Date: Sun, 6 Mar 2016 10:20:47 +0000 (GMT)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Filled

FILLED
By Zachyboy
M/b, oral, anal

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

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

It's been 29 months since I wrote and posted the story here about David, a
man I met through my local community theatre. He met me at 11, loved me
from afar, then when I was 14 and in a second play with him, he loved me in
a much different way. What's the opposite of afar? I guess he loved me from
a-close.

Anyway, I wrote that first part of our story in "Swallowed and Loved,"
which is located here.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/swallowed-and-loved

You might want to go back and read that first part again, since it's been
ages between parts, and this is where it continues. This is the story about
the first time we did anal. The first time David fucked me.

I'm not sure why it's taken me this long to write this part down. Probably
because it's so utterly personal. It's been hanging over my head like a
nagging "to-do" list. "Hey Zachy," a voice in my head taunts me
relentlessly. "You never finished the David story. What's the matter?
Chicken?"

And in a way, I am. I'm sort of scared to write about David in this context
and in this forum, as if the very act of putting him here might marginalize
him somehow, or God forbid fictionalize him. He's not fiction. Not at
all. And I don't want to make our first coupling less intimate than it was,
because to this day it's remained a turning point in my life.

It was simply something beautiful that happened between me and him. I've
spoken about it to lots of friends, but this is the first time I've made it
public in story form. And I hesitate to do that, because it's not a story,
it's my life. I've fictionalized lots of parts of my erotic and
sexually-active childhood with other kids. But this was my first adult
affair. It's real. It's memoir. And that makes it different and difficult
to share somehow.

David died, you should know. Between writing "Swallowed and Loved," and
writing this sequel, I found out to my sadness in the interim, he'd
passed. So there's no secret lover to protect anymore. No man who loved me
to harbor and hide. Nothing I say now can bring him back or put him in
harm's way, so it feels safe now to tell you our story.

And it doesn't feel like a betrayal of his memory at all. My mind and
memory tell me he'd like that. To have you all know that for one soft
summer, both sexy and real, I fell in love with a man and let him have
whatever he needed from me. Because I certainly needed a lot from him.

It was decades ago when I was 14.

That was the year that David made love to me.

That was the year I was filled.

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

After the first blowjob of "Swallowed and Loved," after he swallowed my
sweet but watery boy sperm, David had stood up from the floor where he'd
been kneeling, aimed his cock at my bare dick and balls, and masturbated
himself. He came on me.

And feeling sexy, feeling grown-up, and most importantly, feeling like I
owed him the sight, I scooped up his cum on my finger and started fingering
it into my own butthole. I don't know where I found the audacity to do
that, a 14-year-old boy doing that in front of a 45-year-old man. It was
terribly grown-up of me. It was a terribly audacious and sexual thing to
do.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, going down on my
again. Sucking his own cum off me, and finally, with a sigh of relief on my
part, tentatively reaching forward to finger his my ass himself. When he
did that, when I felt this thick man's forefinger slowly press forward and
spear into my butthole, I knew I was marked. I knew right then he's dick
would be going in me soon. I just didn't know when.

I saw him several more times after that before we actually fucked. It took
us two weeks to go from Point A to Point B.  First of all, we had to work
up the nerve. Plus, there was a matter of timing. A fuck was time consuming
and we both knew it would require an overnight. He wanted to be gentle. He
wanted to take his time and make it right for me. We talked about it almost
right off the bat.

"I'll tell my mom I'm sleeping over at Jake's." I said. "He'll cover for
me. She won't even check. And then I'll just come over here."

Done. Arranged. It was easy as boy pie.

But before that sleepover happened, I had many more BJ sessions after
school with David. His house was about a half-mile from mine. So on the way
home from the school to my house, with a mom who worked late and two hours
to spare, it was easy to stop at David's house for some afternoon delight,
in an era where Starland Vocal Band wasn't yet a hazy memory.

The first time I sucked his cock a few days later – and believe me, I
wanted to suck his cock badly – it's all I thought and jacked off about-
I kneeled down on the floor with him on the couch, the same way he'd sucked
me for the first time. It was an exact duplicate of his blowjob on me,
except the roles were reversed. There was something hot and exciting and
vibrantly alive about sitting between a grown man's knees, 14 and eager, as
his bone-hard rocket staring me straight in the face, smelling every bit
like the musk of a man, smells I'd never smelled yet, and seeing pre-cum
glistening at the tip because he was so damn excited I was going to fellate
him.

I remember wrapping my hand around it, and how long and thick and warm it
was. Really, David wasn't a huge man. His dick was probably no more than
six inches. And it was average in width. But to a skinny 14-year-old, it
seemed thick, long and dangerous compared to mine. And even holding onto
it, knowing eventually where he'd put it, made me feel yearny and tingly
and scared for my life all at the same time. It was a beautiful feeling.

I looked up and teased him and smiled.

"Should I suck it for you?" I whispered to him, purposely widening my eyes
to make myself look innocent. Far less innocent than I was, and he knew
it. I could see him gulp nervously and nod, but he didn't say a word. I
kissed the tip chastely with my lips. A peck. A slimy string of pre-cum
stuck to my lip as I pulled away. He moaned when he saw it. I licked it up
off my lips and swallowed it. Salty.

"I love your big cock," I told him, looking him right in the eye. I don't
know why I said that. I thought that's what boys were supposed to do when
they gave blowjobs. Talk dirty. Make it exciting. To this day, I love to
talk to a partner before I suck his cock. Make him want me to do it more.

David put his hand on his head. Applied pressure. Lowered my head down to
his lap.

"Oh yes," he whispered. "Do it for me. Eat it for me, Zachy."

I loved the pressure. I loved that he was making me. I loved that he said
"eat it" instead of "suck it." There was something dangerous and wild about
that. I opened my mouth and I took him to heaven.

His dick was super hard and beautifully pliant. This was not the same lame
kid cock I'd been sucking since I was 9-years-old. This was a man's cock,
red and full, fleshy and demanding. It tasted like musk and energy. Salty,
strong. Manly, like when I licked my own bare armpits. There was musk to
it. A danger to it. A "careful kid, you'll shoot your eye out" to it. Deep,
earthy strength to it. It was mancock not boycock, and was in love with the
taste of it from the get-go. Yes, I thought, as I knelt between his legs. I
was born to do this.

I took it much too fast and I gagged. He instantly shuddered when I
gagged. "Oh yeah," he whispered. "Take it deep." Realizing the gagging
turned him on, I did it again. And a third time, and a fourth. I felt him
starting to thrust up to meet my downward movements.

It didn't take long at all.

"I'm going to cum," he warned me. "Do you want me to pull out?"

How kind we warn our new partners. Because later, we just grunt and cum in
them. But for now he was giving me an opt-out.

"Nnn-nnn," I mumbled, speeding up, my mouth too full to give him a vocal
answer. My eyes were watering from his gag thrusts. There was drool running
down my mouth when he seized my head, pushed himself deeply into my mouth,
scraping himself on my teeth in the process, and with a final jab, he
opened up with a floodgate of semen that both surprised me and delighted
me.

"Zacccchhhhyyyy!!" he grunted as I gagged and winced trying to swallow
every bit of his cum. God, it was thicker than I thought it would be. My
own cum was watery. His was thick. Like pudding. Like hot, gloppy
pudding. It made me wince to swallow it. It make me gag. I was NOT a
natural. But I gobbled it anyway. I did NOT want to be too young for
this. I did NOT want to fail him. Let it be thick, I thought. Let it be
thick, and hot, and goopy and gaggy, and I'm still going to swallow it. I'm
still going to be his cocksucking good boy.

He petted my head. Ran his fingers through his hair. "So good," he
whispered. "So good, my baby." I gulped. I swallowed the rest. I think he
smiled when I looked up and winced at the flavor.

