Date: Sat, 7 Mar 1998 11:03:44 -0500 (EST)
From: serendip@cheerful.com
Subject: Boy Vignette #6

With the right to observe that is given to artists, I studied him, his
crystalline, deep ocean blue eyes, the fine, gold, downy hair on his arms,
the sandy brown, tousled curls on his head.  He had a faunish air and an
almost feminine evasiveness about him.  Despite his timidity, he held
himself well for a twelve year old.

He turned his bright eyes towards me and asked innocently, "Should I get
undressed now."

I nodded matter of factly, then busied myself getting my drawing paper and
effects together, moving a stool, and sharpening my charcoal.  It seemed to
me that for a boy he was abnormally slow in undressing, that he was waiting
for my undivided attention.  So I looked up at him boldly, as if I were
beginning my study of him, charcoal stick in my hand.  He was undressing
with amazing deliberateness as if it were a ritual.  Once he looked at me
fully in the eyes and smiled, showing his even, white teeth. His skin was
so delicate it caught the light that poured in through the studio windows
and held it like a satin fabric.

At that moment the charcoal in my hands felt alive, and I thought what a
pleasure it would be to draw the lines of this young boy, almost like
caressing him.  He had taken off his jeans, shirt, shoes, and socks.  There
were only his white cotton briefs left.  He held these with both thumbs
under the elastic waistband for a moment, still looking at me.  I could not
yet understand the curious gleam of pleasure that animated his face.  Then
he leaned over and the briefs slid down his legs and over his feet.

He stood completely naked before me and in a most obvious state of arousal.
When I saw this, there was a moment of suspense.  I tried to read his eyes.
It was a strange experience, but I tried to draw, anyway.  If I drew his
head, neck, arms, all was well.  As soon as my eyes roved over the rest of
his body, I could see the effect it had on him.  His stiff young sex had an
almost imperceptible quiver.  I was half tempted to sketch the tumescent
protrusion as calmly as I had sketched his knee, but my conscience was
distraught.  I thought, I must draw attentively and slowly to see if the
crisis passes.  But no, the rigidity of his erection did not diminish.  The
boy himself was transfixed and contented.  I was the one disturbed, and I
did not know why.

When I finished the first session's sketches, he calmly dressed again, and
seemed absolutely self-possessed.  He walked up to me, shook my hand
politely and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Afterwards, it was I who was excited all day, remembering his body, and his
beautiful erect sex.  I looked at my drawings, and to one of them I added
the complete image of the incident which had so affected me.  I was
actually tormented with desire for him.

It might have remained a simple, harmless adventure, but I found myself
growing obsessed with the young model.  The second session duplicated the
first.  Nothing was said and I revealed no emotion and he did not react to
my scrutiny of his body.  I felt a tremendous rush of mixed feelings, a
sudden dizziness in my head, a warmth through my body, a confusion of my
senses.  Something had awakened in me, foggy and dim, a new sensation, new
kind of hunger and restlessness.  I felt a dilation of my perception.  I
would sketch him in a daze, retreating into myself while it seemed that a
great current was rushing all around me.

Each day after that I discovered greater marvels.  Every detail of his body
was perfect.  It was so smooth, lean and polished like a living statue.  If
only he would evince some acknowledgement of his state of priapism.  I felt
as if I was growing thinner everyday, perishing with unsatisfied desire.
Every night, flushed and perspiring, I bent over my sketches and fervidly
labored away my sexual tension.

I could not believe that he would stand in a condition of physical arousal
and so clearly enjoy the mere fact of my eyes fixed on him, as if my gaze
was stimulating him.  The more passive and undemonstrative he was, the more
I wanted him.  I dreamed of forcing his will, but how could I really force
a boy's will?  How could I make him feel desire?  I wished that he would
fall asleep as he rested in the studio one afternoon, so that I could have
a chance to caress him and please him while he was half-conscious,
half-asleep.

