Date: Sun, 25 Apr 1999 09:52:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: Chronicles of St.Barnabas chapter12
12. At the Hideout
The next day I met him again-same time, slightly dif-
ferent place. He was very fetchingly garbed: navy blue knit
shirt and sparkling white shorts which fitted him very nicely.
They were shorter than the bermudas, and flared out at the
hems, giving a bell effect, nice for games of peek-a-boo.
Around his waist he wore a striped cloth belt with a buckle
designed as two snakes entwined. On his feet were sandals.
No socks.
I asked him if his mother had questioned him about his
day, but he said no, she never pried into his private life. She
didn't really care what he did, as long as he got home on
time.
We went to Coney Island. It wasn't warm enough for
swimming, but the rides were all going, and we did them all.
The big roller-coaster scared us both, and he clung to me like
a leech the whole time. We bought foot-long hot dogs, and I
watched his lips close over the red shaft, thinking other
thoughts. We played in the sand, building castles with
moats. He lay back with his legs apart, and I could look right
up his crotch. We left the beach about two o'clock and took
the subway back to the hideout.
He went right into the bedroom of his own accord and sat
down on the bed. I spent a long time undressing him, cares-
sing and kissing him everywhere. Then I laid him naked on
the bed, undressed myself, and lay down beside him.
I pulled him close against me, his warm body touching
mine from lips to toes. I caressed his softly curved backside
while kissing him. We were both hard, and for the first time I
felt the boy was perhaps really asking for sex. I took his cock
in my hand, and guided his hand to mine. He imitated my
movements. Then I turned into the sixty-nine position.
"How would you like another hot dog?" I asked.
"I'll have one if you do," retorted the boy. I took his cock
between my lips, and felt him do the same with mine. We
sucked each other gently for several minutes. I played with
his ass at the same time. Delicious as it was having my coc
in his warm mouth, I wanted to put my cock in his behind
even more.
Releasing his cock, I said, "Now I'm going to have my hot
dog in a bun." I scooped out somee Vaseline. "But first, a
little mustard is in order," I said, driving my finger deep
between the cleft in his buttocks.
"Sir, you do have a sense of humor," said the boy as he
rolled over onto his stomach and presented his lovely pink
upturned bottom.
Greasing up my hot dog, I gazed down at the submissive
boy stretched out prone on the bed, his tender, innocent
young body awaiting my assault. I slid a pillow under his
hips to raise his buttocks, then spread apart the velvety
cheeks of his boyish ass, at the same time driving my hot dog
deep down between them until it reached the little pucker.
"I think the hot dog is too big for the bun, sir," came the
muffled voice of the boy.
I drove down harder, trying to force the sphincter to relax
and let me in, but the boy raised his head suddenly with a
sharp intake of breath.
"Sorry," I said, "I guess we need more mustard." Goug-
ing some out of the Vaseline jar I drove my finger into his
rectum as far as it would go and twisted it around. He
protested a little under this rather rough prodding, but it had
the desired effect, for when I once again placed my weiner
against the buns, I was able with only a little effort to get past
the pucker.
After resting a bit, I drove on into the boy's hot canal. I
reached underneath him with my greasy hand and found his
stiff cock, which I massaged with Vaseline. This caused him
to squirm his behind, and as he did so I forced my cock
further into him. I began to fuck him.
I wasn't as gentle as the day before. For one thing, I was
greatly aroused by this time; for another, I had to get him
used to taking my cock more easily with less fuss. I plunged
in and out between the warm buns, pushing his bottom up
against my cock with the hand that worked his cock.
Being young and full of spunk, it wasn't long before the
boy began shooting his pubescent load of sperm into my
hand, and once again the contractions of his sphincter mus-
cles caused me such exquisite delight that I began to come
also. Driving into the boy's tender body as deeply as I could,
I pumped stream after stream of hot slimy juice into his
receptive bottom. I kept on sliding my slippery shaft in and
out of the boy's rectum long after I had finished ejaculating,
until, feeling my rod grow limp, I had to cease.
