and feel my pulse start to quicken, or my cock
start to swell, and be faced with further evidence of my abnormal desires.



When Friday came, I got the bus home back to Anna's place, having brought a
change of clothes for the next day to school. It was pretty exciting
knowing we would have the whole place to ourselves. Not that we were
planning anything wild or crazy, or of which our parents would have
disapproved, but it seemed quite adult to be home alone. I knew most of our
schoolfriends would not have been allowed to do it. Anna took me up to the
spare room I'd be sleeping in to dump my stuff, then we went into her room,
which was bigger and more comfortable, to hang out before making
dinner. Anna's room was fairly typical for a thirteen year old girl's --
larger than average, perhaps, and expensively decorated, but there were the
usual few stuffed toys in the corner, and on the walls, centrefolds of the
kind of fresh faced, clean shaven male models that Smash Hits magazine had
deemed appropriate targets for female teenage lust. Anna put some bland
boyband's music into the CD player, and we settled ourselves down on the
bed. Anna pointed out the newest addition to the wall.

	"That's Mark, from this month's issue. He's gooorgeous, I
think. Really blue eyes, see?"

I didn't say anything. I had no idea what the right response ought to be.

	"Dreamy eyes. And a lovely smile too. Dad doesn't like me having
all these pictures on the wall but Mum talked him round."

	"Right,"

I muttered. I felt we were on dangerous territory, and was desperately
trying to think of something else to talk about.

	"I think he looks a bit like Jon Gillings, in the year above. He's
always got girls after him. What do you think?"

I was beginning to feel flustered. I had noticed Jon ages ago, and had used
to sneak glances at him when nobody was looking, feeling guilty and
confused every time I did it. Lately, though, I hadn't been thinking about
him much at all, these thoughts having been entirely superceded by mental
visions of Anna's dad.

	"I dunno. S'pose, a bit. They've got similar hair."

Anna sighed.

	"I think I'm in love with Jon, but he'd never notice me with all
the other girls clamouring for his attention." She grinned suddenly. "Who's
been catching your eye, then?"

I looked up at her, terrified.

	"What? What are you talking about?"

	"There must be someone! Who do you fancy? You can tell me! I
promise I won't laugh, or tell anyone."

I could feel myself reddening rapidly, and tried to control my breathing. I
had no concerns about Anna laughing. I knew if I told her how her dad had
been creeping into my thoughts for the last couple of weeks, laughing would
be the last thing she'd be doing.

	"There's nobody. Not really. I mean, no, nobody. I don't like
anybody."

	"Really? Nobody at all? I wouldn't care who it was, you
know. Whoever you said, I wouldn't mind."

	"I know, but... but there's nobody. Honestly."

	"I heard a rumour that Raj liked you. Someone told me and said she
wanted me to try to find out whether you liked her."

I stared down at my knees miserably, saying nothing.

	"But I can see you don't. Well, probably best anyway. Her mum's
really strict about boys, it would only cause trouble. I said I didn't
think so, that you'd never mentioned her, and I wasn't sure she was your
type."

I didn't know what to say. I felt Anna look at me for a few seconds, then
she got up to change the music. I realised that Anna had asked me `who' I
liked, not `which girls' I liked. And then she had said she wasn't sure Raj
was my type. What did that mean? Did Anna suspect that I liked boys? How
could she know, when I wasn't sure myself? Was it obvious? Did everyone
know? Were people laughing at me and calling me names behind my back?

	"Cheer up, Dan. I didn't mean to make you grumpy. Have you heard
the new Red Hot Chilli Peppers song? It's really good!"

I hadn't, and it was good. Anna started singing along, changing from high
pitched to gruff and growly, making stupid faces for comic effect. I knew
she was trying to lighten my mood, and it started to work. Soon I was
laughing, and joining in with the chorus after I'd heard it a couple of
times. Anna put the song on again, and then without warning jumped on the
bed and pushed me over. We started play wrestling, and trying to suffocate
each other with our pillows. Soon we were laughing fit to burst, lying on
our backs on her bed, my momentary fit of panic forgotten. Anna suggested
that we make a start on dinner, and I trooped downstairs after her.



