Date: Sun, 9 Oct 2005 17:01:53 -0700 (PDT)
From: New Stories <storiesnew@yahoo.com>
Subject: Finding the Boy Who Stole My Heart - Chapter 1
Finding the Boy Who Stole My Heart - Chapter 1
by Dennis B.
StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
WARNING! To qualify to read this story, you must be of legal age
and allowed by the jurisdiction or jurisdictions that govern you
to read sexually explicit homosexual material. If you do not
qualify, you must exit and seek other material. You have been
warned. Thank you for cooperating and being fair to others.
All persons, names, places, descriptions, and events are purely
fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, names, places,
descriptions, or events is totally accidental and a pure
coincidence.
_____________
AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE READER: If you are the type who never reads
nor enjoys the background material, skip to the 14th paragraph,
"I was driving around . . ." The paragraphs preceding that
consist of the main character's explanation of his drives and
motives, how he goes about looking for a boy, and what types he
looks for. He reveals a lot about himself in those opening
paragraphs. Some of it may be arousing.
Also (since Nifty text is small for those who read a lot): At
the bottom of this file, I have put instructions for enlarging
the text on the screen. Whether or not they will work for you
depends on your browser. Just stay in Nifty and try it. :-)
_____________
FINDING THE BOY WHO STOLE MY HEART
by Dennis B.
StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
Jason Richards, 22
Kyle Adamson, 15
_____________
CHAPTER 1
I wanted a boy. I was twenty-two years old. Some people
thought of me as a boy, but they were wrong. I know what a boy
is, and the boy I want is 15 to 16--small, slender but nicely
muscled--not bulky but not skinny. If a boy was to be a little
off-spec in this regard, I would err to the thin side. If I
wanted to bulk him or fatten him up, I would do it myself.
But I want him slender--that goes with small, which to me is
under five feet, nine inches in height. I am about six feet
tall. I don't care about the size of his privates. A smooth
body scores high with me--especially arms, thighs, and chest.
A big penis isn't a bad thing, and I like big, though longer
than six-and-a-half or seven inches isn't very boy-like, and hard
to suck, the way I prefer to suck. I like small, better. A
four-incher is cute as hell, easy to blow, easy to play with in
every way. And so wonderfully, boyishly small.
I do however have a softness in my heart for some truly cute,
tall, skinny boys whose bodies are still under construction,
thanks to puberty, or maybe a little beyond puberty. But they
aren't usually my first choice. A close second, maybe.
At the age of 22, I was fussy, but not too fussy. If a 17,
18, 19, or 20-year-old knocked my socks off, won my heart, and
wanted to set up house with me, I would do it. But there was
something about a 15-year-old that I was hung up on. I don't
know what it is. I didn't question it, I went looking for it.
With gusto.
I had money. An inheritance. I wouldn't need to hold a job
or worry about paying the bills. My name had been spoken aloud
in the courtroom--an event I'll never forget: "Jason Richards,
sole inheritor," the judge had proclaimed. I especially liked
the sound of my name at that moment. The judge put the emphasis
on 'Jason,' a name a lot of guys tell me they like. I think it's
a nice name.
I didn't go for fancy cars, boats, or trips. I splurged only
on a nice big house with lots of privacy. I keep a low profile.
The houses in my new neighborhood are so far apart, you never
have to meet your neighbors, much less get to know them. In that
sense, it isn't a true neighborhood, but a large tract of land
with a few houses on it.
I'm an attractive guy--work out every other day, without
fail. I was born with good looks, bright green eyes, and light
brown hair, but I wish it were naturally blond. I have fun
highlighting it, just a little on top. I turn heads. That's
nice, too, but I want to pick him. And the ones I would want are
too busy with their hormones to turn their heads in my direction.
That didn't matter. I would find him someday.
And I would turn his head when I had him. No, not quite
right. He would like me and naturally turn his head for me, as I
would for him. He would not be the cutest boy in the world, but
big-time cute enough, with a lot of love in his heart to match
the love and care I would want to give him. Something in my
heart aches to do that.
As usual at four p.m., I went on line hunting for pictures
that would raise my default horniness to a fever pitch. It
didn't take long. When I had a hardon that I knew would not go
down by itself, I took off in my car and drove around, knowing I
would see a few boys, at least, and drive past them as slowly as
I dared, hoping to get a good look, front and back--mostly front.
I liked faces, chests, legs, bulges. Mostly faces and bulges.
Butts are okay. You could do a lot with them. Spank, if the
boy was into that--and I was sure MY boy would be--or that with a
little guidance and nurturing, he'd grow to want that. Not a
real requirement of mine, but I figure a little kink is okay. To
hurt, dominate, or humiliate someone is not my thing, but a
little slap can be erotic at the right time.
A butt is good to enter--penetration is almost a necessity
for me, but once I found my boy, that could wait for months while
I teased and trained his aroused boyhood and butt with pure
pleasure--he'd want it so badly by then. But during the act of
impaling, penetrating for the pleasure of us both, the looks of
those butt-cheeks were unimportant to me--the interior was the
main thing. So, while cruising around, I paid scant attention to
a boy's butt. When the time was right, my tongue, among other
things, would become anxious to show off its skills.
I was driving around with my stubborn bone, looking for boys
to stare at and admire in the privacy of my car. Nothing. No
one. The streets were bare. Usually, a block or so from my
property, there were at least two or three boys shooting baskets
in their driveways, walking to a friend's house, or playing at
the edge of the forest.
Not today. I drove further out. Three more miles. Farm
country. Nice, neat, suburban farms--not the huge ones that go
for miles.
There were one or two larger farms, but these weren't the
super-sized commercial types. The Miller farm spanned the most
acreage around these parts, and it wasn't huge.
It was warm. School had just let out for the summer.
Irrationally hoping for better success in a less-populated
section, I turned onto a small road that went through--I could
use it to make one leg of a big square and wind up at my house
again. The bumps in the road always boosted my erection--Little
Jason liked the sudden movements. He always let me know that by
jumping up and making a wet spot in my shorts.
