Date: Mon, 09 Jan 2006 12:09:20 -0500
From: Simon Taylor <simon13greengrass@hotmail.com>
Subject: In Lieu of Ritalin

Disclaimer:  This is a work of pure fiction.  Any resemblance of people,
places or events is purely coincidental.  I write for boy lovers who
genuinely love and respect boys and who dream of being positive, loving and
caring lovers and friends to boys.  I hope this story brings you pleasure.
I welcome feedback.

Further, I debated much about posting this story given the nature of it.  I
loathe violence in any form, even in consensual S&M.  However, for whatever
reason, I was moved to write this, inspired by an actual boy I knew (but
never had a sexual relationship with) and rather than censor myself, I
decided to both write this story and post it.  I hope it isn't misunderstood
to imply that I condone aggression or violence against others, particularly
boys.  I hope that the good-natured spirit of the story comes through.

Other stories on Nifty by Simon 13greengrass (find them in the prolific
authors section)

Summer Camp Romance
Sitting for Jason
No More Bananas
Five Sessions with Francisco
Therapy for James
We'll Make More
El Gato
Sweet Gibberish
Little General
Dreaming As One
The Summer of My Awakening



In Lieu of Ritalin

      I had moved into my new house in San Diego three months earlier and
already I was the hit of the neighborhood.  Being a boylover, I was
immediately aware of the looks of interest that my pool sparked in the boys
in the neighborhood, even if they couldn't see it for the tall fence that
surrounded it, affording a perfect privacy.  They could hear the splashes
and smell the chlorine, and I am sure that it was for that reason that they
struck up a conversation with me as I washed my car in my driveway.  There
were initially five of them, all boys between the ages of eight and
thirteen, dark-skinned and Latino--poor boys from the neighborhood that
abutted mine.  My house was a stone's throw away from the borderline where
my well-to-do neighborhood ended and their lower class barrio began.
	"Hi," said the oldest one.  He introduced himself as Pedro, and he pointed
to a short chubby boy beside him.  "This is my brother, Fernando."  The
other three boys shyly introduced themselves to me--Juan, Miguel, and Alvaro.
	"How old are you?" I asked Pedro. He was very handsome and taller than the
rest--obviously the unofficial leader of the group.
	"Thirteen," he said.  "You got a pool?"
	Direct and to the point.  I liked that.  "Yup."
	He nodded and exchanged glances with the others.  He pulled out the front
of his tee shirt and blew inside.  "It sure is hot, eh?" he asked me.
	I nodded.  It was just after noon and the sun was beating down on us.  The
cool water with which I was washing my car felt good on my hands and arms.
They all stood there in a pregnant silence, watching me scrub a fender, and
finally, little Fernando voiced their collective sentiment with a cherubic
grin.
	"Can we swim in your pool?"
	Pedro nudged him and chided him for being so rude and forward, but he
looked at me as if waiting for my answer.
	"You boys help me wash this car," I said.  "And you can have a swim, all
right?"
	They took to the task with enthusiasm, and with six of us, the car was
washed and hosed down in less than twenty minutes.  They all ran home for
their swim trunks, and when they returned, I had lemonade and chips on the
table on the deck for them.  They grabbed handfuls of chips and shoved them
into their mouths, guzzled some lemonade, and then dropped their towels on
the deck and headed for the pool, laughing and shouting to each other.
	They were of various sizes and shapes.  Fernando had a roll of fat that
hung over the front of his green and yellow swim trunks and he walked like a
duck--very cute, but utterly inconsequential to my libido.  Miguel and Juan
were both well-built eleven year olds with slender torsos and beautiful
legs.  Alvaro was so skinny that I could see the bones in his legs and hips
jutting out, as if he were a series of two by fours nailed together at the
joints.  It made his large preadolescent feet look even bigger than they
were.  Pedro was spectacularly built, muscular and sinewy with square
shoulders and strong legs.  He was oblivious to the way I stared at him and
the others as they leapt into the pool and dunked each other.