Afterwards, I didn't let him put his clothes on, or even
wipe off his bottom. I wanted him to feel the slippery mix-
ture of Vaseline and sperm with every movement of his
body, as a constant reminderof the fact that he hadjust been
fucked.
We went into the living room and I brought him a ginger
ale and sat him on my lap, facing me, both of us nude. I
toyed with his body while he drank his drink, my cock
resting right at the entrance to his asshole. In the middle of a
swallow of ginger ale I goosed him good and proper with my
finger, and he spewed the drink all over his stomach. I laid
him on the couch and lapped it all up, then, driving my
middle finger unceremoniously up his ass, I took his cock in
my mouth and sucked on that amazing little organ-I wish
to god I could come twice in fifteen minutes!-until by his
twisting and groaning I knew he was about to shoot again. I
worked my finger in and out, pushing it hard against his
prostate, as he spurted wildly into my mouth.
That was the end of our orgy for the day. I took him into
the bathroom and cleaned him up. Then I took him home. I
got him back to his mother just under the wire.
"Sir," he said as I dropped him off, "are you glad you
came to New York?"
What a silly question! But thinking about it, on my way
back to the hideout, I wondered if he was glad I had come.
Would he even have suggested it if he had known I was going
to fuck him every day? There was no doubt that he enjoyed
some of our sex: he loved being blown and he loved being
rimmed. But it was equally clear that he didn't really enjoy
being fucked. The most one could say was that he put up
with it. Was I ruining his vacation by sending him home with
an aching behind full of sperm every night? Did he dread the
morrow, when he would be expected to roll over and present
his delectable bottom to my cruel shaft? How did it feel when
I drove my throbbing prick into his tender backside? Aside
from the discomfort, did he feel abused? Hurniliated?
Ashamed?
I didn't know the answers to these questions, but I decided
that the next day I would concentrate on showing him a
good time, and forget about the sex.
The best-laid plans...
I pulled up to our meeting place in a yellow Mustang. I
had to blow the horn several times before I got his attention.
"Sir! Where'd you get the car?"
"Stole it. You like it?"
"That's why it says 'Avis' on the keychain? Yeah, it's cool.
Where are we going? How fast does it go? What's this knob
for?" And he turned on the radio, the heater, the defroster,
the wipers and the emergency blinkers. He was a happy little
kid, just the way a kid should be-and sitting beside him was
a dirty old pederast whose sole idea was to get into the kid's
ass.
No, that's being unfair to myself. I really loved Ronnie.
Could I help it if his behind drove me wild? Weren't, after
all, the most meaningful human relationships grounded in
sexual attraction? Wasn't fucking the way, the only way you
could really show a person you loved him? Still, he was only
a child-I had to try and remember that.
"How about Jones Beach?" I said.
"Sir! Wow! But isn't it too cold for swimming? And
anyway, I don't have a bathing suit. Should I get one?"
"Oh, you don't need a suit. A little kid like you can go
bare. No one will object."
Giving him a tickle, I slammed into first gear and dug out.
I stopped at Alexander's and bought him a sexy little
bathing suit, white with blue piping, and slit part way up the
thighs. He changed into it as we were driving. I drove with
one hand on the wheel, the other on his soft upper thighs.
His little hard-on showed through the trunks very nicely.
It was too cold for swimming, of course, and the beach
was nearly deserted, except for a few fishermen and strollers.
Still, it was warm enough in protected areas, and we headed
for the dunes beyond Parking Lot Nine. We found a little
sunken spot surrounded by bushes, and there we camped.
We played boy games for a while, and then we ate the picnic
lunch I had brought. I gave him some red wine. It trickled
from the corners of his mouth as he swilled it from the bottle.