I looked ahead and behind, surveying the flat landscape, and
saw no other vehicles. That was a nice feeling--just me, my car,
and a country road. And my boner, and the bumps. But 'nice'
could wait. I was on the hunt.
After a mile or so, I saw the back of a boy on the right side
of the road. He was walking in the direction I was driving. I
knew right away it was a boy--the proportions, even just seeing
his back from five hundred feet; the way the body moved; the
clothing--shorts, no shirt; smooth back; arm motion nicely
coordinated with the legs.
I slowed down well ahead of time, so the boy wouldn't become
concerned or frightened by a sudden deceleration when I came
within range of his hearing or sight.
As I got closer, I saw the shorts from behind, hanging on
him. He was blond--an immediate plus for me--and his legs were
hairless as far as I could tell. Excellent. The baggy shorts
didn't bother me--that was the style young guys wore.
Hearing my engine at close range, he turned and looked right
at me for a second, then straight ahead. It was too fast. The
image of him didn't register fully. But the back of my mind
locked-in on something that told me he was the right age.
I passed him at about 20 miles an hour, looking intently at
his face. His profile made Little Jason jump. Little Jason is
about seven inches, maybe a bit more.
The face I saw in the rear-view mirror sped my heart. But
the *front* of his shorts didn't hang--his bulge saw to that. He
wasn't hard, by any means. The boy just had a nice bulge.
I kept glancing at him in my rear-view mirror. He hadn't
appeared to be hitchhiking, but suddenly he was waving at me with
both arms. I stopped. My heart beat faster. He ran toward the
car with the energy only a boy can muster. His speed was
impressive, his form perfect. I popped the locks open as his
hand neared the door handle.
"Hello," he said cheerfully, opening the car door without
hesitating--a bright smile on his face. He was beautiful--blond
hair, blue eyes, hairless legs--and not out of breath. He hadn't
said, "hi," or "hey," but "Hello." This added ten points to his
already high score in my estimation. He was polite--refined
maybe.
I looked him over well. Very cute--a ten. Good shoulders;
nice pectorals; smooth chest; tight abs. Not rippled, but no
tummy at all. God! How could a kid this beautiful be on the
loose without a bodyguard? And on the least likely back road.
It was warm out, but he didn't look sweaty. Had he just come
from Miller's house? He smelled delicious. Not musky, not
soapy, not an actual odor--just a fresh, subtle boy-scent. Soapy
is nice, too. Smells good. Makes me conjure up images of the
kid naked in the shower, suds all over him. And who knows what
he might do with those suds.
He was 15. I was sure of it. I felt that sexual knot start
to form in my gut.
"Hello," I said, an admiring smile crossing my face. A
motion of my head was enough to make him get in and close the
door. I took off slowly. A rather tall, well-placed empty box,
held to the console with velcro, blocked his line of sight to my
erect manhood. I had my reasons.
"Kyle," he said, turning to me, his smile unabated. I liked
his efficient introduction.
"Jason," I said with a grin, mimicking his one-word style,
looking him right in the eye--a gesture he returned by letting
his eyes linger on mine. There was a strength there. Made me
shiver.
I extended a hand, knowing he might ignore it, but his firm
handshake impressed me. More eye contact. His big blues stunned
me.
I drove and waited. That makes a boy nervous--just saying
one word and waiting. I drove on, relaxed, smiling just a bit,
taking in the scenery.
I deliberately missed the right turn that would make the
second leg of the square back to my house, and headed further
out, toward the quarries--abandoned stone pits that were now
filled with water. Most of them made good swimming holes, others
were dangerous and roped off--closed to the public.
The boy wasn't nervous. He did as I did--smiled and enjoyed
the scenery. It seemed to me he waited just the right length of
time before speaking.
"Thanks for picking me up."
Something about his voice--young, sensual; his tone humble
and sincere--penetrated my outer guard in a very pleasant way.
He was happy just as he was. Happy with me, I hoped.
He had thanked me. Another ten points. Something about his
mouth, a fleeting heavenly expression in his lips, said he was
pleased to be with me.
There was a presence about him. I couldn't say what it was,
other than exciting, and it came from him. I don't remember
another human being having that; like a force-field that makes
your mind spin and your whole body tingle. Little Jason tingled
big-time.
I wondered how long it would take him to tell me where he was
going--or ask where *I* was going. I let some time pass before
saying anything.
"You're welcome, Kyle. It's my pleasure." I said this with
a little grin and a glance at his beautiful eyes. He did that
cute mouth thing again.
As we passed the first quarry--a good twelve-minute drive
from his starting point--I concluded this was a well-balanced and
strong-minded boy. I could be wrong, but, added to his silence,
his calm manner hinted at that. Instead of my silence making
*him* nervous, it started to rattle *me* that he could be quiet
and comfortable for so long.
I wanted to stop, get out of the car, find a cozy spot and
talk. But I might make him fearful if I stopped before enough
conversation had passed--conversation that would let him know I
was safe to be with, among other things. I wanted to learn about
him, as well. I had to break the silence.
"I think you're the first boy I've seen hitchhiking around
here."
"Not too many of us, I guess," he said, unsure of himself
suddenly.
"You're right. Live around here?"
"Not really, sir."
Now he sounded tense. I guessed that's why he added the
'sir.' I liked that. It gave Little Jason a throb. At least
the boy was respectful--obviously well-bred. But it wasn't
logical that asking him where he lived would unnerve him.
"I see," I said blandly, as if that was the end of that
issue, and hoped I'd sounded soothing.
I had expected him to tell me where he was from. It would be
interesting to see what else he would say. A few minutes passed.
"I earned some money pulling weeds around that man's house--
the place you picked me up."
"Yes, Mr. Miller's farm. I admire a boy who works."
"Thanks." He shifted a bit, turning in his seat, facing me
and staring, as if fascinated with me. He certainly had my
attention.