Anna pulled out the recipe for a curry, a chicken madras, and soon the air
was full of pungent, sharp smells. Anna's mum was heavily into cookery, so
they had all the equipment you needed to do things properly -- good quality
knives, big wooden chopping boards, even a pestle and mortar. Anna put me
to work grinding fennel and cumin seeds while she chopped the chillies, and
I began to enjoy myself, getting into the rhythm of it. After a few minutes
Anna said,

	"Dan? Would you do me a favour? My feet are really cold. Would you
fetch my slippers? The fluffy ones? My fingers are all covered in chilli
and I don't want to touch anything until I've finished."

Anna's kitchen had attractive slate floors, but it was very cold to the
touch.

	"Sure," I said, putting down the pestle. "Are they in your room?"

	"I think I left them in mum and dad's room. I think they're by the
window. You know which one that is, right? Next to the spare room."

I paused slightly. I had never been into Anna's parents' bedroom before. I
had never had any reason to.

	"Will your mum and dad not mind? If I go into their room?"

	"Of course not! You're only going to be a second anyway. It's not
like they'd even know, and if they did it wouldn't be a problem."

It was true that they were unlikely to ever know, so I ran upstairs, still
feeling slightly nervous, like I was doing something wrong. I pushed open
the door to see a room even bigger than Anna's, and more tastefully
decorated, if slightly messy. I suspected that whatever Anna said, her
mother would be slightly embarrassed if she knew I was seeing the room in a
less than pristine state. The covers were rumpled, and there were a few
clothes on the floor. I walked over to the window where Anna's slippers had
been dropped, but stopped just before I reached them. Right next to Anna's
slippers was a large, wicker laundry basket. The lid was not on properly,
and draped over the rim of the basket was a pair of small, white briefs,
with Calvin Klein printed on the waistband. I stopped breathing for a
second. The last time I had seen a pair of briefs like that, they had been
being tugged up the muscular, hairy legs of Mr. Patterson, towards his
thick, bouncing cock, about a foot away from my face. I stared at them,
transfixed, my mind flooded with memories of his naked form, his heavy
balls, his taut, hairy arse... I forced myself to look away, and screwed my
eyes up for a second. I had been so determined not to think about
Mr. Patterson any more.



But when I opened them again the too-small briefs were still there. I was
alone in the room with them. Anna was downstairs and the house was
otherwise empty. They lay there, casually discarded, on display. I tried,
without success, to avoid imagining how Mr. Patterson had looked when he
had stood where I was standing, immediately after taking them off. He had
stood right here, completely naked. Had he been hard? Had he stretched
upwards, showing off his hairy pits? Had he scratched his chin? Or his
arse? Without thinking about what I was doing, I reached towards the
underwear, my cock hardening in my boxers. My fingers met the thin cotton
and I rubbed it between my fingers, my blood pounding in my ears. I lifted
them off the basket and held them up, looking down into the inside of
them. Mr. Patterson's thick cock had lain just there, where my finger was
stroking, and the globes of his buttocks had filled out the material just
there. That bit of fabric had, most likely, ridden up into his hairy cleft,
maybe even rubbed against his hole. Still without thinking what I was
doing, I lifted the underwear to my face, pressed it against my nose and
breathed in, deeply. I could smell sweat, tangy and sharp, sweat from his
balls and his cock, and I breathed in again, my dick fully hard, making a
sizeable bulge through my school trousers. I stuck out my tongue and
pressed it against the fabric, against the memory of Mr. Patterson's
manhood, and he came into my mind's eye more strongly than ever before, his
huge cock swinging right in front of my eyes, begging me to hold it, to
grasp it, to push my face into it like I was doing with his underwear.