"Different, right?" he asked.

"Thick," I said. "I didn't know it was going to be that thick."

I swallowed again and winced and wiped the tears from my eyes and ran the
back of my hand across my lips for emphasis.

"I'll get used to it," I shrugged at him bravely.

"Come here," he laughed, and I straddled his lap. I was still in my jeans,
but I sat on him.

"Kiss me," he said. "I want to taste my cum in your mouth."

And I did. And he held me like that, kissing me, loving me, tasting what
he'd fed me. And it felt so good I never wanted to leave him. I melted into
him, kissing and shivering all over. The closeness of him overwhelmed
me. What I felt inside was like a million impossible fireworks. There was
nothing to compare this flying to.

"Picnics? Summer? Candy?" I heard the words from Peter Pan in my
mind. Ridiculous what we think of sometimes. "Lovlier thoughts, Zachy!"
Peter encouraged.

"Christmas???" the little boyvoice in my mind squealed out. And suddenly as
he kissed me, I was soaring off to Neverland.

"I love you," David whispered. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed
him back, as desperately and as hungrily as I could. I'd waited my whole
life to kiss like this and it felt amazing.

As he kissed me and I moaned, I'm sure I was crying.

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

It had taken me so long to get David to love me, because I think inside he
was scared to. And when I say "get David to love me," I mean in a physical
way. Because he already loved me emotionally, of that much I'm sure. Or was
drawn to me. Or excited by me. Or was lusting from a distance. Whatever you
want to call it.

I think his natural stopping point was "look, don't touch" and "want, don't
act." I knew that he wanted me before we started doing things, I could see
it in his eyes and I could sense it in his energy, but I had to flirt with
him at first. I had to let him know I was open to more physical
approaches. When it came right down to it, I had to draw him a map.

I remember playing miniature golf with him before it all started that
summer. We'd just done our play together, and under the guise of – well,
a thank you, or something – I have no idea what he actually told my mom
– I found myself at Putters – that was the name of the indoor, black
light mini golf course in our city – and David and I were on the 4th of
18 holes when his need for me became apparent.

"Like this," he said, wrapping his arms around me and lowering his hands
onto mine, teaching me how to hold my club. I felt him shuffle up close to
me. I could smell his cologne. Chaps. I knew it because my dad wore it
too. Woody. Man-smells. Good.

I felt him pressing into me as he took my arms and helped me swing the
ball. It clicked down the Astroturf fairway and stopped an inch from the
cup.

"Good, Zach," he said, but he made no move to let go of me. I think I
signed a little and leaned back against him. It was okay. It was dark in
here. It was black light. Nobody could see how close we were standing. I
wondered if his dick was hard. I wondered how I could slide my body to rub
up against him to see if he had a boner without being obvious.

"Stick with me, kiddo. You'll be a championship golfer," he said softly,
leaning in, almost right in my ear.

"Stick with you and I'll have a man rubbing on me while I play golf," I
flirted, and he let go almost immediately, embarrassed I think.

Damn it. I ruined it. I went for the smart-mouth and he read it all
wrong. I was determined to get it back. The closeness I needed from him.

I tapped my ball into the cup, and on the next hole I purposely took my
time, lining up my shot. As I slowly adjusted my feet and my angle, I
slowly moved my ass in his direction, just a small gyration, but I took my
time and repeated it a few times. Not camp, or flamboyant, but overtly
moving it. Clearly making it known to him. I was very sexual with other
boys before I met David and by age 14, I knew what butts were for. I didn't
have to turn around to feel him staring at me. He'd been chatty before, but
when I started moving my ass like that at him, his total silence spoke
volumes.

"See anything you like?" I asked with a smile, not looking up.

"Careful, Zach," he said with a smile in his voice. "There are rumors about
me, you know."

"Are they true?" I asked. And that time I did look up and smile.

"Some," he shrugged.

"Which ones?" I flirted.

"I'll show you sometime," he flirted back.

"Oooh," I said, in a boyish squeal, then took my shot and missed it by a
mile.

Later, on the 9th hole, I told him I had to pee. I really didn't but I was
excited from flirting with him, and I wanted to see if he'd follow me into
the bathroom between hole 9 and 10. He did.

We stood at two of the three urinals together. I took mine out first. I was
partially hard.

He took his out too. He was halfway there too.

We stood looking at each other's dicks, not saying a word. Squinting
really, since the fluorescents of the bathroom were bright compared to the
black lights of the golf course.

His piss shot out in a sudden stream and I almost jumped back. I didn't
expect it to come out that suddenly. Forcefully. Like a man. It was
strong. I could smell it.

My own stream started and he watched me intently.

"I think you're looking at my cock," I told him brazenly. I still don't
know where I got the courage to come right out and say it like that. These
were dangerous waters I was wading into.

"I think you're looking at my cock too," he said back. Just to hear him say
the word "cock" out loud excited me. It made my head spin.

"What are we going to do with that information?" I asked him. "Because, you
know. Now we're both cocklookers."

Cocklookers, I thought. That's a good one, Zachy! I expected him to laugh
at my made-up word. But I didn't expect him to be serious.

He was silent for a minute, weighing his options, and then he went for the
gold.

"I guess you'll have to come over to my house sometime and we'll see what
happens," he shrugged. "Looking's the first step on the way to touching."

He paused. Looked right at me. "And once you touch them, you might as well
do everything."

Insert the thought bubble over my head where Zachy goes "Gulp!" Because
that's what it felt like.

He turned the tables on me with that one.

Here I thought I'd have to practically take him by the hand and spread my
cheeks apart for him in the flirting department to send him the right
signals, but once he caught a whiff of my intentions, he picked it up just
fine.

I'm pretty sure it was me who started the actual, physical cues of seducing
that summer, but once I let him know my interest went way past the man-boy
platonic he'd politely started out with, his experience kicked in and he
took it from there. Took it with a vengeance that would soon be six full
inches up my butt.

But did I give him the green flag for all that?

Hell yeah. I practically threw five buckets of green paint on an
extra-large tarp.

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

There were several other blowjobs before our first fuck. The next two weeks
we repeated the couch routine. Him blowing me, then me blowing him. It was
very reciprocal, and something about the couch made it safe, neutral
ground.

"That's it," he whispered as I sucked his hard cock. "Eat that cock,
Zachy. Eat that sweet cock for me."

"Eat," he always said. Not "suck" that cock. It was always "eat" that cock.

He'd take my head in his hands and guide me up and down, going shallow at
first, than maximum depth. He liked a variety. He moved me at his will. I
sucked his cock so many times that first week my throat was always in a
constant state of numbness. I had to suck on Halls Honey Lemons at school
all day.

I soon grew where I could sense his impending orgasm and learned to cup his
balls and stimulate his cock head with my throat muscles to send him over
the top with gusto. I was already a fairly accomplished little cocksucker
at 14. Granted, David's was a bigger model than I was accustomed to, but
the principle was the same as the 12-year-olds I gobbled in the
neighborhood.

I never gagged or winced on his cum after that first time, because now I
knew what to expect. I knew how much there'd be and I knew exactly what it
would taste like. Almonds and black olives. And something sweet and bland,
like cornflakes. And something lightly numbing, like Chloraseptic
lozenges. It was good. And thick. And hot. I felt grown-up swallowing it. I
felt like an expert.

And he'd always reciprocate by sucking mine. It never took me long,
especially after I sucked him first. I was so hard and ready to cum after
swallowing his load, I'd always cum within sixty seconds. He played with my
ass when I sucked him. Sometimes he'd wet a finger and stick it inside
me. I liked it when he did that. I wasn't embarrassed at all.

His big forefinger in me felt great, and strong. The first few times he
used his forefinger and he wet it with spit himself. The fourth time he
used his middle finger, his "fuck finger," we called it when we were
kids. And he brought it up to my mouth before he put it in me.