I acknowledged with a nod.
"I earned almost enough money to buy cigarettes."
"Oh, you smoke," I said, in a neutral tone, attempting to be
inoffensive.
"Yeah," he said, blushing cutely, his head lowering a bit.
"No shame. Not the best thing, not the worst. I smoke,
too."
"You DO?" he said, apparently restraining himself from
jumping out of the seat with joy. The grin was precious.
"Yes. You can have one of mine in a minute." I pulled into
one of the more barren-looking quarries--big rocks all around,
not much to look at. The swimming hole portion was a bit of a
walk from where I parked and was too shallow to be a popular spot
to swim, so the place was deserted. I set the brake but made no
move to open my door. "You don't mind taking a smoke-break
here?"
"No. I'd love it," he said, licking his lips. I suspected
the boy needed a smoke badly.
"Pick a rock and sit down." I opened my door, turned to hide
my stiff penis, and popped the locks for him. I quickly sat down
on the nearest rock, giving him the choice of the many others, so
he could sit as close or far from me as he wanted.
Kyle sat on the rock next to mine, about two feet away. The
irregular shape of the big stone grabbed his shorts, pulling them
tight to his groin. I looked at the outline of his penis.
I pulled out my pack of smokes and paused, admiring his cute
face. Of course I was aware he wanted a cigarette--badly
perhaps--but his handsome features had me entranced.
"You're fifteen, aren't you." I wasn't asking. I was sure I
was right.
"How'd you know?" His eyes were glued to the pack of
cigarettes.
"I like to guess boys' ages." Now *there* was a clue for
him.
"I s'pose . . . " he said very softly, his voice lower-
pitched than before, "you want me to work for it."
I knew he meant the cigarette. Several thoughts crossed my
mind. He shocked me--I think I knew what type of work he meant.
"Work for it? No--here, take one."
I opened the small box and shook it to make a few of the
thin, round, socially-unacceptable things pop up. We each took
one. I lit mine, handed him my lighter, and sat back, letting my
bulge show for the first time.
"Thanks," he said with an indescribable grin, and occupied
himself with lighting up.
When he returned the lighter, he noticed something protruding
from my lap. His eye and body movements were subtle, graceful--
and made me horny as hell as his gaze slid deftly over my male
bulges.
"Impressive."
"Sir?"
"You were willing to work off the cost of one cigarette."
"Yeah. I still am. I can help you with that."
"Oh, you noticed," I said, smiling, knowing where he was
looking.
"Yes, sir," he said with a grin. Not over-eager, not without
enthusiasm, but pleasant, gentle.
"Well, thank you. I'm not going to take advantage of a young
man like you. If anything like that were to happen, it would be
because you'd want to do it, and could enjoy it."
I meant what I'd said. But I had wanted so much to say 'boy'
instead of 'young man.' 'Boy' would have been more correct;
sexier. Little Jason was agreeing with me vigorously.
Kyle raised an approving eyebrow at my no-strings-attached
offer. His grin remained. His face took on an odd look.
"I wasn't hitchhiking," the boy suddenly confessed, his face
very red. "I saw you and thought you were gorgeous. Then I
waved like crazy, hoping you'd see and stop." The boy's hands
trembled.
Kyle certainly revealed a great deal about himself in one
simple statement. And just like that, he tells me I'm gorgeous.
An impressive boy, indeed. I was thinking, 'Holy shit!'
"Just like that?" I said, my heart taking off. "That's very
nice. Refreshing." I wasn't sure I was making sense. Little
Jason's jumping did not escape the boy's notice.
"Yeah," he said, staring at my animated bone, "I'd like it."
"So, what would you do with it?" I asked boldly, thinking I'd
embarrass him for sure now, and deliberately calling my penis
'it' to see how Kyle would deal with that.
"I could suck--I mean . . . or . . . you know, whatever you
wanted, sir," he said with a bit of fear in his eyes. The boy
was crimson now, wriggling uncomfortably. Had he embarrassed
himself, or was it my question?
I thought I'd be gloating over his distress--I loved to see
boys blush--but now I was sorry for his discomfort. He was
young--I'm sure he didn't realize all the implications of
'whatever you wanted.' I wondered what was up with the 'sir.'
I wasn't sure I liked the 'sir' anymore. I wasn't exactly the
'pops' type.
"I would like that," I said, hoping to put him at ease; to
let him know I wasn't rejecting him or his offer, "if the time
comes for something like that." I grinned subtly--a sort of
bubbling up that comes from deep down.
I saw the relief on his face right away. His smile was the
essence of typical boy, without a hint of the unseemly type of
sensuality.
"That would be nice," Kyle said--so peaceful and content with
his lot in life, it seemed.
How could he be so casual about this? 'Nice?' A cold drink
on a hot day is 'nice.'
I wondered just how brave Kyle was--having the balls to
travel without enough money even to buy cigarettes, let alone
serenely say he was willing to get intimate with me. I wondered
how he came to offer his sexual services so easily. Maybe he
lost his money, for all I knew. I wanted to ask him about that,
but this was not the time.
"How far have you traveled?" I asked as a lead-in question,
hoping it would prompt him to talk about his sexual past.
"About eight hundred miles, I think. Hitching rides. Took
four or five days. I don't know--I lost track of time." He was
smooth, calm, grinning easily. His hands didn't shake anymore.
My cock was going to break off.
"I suppose you've had to do that a lot to earn your keep
during your travels," I said, staring down at my bulge.
"Not really. I only did it twice, and that was before I left
home."
"I see." The anticipation on my face must have showed.
"A kid on the football team. A senior. I blew him twice,
and then he didn't want it anymore." The odd expression on his
face--a look of disappointment maybe?
Kyle was red-faced. I swore I heard his heart pounding. The
kid had to be mortified--he'd just told me the most private
events of his life, in all probability. But his tone was relaxed
and even--like he'd told me the final score of last night's
baseball game.
"Did uh--everything stay cool for you guys?"