When he became drowsy and dreamy, I stretched him out on
the warm sand, covered us with a blanket, and inched his
bathing suit down over his smooth white hips...
The wind whistled in the rushes. Seagulls cried overhead.
Waves pounded against the shore. And I pounded my cock
in and out of Ronnie's rectum, as I fucked the precious boy.
So much for my good intentions.
He lay pinned beneath me, his legs raised up to permit
maximum penetration of his bottom, his young ass stretched
to the limits by my swollen organ, the tender membranes of
his orifice expanding to receive me more deeply than ever
before. As I drove down into the ultimate reaches of the
boy's bowel, widening the walls of his rectal canal, I kissed
him deeply, my tongue swirling and darting around in his
mouth as I drove my penis ever deeper into the boy. Then my
body tensed, and I began jerking hard and fast, pumping my
sperm into the boy, bathing his hot insides with my fluid. I
lay on him a long time, listening to his breathing, to the wind
in the rushes, the cries of the gulls, the pounding of the
waves.
"I have sand in my behind, sir," said the boy after a while.
I laid him across my knee and picked out each grain as
lovingly as a mother monkey picks fleas out of the head of
her mate.
Rashly, we decided to swim. We gulped some wine for
fortification and ran down the dunes and into the icy water.
After the first shock we merely felt numb. I pulled down
Ronnie's bathing suit and flung it ashore.
"Little boys have to go skinny," I said, "it's the law." We
romped around in the water, my hand straying all over his
slippery body, washing the sand from his tail and holding
him close to my body. So warm he felt in the cold water!
No one was around, so we stretched out naked in our dune
and let the sun warm our bodies. We lay there side by side for
a long time, until his skin was hot to the touch as my hand
strayed down his back and over his behind.
The parking lot was deserted when we returned to the car,
and I let him drive around the vast area, holding him tight on
my lap, feeling his sun-warmed bottom pressing against my
cock.
There was no time for the hideout that day.
The days passed swiftly. Too swiftly. When the weather
was bad, we went to the movies, and I always insisted that we
sit in a secluded section so that I could grope and feel him all
the way through. I don't remember those movies much; all I
remember is having my hand inside Ronnie's pants all the
way through them. No boy of his age can fail to get excited if
someone is feeling his prick and balls, and Ronnie was no
exception, but at the same time he had a boy's ability to
concentrate on several things at once, so that as I massaged
his sex organs he sat there like any kid, his eyes glued to the
screen, his jaws working up and down as he munched his
gum. I was careful not to let him come in his pants, partly
because I didn't want his mother to discover any tell-tale
stains on his briefs, and partly because I wanted to save his
boy-juice for my mouth, when we got back to the hideout.
I took him swimming at the St. George Hotel, and we
played little underwater games that no one noticed. We rode
bikes, and I delighted in watching his bottom squirm from
side to side as he tried to reach the pedals of a bike that was
just a little too big for him.
We did just about everything that's fun for a kid to do in
New York, and if it's true that he got my cock up his bottom
every day it's also true that no boy ever had such a whirl of
activity, except from another pederast.
Then, suddenly, it was our last day together.
We went to the park, riding the merry-go-round just like
two little children, Ronnie on the horse in front of me, so I
could watch him going up and down, up and down, as the
big greased pole pushed up and down from the platform,
making the boy and horse rise and fall in time to the music.
He was wearing the white shorts again. I guess he knew I
liked them on him. He turned around and laughed at me. He
leaned way out, and the cloth of his pants stretched tight
over his behind.
After that we decided to ride real horses. Neither of us was
dressed for it, but there wasn't time to go back and change.
Our nags were not the best, but it was great fun, and they
went very nicely when they realized they were headed for
home. Ronnie surprised me by being quite a good rider,
posting to the trot in the English manner. Perhaps he had
learned it at one of his camps.
