Date: Sun, 08 Jan 2017 17:44:01 -0500
From: The Paternal Watcher <mfvb@protonmail.com>
Subject: Hungry for Love: The Favor

I tossed the bones from the supermarket fried chicken in the trash, and
looked at the time on my phone. I'd promised to give Tara a ride to her
youth center for some event or other, and when I'd seen her earlier at the
office, it had been clear that she didn't want to be late. "I have to be
there at 7:30, are you sure?" she asked more than once that afternoon.
She'd had plenty of opportunity, since we sat at two of the three desks in
the converted attic room. The empty one was normally occupied by her
mother, who had taken a half day off for a doctor's appointment, which I
assumed was why the girl had asked me for a lift in the first place. Tara's
mom, Marybeth, had gotten her teenage daughter an internship at the law
office we both worked at, and the girl had been mostly useful since she'd
started at the beginning of summer. A month later, she felt comfortable
enough with me to ask me for a ride to the youth center, and to remind me
about the details so frequently that I was beginning to regret the
decision.


It was just about seven, so I texted her that I was on my way. Ten minutes
to her house, fifteen to center, five minutes to spare: perfect. When I
pulled into her driveway, she was watching from the door so she was
practically in the car before I put it into park. "Thank you so much!" she
cried, flinging her bag into the back seat and her body into the front and
practically into my lap as she tried to hug me with the same motion.


"Whoa, there!" I said. "Let's not make the boys jealous!" She laughed, and
settled into her seat belt as we pulled away from the curb.


"Not likely," she said. "None of the boys there look at me like that."


Thinking that this was one of those teachable moments I've read about, I
replied, "You know, boys don't always do what you'd expect them to when
they notice you. They could ignore you, or pick on you, or talk really fast
and stumble over their words."


"Yeah, but these boys are all gay," she said. "Didn't I mention what kind
of center this is?"


"Apparently not!"


"I go there because I can have fun and not be hassled," she said as I
pulled away following her directions to the place. "Everyone there is cool,
and treats me like a person. I like it."


We drove the short distance to the center, which was one of the few
remaining houses on a commercial strip that hadn't been torn down. Only a
small sign proclaimed its name, and I would never have guessed its purpose
from that alone. As I parked in front, Tara rolled down the window and
called to a group hanging around outside. Turning to me, she said in that
voice that kids use when they really want a favor, "Do you think you could
give some of us a ride to the store? It's just down the block. I think. I
think we need a ride, I mean. Just hang on for a second, okay? I'll be
right back." She rushed out of the car without giving me a chance to reply,
so I turned it off and got out myself, leaning against the hood.


After putting her head together with the gathered kids, they all drifted
over, about eight in all. There was no way they would all fit in my
Japanese import, and I hoped I wouldn't be asked to try anyway. Three of
the others were girls, and of the five boys, one was big enough that he'd
take up more than half the back seat himself, and I imagined that cramming
others back there with him would be anything but a casual encounter.
The others were smaller.


"Only as many as there are seat belts," I said firmly. One of the kids
rolled his eyes, there were a couple of sighs, but in the end Tara, another
girl and two boys piled into the car. It was about a five-minute drive
"down the block," and eventually one of the boys -- he was sitting directly
behind me, so I couldn't see him at all -- tapped me on the shoulder.


"Are you gay?" he asked me. No preamble, no 'Hi my name is . . .' greeting,
not even, 'what's your sign?' to start off; he just asked me out of the
blue.


Knowing to expect a reaction, I said, "Actually, I am." The reaction came
from Tara, who had never asked me that question. I wasn't technically in
the closet at work, but I didn't bring my personal life to the office so no
one there had a clue. I laughed when I saw her shocked expression. "What?"
I asked. "It's not like I was hiding it."


"Yeah, but still," she said, her tone making it clear that this was a full
sentence.


"I'm Trevor," the boy whispered in my ear.