"Oh, yeah!" he said, grinning, then looking thoughtful.
"You're pretty cool. You know what it's all about."
Excitement in his voice--and we were talking about sex. A
good sign. Little Jason agreed, nodding quickly.
My smile was my thanks for his compliment. 'Pretty cool,'
and, 'You know what it's all about,' may not sound like much.
But coming from a 15-year-old, that's serious praise. Especially
since it was directed at me--someone I'm sure he thought of as an
'older guy.' I felt my face getting hot. There was a soft
breeze that cooled me down a bit.
Damn. Twenty-two and I still felt like a kid, myself. No
way was I an older guy. Then again, maybe he didn't think of me
that way. I was aroused, picturing this tempting specimen of
raw, hot-blooded boyhood on his knees sucking off a seventeen-
year-old stud from his high-school football team. Little Jason
really liked that image.
"So, you're not from around here." I dropped the topic of
sex deliberately, hoping he would bring it up again himself. No
matter what he said, my dick could not possibly get any harder.
And it wasn't going to get softer. Not anytime soon.
I wondered how else he might react to my suddenly becoming
silent on the subject. Maybe squirm? That would be nice--a
good-looking 15-year-old boy, squirming in the seat next to me.
In this case, the rock next to me.
"No, sir. I got a release from my parents."
"A release? One of those divorce things?"
"No, sir. A decree of independence. I filed for it.
They're still my parents, but they've let me go. Like an adult.
And it makes me an adult in Iowa--legally."
"Oh. Nice." I wasn't sure what to say. I smiled politely.
Iowa was like another universe from where we sat.
"They gave me an adult ID card. Most states will honor that,
they told me. I can do whatever I want," he said, fishing the
card from the pocket of his shorts. He looked good in the
picture. After a brief moment, he added, "I mean--I try not to
do bad things."
I didn't think he would do anything bad, but it was cute the
way he said it. It was the corners of his mouth--they screamed,
'This is a good kid.' At that point I wanted to lock lips so
bad! And my dick was angry for lack of attention, though that
could wait. At the moment, I was more interested in hearing Kyle
moan with pleasure. Maybe we could both moan at the same time.
I decided not to press him for the reasons he'd split from
his parents. It would come out later, I assumed. Besides, I
didn't want to say anything that might bring back bad memories.
I wanted Kyle to feel as cheerful as possible.
"So, Kyle--are you happy?"
"Very happy!"
"Where are you staying?"
"Last night I slept in Mr. Miller's field. I had my blanket
there, but I forgot it."
Not only impressive and intelligent, but rugged as well. I
had to swallow, I was salivating so profusely--strangely, not
entirely because of my physical attraction to him.
"Come on, let's go," I said, smiling warmly and gesturing
toward the car. "Oh--and watch out that jagged rock doesn't hurt
anything, or rip your shorts."
"Okay." Kyle grinned contentedly, adjusted his shorts, and
stood up cautiously. He threw his cigarette away as I did.
"Don't you want to know where we're going?" I said after
driving for a minute.
"I trust you," he said calmly, eyes straight ahead.
"I don't want you to be frightened. I can let you off
anywhere, or take you into town, if you like."
"I knew you'd say that." He turned toward me, obviously
pleased.
"Oh?" I said, grinning from ear to ear. Somehow, his words
were music to my ears. Maybe it was the implied familiarity.
"What made you know?"
"You're good. Wherever you're going is fine with me."
For the first time, a 15-year-old boy not only had me
excited, but willing to bend over backward for him. This kid was
exciting physically and mentally.
"So--the boy you gave the blowjobs to--what did he look
like?" As much as I felt in control of the situation, I was
uncomfortable asking him that. I began to think that Kyle's
direct approach was contagious.
"Cute--built kinda like you. He was an end. Fast, too. He
could've been your little brother almost. But he had dark hair.
You're a blond."
"Well, my hair's really light brown."
"No. To me it's blond. I like blond."
"I like YOU, Kyle."
"I like you freaking tons, Jason," he said, trembling badly.
I had wonderful erotic plans for settling this boy's nerves.
My own nerves could do with a bit of settling.
Besides Kyle's intoxicating effect on me, I supposed I most
enjoyed his unpredictability--not rash things he might do, like
the rowdy kids. He was comfortable in his skin, as they say, and
gave very solid, stable responses. But that was it--just when I
was expecting a typical boy's reaction, Kyle's intellectual side
would take over.
He seemed a sort of manly silent type. A bit unusual for a
15-year-old, I thought. That made him mysterious. I found it
stimulating. I wondered if he were troubled, deep down, or if
there was something I could do to induce him to talk a lot more.
But he didn't seem troubled.
"I'm going to Mr. Miller's place for a moment." I thought by
telling him this, it would insure against Kyle's becoming alarmed
by unannounced stops. I parked the car in front of the big
cornfield.
"Okay. Why here?"
"You'll see. Come on, get out. Show me where you slept."
Kyle walked deep into the field and pointed to a little
gully. And there was the blanket. I picked it up, folded it
reverently.
"I wasn't going anywhere without getting this first," I told
him. I'd assumed it was his only possession, and I didn't want
him to be without it.
"You came here just to get my blanket," he said, looking a
bit stunned, but happy. He was right.
I carried it back to the car and gently handed it to him when
he sat. He hugged it and gave it a sniff. I drove on, in
silence. I glanced over and thought I saw moisture on his cheek.
As I made my way to the road that would lead back to my
house, I decided we needed to talk more before getting out of the
car again, and began to slow down. I expected Kyle to tense up,
but he didn't. He did look at me intently. Was that fear in his
eyes?
"Don't be afraid, I just want to talk face to face."
"I'm not scared. Thanks."
Another phrase of gratitude. He was so well-mannered, even-
tempered. Whatever this aura was that he had, this force-field,
it ate away at any outer shell I may have had, and softened my
resolve to remain stoic. That was impossible with Kyle. I was
the more experienced one, supposedly in control, but Kyle
effortlessly brought all my emotions to the surface.