"Eat it," he growled quietly, and his husky sex-voice was giving me
shivers. "Get it wet so I can fuck you with it." I moaned and sucked it
into my mouth. Fellated his finger. It tasted like pretzels. We'd been
eating pretzels that day.

"Gonna fuck you with my fuck finger," he whispered. And as he took my cock
in his mouth and slipped his long middle finger up into my rectum, my mind
whispered "fuck finger, fuck finger," over and over. He was doing me with
his FUCK finger. I was so excited I clenched my ass cheeks around his
invasion, and bucked my hips and rammed myself forward and I came in his
mouth in seconds that day. Just the thought of his FUCK finger made me cum
almost instantly.

I think he would have been content to swap blowjobs in his living room for
the rest of our lives. Good God, he was hesitant. Polite to a tee. I'm not
sure if he didn't want to move too fast and scare me off? I can see why
now. If you've got a boy on his knees sucking your cock on your couch and
letting him stick a fat finger up your ass, you hate to rock the boat. On
the other hand, I was 14 and eager. I needed to get this moving to the next
level. Again, it was me, not him, who had to take the leap, and the lead.

So probably the fifth or sixth time we blew each other, it was me, not him,
who suggested in mid blow job we move down the hall.

"Can we go to your bedroom?" I asked him, all breathless. "Can we get naked
in your bed?"

He said nothing, simply stood up, picked me up under the armpits, lifted me
from the couch, and didn't exactly carry me, but he virtually dragged me to
the bedroom by my hand. I laugh at it now, but at the time, there was an
urgency to us switching rooms I couldn't explain. We'd been marching toward
this bedroom for a week and once I gave the signal, his reaction was
automatic and voracious.

We all but ripped off our clothes. It was almost frantic. Comical. He
pulled my shirt off. My jeans were already down my legs and tangled on my
ankles. Shirts, socks, underwear, we shed them wildly, urgently. I heard
something rip (it turned out to be his shirt), but we didn't care. We were
bare naked and sprawled out on that bed in ten seconds flat. Bare naked. 69
position. We knew exactly what we wanted to do.

God, it was amazing. My first 69 with a man. There was nothing sweet, or
slow or romantic about it at all. I took his cock to my mouth to the
root. He was covered in pre-cum. DRIPPING in pre-cum. He gobbled my dick
and balls like a starving man eating his first meal in a week. I squeezed
his butt cheeks has hard as I could, pulling his cock into my mouth, daring
him to stick it in my throat farther. I squeezed him so hard, I could later
see that my fingernails left marks.

He sucked me exquisitely, ate my cock like the expert he'd become, and
coating his finger with spit, I felt him pressing it up against my back
door. Fuck finger, fuck finger, fuck me with your fuck finger, my mind
cried out.

"Yes," I hissed as his finger speared my rosebud. And I pushed back against
him, writhing and accepting. And then suddenly he did something he'd never
done before. I saw him suck two fingers into his mouth, twist them together
and line them up to fuck me with both. He was going to fuck me with two
fingers. I was so excited.

I'd been fucked before. By objects. By carrots. By 12-year-old neighbor
boys. I knew how to open up and let something in my ass. Nobody had to
teach me. He pushed forward with his double fingers and the pain was
exquisite. The pain and the eagerness. It was wild and it was beautiful. I
pushed back against him and opened myself up internally, and suddenly he
was in me deeply and I gasped.

I suddenly smelled new smells in the air. Me. My insides. I hoped he didn't
mind. He didn't. He pressed. Past one sphincter. Then two. Then his were so
deeply inside me I cried out in glory, letting him rut me, deeply inside
me, pressing, pushing his pads against my prostate as I mouth-fucked him,
bucking, thrusting and twisting.

"Nnnnnghhhhh!!!!" I grunted, ramming forward and filling his mouth with my
watery boy jets. The flavor of me exploding into his gulping throat shot
him over the edge and he returned the favor with a deep throat thrust and a
volley of thick hot cum that pooled in my throat and coated my cheek cavity
before I rolled my eyes back in my head and moaned in delight and swallowed
it whole. I swallowed him ravenously. I craved his cum now. I wanted it
constantly. I loved the strong flavor.

He pulled his fingers out of my ass. They were clean, thank God. Because
believe me, a boy checks. And I came up to him, face to face, and we smiled
and kissed, tasting our mingled sperm breath.

"You're so fucking sexy," he whispered, biting my lower lip. "You feel so
good inside. I can't wait to get my dick in you, Zach."

I kissed him and bit his lower lip.

"What did it feel like?" he asked me. "Tell me what it felt like to have my
fingers up your ass."

"Not bad for an old guy," I said, and he laughed. To this day, I'm not sure
what made me say such a dumb thing, but it didn't offend him. Just made him
pull me closer to his naked body. His hairy chest rubbing against my skinny
hairless one. Nipple to nipple. Man to boy. Kissing in bed.

And the night after that, he fucked me.

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

Years later, after I grew up, I'd learn that I wasn't David's only boy. Not
by a long shot. There was another boy in community theatre he'd swapped
blowjobs with, many years before me.

"Remember that painting on the wall next to his bed?" that other boy asked
me once. When we were both grown-ups by then, and we were both recalling
him fondly.

"Yeah," I said with a smile. "The Van Gogh painting, right? Starry Night?
That was there when you were with him too?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "He loved that painting. I used to stare at it when he
sucked me. "Vincent Van Gogh and his sweet, swirling blowjobs. I can't even
look at that painting in a book now without getting a hard-on."

"I never thought of it that way," I told him. "But I do remember the
painting. Thanks for planting that seed."

Starry Night. Shit. It's amazing what you remember.

I worked with another guy who admitted knowing David as a young teen. David
had apparently talked him and another school friend into meeting him in a
motel room. The boys were 13. He didn't say what had happened, but he said
David took pictures of the two of them together. The two boys did stuff and
David jacked off. And took lots of pictures.

And of course, I'd already seen David blow his own son. Joshy. He was
cute. I always sort of wondered why David never invited Joshy into our
games. I sort of wished he had, in retrospect. I was used to having sex
with littler boys. I knew how it worked.

But taking a big dick up my own ass, well, that was something different. In
theory, I was pretty sure I could do it. But when it comes right down to
it, theories are one thing. Six inches of cock up your butt when you're 14
years old and you've never had anything bigger than a 3-incher up there is
a whole new ballgame.

"I bet it's gonna hurt," I said to myself in the mirror when I woke up that
morning and got ready for school.

I was brushing my teeth, and talking to myself, trying to give myself
courage and work out the details. "I bet it feels good," I said to the kid
in the mirror. "I bet you really, really like it, but I also bet it's going
to hurt like holy hell." The kid in the mirror nodded back, spit his
toothpaste in the sink, got in the shower, made sure his ass was extra
clean, got out, dried off, got dressed, and headed off to school.

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

In my dreams it was flawlessly romantic. He would sweep me off my
feet. Slow dance with me. Kiss me tenderly. Call me sweet names. Make love
to me gently until I came without touching myself.

I wasn't quite sure what position he'd use. When me and my friends fucked,
it was pretty straightforward. You lie down on your stomach and you grab a
handful of bedsheets. It'll be over in a minute, so you grit your teeth and
put up with it, and then it's your turn. There was very little finesse to
it.

But would a grown-up do? I had no idea. I'd never been fucked by one
before. It was a big, brilliant mystery. Would he lift my legs up? Fuck me
on my stomach? Make me sit on his cock?

It was almost worth the pain in my butt just to solve the mystery position,
I decided. And I shrugged as I grabbed my backpack full of overnight stuff,
kissed my mom and reminded her I was staying overnight at Jake's for the
weekend. She nodded and gave me two $5 bills to pitch in for pizza.