There was a noise downstairs. Anna had dropped a pan or something, and it
brought me to my senses. I wasn't sure how long I had been, but I replaced
the pants as they had been hurriedly, rearranged my dick and grabbed the
slippers, and raced back downstairs to Anna, who merely said,

	"Thanks,"

as she took them from me. If I looked flushed, or excited, or nervous, she
didn't comment on it, and we carried on making dinner.



The curry was really good. Neither Anna nor I liked food that was too hot,
so we'd used half the number of fresh chillies, and the result was spicy
but still flavoursome. We chatted as we ate, then watched the large,
flat-screen tv whilst sprawled across the sofas in the lounge. It was a
relaxed, very pleasant evening, and when Anna dared to put So Graham Norton
on we giggled and sniggered at its rudeness and flagrant, tacky
sexuality. Neither of us would have been allowed to watch it
ordinarily. After it was finished, I helped Anna wash up, and then we both
headed up to bed, Anna turning right at the top of the stairs to her room,
with me heading left to the spare room. I had to walk past the door to her
parents' bedroom to get there, and I slowed down a little, remembering,
with shame, the way I had lost control earlier in the evening. I closed the
door to the bedroom I would be sleeping in firmly.



There was a full length mirror on the wall, and I looked at myself as I
undressed slowly. I was tall, and slim, and pretty smooth. I had none of
Mr. Patterson's masculinity, or muscularity. If I did like men, I couldn't
believe that any of them would like me. But then, I was sure I hadn't been
imagining it when I'd seen that other guy in the showers look me up and
down. And I definitely hadn't imagined it when Mr. Patterson started to get
hard as he dried himself off with my towel. I'd thought it was just a
natural reaction to being nude in the presence of others, but what if it
was a direct result of my presence? What if they liked looking at me? I was
naked by now, and looked at myself appraisingly, giving a couple of tugs on
my soft cock. I couldn't see much to be interested in, but I suppose you
could never tell what someone else would think. I turned away, got into my
pyjamas -- loose, short sleeved grey top and baggy grey shorts -- climbed
into bed, and fell asleep.



I woke up disorientated. I rolled over in the pitch black, aiming to get
out of bed, only to find more bed. It took me a few seconds to remember
that I wasn't at home, but at Anna's place, in the wide double bed that I
wasn't used to. I lay for a minute, getting my bearings, before reaching
out to the bedside table for my watch. It was a cheap Casio with a face
that illuminated at the press of a button, and told me it was almost 2am. I
didn't know what had awoken me, but I did know I was really thirsty. My
mouth was so dry I could taste my tongue. I hadn't taken a drink of water
to bed with me, and I listened in the darkness. There was no noise at all,
and I felt strangely like an imposter, in someone else's bed, in someone
else's empty-seeming house. I crept to the door and opened it, then padded
softly across to the top of the stairs. There was no noise at all, Anna
must have been fast asleep. As I stepped carefully from step to step, I
could see that Anna had left the kitchen light on. Looking forward to the
first big gulp of cold water, I pushed the kitchen door wide open, and took
several steps forwards before my eyes got used to the light, and I
registered what I was looking at.



Mr. Patterson was stood over by the sink, bent over slightly, his hands on
the worksurface that Anna and I had been cooking on earlier. He was
naked. The muscles of his arms were tense, defined, and the size and shape
of his pecs was more visible in profile. His hairy stomach led down to his
cock, which curved forward, lewdly obvious even from the side, with a
toned, rounded arse behind. I stood gaping at him, unable to move. He
turned his head to the side and looked at me, his eyes slightly unfocused,
and didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he looked down at himself,
recognising his nudity, and said,

	"Shit."

He straightened up and turned to face me, covering his cock with one of his
large hands. His mass of pubes was still visible, spreading out from behind
his hand and wrist, and I continued to gaze at him in shock.

	"Sorry Dan. I forgot you were coming over tonight. I was just, um,
getting some water before bed."

I managed to part my lips, which were even drier than before I had entered
the kitchen, to gasp out,

	"Me too."