My hands shook as I pulled over and stopped the car. I
turned to face Kyle, put my arm on his shoulder, and took hold of
his hand. His eyes burned into me. His hand yielded to mine and
he didn't pull away.
With Kyle's apparent strength and sincerity, I knew it was
best if I just came out with it and spoke directly. My heart was
melting.
"Would you like a new home?"
"With you?" Emotions stirred.
I got my wish--Kyle squirmed, but it wasn't sensual to me
now. In my eyes, he wasn't a sexual creature with raging
hormones anymore. He was a boy. A boy who needed something.
"Yes. With me. Just the two of us."
"Oh, God," he said softly. The pause aroused my curiosity
and I looked to see his tears. But Kyle didn't sob, lose
control, or break down. He held his head high while his tears
flowed. Watching him, I almost cried, myself.
I no sooner slid my arms behind his shoulders when he fell
into me. We hugged tightly, his arms vise-like.
"It's okay," I whispered. "Whatever it is, we can talk it
out, later."
"No, it's nothing like that. You went out of your way to get
my blanket. Now you're offering me a home. Like I said, you're
good."
I was glad to see him displaying emotion.
"Well--I'll be bad if it makes you stop crying."
That broke Kyle's tearful spell. He laughed, looking up at
me. "You're funny, too."
"I also just asked a very good-looking, well-mannered boy if
he wanted a home."
"I'm sorry! YES! Yes, I'd love it! I can't believe you're
saying this! How could I--Oh! You think I'm good-looking?"
"Definitely. I think you're good enough to . . . . No, I
shouldn't say it." That ought to bring out a boyish response, I
thought.
"No--say it. Say it--come on!"
"My lips are sealed," I said with a smirk. "Wild horses
couldn't drag it out of me."
I ripped the empty box off the console and scratched my very
itchy boner.
"I just gotta know," he said, sounding more like nine than
fifteen.
Success! He may have had some manly control, but deep down,
he was a boy.
I jumped when Kyle's hand grasped the bulge in my shorts.
Such aggression! Seven years ago when I was 15, I would have
died before touching a man's penis under these circumstances. My
defenses vanished.
"I think you're good enough to eat."
"Oh!" he said, grinning madly, shifting in his seat. That
was sexy, I thought.
The tip of his erect penis exposed itself when his squirming
tugged the leg of his shorts up. Pre-cum poured out, making an
impressive puddle on the car seat. He reached for the fabric to
pull it down.
"Don't you dare touch it! I want it sticking out."
"Um . . . well . . . what am I going to do when we get to
your house?" I think his pre-cum embarrassed him, not to mention
his nice cock half exposing itself. He was adorable with his
sheepish grin and slight blush.
"You'll see." I was gratified and relieved to see his smile.
"You're really NOT afraid, are you!"
"Nope."
I had a feeling that, in addition to sucking me off, he knew
he was going to get sucked before the night was out. At least I
hoped so. That would account for his confident grin. If the tip
of his dick was anything like the rest of it, his penis would be
as beautiful as *he* was.
Yes, the prospect of sex was exciting, but that was taking
second place to something else--maybe a fatherly instinct? No, I
was too young for that. Or was I? Whatever it was, it came out
of me and wrapped itself around Kyle, around the innocence that
was intact, in spite of his past experience and present
forwardness; around something more lovable and precious than a
body, a sexual response--pure as Kyle's may have been.
He was a 15-year-old adult legally, according to what he told
me, but maybe I could talk him into going back to school, make
something of himself. Something inside me flared up and ached to
help him, protect him.
We got to my home, surrounded by a thick growth of old trees
and dense bushes. A tall fence accented the privacy. We were
literally closed in--and prying eyes closed out.
"Wow. You're like totally in the woods, here. No wonder
you--"
"Don't move," I said as I rummaged through the glove
compartment. Finding a safety pin, I pulled up the leg of his
shorts and pinned it to the waistband. Was I corrupting him?
Maybe I shouldn't do this, I thought. "Are you embarrassed?"
"Yeah, but it's awesome!" Kyle grinned from ear to ear. He
knew what I was up to. His words relieved the guilt that tried
to creep in.
The pin worked. A good three inches of his stiffened boyhood
stuck out bare as he walked with me to the back door of my house.
I would never have had the nerve to do this when I was his age.
What a sight he was! A stunning, red-faced boy in his mid
teens, walking oddly with the leg of his shorts unnaturally
pulled up, and a good part of his erect penis blatantly showing,
exposed to the outdoors--a cute, wide-eyed face staring down
happily at his impossible predicament.
"Watch where you're walking, now."
"Oh . . . yeah."
As we got inside, I put him at arm's length and gazed at his
spearhead. Our smiles never faded.
"Wow." It was all I could say as I took in the sight of him.
"I can do one better," he said, smirking at me and taking his
shorts off in a lightning-fast move. How he had the balls to do
that escaped me.
Kyle wore no underwear. Except for his running shoes and
short white socks, he was naked. No gold chain, no wristwatch,
no rings, no tattoos--my kind of guy.
To me, and I don't know how I got this idea, tattoos were
something an 'older guy' gets, to make a statement to the world.
Guys like Kyle WERE a statement to the world. The unmarked skin
only added to his sensual, pristine look. Not to mention his
erection.
"Mmmm! Little Kyle looks very big," I said, "and you're
still growing!" I stared. I think my judgement was distorted by
my lust, but I thought his penis was nearly at my arbitrary limit
of seven inches. Mine was at its limit of endurance. Either I
would come soon or I would explode.
"Thanks," he said softly, the sound of a male's pride in his
organ unmistakable. "Little Kyle--that's cool."
Kyle grinned and blushed like a much younger boy, although
I'd expected him to have a healthy degree of embarrassment while
standing naked in front of me for the first time.
There was his innocence again, though--as if saying, 'I'm not
used to this, I usually don't do this--but here I am. Go easy on
me.'