I remember looking back at her over my shoulder as I headed out to walk to
school that morning. She had no idea the next time she saw me, I'd have a
man's cum up my ass. We'd be equals in a way. Both the recipients of man
sperm at some point. It thrilled me somehow, this bizarre equal footing.

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

I was nervous as fuck the whole day at school. I couldn't concentrate on
anything. All I could think of over and over was "I'm getting fucked
tonight. I'm getting fucked tonight. I'm getting fucked by a man."

A MAN! It seemed preposterous. Men and boys didn't do those things! I felt
like everybody who was looking at me already suspected. People talked to me
and I jumped. I got called to read something out loud in class and I didn't
know where we were in the book. My throat was dry. My mouth was dry. I kept
going to the drinking fountain.

When I got do David's house, backpack over my shoulder with a change of
clothes and my toothbrush and pj's (although fat chance I'd need my pj's),
David picked up on my nervousness right away.

"I've been thinking about it all day," he said.

"Yeah, me too," I said swallowing hard.

"I was thinking if the roles were reversed, I'd be kind of scared. And not
knowing what it would be like, or if it would hurt, or if I'd be okay with
it."

I smiled weakly and gave a half-laugh.

"We don't have to, you know." He looked so loving and serious, I wanted to
hug him around the waist. I wanted to run to him and almost say, "Oh thank
God. I'm so nervous about it. Let's not do it after all. I'm too scared,
really."

But I was determined to see it through. We'd led up to this. This is where
the dance concludes. And if I didn't do it with him, well then, I'd never
know if I could have or not. I would have always wondered.

I threw my backpack on his couch. I smiled and shrugged. I tried to look
casual.

"Nope," I assured him. "I'm not chickening out unless you are."

And I looked at him again with my innocent eyes. My sexy innocent flirty
eyes that I practiced in the mirror. God, I was an audacious flirty boy
back then. I knew it and he knew it.

"Okay," he said, looking me up and down for a second. I could almost hear a
wolf whistle in his mind. I was sexy back then. I saw the way he was
looking at me. Leering at me, definintely.

"I hope it doesn't hurt," I grinned. "I'll scream and wake the neighbors."

"Cops will be here in five minutes," he shrugged. "You'll get grounded and
I'll go to jail."

We were both joking to lighten the mood, but we both knew it was fake. He
was nervous and so was I.

His dick. My butt. We both knew it was coming all week. All day. And now it
was here. And how do you get that started, exactly? How do you get it
rolling when you already know it's supposed to happen?

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

As it turns out, we had dinner first. David was a really good cook, and in
his small kitchen, he made this chicken alfredo stuff, although honestly, I
was afraid to eat too much because while I was still a M/b virgin, I knew
enough about the ins and outs of b/b sex to know if you ate too much, you
had to poop, and that's the last thing a boy needed to worry about while he
was figuring out how to take his first six-inch cock up the butt, or so I
assumed.

So I pecked at my food, which David took as nerves. He encouraged me to
eat, but I lied and said I had a huge hot lunch at school, or something
dumb like that, but not to hurt his feeling I did try to eat about half of
what he put on my plate, worried about the food-to-digestive ratio the
whole damn time.

After dinner, I helped him with the dishes. It felt good and natural to be
in the kitchen with him, doing chores, being adults, like his
boyfriend. Like we lived together and did this every night. It was a sweet
fantasy, playing house with David. And it would continue all that summer,
on these pretend-Jake sleepovers. And believe me, there were many.

There was a weird going-through-the-motions of all of it. We knew I was
there to have sex with him. We knew this was "The Night." "The Starry,
Starry Night." We knew that everything we were doing first, from 3:30 to 9
pm was just silly staged lead-up to "yawn, stretch, well, maybe we should
hit the hay, dear."

In retrospect, I should have just came through the door after school, threw
my backpack on the couch, stripped bare for him, hopped up in his bed with
my buns up in the air and got it off the table so we could focus.

As it was, he'd rented a videotape. D.A.R.Y.L. One of his favorite boy
movies, and one we'd watched together before. He made somewhat dirty
comments about Barret Oliver throughout, as if to set the stage and get me
in the mood. We'd perved on him a few weeks before, watching Neverending
Story and remarking on how pretty he was. Funny to think we were both so
awkward that night that our few shared comments about the things we'd like
to do to Barret Oliver were essentially the foreplay to my anal
deflowering. Thanks, Barret. I appreciate the warm-up.

He offered to make me a vodka and 7-Up. And this was nothing new for
David. He'd given me alcohol before. Me and his son Joshy. Hell, I'd seen
him BLOW his son Joshy after a little too much of that Jesus Juice. It
wasn't like I didn't realize it was in his "lower the inhibitions" bag of
tricks. But I was nervous as hell, so I gladly accepted and sure enough
after one, then two, when the movie ended and David said simply, "let's go
to bed," I was still scared, but I'd made my peace with it. Eager? Not sure
yet. But compliant? Absolutely.

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

I'm going to try to describe the first time I had anal sex with a man with
as much memory and accuracy and honesty as I can. Some parts were romantic,
some parts were awkward and funny and deathly embarrassing, and some parts
were so erotic I still masturbate madly to this day, squeezing my eyes shut
and wanting him back. That night was the single defining sexual experience
of my life. And if you've read what I've written on Nifty the past two
years, he flows all through my stories here. There are pieces of us
everywhere.

He took off my clothes slowly, kissing me all the way up and down. He
kissed my neck. Kissed my chest. Kissed my tiny brown nipples. Kissed my
belly button. Kissed my nearly-hairless pubis. He stood up before me, took
his own clothes off and then held me in his arms, standing and enfolding
me. He tileted my head up with his hand on my chin and french kissed me
long and lovingly before he picked me up, literally picked me up (and I did
swoon), and laid me down naked in his bed.

I'm not sure how long we kissed. A long time. I'm not sure exactly how the
foreplay went. I was still pretty buzzed from the vodka and 7-Up, and
believe me, David made them strong. And so a lot of what was happening to
me was just a buzz of happy feelings. I remember not being scared when we
were kissing naked at that point. I just felt happy, and buzzy, and quiet,
and loved. My lips sort of hurt, I remember. They sort of felt chapped from
all the kissing against his razor stubble. To this day, chapped lips remind
me of David kissing me that night.

We were grabbing each other's cocks. That much I remember. I do remember at
one point going down on him. Getting on my knees and straddling his legs,
and sucking his cock, but I also remember him quickly pushing me head off
his cock and saying, "No, I don't want to cum in your mouth." I think the
excitement of it had him on the edge right from the start. He didn't want
to blow too soon. He had this romantic, perfect lovemaking in mind.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I was supposed to start it or if
David was. I crawled up on him. Pressed my butt crack against his
penis. Gave him permission. Leaned forward and kissed his mouth some
more. I heard him moan as the length of his shaft made contact with my bare
crack for the first time. He wasn't inside me, but his dick was nestled
into my crack slit like a hot dog in a bun.

"I'm going to cum too fast," he whispered to me, almost painfully. "Just so
you know, Zachy. This first time we do it, I'm going to cum way too fast."

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

My friend Steve and I have discussed premature ejaculation to death. About
being so excited you just can't help it. You just have to shoot
off. There's no way to stop it. Steve's extremely into boy feet, and this
is what he told me once:

"I'm amazed at my own erotic wiring sometimes. Fucking boy feet. What can I
say? Makes me wonder if I'd even get my cut helmet past a boy's first
sphincter."

"I have a hunch I'd get him on his back, get his lanky gams in the air,
position his perfect pups up next to my face, be unable to resist The
Highly Uncontrollable Urge, run my moist tongue along the bottoms of either
set of toes, and instantly firehose a patented batch of super sperm all
over his torso."

"I'd completely coat his neck, chest, nipples, tummy, belly button, and
hairless 4-inch twig & berries in batter I meant for his
butt. Seriously. Would I be able to prevent a premature ejaculation? I have
my doubts."