	That day was the first of several where these neighborhood boys arrived on
my doorstep in swim suits, towels in hands, asking politely if they could
swim in the pool.  Being self-employed, I was usually at home and willing to
receive them, always looking for inroads in the conversation that might lead
to something more intimate, particularly with Pedro, yet he remained aloof
but polite, always thanking me on the way out the door and nudging Fernando,
cuing him to do the same.
	One day, a new boy arrived on my doorstep. He was a sullen-looking boy,
sturdy of build with a well-toned torso and straight, sturdy legs.  I had
never seen him before.  The other boys were already inside, splashing about
in the pool.
	He nodded a hello to me and spoke boldly.  "I hear you got a pool."
	"You heard right," I replied.
	"Can I swim in it?" he asked.
	I invited him in and he walked inside with a swagger.  He was remarkably
handsome with an angular face and dark brown eyes.  His dark hair had been
dyed with orange streaks.  He introduced himself as Mateo and looked
suspiciously at my hand when I offered it.  He shook it with a forced
strength, a strained masculinity, then headed toward the pool.
	I noticed the chilly response to him from the other boys immediately.  He
dropped his towel on the deck and dove in, coming up amidst them, and they
all exchanged uncomfortable looks.  Pedro gave him a cool hello and Fernando
dogpaddled away from him.
	The reason for this reaction became obvious almost immediately.  While I
stared at Mateo's impeccable body, sluicing through the water, playing chase
games with the others, I noticed that he was a bully--the worse breed of boy
in my book.  He opened those beautiful lips and from that gorgeous face
emerged the most offensive words, chiding the other boys, finding their
weaknesses with a bizarre intuition and making mean-spirited cracks about
them.
	"Hey, fat boy," he called to Fernando as the smaller boy climbed out of the
pool.  "Your crack is showing!"
	Fernando scowled at Mateo and hoisted up his swim trunks in the back.
Pedro looked like he wanted to say something, but he was clearly intimidated
by Mateo.  Mateo dove beneath the water and grabbed Juan by the ankle,
yanking him under, and Juan struggled manically to get free and scrambled
from the pool.  Mateo chased Alvaro around the pool and cornered him near
the deck.  Alvaro looked frightened, although Mateo was laughing
good-naturedly, and the bigger boy plucked Alvaro up and threw him into the
pool.
	"Cool it," I finally said to him.  "You're playing too rough."
	Mateo waved me away, smiling gamily.  "Naw," he said.  "We're just havin'
fun!"
	I stood in my swim trunks on the side of the pool.  I had only dipped in to
cool down, but now I was bent on teaching Mateo a lesson.  I dove in and
came up under him as he was treading water in the deep end and grabbed his
ankle, tugging him down.  I held him for some time as he struggled and
kicked at me, and when I finally released him and came to the surface, I
expected to see him blisteringly mad.  All bullies, I knew, were cowards who
were much more adept at dishing out punishment than taking it.  To my
surprise, he broke the surface of the water with a broad smile, sputtering
and coughing, then looked at me with his eyes alight.  He guffawed
gleefully, as if the party had just begun, and he leveled his eyes on me.
No anger, no resentment.  His grin was genuine, his laugh heartfelt and
pure.
	He dove at me and caught me by surprise, his hands on my shoulders, and he
shoved me beneath the surface and held me there.  He was strong for his age,
to be sure, but I grabbed him around the waist and turned over in the water,
my head poking above the waves as his went under.  He moved like a fish from
my grasp and took a quick breath before diving back at me, arms around me,
his smooth, slender body against mine.  We flailed in the water, each of us
trying to get the upper hand.  Being so much bigger and stronger, it came
easy for me to slither out of his holds and turn the tables on him.  Every
time, he came up smiling, and when I climbed from the pool for a break, he
pursued me, trying to drag me back into the pool by my leg.  I found it
annoying at first and curtly told him to leave me alone, but his dogged
determination and that playful grin was bewitching, and I found myself
acutely aware of the presence of his hands on my ankle.  I smiled even as I
told him seriously to give me a break, yet he tugged harder, effectively
moving me closer to the pool, and I found myself laughing.  I finally gave
up the idea of a rest and leapt to my feet, growling playfully at him, and
he sped off around the pool.  I chased him and caught him and threw him in,
but by the time I had settled into my chair on the deck, he was grabbing at
me again, dripping wet, laughing and taunting me.