We both felt sweaty afterwards, so when we got to the
hideout we took a shower. As I watched Ronnie soaping his
smooth flanks I had horses on my mind-up and down,
horse and rider, the merry-go-round, Ronnie's bottom ris-
ing and falling as he posted to the trot.
The boy complained that his thighs were sore, and on
inspecting them I saw that the insides of his thighs were quite
red, having become chafed from rubbing against the saddle.
I found a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a dry towel, and took
them into the bedroom. When the boy came in, rubbing his
hair with a towel, I had him lie down on the bed and spread
his legs. I annointed his inner thighs with the cooling fluid,
making him wince from the tingling, prickling sensation. I
worked the alcohol into his hot flesh, right up to his crotch.
He was aroused already.
"That feels good, sir," he said, twisting about on the
sheet.
"Good. Then flop over and I'll do the other side." My
obedient little catamite flopped over and presented his rosy
bottom to my lecherous gaze. I splashed alcohol all over the
boy's round globes, then worked it into the crack between
his buttocks, not neglecting the soft flesh of his inner thighs.
I planted five or six kisses on his naked buttocks, then,
leaning on one elbow, commenced stroking them gently,
thoughtfully, teasingly.
"Riding was fun, wasn't it?"
"Hmm. Yes, sir."
"I'd like to ride you."
"Hmm?"
"You know. Play horsey."
"Play horsey?"
"When you were a little kid, didn't you have an uncle or
someone who took you on his knee and bounced you up and
down?" I patted his bottom.
"I suppose so. Is that what you want to do now?"
"Yes."
"Sir," he said, raising up on one elbow and looking at me,
,.are you feeling alright? I mean, you didn't get too much
sun, did you, sit?"
"You're pretty fresh," I said. "I guess you could do with a
spanking."
"Oh, no, Sir! I didn't mean it!" protested the boy, grinning
and holding his bottom with both hands, Nevertheless, I
pulled him over my knee, removed his hands, and gave his
behind ten or twelve good spanks, 'ust enough to heighten
their pinkness and to cause a warm tingling glow to suffuse
his sensitive areas. I pulled him onto my lap and kissed him.
"I love to gpqnk you.''
"So it seems," he replied.
"And now it's time to play horsey," I said, unscrewing the
cap of the tube of KY.
"You need that to play horsey"" he asked, watching me
squeeze out a glob onto my finger.
"Definitely," I answered, bringing my finger around
behind him and pushing it into his asshole and working it
around.
"I don't think it's the same game uncles play with little
kids, is it, Sir?"
"Not quite," I said, applying some more KY to his bot-
tom. "I've made a few refinements of my own. Now, I think
if you'll be so good as to face the other way, with your back
to me, I think it will work better. That's it." I pulled him
back so that his soft behind was pressing against my prick.
"Now, are you ready to mount your steed?" I asked.
"I guess so, but I really don't think it's going to work." It
was true I had never fucked a boy in this position before, but
I had heard about it being done, and I had always wanted to
try it.
"Oh, I daresay it will work alright, once you're mounted
and in the saddle securely, so that you won't fall off no
matter how wild the ride gets..." The boy gave a low chuckle.
I think he was in rather a perverse mood, and was amused at
being tucked in this manner.
"Now," I said, "raise your bottom and bring it down on
the saddlehorn." I helped him raise his hips and position
them so that my upright tool was pointing right at his hole.
Then, very gently, I lowered him onto it. There was some
resistance, or else I was not quite on target. I tried again.
This time my aim was perfect, and I held him firmly in
position, my rod pressed right against his hole, until I felt
him begin to sink slowly onto my shaft. I could feel his
membranes give way as my rod entered him. Slowly he sank
down onto my shaft until it was deeply embedded in his
bottom. He was impaled. The most furious ride would not
dislodge my rider.
The sensation of having the boy sitting on my cock,
engulfing it with his behind, was tremendous. It seemed to
me that I was deeper inside him even than I had been in the
sand dunes. I tried to imagine the point on his spine opposite
the tip of my cock. It excited me to think that if I had X-ray
eyes I could actually see my cock embedded in his bowels.