That's how it was for David the first time. He was simply too excited to be
with me. To have his bare, hard penis pressing up against my bare, slippery
anus. He outright warned me, made it known so as not to surprise me and not
to embarrass himself that we was going to cum too fast and ejaculate too
suddenly.

"I'm going to cum too fast," he whispered to me, almost painfully. "Just so
you know, Zachy. This first time we do it, I'm going to cum way too fast."

"It's okay, I told him. "Just put it in me okay? Just put it in."

He fumbled with lube on the side of his bedside table. I was kissing him
with my eyes closed. Not watching. Just kissing. I felt a fingerful of
something slippery rub across my anus. I could feel him slathering his
cock.

And then he moved me. Pulled me off his lap, positioned me on my side and
laid himself behind me. Like spoons. Like a cuddle. Wrapping his arms
around me and kissing my neck, I felt him pressing the tip of his penis
into my butt crack. He wasn't lining it up right. I reached my hand around
to guide him in. He was slippery. So was I.

I showed him where it was supposed to go. I even pushed back against him. I
felt him take short strokes, getting ready to penetrate, and then suddenly,
OW, there was a sharp wince of pain. I winced as his dickhead popped
suddenly into the first sphincter of my anus.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said quickly as he realized he'd hurt me.

"It's okay," I assured him, clenching my butt cheeks. "Go slower. Don't go
so fast."

"I'm going to cum," he said breathlessly. "I have to take it out."

And he did, frustrating both of us.

I turned around and faced him. He looked sad. Little. Suddenly, I almost
felt like the grown-up. It was a strange feeling.

"It's okay," I told him. "We don't have to hurry."

"You don't understand," he said. "I've wanted to do this to you since you
were 11 years old. It's all I've ever thought of some nights."

I smiled and petted his face. I kissed his lips softly.

"I've jacked off over this," he said softly. "Dreamed about it. A hundred
times. And I just wanted it to be perfect for you. To take my time and make
your first time special. To make it something you could always remember."

I kissed him again and smiled. "I'm always going to remember it
already. It's okay. I understand. Do it fast, and then we'll relax. And
then we'll do it again."

He laughed. "You're giving me permission to mess it all up."

I squeezed his cock. "I WANT you to mess it all up," I whispered in my
sexiest voice. "Mess it all up in me. Please." And I was hungry. I just
needed it IN me, no matter how fast it was over.

Renewed and needing to cum, he nearly growled in his own lust. He rolled me
over again, lined it up the same way, and without warning or apology,
pushed it back into me, just past the tip.

I winced again, but this time he didn't take notice. Wrapping one arm
around my chest and guiding his dick with the other, he pushed into me,
barely more than his cock tip, and in four, five maybe six shallow
thrustings – he didn't even make it past my second sphincter – he was
suddenly seizing, shaking – pushing forward and grabbing my ribs, and I
could tell he was cumming into me, copiously, thickly, hotly – as he
grunted and said, "Unnggggh," no words, just "Unnnggggh!"

And as soon as he started he stopped. I could feel his cum already
trickling out of me, past the cork of his cock lock.

He physically shuddered. Like a goosebump shake.

"Oh God, I needed that," he half-laughed, half cried. "I'm so sorry to do
that to you, Zachy. I've wanted to cum in you like that since you were 11
years old." His dick plopped out and I squeezed my butt muscles
together. "I hope there's more to it than this," I muttered comically.

He laughed and squeezed me. "Oh, there is, I promise. Just let me catch my
breath again. Let me get my bearings."

I laughed. He actually said that. "Get my bearings."

Damn, my ass was sticky. And how weird it was. I'd waited the past two
weeks for this fuck. He'd waited three years. And when we finally did it,
the whole thing was over in six strokes and about ten seconds. If he didn't
give me a round two, I'd have a pretty short entry when I wrote to Dear
Diary tonight.

But oh, did he give me a round two.

Man, did he give me a round two.

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

"Are you ready," he asked me. He looked almost goofy when he said it. Like
"one for the money" or Jackie Gleason or somebody. "And away-y-y-y-y we
go!"

I just nodded, because something told me the shit was about to get
serious. Fully recovered with a drink of Kool-Aid out of a glass he brought
me, I was ready to offer my ass for sloppy seconds, hoping he'd get it all
the way inside me this time, and pump it in and out and least long enough
for me to know what actual sex felt like.

"Go slow this time," I told him softly, and I was surprised how calm and
grown-up I sounded. "Just take your time. Let's kiss. Go slow."

He wrapped me in his arms and started kissing me. I was hard in an
instant. I loved it when David kissed me. I could do it all day, sex or no
sex. I could spend hours letting him kiss me and kissing him back. I wasn't
aware of the passing of time.

His arms stroked slowly up and down my back. My dick was hard and pressed
up against his stomach.

He went down on me first, taking my hard cock into his mouth, and I
remember being momentarily confused. I didn't know if I was supposed to cum
now, or save it for later, I didn't know the protocol.

"It's okay," he told me, reading my mind. "Relax. Just let it happen."

In instantly relaxed. Untensed my shoulders and my butt cheeks. It felt so
good, I got lost in his gentle sucking. And as his fingers started to
flutter with my rosebud, I got swept up in colors and the sparkles. I saw
Starry Night on the wall, and I swirled along with Vincent Van Gogh.

I lost myself in his beautiful ministrations and in a few short minutes, I
was moaning and crying out his name and filling his mouth with the sweetest
reward I could give him.

He pulled me to him as I came. Sucked and swallowed me with the gentlest
throat kisses, until finally I was spent and my dick stopped twitching and
my breathing returned to normal. I thought he was done, but he slowly
pushed my legs up. He softly tapped on the underside of my knees until I
got the hint and I bent them for him, and scooting me upward on the bed,
his mouth went down lower on me to my balls, to my taint, to my...

"Oh my God!" I cried out. "Oh, stop! What are you doing? You're licking me
there."

I tried to push his head away. It didn't occur to me, this crazy thing he
was doing. To lick my butt?? This couldn't be what he intended! Was he
crazy? Who did such a thing??

I'd never heard of rimming before! Can you believe that? As sexually
voracious as I'd been with my friends the past five years, none of us had
ever thought to lick another boy's butthole. It just didn't compute as part
of the landcape. But there he went expertly, insistently, pushing my hands
aside and his tongue met my asshole, and the whole world exploded for
me. New boylust burst forward like a baby being born. A savior. Redemption.

"Oh my God, my God!" It inflamed me! "My God!" I kept moaning. Like a safe
word. Like a mantra. Nobody'd ever done this to me before. I never knew it
could feel so good. Every nerve ending wanted to weep with the joy of his
name. "David," I whispered. "David." Just his name made me weak. I lifted
his head and I dragged it up to mine. I kissed him hungrily. I could taste
my ass on his tongue. It was bitter and sweet. It excited me, my own boy
musk on his lips.

"Please," I whispered to him urgently and achingly. "Put it in me again. As
far as you can. Love me with your dick."

Without a word, he lifted my legs. He pressed them to my chest. I was
young. I was limber. It didn't hurt or feel awkward. He reached to the
bedside table and lubed up his cock. He lubed up my asshole. He smiled at
me. He kissed his fingertip and pressed it to my lips. I kissed it back. I
tilted my head back and closed my eyes in a state of peace. A state of
grace.

I felt his dickhead press against my anus. Flaring and
rigid. Slippery. Engorged. He pressed it forward and my whole world opened
up. My ass. My future. My sobbing emotions. It all opened up for him and my
love for this man poured forth like a waterfall of trust. I grabbed his
hips and I beckoned him deeper. "Yes," I whispered. "Oh, David. Please love
me."