	"C'mon, gringo," he said.  "You just got lucky."
	The other boys seemed happy that I had distracted Mateo from them and they
had gone back to their games.  Mateo was irritating me, yet there was
something about him that attracted me, and when I finally got tired of him
pestering me, I seized him by the hips and threw him over my shoulder.  I
walked to the edge of the pool.  Mateo struggled on my shoulder, legs and
arms swinging madly, all the while laughing from his belly, and when I threw
him into the pool, he went in smiling, eyes bright with amusement.
	I needed to rest.  I was tired and out of breath.  But when Mateo climbed
from the pool again, I could tell by the devilish grin on his face that he
had not yet surrendered.  He stalked toward me, smirking and puffing himself
up with bravado.
	"I let you do that, old man," he said.  "I dare you to try it again!"
	"I need to rest a bit," I said.
	He squawked like a chicken, flapping his arms and doing a little chicken
strut, his dark hair dripping, his swim trunks clinging to those marvelous
hips.  He moved closer and prepared to strike.
	I was in no mood for it.  His ability to pick up on subtle clues was
terribly lacking.  "Later, maybe," I said.
	He squawked louder and moved closer.  I tried to maintain a serious face,
but his absurd chicken strut was hilarious and I cracked a smile, a clear
miscommunication to him regarding my willingness to play.  He made his move,
grabbing my wrist, and I effortlessly pulled him toward me, bringing his wet
body into my arms. I grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms across his
chest, holding him captive, and he threw his head back toward my face.  Had
I not been ready for it, it would have bloodied my nose, if not broken it,
but I moved my head to one side and took the brunt of the blow on my
shoulder.  He shoved back against me, nearly knocking the chair over, and I
had no recourse but to stand up, hoisting him into my arms, and throw him
back into the pool.  He went under laughing and came up laughing and I was
aware that I had, once again, miscommunicated my willingness to play.
	"Enough now," I said as firmly as possible, but with that stupid smile on
my face.  I couldn't seem to get rid of it, even as I was genuinely
irritated by his persistence.  "Go play with the others for a while."
	The others looked at me gravely and their game seemed to screech to a
silent halt.  Mateo swam toward them, smiling as he tackled Pedro and pulled
him under.  Pedro wriggled away and turned on him, shoving him under with a
scowl that was clearly not meant to be inviting.  To his bewilderment and
annoyance, Mateo came up smiling, full of fun, and lunged at Pedro again,
pulling him under.  When Pedro came up again, he spat out water and coughed,
then swam to the ladder of the pool.  Mateo pursued him, grabbing his ankle,
and Pedro delivered a kick into Mateo's chest that sent him sprawling.
	"Ya, basta!" Pedro shouted.  "Hijo de puta!"  He was livid, but Mateo only
laughed in response.  Pedro stalked away and Mateo turned his attention on
Fernando, clinging to the side of the pool.  One yank and the little boy was
underwater, and when he bobbed to the top, he was crying.
	Pedro reached in and grabbed his brother's hands and pulled him
protectively from the pool.  Fernando was still sputtering and sobbing and
Pedro snarled at Mateo.  "Hijo de puta!" he shouted again.
	Mateo frowned with some confusion, shrugging his shoulders.  "What did I
do?"
	All five boys were climbing out of the pool, grabbing their towels, heading
toward the house.  Pedro was tending to Fernando.
	"Is he all right?" I asked.
	Pedro nodded.  "He'll be okay," he said.
      "I was just playin'!  Geez!" Mateo called.
      Pedro shot a frown at Mateo, treading water alone in the pool, then
looked at me.  "We better go.  My mom's probably wondering where we are."