I was in a frenzy of desire for him.  When I began sculpting him, I worked
the soft, wet clay between my fingers with a lascivious intensity.  I knew
every part of his young body, the softly tinted color of his skin, so
golden and smooth, every shape and contour, his muscles so subtly defined
and, above all, the constantly erect sex, smooth, polished, firm, tempting.

It was with this boy that I discovered the power of a voice.  He rarely
spoke, but when he did it rolled over me in caressing tones.  It was the
purest voice I had ever heard.  I could scarcely look at him when he spoke.
I knew that his eyes were big and of an intense, magnetic blue and that he
could sense when I was nervous, following my restless eyes with his when he
spoke.  I felt his presence blurring everything else.  He behaved as if he
enjoyed the enchanting, hypnotizing effect he had on me.  He would talk,
looking at me, but I could not listen to his words.  I would feel dizzy,
falling into the meshes of his melodic voice.  His presence had affected me
in such a way that I often felt drugged and half-faint with pleasure.

I would occasionally approach him to arrange a piece of white cardboard
near him that would cast a whiter reflection or more shadows on his body.
Then one day finally, I lost control of myself and fell on my knees before
him.  I gazed at the swollen sex.  I did not touch it but merely looked and
murmured, "How beautiful!"

At this he was visibly affected.  His whole sex became more rigid with
pleasure.  I kneeled very near it...it was almost within reach of my
mouth...but again only whispered, "How beautiful."

Since he did not move, I came closer, my lips parted slightly, and then
delicately, very delicately, I touched the tender, exposed glans with my
tongue.  He did not move away.  He was still watching my face and the way
my tongue flicked out tentatively to caress the tip of his sex.  I licked
it gently, with the delicacy of a cat, then I took a small portion of it in
my mouth and closed my lips around it.  It was quivering and I was
trembling.

I restrained myself from doing more for fear of encountering resistance.
And when I stopped, he did not encourage me to continue.  He seemed
content.  I sprang to my feet and immediately returned to my work.
Inwardly I was in a turmoil.  The sweet taste of his sex that I had only
fleetingly savored still lingered in my mouth.  Erotic images dreamily
passed before my eyes. I remembered myself as a very young boy sitting in
the dark with a cup of sweet milk that I was sometimes given to help me
sleep, sucking at the thick, creamy sweetness with a voluptuous feeling all
over my young body that I could not explain.  I thought that being in love
and the erotic feeling as I savored the sweet milk were somehow related.
Much later I remembered this when I tasted another boy's semen for the
first time.  I was recalling another time, another place, rolling on the
grass, hands fumbling, white shorts unfastened and opened by eager fingers,
touches, caresses, kisses, and ecstasy making bodies curl and undulate,
pleasure running over tingling skin like water, as waves of rapture and
spine shivering chills finally subsided.

He remained wordlessly entranced, his sex still fully erect, his body at
times trembling slightly, as if pleasure coursed through him at the memory
of my mouth on him, enclosing his engorged member for a tantalizing moment.

That night as I lay in bed, thoughts of him made my body feel warm and
languid.  I would fall into a sort of drugged state, lying there
sleeplessly for hours.  I would imagine him lying next to me on my bed.  I
would slowly and cautiously lift the cover and look at his naked body.  He
was so lovely that I was content with a long, lingering look at his
youthful form asleep.  Then I would draw his warm, naked body close to mine
and breathlessly fondle him.  His young body was limp and heavy in sleep.
I passed my hand over the length of his sleeping form to feel the delicate
outline.  He would not awaken.  I would do nothing more than stroke him
softly, feeling the curves of his body with tender care, every smooth
valley, where the skin was soft and where the flesh was warm.  My dreams
were colorful, sensual, and alive.