Through the first spincter, instantly. His tip popped in and I didn't even
blink. I felt his head inside me and I only wanted more. I pushed up
against him. A sharp, searing pain. I felt white flash before my eyes. "Go
slow, go slow," I heard someone say, and I was surprised to hear the voice
was my own, because I wasn't really there anymore. I was floating above us,
watching this happen, connected below, spinning circles above. Starry
Night. Swirled into a painting while he loved me.

He pushed steadily forward and his penis sunk into me. Deeply and fully,
past the second tight anal ring, where a boy's true virginity is lost, and
I knew then it was happening. He was taking my innocence away and I was
gladly shedding it for him. And I felt my own tears on my cheeks. And I
felt him kissing them away, Rocking me slowly, sliding in and out of
me. Telling me I was beautiful. Saying "It's okay. Zachy, it's okay, my
baby."

I closed my eyes and I melted into the sweet, soft magic of him. And he
fucked me slowly, deeply and kindly, like no one has ever done to me since
then. And there's a part of me that's still there, being loved by him like
that. A part of me that hasn't moved from that spot in 35 years. A part of
me will die there, in his love, a grateful, happy man.

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

There's a story I wrote a couple years ago about a 10-year-old boy who
wanted his 16-year-old cousin to make love to him. After a long, aching
lead-up, the older boy finally does. And while the story was fiction, the
feelings behind it were not.

The final lovemaking scene wasn't written with a boy and his cousin in mind
at all. I wrote it the way that it happened with David. For a brief,
beautiful moment, I was explaining in the most honest voice I knew, how it
felt when David took his time, that sweet second time and finally made love
to me the way I'd needed a man to love me my whole entire life.

Because my world turned into summer that day. Forever summer I never came
back from, where nights were long and crickets chriped from fresh-mowed
lawns and starlit skies. There was no going back after he changed my world
that day. Even now, years later, when I close my eyes, I'm still that
boy. Still 14, and still in his arms.

Whatever I was before that day, I could no longer be. Once I was just a
field and a forest. Now I was acres of flowers and pine trees and
fast-growing roses shooting straight to the sky.

I left my innocence behind me that day. Long behind. Far behind.

Silly things were gone when he loved me. My life turned into loving like
grown-ups.

He fucked me.

He filled me.

He helped me grow up.

When he licked me down there...his wide wet tongue making wet sticky
circles before pushing deep inside me, my skinny ass already opening up
like a flower to take him in? It was like something new was born.

I had practiced. God, I had practiced. With fingers. With candles. With
things I could find. Practicing for this. Knowing this would help him go in
easier. Wanting to be ready for him.

But who can be ready at 14 for the enormity.

His cock. His power. So big. So demanding.

And I was so little. So new.

But he licked me there first, and my mind went on fire. My body turned into
flushed, panting heat. His fingers stretched me and I moaned, pushing back.

My legs were over his shoulders.

He was glistening with lube.

He pushed himself forward.

Just a little. Just an inch.

The pain was piercing, stabbing, fiery white.

I sucked in my breath. I winced. I cried out.

"Go slow, go slow."

He stopped. He pulled out. He went slow. Tried again.

He pushed in again. He went slower this time. For me. Not to hurt me.

This time it went in. An inch. Then two. Then three. Then God.

Then God, everything went up and it all went in me.

Just slipped inside. Like heaven. Like release.

I could smell my own ass. I could smell his hard cock.

So big. So full.

And God, he was in me.

And he pushed it in, and my eyes filled with tears.

Not hurt tears. Not scared tears.

Just tears of completion.

"I love you," I told him. I was crying. I was shaking.

"I love you, Zachy," he whispered back. "I love you so much."

And so began the in-and-out. The sweet dance of summer, where a boy is
loved by a man who loves him. Incomprehensible new dance. It shouldn't be
possible. Yet there it is anyway, and all the more beauty, because there it
is, love, going all in-and-out. And no one is hurt, and no one is scared,
and if you think that it's wrong then you just weren't there.

You won't understand and if you think that it's wrong, then I'm sorry for
you, but you'll just never know. The beauty is so tangible there are songs
in the sky. And if you still can't hear them, then I'm sorry, you're
wrong. You just weren't there.

"Cum in me," I whispered to this beautiful man who was loving me. "Make
this last forever."

"Zachy," he whispered. "My baby. My Zach. I love you so much."

And he pushed, and he grunted, and he grabbed my ass with the thickest of
hands and he pulled my asshole onto his cock so hard I thought it would
come through my throat. And then he was panting, and rutting, and shaking
and fucking.

Oh, God he was fucking.

He was fucking me so hard.

And I was moaning and whimpering and I thought I would die of the sheer
love in his arms.

"I love you," he grunted, then, "God, how I love you."

And his cock erupted into the tightness of my ass like a fountain. Like a
gusher. Like a hydrant of desire that had been locked off since he first
met me, that 11-year-old boy who first caught his eye. Since the first
dance of my 14-year-old summer, when I first scooped up his cum and I
fingered it inside myself. And now he was filling me. Fucking me. Quenching
me with completion.

Do you know what you feel when you're 14 and a man erupts in your ass? A
sense of immortality. Of newfound omnipotence. To be that young and have
someone older need you that much, FILL you that much, you feel like
Superboy. Superman.

To know that for one shining second you are the center of his heart and his
soul and his entire universe. And what he's unloading into you now isn't
just his semen, it's everything he IS right now, this is ALL he can do in
this second. And he's doing it into YOU. Into your NOW. And you had the
power to make him helpless that way. In one shining second, you captured
him completely. He may leave you after this, but for this shining moment he
was yours, not just the world's, but yours. You're immortal in that
second. A god to be treasured. Even at 14. Especially at 14.

I was crying and thanking him. Thanking him for needing me. Thanking him
for taking me here. Thanking for helping me complete this journey. I was so
lost in awe of him. So sobbing. So grateful.

He kissed my tears and he held me tight. He rocked me slowly, still pushing
back and forth inside me in his slippery, soothing cum. He drew me into his
arms and my heart was all his that night. It was his to keep, filling me,
kissing me, loving me. I wanted nothing else but this. I wanted this to be
my forever.

"I love you," he whispered again, as the last quiet moments of my
silly-sweet boyhood rose into the air like vapor, like butterflies. The
flew off somewhere like sunflowers and vanished into the warm summer air of
a swirling, starry night.

"I love you, Zach," he said as he kissed me with so many kisses. "I always
will."

And to this day, I kiss him back in my heart and my history.

I believe that he meant it. And I've never stopped loving him.

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

The second time he fucked me was deep, and it hurt, and I was sore. But it
wasn't a bad hurt. It was a good hurt. I remember feeling proud, and I
remember a lot of kissing afterwards, and I remember being flat-out
exhausted. I don't remember how long it took exactly, that second time we
did it, but I know it was a long one. I remember looking at the bedside
alarm clock, vaguely thinking "Wow, is it this late already?" and think I
was going to say that out loud, but then I don't remember anything else,
because then I fell asleep naked in his arms.

I remember lying sweaty on his chest and feeling his chest hair tickle my
face. I remember the smell of us. Musk and sex and Chaps and man. I
remember him snoring lightly, and then I was asleep. Exhausted and
sleeping, like a tuckered, fucked boy.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, he had rolled me over on my side
again and started fucking me again. I was still asleep.

There's another Nifty story I've always found incredibly erotic – "A
9-Year-Old's Tale" by Jesse Fonda – where the young character, fucked by
a big boy for the first time, wakes up in a tent next to him to feel he
older boy fucking him a second time, literally fucking him while he's still
asleep and waking him up with the feeling of the fuck.

That's what David did to me.

"I must have fallen right to sleep," the kid in the story narrates,
"because I don't remember him pulling it out of me. The next thing I knew
he was rolling me onto my left side, put his arms around me and pulled me
back against him as his dick slid slowly back inside me. He really, really
likes it! He was going to do it again!"