	The five boys all said goodbye as I walked them to the door.  "I can talk
to Mateo if you want," I said.  "Tell him to not be so rough."
	"No, thanks," said Pedro.  "See ya later."
	They left.  When I walked out onto the deck, Mateo was at the side of the
pool, arms out on the edge, his chin resting on them.  He was looking at me
guiltily.
	"You're too rough," I said seriously.  "And you don't know when to quit."
	He didn't reply.  He watched me as I sat down in a chair.  I was irritated
that his rudeness and insensitivity had ruined the party.  "How old are
you?" I asked.
	"Thirteen," he said.  "Why?"
	"Because you're old enough to know better, that's why!" I scolded him.
"For Chrissake, it was obvious that they didn't like what you were doing!"
I pointed at him.  "You play too rough!"
	"I like to play rough," he said.  "I can't help it."
	"Bullshit," I responded.  "Have you noticed yet that you lose a lot of
friends that way?"
	He seemed to think on that for a moment, staring down at his fingernails,
then he looked up at me.
	"Sorry," he offered sheepishly.
	He hoisted himself out of the pool, water running down his dark torso and
legs.  He looked exquisite, his wet trunks clinging to his hips and thighs.
      I sighed.  "It's a little late now."
	He walked directly over to me and shook his head, sending a spray of water
over me, smiling devilishly, somehow managing to be unbelievably handsome
and incredibly irritating at the same time.  I closed my eyes and counted to
five.  He took that opportunity to flick water at me from his fingers.  I
kept on counting.  When I reached ten, I opened my eyes and looked at him.
He was smiling roguishly.  To my surprise, and despite myself, I smiled as
well.
      With one quick movement, he kicked me in the shin with the side of his
barefoot.  It hurt like hell and I let out a small cry of pain and surprise.
  I heard him laugh.  I lunged at him suddenly, but he darted away.  I
chased him, and after a couple times around the pool, I caught up with him
in a patch of grass and tossed him to the ground.  I delivered three hard
blows with my fist to his thigh.
	"Let me introduce you to Charlie Horse," I said, gritting my teeth despite
myself.
	He grimaced in pain and shouted, but I was done playing around.  I thought
it was time to show him that he too had limits with how rough we could play.
  When he rolled over to protect his sore thigh, I nailed him on the other
with two hard blows, and he howled in pain.  Yet there was that maniacal
laugh, even as he was shielding his leg with his hands and saying, "Ah, no
more!  No more!  Please!"
	"Then leave me alone!" I said.  I was ready to kick him out for good.  He
was incorrigible.
	"Okay!  Okay!"
	I went back to my chair and he rolled in the grass for a while, holding his
thighs, rubbing them, pulling the pant legs of his baggy trunks up to look
for bruises.  I stared at his beautiful thighs.  The blows had been rather
gentle, but on that muscle, it doesn't take much to cause pain.  He was
smiling, rolling to his knees, stretching his legs as if making sure they
were still working properly.  He got gingerly to his feet.
	"That didn't hurt," he spouted, smirking, limping toward me.  "You're weak,
man."
	He walked up to me, standing right in front of me, his crotch just a foot
from my face.  I stared at it for a moment, then looked up into his face.
	He caught me off guard with a punch into my chest.  It was a quick jab and
he danced away immediately, laughing.  It smarted, and my breath left me for
a moment, but it was genuine anger that drove me to my feet and sent me
chasing after him again.  He seemed to allow me to catch him in that same
patch of grass, and the punches I delivered to his thighs were harder and
meant to be more meaningful.
	Mateo shouted in pain, and I really thought for a moment that he might cry,
but even as he was moaning and holding his thighs, he was smirking.  Even as
he was grimacing and whining, he was grinning at me.  He lay in the grass
for a little longer this time, and I went back to my chair, thinking that it
was probably time to toss this little bastard out.  My chest was a little
sore from his surprise punch, I could see a lump forming on my shin, and I
was tired of being harassed.  But looking at him, rolling around in pain on
the grass, I figured that he was probably not up for another round.