He carried on looking at me for a second, then turned away, putting his
round, hairy arse on display, to open a cupboard behind him and fetch a
glass.

"Let's get you a drink, then."

He was still covering his cock with his hand when he got back to the sink,
and paused momentarily. He would have to uncover himself to turn the tap
on. He looked at me again.

	"Fuck. Well, you've seen this before, right Dan?"

He moved his hand, exposing his giant penis, and rearranged it slightly so
it hung loosely over his sizeable balls. He poured me some water, and then
walked towards me, fully on show, to hand me the glass. I managed to tear
my eyes away from his cock long enough to take it, and took a gulp, half
choking on it, unable to pay attention to what I was doing. He lifted his
arm to run his fingers through his hair, unintentionally showing his bushy
armpit, and sighed.

	"I'm sorry, Dan. I've had a few drinks tonight. I'm a bit..."

He didn't finish the sentence. I looked into his eyes, which were gazing
directly at me. He looked serious, but friendly -- not at all annoyed to
have been interrupted, nude, in his own kitchen by his daughter's friend.

	"It's OK to look, you know," he said, softly. "It's natural to be
curious when you're young. It's pretty natural to take a look whatever age
you are, actually."

He was about a step away from me. He stood there, stock still, his arms by
his sides, inviting my gaze. I couldn't resist. My eyes travelled from his
handsome, chiselled face, over his firm pecs and nipples, to his stomach,
heaped into a fur covered six pack, and to the way the hair coalesced
downwards into his huge, black bush. His thick cock sprouted down, and
moved slightly as I looked at it, twitching upwards. It didn't go down
again either, but slowly rose, like a cobra, bouncing gently on its upward
journey into tumescence, while Mr. Patterson's arms stayed motionless. The
foreskin began to retract, and the head of his cock appeared in the egress,
cleaved by a narrow slit. My own cock had started thickening and stirring
inside my baggy shorts, and I knew it had to be making a bulge that would
be visible if Mr. Patterson looked. His cock reached 45 degrees before
Mr. Patterson moved his right hand over to it, and grasped it firmly. He
slid the skin up and down, very slowly, squeezing it tightly, and a drop of
clear, viscous fluid appeared from the slit. I stared at it, mesmerised. He
let go of his cock and, with the same hand, reached across to me. He put
his hand to the side of my head and slid it through my hair, stroking my
temple with his thumb.

	"It's OK, Dan," he whispered.



It was suddenly too much for me. The sight of this man, this beautiful,
grown man, the whole of his taut, muscular, hairy body, his physical
perfection, his rock hard cock, just a foot away from my body, inviting me
to scrutinise him, making contact with me, left me in no doubt at all what
my sexual leanings might be. I was excited by Mr. Patterson like I had
never been excited by anything. I wanted to give in to it, to move towards
him, touch him, smell him, taste him; and the way he was looking at me,
caressing my head, suggested he might not stop me. I was terrified by my
own urges. An image of the boys at school jumped into my head, yelling,
jeering. If they could only see, if they only knew what I was, my life
would be intolerable.



I gulped in air, looked up at Mr. Patterson, and turned away. I raced back
up the stairs and into the spare room, slammed down the glass on the table
and buried myself under the covers, pulling them tight around me, breathing
fast, my heart pounding. I was sweating. I couldn't deal with what had just
happened, the forced realisation I had experienced. I lay in the darkness
for a minute, while my breathing slowed. Then I heard the quiet creak on
the stairs that meant someone was slowly coming up.

	"Please," I whispered to myself, "please," without quite knowing
what I was hoping for. His footsteps approached, his room was next to
mine. My muscles tensed as I waited to hear which room he would enter.



The door to the spare room I was in creaked quietly open. I stayed where I
was, under the covers, feeling like my heart was going to burst out of my
chest as I heard him close the door behind him and tread softly across the
floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and was silent for a moment.

	"I'm sorry if I surprised you, Dan. I got back from the pub, got
ready for bed, then went to get some water. I'm pretty drunk. You can
probably tell."