"You don't mind staying naked for me--for a few?"
"Nope," he said with his self-assured look, suddenly sitting
on the floor, removing his shoes and socks, his boy-stick poking
his belly as he bent forward.
In a few seconds, he was done, and stood with confidence--the
high-angled flesh of his boyhood throbbing gently, it's blush
bringing me to the threshold of drool. There was a calm that
accompanied my arousal as I studied him.
In this saner moment, I more accurately judged the size of
his boner to be five-and-a-half to six inches. Much better for
me than the huge seven-incher I had imagined minutes before.
I couldn't remember the last time I sat on the floor to take
my shoes off. I'll have to make a note of how cute it looks and
do it for him, sometime.
His feet were gorgeous. I didn't have a foot fetish, but I
could see how others could, especially with sexy-looking feet
like Kyle's. The foot's structure, smooth skin, and well-
manicured nails were perfectly formed and sparkling clean.
I was stunned not only at his alluring beauty and bodily
cleanliness--but he had no odor. His socks were immaculately
white.
He stood as stiffly as his cock--at attention.
"Ready for inspection, sir."
"I think you want to be teased, not inspected," I said--a bit
of wishful thinking on my part. I had no idea if he liked to be
teased or not. But I was willing to inspect for as long he
wanted.
"Teased?"
"Do you know what I mean?"
"Not really." This time, he blushed a deep red.
Did not knowing something he thought I expected him to know
cause this powerful reaction?
"Do you masturbate?"
"Yes, sir," he said awkwardly. Was he happy talking about
this private matter?
"I do, too," I said, relaxed, letting the words just flow.
This brought not only Kyle's grandest smile, but his first
belly laugh.
"Um, that's good," he said, his laugh blending to a giggle.
"Have you ever stroked yourself to almost an orgasm, then
stopped at the last minute, only to repeat the process--stops
included--until you can't stand it anymore and go for it with all
you've got?" His cock bobbed vigorously, seeming to like that
idea.
"I heard other guys say they do that--but I just stroke it."
"Well--if you did it the way those guys said, that would be
teasing yourself."
"Okay," he said, a bit flustered. "Does waiting count as
teasing?"
"I'm not sure. Why?"
"'Cause I wait a lot. I mean, I put it off."
"Yes, that sounds like a form of teasing. It's much more
exciting when someone else teases you. More intense. And it's
not limited to stroking. You've had a blow job--been sucked?"
"Nope. I just jack off."
"How many times a day?"
"Me? Two, minimum. Three or four, sometimes." Kyle
shrugged perceptibly.
He'd done it again--floored me with the easygoing way he told
me another very private fact about himself.
"Three or four--Mmmm!" I said approvingly.
"A lot more on a Saturday, if I'm pushing myself."
Damn! He has contests with himself? To see how many times
he can come? What a fantastic way to spend a Saturday! I didn't
think I would want to try that if I were alone, but I'd be glad
to have Little Jason be the loser in a contest with Kyle.
"I have a feeling I'll be doing the pushing," I said in a
bland tone, looking up at him expectantly.
We broke into hysterics like two little boys. I was ecstatic
and impressed--not only that he got it, but seemed at ease with
the idea. As far as I was concerned, Kyle's boyishness had
infused itself into me--a phenomenon I welcomed. I hadn't
laughed like that in a long time.
"Yes, sir," he said, making his body go into a very
impressive attention stance. Maybe his father was a member of
the armed forces. That aside, here was a good-looking, slender,
well-built, stimulating 15-year-old boy with an erection,
standing across from me with the silliest, sexiest look on his
face.
He trembled. Perhaps he was on the verge of laughing again.
But his eyes became serious. Naturally, I wanted to know his
opinion on the subject. I prompted him.
"I like your 'yes, sir' and your stance. But what do you
think of me doing the pushing?"
"I . . . I think it would hurt," he said, lowering his head
severely for the first time.
I rushed to hug him.
"Kyle," I said softly, "you're awesome the way you are.
Don't ever think you can be anything less than wonderful. You
please me just by being here."
"I'm sorry." His breathing told me he was fighting a strong
emotion. "I didn't want to--"
"Disappoint me?" I said, cutting him off.
"Yes." Another adult-like, quiet response. Kyle was drawing
inward. But his hug was tight, desperate.
"Has anyone ever tried to . . . penetrate you?"
"No, but . . . I'm afraid of it."
I knew to be very direct now. And I had to word my next
statement carefully--to avoid empty, hackneyed phrases.
"You don't ever have to let me fuck you."
"Okay." I expected more tears, but this sobered the boy.
His trembling worsened, however. Mystifying.
I was thinking, 'Dammit, why doesn't he say more?'
"Are you horny?" As if his bouncing dick wasn't answer
enough. I was leading up to something.
"Yeah," he said with some enthusiasm.
"For sure?"
"For freaking sure," he said with a little grin.
A 15-year-old kid, cute, naked with a hardon sticking out,
smiling at me. Five hundred points! I had to say more.
"I would still want you here with me--even if you told me to
keep my hands off you. And I want to touch you so badly." I
felt the flood of my pre-cum, just saying this to Kyle.
"Keep your hands off me," he said. In a million years I
could not describe or duplicate his tone of voice. I didn't
think it was a rejection. He did his cute mouth thing again.
Hands behind my back, I knelt and licked the head of his
penis--the most sensitive part, under the head at the main
pleasure spot. My upper lip grazed his flare. No hands--true to
my word. For the moment, it was the perfect tease.
"Oh, fuck!" he said, cursing for the first time.
"No, that would hurt." I made light of this, not realizing
what was happening.
I did my tongue-magic on him--licking his excited boy thing
in ways that drove him crazy.
"Ahhh!" he shouted, grasping my shoulders.
The boy was coming. I hadn't yet taken him in my mouth. All
I could do was sit there and watch.