The next day I repeated my worshipful pose in awe at the beauty of his sex.
Again, I kneeled and prayed in reverence to this strange phallic entity
which demanded only admiration.  And again, I licked it, but more
thoroughly, from its smooth, hairless base to its bulbous, unsheathed head,
sending involuntary shudders of delight up into the rest of his body.  I
kissed it and slowly slid it into my mouth like a succulent piece of fruit,
and he shuddered.  Then to my amazement, one tiny drop of a sweet, limpid
substance dissolved on my tongue, a precursor of his desire.  I increased
the pressure and movement of my tongue as I suckled his sex with abandon.

When I sensed that certain imminence and saw that he was oblivious with
passion, I stopped, divining that perhaps if I deprived him now he might
not only acknowledge me but might also beseech me for fulfillment.  At
first he was absolutely still with only his glistening wet erection
pulsating in time with his rapid heartbeat.  But he was finally overwrought
with desire, and his hand made a gesture towards his sex as if he were
going to satisfy himself.  The expression in his eyes spoke of a formidable
tension and an unleashed sexual fever.

Desperate with lust and seized with panic, I suddenly pushed his hand away,
grasped his sex and guided it back into my mouth.  Then I clutched his
buttocks with both hands and pulled his loins toward me, engulfing his
whole member just as it began powerfully throbbing and spewing forth its
warm meager offering deep in my mouth.  His body remained taut with
paralyzing tension until the intensity of the moment passed.  I swallowed
the salty, slightly tangy reward and continued nursing his sensitive, spent
member ever so gently.  At last, I let his still plump yet no longer rigid
sex slip out of my mouth, and the shiny red glans quickly withdrew beneath
the loose foreskin.

He exhaled with a sigh and a shudder, but did not say a word.  His body was
flush, glowing in the pale afternoon sunlight illuminating the studio.
Forever the artist, I wanted to capture the moment on canvas, the beads of
sweat on his brow, the translucent quality of his skin, and most of all the
satiated condition of his sex.  Then to my ultimate surprise, he knelt
before me, unbuttoned my pants, took my hard penis in his soft hands, and
with a lightness of touch, a dexterity and subtlety few boys ever develop,
he began fondling me.  He had the hands of an artist.  The titillating
manipulation almost deprived me of my senses.  His lissome hands, the
variety of rhythms, the change from firm kneading to the lightest teasing
of the hair around it with his fingertips.  And, all this by an
exceptionally beautiful young boy.

Then, he stopped.  For a fleeting moment I felt as if I had just awaken
from a dream.  He stood up and leaned toward my face and kissed me.  It was
an intensely passionate kiss.  His tongue went around mine, around and
around, then it lingered to touch only the tip.  As he slowly kissed me,
his hand again touched my penis.  He delicately caressed it.  It was so
hard, so urgent, it pulsed under his gentle touch.  He continued kissing me
until I felt a wave of desire, a desire stronger than I had ever known.  He
ran his hands up my chest and around my back then held me tightly against
him, pressing his body into mine, burning my neck with his breath.  His
hands were soft and supple, lightly stroking my back.  I shivered.

My penis was wet with my leaking desire.  His hand closed around it,
squeezing tightly, and no sooner then did it begin to spasm in his firm
grip.  I was shaking from head to foot, tremoring with each eruption that
was spilling over his fingers.  Through the blur of my senses, I felt his
hard penis pressed against me suddenly respond to the convulsions of my
body and quiver with pleasure.  Impulsively, I lowered him to the floor and
leaned down between his legs, quickly sucking his sex into my mouth.  He
groaned with ecstasy raising his hips from the studio floor and pushing
himself deeper, no longer able to restrain his lust.  His skin was
electric, his face more vivid, his eyes flashing like lightening, his body
restless and jerking like a primitive animal.  I readily absorbed his
passion and ravenously consumed his essence.  In a warm, euphoric
aftermath, our glowing bodies melted together, intertwined.  Oh, such an
expansive range of sensations, light, shadows, temperature, textures,
tastes...such variations of maturity and innocence, curiosity and
passion...such incredible, infinite wonders sex has, all running like
tributaries together, uniting in ecstasy.