	I was wrong.  When he limped to his feet again, he shook each leg as if
ridding them of the pain, then bounced on his toes like a boxer, making
fists and holding them out before him.
	"That didn't hurt," he lied.  "I hardly felt that at all."
	He was nearing me again and I gave him a very serious look.  "No more," I
said.  "Christ, you never know when to quit!"
	He came at me again but I was ready for him, catching his fist midair and
twisting his arm around to his back.  He yelped in pain.  With his arm bent
thusly, I led him back to that patch of grass and kicked his feet out from
under him.  He landed on his belly in the grass and I sat on him, straddling
him, still holding the arm behind him.  He seemed to cry and laugh at the
same time.  "Leggo!  Ah, leggo!  You're bustin' my arm!"
	"I should rip it off and beat you with the bloody end of it," I said, half
seriously.  There was something amusing in the way he provoked me and then
became so submissive.  I couldn't help smiling.
	"Please let go!" he screamed.
	I released his arm, still straddling him, and he tucked it beneath him.
      I had had enough.  I opened my mouth to tell him to leave and he
suddenly squirmed below me, turning on his back and trying to shove me off
of him.  I stayed mounted on him, but it was with some difficulty.  He was a
strong and wiry boy and I had to lie on top of him to pin him, then wrap my
arms and legs around him and roll onto my side, holding him captive, his
back to my chest.  He struggled to get free.
      And there we were, lying in the grass, him in my arms, his body moving
against mine as he growled through gritted teeth.  I was horrified to
realize that I was getting hard, and with nothing but a swim suit it would
be obvious when I got up.  He managed to turn himself around, face to face,
and climb on top of me, but I held on so that he couldn't go anywhere and we
rolled on the grass, belly to belly, chest to chest, crotch to crotch.  He
grunted with the effort and thrust against me and I felt his hard cock
against me.  I pinned his arms down, and after a few attempts to wriggle
free, he lay still in my arms, panting.
      Was he conscious of his hard on?  Of mine?  Of the sexual implications
of this position?  He reared his head back, then thrust it forward, head
butting me suddenly in the chest, and I reeled from the impact, barely
managing to hold onto him as he attempted to slip away.  I could only think
of one solution.  I struggled to my feet and quickly grabbed him with his
back to my chest.  I lifted him off his feet and walked to the pool, and
despite his attempts to hang onto me, I deposited him into the pool with a
splash.  I turned immediately and headed for my chair in an attempt to
conceal my hard cock.  I heard him break the surface with a guffaw.
Incorrigible.
      He stayed in the pool for a moment and I knew why.  He was waiting for
his cock to go down.  I was happy for the opportunity to do the same,
sitting in my chair and looking at him, shaking my head.
      He tried to splash me with water but he was too far away.  He chicken
squawked at me, but I was unmoved, sitting there, smirking at him.  He
taunted me.  "Come in here and I'll kick your ass!"  I put my feet up on
another chair and gave a relaxing sigh, closing my eyes.
      Suddenly, I heard the sloshing of water as he climbed from the pool.
I turned to see him coming at me, charging me.
      "Enough!" I yelled.  "No more!  Stop!"
      He plowed into me, knocking the chair over and sending us sprawling on
the deck.  I was tangled up in the chair and vulnerable and he took the
opportunity to punch me four times in the thigh, sending a fair amount of
pain coursing through my leg.  I grabbed his ankle and yanked and he fell to
the deck on his ass with a tremendous thud, moaning in pain and holding his
buttock, still smiling, still laughing.
      "Aw shit!"  He said with a wrinkle-nosed smile, rubbing his butt.  It
had to have hurt.
      I got up with some effort.  He had really given those punches all he
had and my leg was genuinely sore.  I reached down and grabbed him by the
hair, pulling it only enough to inspire him to get to his feet.  He yelped
and struggled to stand and I pulled him over to the table on the deck and
pushed him, belly first, onto it.  He was laughing again, somehow titillated
by the pain, which only made me angrier.