Do you know how many times I've read that line since it was written in
2002? Hundreds. Literally hundreds. And I've probably masturbated to it
just as many.

Jesse, if you're still out there, you may have singlehandedly written the
67 words I've masturbated to more often than any other words in my
life. Because they're absolutely true to me. That's exactly what happened
with David. He actually woke me up fucking me a third time, dead of night,
moonlight shining, fast asleep, and suddenly I was being fucked again.

Fuck One. The Premature Ejaculation Fuck.

Fuck Two. The Long and Beautifully-Romantic Fuck.

Fuck Three. The Wake Up, I'm Fucking You Fuck.

"Huh," I said groggily. "Are we, what? Are we doing it again?"

"Shhhhh," he whispered quietly. "I had to do it one more time. You're just
so beautiful. I want you so much. Go back to sleep. I'll be finished in a
minute."

And ridiculously, I know this sounds impossible, but I think I went back to
sleep. I think I actually did. My ass was so wide open for him, so
completely loose and lube-slick and comfortable at that point, while I
recognized the deep, full pressure inside me, like having to poop, a
fullness, a massive pressure in my abdomen, I think I actually really did
fall back asleep as he fucked me in and out. It was silent and slow and
hypnotic and peaceful. And it felt so good, it lulled me to sleep.

And it was only when he sped up and came inside my ass a third time that
night, when he grabbed my hips and rutted up against me hard, then I did
wake up, with a gasp and a sharp pain as he rammed forward and dug his cock
into my depths to spew in me another load. Whatever he had left, I give his
balls credit. They needed one more. As for me, I was exhausted. We fell
asleep with his cock in my ass, slippery and softening. My dick was soft. I
was too exhausted to even need to cum.

In the morning, I woke up before him. I was wide awake when the sun came
up. The clock said 6:15. I looked at him sleeping, hair matted and
peaceful. My ass hurt like crazy. I had to poop. It's one thing to swirl in
the paintings of nighttime. In the morning when the sun comes up, your ass
is on fire and you just have to crap.

I started to sneak out of bed. I didn't want to wake him, and as intimate
as we'd been, I was embarrassed I had to go to the bathroom in front of
him. Weird how I'd let him fuck me, but I was totally mortified I had to
poop at his house. It's weird how kids think. It's weird how anyone thinks
when your waste disposal organs are also your sexual organs. That's an
embarrassing conflict sometimes.

When I lifted the cover to get out of bed, I spotted it. A wet spot and a
streak. A tan-colored wet spot, I'm not sure what it was. Cum and lube
mostly, but definitely mixed with whatever darker colors had come out of my
ass. And there was a darker streak next to it, definitely darker
brown. Poop, or dried blood? I couldn't tell. But it was definitely mine.

I was mortified. Horrified. I blushed deep red. I felt gross. Dirty. I
wanted to clean it up before David woke up and saw it. I thought – I
don't know – he'd see it and think I was a messy little kid. Unprepared
for this. Like I failed the adult test. Grown-ups couldn't possibly make
those stains when they had sex, could they? I felt humiliated. Like I'd
done something wrong. Like I'd messed his bed like a dumb little child. Not
like the adult sexual partner I was trying to be.

I went to the bathroom and as quietly as possible, on low stream, ran the
hot water. It took forever to warm up. I peed while it was running. I had
to pee so bad. I had to poop badly too, but this took priority. I had to
clean up my mess before he woke up. I was desperate to hide it. Frantic
almost in my illogical exhaustion.

When the water was hot, I wet the washcloth. I tiptoed back into bed, and
with as little movement as possible, started rubbing at the stain,
especially the darker streak. The darker streak was as long and wide as a
flash drive. The wet spot was as big and round as a computer mouse. And as
I tried to clean them, David woke up and yawned and rubbed his eyes. He
stretched and he looked at me, puzzled. I quickly dropped the washcloth,
but he'd already seen it. I quickly laid down over the stains and tried to
look casual. Guilty, but faking it.

"Hey," he smiled, looking at me puzzled. "You up already?"

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "I had to pee."

Oh please, oh please, I thought. Go back to sleep. The bed's not clean yet.

"You okay?" he asked. "Is everything okay? You washing up?" He nodded at
the washcloth.

"Yeah," I said, but I was blushing deep red. "Just felt sweaty. Just
cooling off." I was stammering. I was caught. I was too tired to say the
right things. He propped himself up.

"Zach? What's wrong?"

I tried to think of some lie, but I was just too exhausted. I showed him
the washcloth.

"I was cleaning it up," I said, ashamed. "I got up out of bed, and I made a
mess when we did stuff. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He cocked his head.

"I was trying to wipe it up."

"What are you talking about?" he said, and he looked patiently and caringly
at me, like I was an idiot. A "slow" child.

"I got stuff on the bed. You know, from when we did it. It's messy a
little. I'm sorry. I'll clean it."

I turned away from him and took the wash cloth again and quickly moved and
started rubbing on it, hard.

"Zach," he laughed, and he grabbed my hand. Stopped me in
mid-swipe. "Relax, come here. Don't worry. It happens. To everyone. It's
not a big deal."

And his voice was so soft, so soothing, so matter of fact, that suddenly I
was crying. I have no idea where it came from, other than I thought I'd
done the worst thing in the world, and suddenly he was just casually
shrugging it off and it didn't even matter at all.

And honestly, it didn't. I was just too young to know that yet. Too
tired. Confused and too tired.

"It happens. Big deal," he said softly, soothing me and stroking my
hair. "Don't worry. Just come back to bed. Just come, let me hold you. Go
back to sleep, baby. It's early. You're tired."

He held me and kissed me and stroked my hair and made little "shhhhh"
sounds. I cried into his chest. I felt dumb, and little, and stupid at a
time I was trying to be a grown-up.

"Cleaning stains up," he chuckled to himself. "Jesus, Zach. I do have a
washing machine, you know?"

I shudder-sobbed. Laughed a little. "It's half yours," I muttered. "There's
a ton of your cum in it."

"Well there you go," he smiled. "Equally guilty." He kissed my lips. And
then we were kissing again. And not soft kissing. Hungry kisses now. Our
bodies were getting hungry for each other.

He took my hand. He put it on his hard penis. God he was stiff. Morning
wood or aroused desire, I had no idea, but his dick was clearly hard and
ready to go again. My butt was howling just thinking about it. "He gave me
a howler," I wrote in a story once. And yeah. He did.

We kissed and felt each other until his caresses became more urgent. He
started reaching for my butt again, first squeezing my cheeks, then his
fingers started probing at me, and I honestly wondered if I could take him
again without crapping the bed. You worry about that stuff when you're
14. Hell, you worry about that stuff when you're 50. But that morning,
nope. I had to cut him off.

"I can't," I said. "I have to stop. I have to go to the bathroom really,
really bad."

"Go to the bathroom," I said. Not "poop." It felt weird saying "poop" in
front of him. I would have died in horror saying that word in front of him,
even though his dick had been up my butt three times last night and we'd
left the evidence on the bed.

He laughed. "Go!" He swatted my butt as I climbed out.

I wished he'd turn the TV on loud or something. Why was his bathroom so
close?

I locked the bathroom door behind me. Isn't that weird? I locked him
out. We'll fuck our new partners but not share our bathroom space. Strange
how intimacy comes in different stages.

I turned on the sink and let the water flow so he couldn't hear me. I
expelled a huge cum and air fart, as quietly as I could, but it still
sounded deafening, and to David's credit, he didn't say anything. And then
I let out another. And then a third. And it turned out I really didn't have
to poop at all. I'd barely eaten the day before. It was all just compressed
air and yellowish sperm.