I was transfixed, frozen. One, two, three white streams came
out of him before I got to my senses and slid my hungry lips over
the boyhood fountain.
"Unnnngh!" he said, his body jerking forward, quivering
sensually, his hands pressing hard into my shoulders as my tongue
flickered against the main nerve of his very hot hardness, my
lips sliding slowly.
I don't know how many times he shot his delicious warm cum
into me, nor how many times I swallowed. At that point, I was
delirious with pleasure. Even the skin of his proud boyhood,
unadorned with his sweet semen, had tasted good to me. I became
dizzy, overwhelmed with him and his grand climax.
And I can't even say he started coming because I sucked him.
I had barely touched him.
"Oh!" he said, breathless but calming somewhat, "That was
incredible."
"I could tell. I think it was equally exciting to me. Sexy.
The most sexual moment I can think of."
"Oh, God! I was afraid I was gonna . . . come in my shorts.
In the car. And when you . . . pinned the leg up, I was sure I
would blow."
The poor boy couldn't catch his breath. I was having trouble
doing that myself.
"Wow, you're that sensitive," I said, totally awestruck.
"Yeah. I come quick unless I can really concentrate, or do
something distracting."
Ooo! Distracting? What a world opened with that statement!
"I see. I think it's so damn sexy, I'm ready to come,
thinking about it."
"Sexy? You mean that I come fast?"
"Yes. And your sensitivity. I'd love to see you come in
your shorts."
"You would?" he said politely, looking as if it were the
weirdest thing he'd ever heard.
"Yes. Don't you see my tongue hanging out?"
"N-not really."
"Okay," I said, letting my tongue fall from my mouth while I
panted like a dog on all fours, "How's this?"
"Funny. Definitely not sexy," he said, kneeling next to me,
sliding his finger over the cloth that covered my erection. "But
this is."
A comfortable silence followed, while Kyle stimulated Little
Jason. I groaned with the unexpected pleasure.
"You won't come from this?" he asked, amazed, his eyes glued
to his ever-moving finger and the responsive bulge beneath it.
"I don't think so."
"Wow. Maybe I'm weird."
"No, Kyle. I'd much rather be like you."
"Really? I don't know. I don't like myself this way."
"You're kidding!"
"No. And I get too much pre-cum. It's way embarrassing when
it happens in public. I can't hide the wet spot, unless I wear
diapers or something." Kyle laughed at the absurdity of that.
"There's no such thing as too much pre-cum. Let's go to the
bedroom and I'll show you how much I like it, and what I do with
it."
"Sure," he said with a nice smile. "You mean you're finally
gonna get naked and let me see your dick?" His enthusiasm and
openness aroused me. He was intensely charming, without knowing
it.
"Yes. I'm glad you want that." I made him walk in front of
me. I would guide him to the right room.
"I'm glad you're glad," he said, becoming giddy.
I finally looked at his butt, and decided I liked the looks
of his. This was one butt I could not ignore. It struck me that
I should know some of his likes and dislikes. I knew little of
Kyle's tastes.
"What else do you want?" I said, stopping our trek to my
bedroom and hugging him from behind. Little Jason tried to
nestle himself between the cheeks. I pulled my hips back.
"I wanna blow you, Jason."
He'd just blown me away. I'd expect a peer to talk this way,
but not a young kid.
"Wow. Just like that!"
"Yeah," he said.
I released him and we walked into my room. Kyle sat at the
edge of the bed. I stripped for him. My erection stood up
proudly. His eyes focused on my cock exclusively.
"Oh, man!" he said, squirming--as if ready to reach out and
start sucking.
"Maybe I should tease you and make you wait for this." I ran
a finger up and down my cock, making a show of it.
"No way. Make me wait tomorrow."
"That can be arranged. Do you think you can come while you
suck me?"
"Oh, yeah!"
"Good. Go get your shorts." Kyle got up, ready to obey.
"Wait, a pair of mine should fit you. White or black?"
"Well, I--"
"Never mind. You'll look great in white."
"Okay," he said, amused at my obsession with color--maybe at
my obsession with *him.*
I took a pair from the dresser and held them for him.
"Wait, stand up," I said, thinking it would be sexier to see
him do this standing.
Kyle stepped gracefully into the white shorts, his hairless
thighs exciting me along with his smooth, athletic movements. I
pulled them up slowly, letting the waistband play with his dick.
"No, don't touch it," he said, objecting to my hand squeezing
his erection.
"Oh, that's right. It might go off." This made him giggle.
"I'm laughing but it's not funny," he said, looking
uncertain.
"Right. It's sexy. I've never known anyone with a hair
trigger, but now that I'm starting to know you, I love it."
I don't think Kyle heard me. He was too busy staring at my
cock. For a guy who'd given only two blowjobs, he seemed very
eager to do this.
"You know the rules, right? No teeth?"
"Yep. All set on that."
"Okay if I lie down?" I had to ask that. I needed him to be
comfortable. It would be hot if he wanted to kneel, though.
"Sure."
"Good. Bed is a great place to do this."
"Oh, yeah," he said. A definite sensual tone. His eyes
burned into Little Kyle, widening in an erotic stare, his head
getting closer to my erection. "It's gorgeous. Big, too."
"Do it only if you want to."
"I freaking want to so bad," he said as my hands caressed his
smooth shoulders.
He was talking to the head of my dick. I could feel his
breath on it. My hardon bounced with each word. His mouth was
gradually getting closer, like he was doing this in slow motion
on purpose.
"Kyle, you look so hot right now--Uhhhhh!"
His warm lips took possession of me. His fingers dug into my
pubes, rubbed frantically over my balls. His hands spread out
over my hips, and slid desperately to my chest, his fingers
pressing in forcefully.
He was impaling himself so slowly, it took forever for him to
slide his mouth down all the way. The sensual look of his lips
drove me to the limit of excitement. This was bliss. Kyle
wasn't sucking my cock, he was worshipping it.