      "Let's see," I said, and I yanked down his swim trunks enough to see
the spot that he was rubbing.  He laughed loudly and objected, but he could
have easily reached back and pulled up the trunks.  Both hands were free.  I
pretended to look at the wound--it was a little red--and then I delivered
three smacks to his bare ass.  It was very bold of me, but I was strangely
inspired by all this roughhousing.  The boy had a way of making it seem like
anything would go.  Indeed, after I delivered the slaps to his smooth, sweet
behind, I shoved him flat onto the table and yanked his trunks down and off.
      It would have been an impossible maneuver without Mateo's passive
cooperation.  He could have, at any time, prevented the removal, but he
laughed and pretended to struggle until the swim trunks fell onto the deck
with a wet thwop.  Completely bare, sprawled on the table before me, I was
suddenly aware of what I had done.  I had pushed the situation into an
obviously sexual one and now had a boisterous, physically aggressive naked
boy to deal with.  It was meant to embarrass and humiliate him, I was so
angry and frustrated with him, but he gave out a belly laugh that made it
clear that it had not had the desired effect.
      I practically fled, moving away from him as if I might try to scale
the fence and escape while, at the same time, waiting for him to turn around
in all his naked glory.  I was confused and excited.  When he faced me, his
cock was flaccid, dangling meekly between his thighs, beautiful and sexy.
He was completely hairless.  He looked at me with another of those crafty
grins and attacked.  I retreated.  I was far more afraid of his nakedness
than of his physical assaults.  When I could evade him no longer, I leapt
into the pool and he went in after me.  He could have put on his trunks at
any time.  They lay unguarded on the deck.  But he dove into the pool
instead, laughing and shouting, "You can't get away from me!"
      He was right.  He caught me easily enough and pawed at my swim trunks,
trying to pull them off as well.  I didn't allow it.  I was already
mortified at having pulled his off and was half wishing that I hadn't, or
that he had not allowed it, or that he had taken the ample opportunity to
put them back on.  Still, the grabbing was producing yet another erection in
me, and as we struggled underwater, I could see that it was having the same
effect on him.  I slipped away from him and scrambled out of the pool and he
quickly followed.  We stood looking at each other, panting and smiling, and
then he looked down at his stiff cock and laughed.  He took it in his hand
and pumped it a few times, then released it and watched it throb before him.
  He chuckled and gave me a wry smile.
      "You're hard too," he pointed out.
      My trunks were tenting out at the sight of him.  I couldn't help it.
This is not how I ever intended to seduce a boy. I had envisioned tender
strokes and sweet embraces.  I had imagined a romantic, soft coming
together, with gentle kisses and caresses.
      "Take your suit off," he said in a low, husky voice.  It was the
quietest I had seen him all day.
      I debated the wisdom of that.  Once naked, I would surely be more
vulnerable and my sexual excitement would be all too obvious and undeniable.
  If I intended to rid myself of this ruffian, that was not the way to do
it.  At the same time, my cock was raging to get at him, and he seemed to be
leading me in that direction.  I remembered what he had said--that he likes
to play rough.
      "No," I said.
      "C'mon," he said, stepping closer to me.  "I took mine off!"
      "Actually, I took yours off," I said, and he laughed.
      "Then let me take yours off!"  He started toward me.
      "No."
      "C'mon, dude," he pressed.  He was only a few feet away from me.
"Take `em off."
      "You really want me to?" I asked.
      He nodded and giggled.  "Yeah."
      "Then get on your knees," I said, pointing directly in front of me.
"Right here."
      He laughed as if that were a joke, but when I didn't laugh, he
regarded me with a confused smirk.
      "You serious?"
      I nodded.  "If you want me to take them off..."
      "You're crazy."
      I shrugged.  "Forget it then," I said flippantly, and turned toward
the chair on the deck.