"How do you like your horse so far?" I asked, reaching
around and fondling his dick until it became hard.
"That saddlehorn is really in me," he said.
God, it excited me to hear him say that. I wanted him to
talk about how it felt, how my prick stretched the walls of his
rectum, how it hurt but felt good at the same time, how he
felt a little humiliated to be used like a girl, but at the same
time how he loved the feel of my cock up his ass, how empty
it felt when I took it out. But I knew that I could elicit none
of this sort of talk from him. He wasn't a very talkative
lover.
"Well, now you can start riding," I said. "First a walk,
then a trot, and finally, as the horse sees the stable ahead of
him, a mad, full-tilt gallop!"
Taking the boy by the waist I showed him how to twist
from side to side in the saddle. Then I showed him how to
rise up very gently-then how to combine the two motions,
rising and falling and twisting at the same time. By the time
the lesson was over I was nearly ready to gallop home, and I
had to hold myself back.
I gazed at his lovely soft round buttocks which held my
cock imprisoned within their walls as he slowly twisted them
from side to side and raised them up and down. When he
came down on my saddlehom, my shaft explored depths of
the child's bottom previously uncharted. His soft round
buttocks sank onto my thighs like water-filled balloons. I
was in heaven. I coaxed him to increase his gait from a walk
to a trot, hugging him tightly as he rose and fell on my cock.
I fondled the hard little nipples of my young rider as he
rose and fell, driving my cock in and out of his tight little
bottom.
"Let's go faster now," I said, and soon we were cantering,
my cock slipping in and out of the boy like the greased pole
at the merry-go-round. I longed for the ride to last forever,
but just as merry-go-round rides come to an end for every
little girl and boy, so did mine. As I felt my juices rise I
whispered to the boy, "I can see the stables! Gallop full-
tilt!"
My rider plunged up and down, driving my cock in ever
deeper into his hot behind, until, unable to withold my foam
any longer, like a crazed stallion I bucked against my rider,
shooting my stallion juice straight up the bottom of the
impaled boy with such force that I half-expected to see it
spew forth from his mouth! I held my small rider tight as my
shaft sent fountains of froth ever higher and higher into the
tender warm passageway of the sweet boy's bottom.
I lay back, exhausted from the ride, my cock still inside the
boy. He turned in the saddle and said, "Sir, I think I'll have
to go to the bathroom." Such tender post-amour words
from my little lover's lips! But there was nothing to be done.
I allowed him to dismount, and as he bounced into the
bathroom, his bottom red and slimy, I lay back and lit a
cigarette, wondering if my geyser of sperm had acted like
one of Miss E.'s clysters in sending the child's poo poo
cascading down his well-lubricated colon, egress being pre-
vented only by the presence of my thick tool blocking the
passageway. He stayed in the bathroom a long time, and
when he finally returned to the living room, he seemed
curiously withdrawn. He sat down naked on the sofa and
drew his legs up, encircling his knees with his arms. I sat
down beside him and toyed with the little tuft of hair at the
nape of his neck.
"What's troubling my boy?" I asked tenderly.
"Your boy. That's what I am, aren't I?"
"What do you mean? What's up?"
"What's up?" The boy gave a kind of cynical chuckle.
"Your dick! That's what's up."
"Hey, hey, what's the matter. What's gotten into you?"
"You have!" he said with a snort. "Twelve times in ten
days. I've kept track."
"Look," I said, really puzzled by his sudden change of
mood, "No one's forcing you. I mean, if you want I won't do
it any more, ever again."
"That's just it, you see." And he turned and looked
straight at me. "I think I'm beginning to get hooked on it."
"So that's it," I said, drawing him against my body. "I
understand all about it. As long as you didn't enjoy it, you
could just lie there and pretend it was something that was
being done to you, but when you found out that you were
beginning to like it, you had to admit that you were involved
in it yourself. And you were afraid of this feeling, and
afterwards you felt ashamed of yourself."