He sped up gradually, sucking gently and sliding up and down
so perfectly. His tongue pressed against Little Kyle like he
would swallow me whole. His groans of self-pleasure were driving
me crazy. At this rate, it would be over way too soon.
Added to his exquisite mouth work, his stone-hard cock,
pressing into my leg was driving me fast toward orgasm.
"Hey, big boy. You got more cum in you than I do."
"Mmmm," he said, vibrating my inflamed erection.
"Stop. I need this to last."
He brought his mouth slowly up, as if unwilling to part with
my penis. When he finally looked at me, I could tell he did not
understand my wish to make it last.
"Okay," he said, still puzzled.
"I'll explain later. Can you do pushups?"
"Yeah . . . Why?"
"Get into a pushup pose."
With Kyle raised up over me on the bed, I slid down, my mouth
even with his hard boyhood, drooling delicious pre-cum--looking
like it hadn't come in weeks.
"Oh." Kyle finally understood what I had in mind.
But instead of giving me his penis, he scooted up and lay on
me with his chin at the top of my chest. When he looked up, his
blue eyes locked on mine like two lasers. I was hypnotized, lost
in the spell of this beautiful boy's stare.
"Feed it to me, Kyle," I said, lifting my leg, poking the hot
spike of his boyhood. He gave me a look of understanding.
"This feels good," he said, his young bone pulsating into my
balls. There was that mysterious cute expression on his face.
"I feel so close to you Kyle. It's--"
"You feel so good," he said, sounding hypnotized, himself.
Whatever I'd said, it triggered his lasers, and I could not
speak. Kyle slid up, his face directly over mine. We stared for
I don't know how long, and I began to shake.
My arms, seemingly on their own, wrapped around his neck,
pulling him to me. My mind was a blank whirlwind until his lips
touched mine. For a moment, my hands were the only thing holding
our heads together until suddenly, dramatically, he pressed into
me. When my tongue slid along his lips, it was electric.
He squirmed desperately, grinding himself into me, and from
beneath, I tried to do the same. The heat was incredible. Sweat
lubricated our bodies, making our frantic movements fluid. We
were dancing as our lips and tongues went wild.
"Guuummmmppph!" we both said, groaning into each other's
mouths, open now, trying to surround as much of the other as
possible.
Miraculously, he didn't come, but his expression changed,
softened, and he slid down my body, lifted himself, and fed me
his penis, doing the pushups I'd asked for--his hot cylinder
aggressive, demanding, starved.
"I won't last," he said breathlessly.
"Mmmm!" His hot blast shot over my tongue. He fed my lust
and mouth with multiple streams of hot young self. I was in
heaven. He screamed in adolescent pleasure as he pumped himself
into me.
"Ahhhh! Jason!" Even in the throes of orgasm, his voice
spoke to me sweetly, his penis pulsating, echoing his insistent,
tender emotion. "Oh, yeah. Yeah."
I rubbed him for some time, thrilling to the feel of him,
watching and listening to him relax.
"Ready to do more pushups and come again?" I said jokingly.
"Sure!"
Sure? Was this the boy from Krypton in disguise?
He began right away, and easily did 25 pushups before
stopping. Again, I noticed he was not out of breath.
"Damn, you're hot," I said, thinking he was stopping, and not
serious about coming now.
"I'm trying you're waiting thing. I lasted 25 pushups
without coming. Do you think that's good?"
"I think it's fantastic. But I want you to finish now. Do
it your way."
And he plowed his hungry cock back into my mouth. On the
seventh stroke, he shot--hot tasty boy cum, blasting my throat as
forcefully as his first climax.
"Wow! I think I'm actually satisfied for a while. But in
ten minutes--"
"Ten minutes?"
"Yeah," he whispered, blushing shyly.
Dennis B.
StoriesNew@Yahoo.com
Any comments would be great!
That's all I wrote so far. Thanks for reading. --Dennis.
I HAVE 3 OTHER STORIES:
1. Crazy for Chad
- last post APPROX. Oct. 7, 2005, High School
2. Spankin High School Club Initiation
- last post APPROX. Oct. 1, 2005, High School; Athletics
3. My Son Drives Me Crazy
- last post APPROX. Oct. 8, 2005, Incest
LAST POST DATES good as of October 9, 2005. Actual date may be
later, by the time you read this.
Thanks,
Dennis (See below for enlarging the text on-screen.)
________________________________________________________
TO ENLARGE THE TEXT ON YOUR SCREEN (IN MOST BROWSERS):
(Instructions geared to Windows, but also should apply to Macs.
I think.)
1. Click the VIEW menu on your browser while in Nifty with the
story chapter on the screen.
2. In the VIEW menu, Click on TEXT or TEXT SIZE, whichever your
browser says.
3. From there, you should see choices to click, referring to
text size, such as SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE, or INCREASE,
DECREASE, or similar wording.
4. If the enlargement makes some of the text go off the screen,
causing you to scroll left and right in order to see all the
words (a pain in the butt), paste the text elsewhere as
follows:
a) select all the text (highlight with mouse or hit CTRL-A)
(Some browsers may have EDIT, Select_All)
b) with all the text highlighted (selected),
go to EDIT menu and click COPY--(You may prefer to
hit CTRL-C).
c) go to your word processor, or text program (text file,
"Notepad," "Word-Pad," etc). Open a new file--just
launching the program usually opens a new (blank) file.
d) With the cursor in the blank file:
go to EDIT menu and click PASTE--(You may prefer to
hit CTRL-V).
You may or may not get strange looking lines of text,
alternating short and long. Not much you can do about that
without going to a lot of trouble. With my chapters, you should
not have this problem.
If you're in a real word processor or a later version of a
text editor, you can select (highlight) all the text, then change
the font size. (If you make it too big, you'll get the short and
long text-line problem.) Remember, changing font size (text
size) only works on text that you select (highlight) first.
To protect any author's copyright, you may need to erase the
text when finished reading--or, at the very least, don't share
your personal copy with others.
--Dennis
StoriesNew@Yahoo.com