He'd really pumped a lot into me, and now it was all mixed with lube and
ass slime, and after I wiped my butt (no blood, thank God), I looked down
at the bowl, fascinated to see his semen there in globs floating on the
water. So much for those babies, I thought ridiculously, and made myself
nervously-laugh. They won't be fertilizing any eggs soon.

And then, my butt wiped, air expelled, embarrassing crisis averted, I
flushed the toilet, ran the hot water again, dragged a second warm wet
washcloth over my butt, rinsed it thoroughly in the sink, even ran some
soap across it before I rinsed it, washed my hands, then bounded back into
the bedroom, attacking David with kisses and newfound relief.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, let me pee," he laughed at my much-improved
mood. And he quickly got out of bed, left the door open. I listened and
watched as he fired his strong stream of morning piss into the bowl, then
flushed quickly and joined me back in bed, tackling and tickling
me. Gasping for breath, he leaned in and kissed me.

We writhed together. I was helpless and pinned under his hands. My arms
above my head. There was no where I could go. He was strong and I wasn't. I
felt so wonderfully helpless and I wanted him again. As sore as my ass was,
I wanted him again and again. I reached for the lube on his table. I handed
it to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked me gently. "Is everything okay down there?"

"Yeah," I said. "It was just air. Air and about ten gallons of your cum."

He smiled.

"I want more," I told him seriously. "I want more of your cum inside me."

He moaned and kissed me. I grabbed his hard cock. I lifted my legs up and
parted for him. I cried out in a low moan as he filled me again.

It ached so good. So full. So completely. It would begin a summer for me
where I had an insatiable need for his cock that was unending. As sore as
my ass was that summer, I just always wanted more. And I'd go home from his
house that day, and I'd jack off three more times in my room, shoving my
own fingers up my aching hole, biting my lower lip until my teeth left
marks, moaning, aching and masturbating, pretending my fingers were his
dick. I needed his cock. I needed it repeatedly.

You know those stories where the kid says, "after we fucked, I could feel
him in my ass for a week." Well, let me assure you, those aren't fake,
because after we fucked, I could feel him in my ass for a week. But it
didn't stop me from coming back for more. We did it for the rest of the
summer. As many times as I could. At times, I wore him out. My ass always
hurt that summer. Always. But I always wanted more. "One more time," I'd
beg him, handing him the lube. And he'd fuck me again. Again and
again. It's a wonder I could walk straight by October. It's a wonder he
wasn't in traction.

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

David runs through so many of my stories here on Nifty, it's hard to even
count them. I look at my story list, and even though they're full of
fictional characters in fictional situations, he's the thread of reality
that runs through all of them.

He's the common core in all of them...the daddy to Benny, the uncle to
Ryan, the playmate to Fiji, and all of the rest. Pick a title, just select
one at random, and the paragraphs overflow with David and my memories of
that summer. He's the Zee to my Davey in Memphis Boy. He's my very
definition of boylove.

Just a few days ago, I wrote the following scene in another
mostly-forgettable story of mine, about a man looking back at his first
time with a grown-up when he himself was a boy. And it probably prompted me
to finally sit down and finish this David memory I started so long ago,
because it completely expressed my feelings toward David.

It helped me be brave enough to finally take that last leap and write down
this story with its flaws and its goofs and its glaring imperfections. It
was air farts and romance. Cum stains and promises. Our story isn't unique,
I guess. It's older than the hills. Man loves boy, then they both move
on. But our hearts were pure. We had good intentions.

The first time a man made love to me, I was 14-years-old. His name was
David, he was 45, and I met him in a community theatre play I was in. He
was a boylover. It was probably the first time I fully understood the
concept that "some" men liked "some" boys, always with their hearts, but
sometimes with their bodies.

I was not scared to be in this relationship, nor was I used, nor was I
manipulated, nor was I naοve or taken advantage of. I understood what he
ultimately needed but was too afraid to start with me, I understood what I
ached for so badly it made me shake inside.

I had a hunger in my heart that transcended silly sex and base biology. Man
or boy, it's all the same; we crave oneness from a lover, not sex, not
fucking. Sex is just what we do because we can't become one with them or
meld with them in any other way. It's the next best thing.

As it turned out, I had to seduce him. Most boylovers are like that. Unable
out of fear, unable out of respect, to initiate. And I wish people
understood that.

After we'd done stuff, become physical that summer, David told me he would
have been perfectly content to just be in my company that year. Just to see
me and spend time with me. Just to take me
places. Non-threatening. Non-sexual. No tricks. No agenda.

And if that kind of love from a man to a boy is called grooming, then
fine. Then I was a boy who needed desperately to be groomed, even if I had
to lead him there myself.

"I just need to be with you, Zach" he said, as he rocked me naked in his
arms, the tenth time? The eleventh? On our fifth secret sleepover? Our
sixth? I nearly lived with him that summer, playing house whenever
possible.

"You're sure spending a lot of time over at Jake's house," my mom smiled as
I packed my overnight bag a 15th time? A 16th? Who could count. "I like
that Jake. He's a good boy," she said. And if she only knew. Hey, thanks
Jake, for covering for me that summer. I still owe you one, buddy.

Later, David and I were lying in his bed and he'd just made love to me
again. I was sticky and content with the deep-inside heat of him. How he'd
filled me. Stretched my whole existence. His heat and his scent rolled off
me like a new and comforting coat I'd just tried on and found miraculous
and right. My ass was empty now. Wide and wet and pulsing with his echo,
but oh God, how he'd fit me perfectly.

"Just being with you is enough, Zachy. I swear, I didn't ever need this."

I kissed his beautiful lips and raised my arm to stroke the stubble on his
cheek. Tears formed in my eyes to hear such love from him. To be held so
close to him like this, feeling so safe and kept, so willingly acquiescent.

There are moments of surrender in our life that transcend everything we've
waited for, and this was mine. My first and most essential. Naked in his
arms, I'd never in a million years known love from a man could be so warm
and right and palpable.

"This," he said, letting his hand wander down to touch my hard cock, "is a
miracle. It's a wonder. It's more than I ever could have dreamed of," he
said, kissing my eyebrows. "But if it's ever not what you want – this
part – I'm happy just to know you. Just to be with you, Zach. I'll be
anything for you. Whatever you need me to be. I hope you know that."

And he was, for as long as he could be, and he meant it. But life moves on,
as you know.

His job changed. He was transferred. A man's gotta live. And a boy's gotta
grow.

David moved away at the end of that summer. 200 miles. And it might as well
have been the end of the earth for a boy without a car and a man without a
reason to come back and see him. Not a reason his mom would buy anyway.

"I'll always remember this, Zach," David cried gently the last night we
spent together. That time it was David crying, and me holding him. "This
has been unforgettable this year. I wish I could take you with me."

"Shhhh," I told him, kissing his tears away. "Don't talk. Just love me."

For one brief year, I was David's that summer. I was his Loved Boy, his
eromenos. And that's an honor I'll always remember.

The first time he made love to me, I'd cried into his chest as he held me
and rocked me in his arms. Nobody'd ever loved me like that. Nobody'd ever
respected me like that. I was a little child being loved by a man. And now
here he was, crying into mine. It's funny sometimes how life comes full
circle. It's funny sometimes how the circle rolls on.

My heart, I know, just grew and grew that summer. Into magic and memory,
forever and sweet.

To this day, when I think of him, I'm grateful and overflowing.

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

And that's the story of David and Zachy.

Finally told, I leave it here for you and the ages.

I miss you, David, and I was sorry to read that you've shuffled off this
mortal coil.

I hadn't seen you since we parted and I didn't know where you'd wound up or
how many boys you loved after me, but as the song goes, my wild Van Gogh,
"I could have told you, Vincent...this world was never meant for one as
beautiful as you."

Thank you, David, for starry, starry nights and a love gratefully
remembered.

The summer I was 14.

The summer I was filled.

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