"That's right, sir, that's exactly right. It reminds me of
once when a doctor was examining me and he put his finger
into my behind."
"Tell me about that."
"Well, you know, he made me kneel on this table and he
put on a rubber glove and all, and he said it wasn't going to
hurt, but it did."
"Is that all?"
"Nope. He kept on shoving his finger up there and feeling
around, and I felt very embarrassed."
"Because in spite of the pain there was also a pleasant
sensation mixed in with it."
"How did you know?"
"And not only did you like it, but it showed, didn't it?"
"Yes, sir! And the worst of it was when the doctor finally
took his finger out and told me to get up I couldn't hide it,
and he looked at it and kind of smiled in a nasty sort of way,
and patted me on the ass and all."
"It was as if he was saying,'Boy, I made you like it in spite
of yourself."'
"Yeah! How'd you guess all that?"
"Well, it's not hard. Boys are sensitive in their behinds,
and the doctor knew just how to use his finger to get you all
excited, even against your will."
"He did it on purpose, didn't he?"
"It certainly sounds that way."
"I really hated that doctor!"
"Of course you did. He humiliated you in the worst way.
And so you have the same feeling of shame when we're
together, is that it?"
"Not really, sir. I mean you're not trying to embarrass me
or anything, like that doctor was. It's just that afterwards I
have the feeling like I shouldn't be liking it."
I pulled him closer into my arms and filled his ear with
talk about how young boys are often passive sex partners
before they reach puberty, but that when the reach adoles-
cence they want to play the active role, and that he was in the
in-between stage, and that he was afraid of losing his bud-
ding masculinity by being used like a girl. I assured him that
these fears were normal, that there was a bit of the woman in
every man and vice versa-that he was a perfectly normal
boy and would grow up to be a great fucker of women-that
he needn't worry about "getting hooked" because he just
wasn't the type-that he shouldn't feel ashamed of liking it,
because when it came to sex, anything you liked was good-
so that if he liked being fucked, then why not enjoy it while
he could, because pretty soon he would be on the other end,
dishing it out-and that letting a man fuck you was good
practice for fucking women, because it gave you some idea
of what a woman feels when she's being fucked, and so forth
and so on.
My words apparently quieted his fears, for he snuggled up
closer as we talked.
"You see," I continued, "the difference between me and
that doctor is that he was having fun at your expense, while I
love you. Not just your body. I love that, of course, and
without the physical attraction there wouldn't be any love-
making. But I love your body not only because it's such a
great body but because it's your body, and I love you, Ronnie
Riley. And I want to possess you entirely. I want to be part of
you, to make our bodies one. I want to feel my body inside
yours, and so when I put my cock into you, and shoot into
you, it makes me part of you, and you part of me, and that's
the greatest expression of love. And if you love me too, then
you'll let me put my cock into you because you will like
having part of me in you, and because you will know how
much pleasure you are giving me by giving your body to
me.
"Hmm. I guess I understand better now," Then he looked
into my eyes and said, "I wonder what it would feel like
being on the other end. Maybe if I knew, I wouldn't feel
funny about always being on the receiving end."
"Are you hinting at something?"
"Well, sir, tumabout's fair play, isn't it?"
"Boys don't fuck men, Ronnie."
"Why not? It's not fair. If I were a man and you were a
boy, would you let me fuck you?"
"Yes, and I'd probably love it."
"Have you ever been fucked, sir?"
"Sure. When I was your age, and younger."
"When- did it stop?"
"When I was sixteen or so. I don't remember. It wasn't a
sudden thing."
"And you've been doing it to boys ever since?"
"Whenever I got a chance, which wasn't as often as I'd
like."
"But sir, isn't it wrong for men to do it to boys? They
should be doing it to girls!"