We pulled into the parking lot and all of us got out of the car. While
Tara, the other girl and boy headed inside, Trevor grabbed my hand and led
me around back of the store. "You're handsome," he said, leaning me up
against the wall. He dropped to his knees, unzipped my fly, fished my cock
out and slipped it into his mouth. I couldn't believe it! The quick glance
I'd gotten of his face suggested he was in his mid-teens, but now I could
only see the top of his head. It was still daylight, and his friends or
someone else would see this soon, so I stopped him.


"Why don't we drop them off first?" I suggested.


"You mean go somewhere?" he asked. "I'd like that." He stood up, leaving me
to shove my much-inflated member back where it belonged. "Drop me off too,
and I'll meet you in ten minutes around the corner on the side street." I
pictured the place in my mind, and nodded understanding.


I took a moment to actually look at this boy. He had a complexion that was
either well-tanned white or light-skinned black, with brown hair cut short
enough that I couldn't tell if it curled or not. His eyes, though, were a
startling blue. Trevor stood a bit more than five-and-a-half feet tall, but
probably could have fit his head under my chin. His frame was slender, and
there was no doubt he was younger than the age of consent.


My mind, filled still with the feeling of his mouth, said, "Fuck it." I
dropped him and the other kids off as planned, and rode around the
neighborhood, being careful not to go past the teen center again lest I be
recognized. After the proscribed minutes had passed, I found the back end
of that side street — my driving around wasn't entirely random — and parked
at the edge of a street light's range, so that my car's hood was all that
was visible.


The minutes ticked by, but before I panicked outright he ran up to car and
jumped him. "Go go go go go!" he said in an urgent whisper, ducking down to
keep anyone from seeing that I had a passenger. I responded with such
urgency that the tires squealed a little bit as I pulled out.


"Be chill!" he said sharply.


"Dude, you're the one who went all cloak and dagger," I replied, but I
eased off the gas as we headed to my place. He didn't say much on that
short trip, but sat up straight once I had made a few turns. It was getting
toward dusk, which might have made him less nervous about being seen, but
he was still quiet despite my occasional question.


Trevor followed me through the door when we arrived, and I led him directly
into the bedroom. "Lie down," he said unceremoniously, lust in his eyes. I
did, and he climbed on top, pushing all his lower clothing down to his
ankles as he did so. Then, he started on my fly. This boy definitely had an
agenda, and I was stunned. This kind of stuff just did not happen in real
life, I thought as I watched him pull my cock out and pull my drawers down.


I didn't have a chance to really look at him because of how he did it; his
shirt was still on and his lower body was against mine. I felt him, though,
hard and hot and rubbing against me, cock to cock. I ground against him in
turn, and grabbed his tight little cheeks in my hands to make it
easier. "You like that?" he asked me. "You like that ass?"


"Damn right I do," I growled.


"Someday soon you're gonna fuck that ass, but not today," he said. "You
wanna fuck me in the ass?" The aforementioned ass was in the air has he
thrust up against me, as Trevor had stretched out on my torso to ask me
this. I only nodded and groaned. "No matter how old I am?"


I looked at him then, more closely. Definitely younger than legal. Probably
not sixteen. "Fifteen?" I ventured. "Practically sixteen," he replied. Then
he put a finger over my mouth and began thrusting with more focus. My
finger wandered between his cheeks, and they clenched around it without
allowing it entry. However, I felt a warmth between us that could mean only
one thing, which was confirmed as Trevor slowed and then stopped his
motion, then suddenly got up and went into the bathroom to clean up.
Realizing that we were probably done, I took care of my own damned self in
just a few strokes, and wiped up with something from my hamper.


When Trevor came back into the room, I was dressed; as I surmised, he was
ready to go. He didn't have much to say on the way back to the youth
center, and I didn't push it, imagining that he was experiencing shame or
guilt the way so many guys do once the load is blown. In fact I figured I'd
never see the kid again, and that was that, but as we pulled up around the
corner he said to me, "I put my number in your phone. I'll call soon."