I certainly could, he was slurring slightly. I realised he was probably
slightly worried. Nobody would want a 13 year old boy to freak out and tell
everyone he'd seen them naked. And being nude in his own house wasn't
exactly a crime. I was probably being rude, when I was a guest here. I
should just man up and deal with my issues in my own time. I straightened
up and emerged from under the covers.

	"Sorry, Mr. Patterson. I just..."

I tailed off.

	"It's OK, Dan. You're OK, right?" I nodded, hoping he'd be able to
see the gesture in the dark. "You're a good boy, Dan. I like you, you know
that?"

	"Thanks, Mr. Patterson. I...I like you too."

	"Well, good. Everything's good then."

I could see him indistinctly in the dark, so when he lifted his hand and
again brought it slowly to my head, I stayed still and let him touch me. He
stroked my hair as before, rubbing his hand up and down my neck, squeezing
the muscles slightly. It felt good.

	"Little bit cold here, mate. Do you mind if I get some of that
quilt?"

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but it was his quilt after all, so I
croaked out, "No, Mr. Patterson." He lifted up the quilt and swung his legs
in so that he was lying under the covers, next to me.

	"Just need to warm up a bit," he whispered, and I felt his arm
snake over my side to my back, and he pulled himself towards me, pressing
up against me. His face was inches from mine, and I could smell the beer on
his breath. His body was firm and warm, and I could feel his erection
pressing against my own cock and balls. My dick, which hadn't softened
completely, began to respond, hardening again, until it was pointing
upwards, pressed against Mr. Patterson's, separated only by the thin fabric
of my shorts. My arm was lying on my side, and I hesitated, then moved it
round to his back, so we were fully embracing.

	"You're a good boy, Dan," he repeated, then leaned his head
forwards again and kissed me. It was my first ever real kiss, and I
couldn't have imagined it any better. His lips were warm and soft, and he
kissed me gently, tenderly. I started to respond, kissing back, opening my
mouth slightly, and he moved his tongue into my mouth and over my own. It
felt so natural, so right, but I still couldn't believe what was happening
to me. How had I ended up in bed with this beautiful man? I soon stopped
trying to understand it, and gave in to the sensations flooding my body.



Mr. Patterson, without breaking the kiss, moved his hand from my back and
reached backwards to retrieve my hand. I offered no resistance, even when I
realised he was slowly moving my hand downwards, between us, positioning it
right over his cock. I grasped the thick piece of flesh, and slowly
starting moving my hand up and down, jerking him off. His cock was hot to
touch, and I could feel the ridge of his head as I pumped his skin up and
down. He stopped kissing me, and said,

	"Dan, you have no idea how good that feels."

After moving my hand down to his cock, he had repositioned it on my back,
and now began stroking my back through my pyjama tshirt, moving his hand
slowly lower, until it reached the waistband of my shorts. With me still
jerking his cock, he slipped his fingers under the waistband, and pushed
his hand into my shorts to feel my arse. His hand gently squeezed one
smooth cheek, then the other, and started stroking the globes of my arse. I
craned my neck forwards to kiss him again, and he moaned softly. With our
lips pressed together once more, he moved his hand inside my shorts, over
my hips, and to my cock, which was rock hard. His warm, large, rough hand
felt incredible on the soft skin of my dick, as he began to gently stroke
me as I was doing to him. We began to jerk each other in unison, forming a
perfect rhythm with our hands as with our tongues, still exploring each
others' mouths.



After a couple of minutes Mr. Patterson broke off and let go of my cock. I
let go of his too, worried that I had done something wrong, but he gave me
another quick, soft kiss in the dark, and started to push himself down the
bed. I didn't know what he was going to do, but I waited in anticipation
until he reached the level of my cock and pulled it out from my shorts,
before taking it into his mouth. His wet mouth enveloped my cock, and his
soft tongue bathed the head of my dick, licking the whole of my
still-developing member. His head began bobbing up and down on my cock,
sending electric jolts of pleasure through my body, while his hands
caressed my body, my legs, my stomach, my chest. He took my smooth balls
into his mouth too, rolled them on his tongue, before swallowing my cock
again, fitting it easily into his mouth. His lips rolled back my foreskin
before his tongue grazed my cockhead, playing and pulling on my balls with
his hand.