"Not if they prefer boys. Live and let live."
"But nature didn't intend it that way."
"Whereld you read that? How do you know what nature
intended?"
"Oh, come on, sir, you know it's true."
"Not for me."
"Well, you're a-"
"I'm what? A queer? A faggot? Poor, twisted, warped sick
old Colin Murchison. Dangerous deviate! Sexual psycho-
path! Degenerate fiend! Threat to every red-blooded Boy
Scout! Lock him up! Cut off his balls! He's part of a commie
plot!"
Ronnie held his sides and giggled. Soon we were wrestling
around on the sofa, and I was getting horny. All my pretty
words had excited me.
"And now," I said, pinning him down on the sofa, "what
do you say we go at it again."
"Nope. Not until you let me do it to you."
Ordinarily I don't tolerate this sort of thing. I don't like
being fucked any more, and especially by a boy. However,
under the circumstances I felt it would be diplomatic, and so
I acquiesced.
I hadn't had a cock in me for many years, and small
though it was, it hurt when Ronnie jabbed his into me with
very little ceremony. He was in a big hurry, and didn't waste
time on preliminaries. I winced as he jabbed into me, but
once inside his little thing tickled rather nicely, and I rather
enjoyed the idea of having my own boy in me. He pumped
away furiously, issuing little squeals of delight, and in a very
short time he shot his load into me. It excited me very much.
"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed as he pumped his youthful seed
into me. "Sir, that was great!"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, "but as a lover you leave
something to be desired. Never mind, though, you have a
long time to practice."
I got us some Cokes and we sat around naked, drinking
them.
"Sir," asked the boy at one point, "have you ever fucked a
girl?"
"Sure. Lots of times."
"Do girls like to be fucked?"
"Like it! They go wild over it."
"Did you like it?"
"Sure. Girls are great for fucking."
"Then why do you go after boys?"
"Because I like them better. Why do you think I teach at
St. Barnabas?"
"I thought maybe you liked teaching. I was thinking
maybe of being a teacher when I grow up."
"It's an admirable ambition. You could teach in a girls'
school. No, seriously, I like teaching; it's just that I'd rather
teach boys than girls or grown-ups because I like them better
as people. I mean, let's say you're a photographer. If you like
the ocean, you photograph the ocean. If you like boys, you
photograph boys."
"With no clothes on."
"Of course. Because their bodies are very beautiful. But I
also like boys faces. I take lots of portraits of boys."
"Which do you like better, my face or my body?"
"Your face is part of your body. I can't separate them,
anymore than I can separate your body from your
personality."
"You sure do have a cool line, sir. How many kids at
school do you seduce this way?"
"You're the first. And if you weren't I'd lie and say you
were. I'm very discreet."
"You must be lying now, then, because there are lots of
boys at school with better physiques than mine."
"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't like
physiques, I like boys."
"But you said you like my body. What exactly do you like
about it?"
"Let me count the ways," I said, touching him everywhere
as I spoke. "I like the way your hair hangs down over your
right eye. I like your right eye. I like your left eye. I like your
hair because it's so silky. I like the shape of your head, how it
goes out here and then curves inward. I like this little point
of hair at the nape of your neck. I like your nose and your
slightly flared nostrils, and your mouth-the way it curves-
and your long neck, and how this vein stands out. And I like
your chest, and specially your proud little nipples that get
hard when I rub them like this.
"I love your belly, because it's so nice and flat, and your
belly-button, because it's yours. And I love to feel these
bones-your hipbones-and I like these two lines leading to
your thing, making a V, as if pointing the way; and I love
your thing-which seems to be getting hard again, so soon
after its recent workout. And I love these two things in their
sac, and how they jump around when I squeeze them like
two peas in a pod. And I love your thighs, so smooth and
fine, and your knees, and specially this hollow behind them.
And I love your sturdy legs, so finely shaped, and your feet,
like Picasso's circus boy's. And then I love to run my hand
down your straight spine like this, counting the vertebrae.
