Date: Sat, 11 Mar 2017 22:07:16 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com> Subject: Fourteen Again Fourtee Again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This story is - guess what! - fantasy. If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with a 14-year-old then make yourself cofortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing three thigs. 1 Cum 2 Wipe carefully 3 Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. =============================================================================== Chapter 1 When I woke on the morning of my 70th birthday there was a tiny fairy perched at the end of my bed. "Happy birthday," she said, "I have a wish for you." "Anything I want?" I asked, "even if it's impossible?" "Of course, that's how 70th birthday wishes work. Tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you'll have to pay to have your wish granted." Now I was born during the War, and when I was 14 and growing up in London the whole world seemed exciting, and out of reach. I had been introduced to masturbation at the age of 7 by an older boy (who was all of 8) and spent much of the time by the time I reached 14 in a state of heightened sexual desire - wholly unfulfilled apart from rare (very rare) mutual jerk-offs with one or two other boys who lived nearby. Fast forward to 70: I am a keen boy-lover whose desire for boys - boys of 14 at most - is unfulfilled, but enormously desired. I read the adult-youth section in Nifty and find it very stimulating. The world in 1957 was very different from how it is now. I had been exploring large parts of London on my own since I was 11 and took up trainspotting. Each day in the holidays I would set off for our local station and get to Euston where I would meet up with other boys with their notebooks and pencils. It was rare for me not to visit at least three other termini before setting off for home, happily taking up a seat in a crowded rush-hour train home. Sex didn't enter into it: you couldn't spot trains and think sexy thoughts at the same time. And this 70-year-old gets a wish, eh? "What I'd like is to be 14 again but to know everything I know now. Can you fix that?" "Of course, but there are conditions. For every day you go back to 1957 as a 14-year-old you will age a year back here when you return. You can only stay for a month, and when you come back you'll be over 100 and will be frail. When you want to come back you must say the words I will write down for you ande you will immediately be back in your real self, but years older. At the end of the month you may choose not to come back, and you will then die painlessly as a 14-year-old. Do you agree?" "Yes. I need to think about the arrangements first though. What do I do about money? Where do I live? Let me start tomorrow after I've worked it all out." "Very well. I will come back tomorrow morning and take you to 1957." You can understand that I was pretty thrilled at the opportunities opening up for me. Me, a man of huge adult experience and full of adult lusts, cased in the body of an adolescent boy. The possibilities were enormous. I would take a small case with clothes and some money ... hang on! ... what money could I use? 1957 was so long ago that none of the money I have now would be of any use. It was a good thing I had all day to sort it out, and buy the clothes that this newly-14-year-old would want to wear to do the kind of things he would want to do. In the end it occurred to me that there was really only one good way of taking money back to 1957, and that was by taking something I could easily sell. I decided that old coins were likely to be the easierst things, so I went into London and bought £5,000-worth of collectible coins. Provided they were all 19th Century they would be easily sold in 1957. I also bought some suitable clothes. Next morning my fairy friend appeared again. "All set?" she asked. "Yes. All I have is this case. What will happen to the clothes I'm wearing?" "They will still fit you in 1957. Do you have others in the case? Money? Tought about where you'll live?" She gave me an envelope with the words needed for my return, telling me that I must not open it until I wished to say the words out loud. She then waved her wand and suddenly ... ... I was standing at Kings Cross with my case. I was wearing tight blue jeans and a skimpy t-shirt. I had sandals on. My hair was in a crew cut. I was skinny, but cute-looking (I had improved in the last 56 years, I thought, as a 14-year-old). It was mid-morning and the date was 1 August. I had chosen a good month, all of it in the school holidays. The most important thing I had to do was find a base for my month of what I hoped would be concentrated wickedness. But before that I had to sell my coins. That turned out much easier than I had thought. The dealer didn't ask any awkward questions about why a 14-year-old was walking around with a valuable collection, although I had a story ready about a dead grandad. He gave me £400. While this was a lot less than I'd paid for them it still represented more than enough to keep me for a month back then. With the £400 safely tucked away I set off for the local city Youth Hostel. As my mind was 70 I knew perfectly well that if I spun them the right kind of yarn (parents meeting me tomorrow, stuck in London for the night, please will you let me stay) they would agree. After all, it was only for one night. I had every intention of finding somewhere better tomorrow. So, 7/6 paid (old money, remember), case dumped, I was ready to find some action. As a 70-year-old boy-lover I knew what I wanted - sex with a 14-year-old boy. But how to find it wasn't immediately obvious, so I decided to play to my only strength - I was 14 myself. Where would a horny 14-year-old keen for sex go to find it? A public toilet of course, and a public toilet at a bus station was the most likely. I took a bus to Victoria and walked to the bus station. The men's toilet was dark and smelly - so much the better, it seemed, as no-one in their right mind would hang about there any longer than he needed to unless he had a reason to do so. When I went in there were two men at the piss trough - both of them about 25. I stood next to the better-looking one and got my cock out. It was a lot shorter than it had been the day before, but it was still good enough for a 14-year-old. I stood further back than I needed to and began to piss, making sure that the bloke next to me could see if he wanted to. He didn't take the hint and left, glaring at me. The other man had been watching and moved to stand next to me as soon as we were alone. He smiled. "That's a nice cock you've got there, son," he said. "Mm," I murmued. "What about yours? Let's have a butcher's." He unbuttoned his fly and fished his cock out. It was about 5 inches and soft. By this time mine was about the same length, but hard and clearly ready for action. The man nodded towards one of the cubicles. This was long before anyone had had the idea of installing a disabled cubicle, and long before anyone had thought of keeping public toilets clean. It was grimy and smelly, but the advantage was that no-one was likely to want to use it for shitting - it was just for sex, and highly illegal sex at that. Remember that in 1957 any sex between two males was illegal, even if both of them were adult - and I certainly wasn't that (well, not physically anyway). Not a work was spoken. The man put his hand into my jeans and squeezed my cock. I did the same and then pushed his head down, indicating that I wanted him to suck my cock. This he did with great gusto while I wanked him. After a couple of minutes I was ready to cum, so I pulled my cock from his mouth and murmured that i was nearly there. "OK. Wank yourself onto my cock," he whispered. This was strange, but it was a turn-on even to be wanking in the company of another man, and the idea of squirting cum onto him was deliciously dirty to this oh-so-wise 14-year-old. I started to thrash it for all it was worth and 20 seconds later the pearly ropes were landing on his swollen cock - three good-sized spurts. "Now use your spunk to wank me off," he hissed, "quick!" Really kinky, I thought as I wrapped my fist around his cock, feeling my hot spunk coating it and rubbing as fast as I could. Very soon - too soon - he gave a groan and came, his spunk squirting out onto the filthy floor, adding no doubt to much dried cum from past pleasures taken there. "Thanks, kid." And he was out of the door and away. My first sexual experience, properly dark, furtive and in sordid circumstances, was behind me. Now I craved younger flesh - flesh my "own" age. <End of Chapter 1> I'm going to be here, being 14, for the whole of August 1957. I have lots of ideas about degrading, filthy, exciting things I want to get up to. But if you have things you would like to read about while I do them, email me at badboi666 "at" btinternet "dot" com and let me know. Tell me your most depraved fantasies: I'm 70, after all, and won't be shocked. Even if I am only 14 to look at ... or touch ... or suck ... or fuck ... or piss on.