I couldn't take this for long. After a few minutes I felt my balls begin to
tighten, and my body jerked and writhed as I started to shoot my young cum
into Mr. Patterson's mouth. He kept his mouth clamped on my cock as he
swallowed spurts of my juice, then licking my sensitive head clean after
I'd finished. I lay back, unable to comprehend what had just happened, but
Mr. Patterson hadn't quite finished. He pushed the quilt onto the floor,
and knelt on the bed, with his knees between my legs.

	"Take off your tshirt," he said quietly, and I did, not sure what
would be next. Mr. Patterson gripped his fat cock with his strong right
hand, and began pumping furiously. With his left, he stroked the inside of
my thigh, then gently cupped my balls, held my cock, and pushed his fingers
through my decent sized bush of pubes. It didn't take long before he let
out a loud gasp, and his hand, now back on my thigh, squeezed my flesh. His
cum flew through the air, the first rope landing on my chest, the next
soaring onto my mouth and chin. More followed, hitting my stomach, before
he finally sank down again, finished. He stayed there for a few seconds,
breathing heavily, and then looked up at me. He began crawling forwards,
his knees still between my legs, but his face close to my stomach, and to
my surprise he began licking his own cum from my skin. His warm tongue felt
slightly ticklish, but still pleasurable, and he worked his way up to my
chest, and finally licked his juice from my chin and lips, ending with a
passionate kiss. As he pushed his tongue into my waiting mouth, I tasted
his cum -- salty, slightly sour, but not unpleasant. He lay by my side,
still completely naked, and me only wearing my shorts pushed down round my
ankles, and pulled me in to him. Skin to skin, cock to cock, lips to lips,
we melded into one, holding each other tight for one blissful minute,
before he ended the embrace and rolled onto his back.

	"Are you OK, Dan?" he asked. "Ok with what we just did?"

	"Yes!" I whispered fervently. "I'm...I'm more than OK. I'm really
happy about it."

He turned his head towards me in the darkness, and I could tell he was
smiling. "I wish I could stay with you tonight," he said. "I'd really like
to wake up next to you, but if Anna found me here..."

I knew that what he was saying made sense, but the thought of this strong
man holding me all night seemed so inviting. I leaned in for another kiss,
hoping I could dissuade him, but after kissing me back he sat up and got
off the bed. He picked up the quilt and put it back on the bed, tucking me
in, then gave me one last kiss on the lips before padding away, closing the
door quietly behind him. I gazed up into the dark, feeling elated. At that
moment I didn't care any more what this meant about me, or what anyone
might think if they knew. I felt elated, ecstatic that this perfect human
being had chosen to get into my bed and touch my young body as it had never
been touched before. I couldn't have imagined a better first sexual
encounter. Smiling to myself, I drifted back into sleep.



I woke with a jolt the next morning when Anna knocked on the bedroom
door. I had slept in longer than I intended, and she had grown tired of
waiting for me to emerge. I took a shower, and found remnants of
Mr. Patterson's cum on my chest and stomach. I felt slightly sad as I
rubbed it away in the warm water. When I was dressed and having breakfast,
I asked Anna where her dad was.

	"He's gone," she said. "He went back into work this morning, said
he had paperwork that needed finishing before Monday. Will you be OK to
walk home?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I had hoped to see Mr. Patterson again
before I left, to check how he felt about last night, and to see whether my
feelings towards him had changed at all. It was probably a good idea for
him to leave though, I reflected. I wasn't entirely sure I could have
controlled myself completely enough to hide from Anna that something had
happened during the night, and I had a spring in my step as I walked home
in the broad sunshine.