And I love these two dimples on either side, right above your
behind. I love this little vestige of a tail-which, by the way,
is getting to look more and more faun-like-and then,
finally, I love this part-these two round perfectly shaped
hemispheres, your buttocks, your nates, your posterior,
your backside, rear end, popo, bottom, bum. Oh, yes! I love,
how I love the sight and feel of your soft, warm, round,
smooth, velvety lovely behind!"
"In other words," came the response, "you like my body
okay, but what you really dig is my ass!"
"You have a way of destroying all my poetry. I thought I
had made a very pretty speech, and you just tear it down,
reducing it to the carnal."
"Well, sir, I'm just trying to sort through some of the
bullshit! The fact is, if I didn't have a cute ass, you never
would have looked at me twice. Right?"
"O Cynical youth! But if you insist on being so vulgar,
you might as well roll over and let me have a final go at the
subject and object of my poetry, because my words have
made me very worked up."
"Okay," he said in a tone of mock resignation, as a
woman might say, 'you're all the same, you men, only one
thing on your mind,' unable to admit they enjoy it just as
much as the men."
Once flopped over on his belly he became very passive,
even spreading his thighs wide apart so I could toy with his
hole more easily. Having fucked me he had proved his own
masculinity; now he could relax and play the boy again.
He lay stretched out on his belly, his arms under his chin,
as I toyed with his behind. Then, lying down between his
silky thighs, I kissed and licked their inner surfaces, making
him squirm with pleasure as I licked my way up between
them to his buttocks. Spreading apart his buttocks, I put my
face right down between the warm cheeks and started licking
his hole. When I darted my tongue inside it, he groaned with
pleasure. I stroked his hips as I tongued his asshole for
several minutes.
Then, putting a folded pillow under him to raise his
bottom, I lovingly greased him up with KY and slowly sank
my shaft down between his velvety cheeks, entering again
the lovely behind I had fucked no more than an hour before.
I sank my cock in all the way, feeling the hot flesh close
around it, then pulled him up close against me and began a
long, last, slow fuck.
As I drove slowly in and out of his delicious behind, never
had the boy seemed so pliant and willing. Since it was our
last time together at the hideout, I was determined to make it
a memorable fuck. For his part, having shot his load, he was
now intent on being a good lover, and wriggled his bottom
to heighten my pleasure. I bit into his neck, sniffing his hair
and muttering words of love as my hand fondled his prick
and my own cock drove ever deeper into his hot, supple
behind.
Tears came to my eyes as my passion mounted, and,
perhaps because it was our last time together in New York, I
felt transported into another dimension as my inflamed cock
slid up and down the hot canal of the youngster. The heat of
his bowel caused my juice to rise, and whenever this hap-
pened I would slow down my fucking until my juices
receded; then I would begin fucking him again. At first,
when I stopped, the boy thought something was wrong, and
thrust his bottom out toward me in an effort to please, but I
assured him that everything was just fine, that I was only
prolonging the ecstasy.
I must have been on the point of orgasm four or five times
as I savored this final fuck. I wished it could continue for
ever, but finally my rising juice could not be persuaded to
recede, and there was nothing to do but drive deeply into the
hottest recesses of the child's bottom. Clutching him tight
and whimpering words of passion, I shot load after load of
milky sperm into his receptive behind, which he continued
to wriggle in his desire to please me.
I held the boy in my arms, my cock still buried deep in his
bottom, while he milked me with his sphincter muscles. We
lay in this embrace until the angle of the sun told me it was
time for us to go. We dressed without showering-the
thought of his bottom all gummy with sperm and KY excited
me as we rode back in the cab. I held my arm around him all
the way. And when I let him off, and said good-bye, a few
blocks away from his house, I took him in my arms and
kissed him long and passionately right in front of the whole
world, not giving a damn what anybody thought.