      He charged me from behind, bowling me over and onto the grass.  As
soon as we landed, he was grabbing at my trunks, trying in vain to pull them
off, laughing at the effort of the game. It was easy to prevent it,
spreading my legs to keep them up, wrestling his hands away from the
drawstring, rolling over and away from him.  After several moments of
trying, he hadn't managed to budge them, and when he least expected it, I
grabbed him and turned him over my knees and spanked his ass.
      This sparked a more focused attack from him, grabbing my shorts and
pulling for all he was worth.  I was still hard, wrestling with the naked
boy, but I wasn't going to give in so easily.  I maneuvered him over my
knees again and pushed his head to the grass, leaving his ass jutting into
the air.  I smoothed my hand over the buns gently.
      "Mmmmmm," I said.  "Nice butt."  It was meant to be jokingly derisive.
      "Hey!" he yelled, but he was laughing still, and he didn't struggle
too much to get away.  I reached below and grabbed hold of his nuts from
behind.  I held them in my hand like they were a leash and tugged them
gently up.
      "Stand up," I commanded, rising to my feet, effectively pulling him up
by the balls.  He yowled and struggled to rise, bent over with his balls in
my hand between his legs from behind.  When he tried to stand upright, he
pulled his nuts more and he whined with the pain.  I led him around the yard
that way, bent over at the waist, then to the side of the pool where I
summarily shoved him in.
      Words cannot describe the look of that beautiful boy, climbing from
the pool with his hard cock before him, the water sluicing over his smooth,
brown skin, a mischievous smile on his face.  If he were offended or hurt by
this interaction, he would certainly have gathered up his trunks and left,
but instead, he started toward me again, breathing heavily.
      "Take `em off," he said, indicating my bulging trunks with a jerk of
his head.
      "On your knees," I replied, pointing to the ground in front of me.
      He charged me again, but I was ready for him.  I stepped aside and
tripped him and he fell sprawled on the grass.  I was on him before he could
get up, my legs over his, my left arm holding him down at the shoulders.
With my right hand, I pinched his ass cheeks and made him squeal.  He
laughed into the grass.  In an attempt to wriggle free, he bent at the waist
and rose on his knees a little, and I took that opportunity to poke at his
asshole.  The first time, he howled and twisted his hips away, but when he
purposely stuck his rump up again, I wet my finger in my mouth and poked.
He didn't struggle this time, but he laughed and said, "Stop that!"
      He liked to play rough.
      I spat heavily on my finger and dabbed at his bud again.  His attempts
to get away were pretty obviously disingenuous.  After so much wrestling
with him, I knew him to be strong enough to squirm away had he wanted to.
His strong upper body was being held down only by my left arm across his
shoulders.
      With my wet finger, I rubbed over the hole, then poked a finger
inside.  Mateo whooped and threw his head back.  "Ow!"  Still, his hips only
moved a little and he remained there, ass up, submissive to my probing.  I
pushed in further.
      "Ow, shit!"  Then he laughed.
      "Stop complaining," I said.  "Or I'll put more in here than my
finger."
      He guffawed at that.  "No way!" he said, but he was suddenly yanking
at the waistband of my swim suit again, trying to pull them down.  In my
sitting position, it was impossible.
      I crammed my finger all the way in and wiggled it and Mateo gave out
an artificial mix of laughter and tears.  "I can't believe this!" he said,
as if he were utterly helpless and had no say in the matter.  My finger slid
in and out easily.  I pulled it out suddenly and gave his ass a smack, then
pushed him off of me.  He rolled over onto his back in the grass and his
rampant little tool pointed skyward.  I leapt to my feet.
      He rolled over onto his knees and reached back to his asshole,
touching it pensively with a smirk then looking over at me.  It was hard to
tell if he were planning revenge on me for sticking my finger in there or
pulling it out.  He sat up on his knees and said, "Okay.  I'm on my knees.
Now take `em off."
	Indeed, he was on his knees, turning to me, walking in my direction,
crawling.  He stopped a foot away from me, looking up at my face, then at my
trunks.  I pulled the drawstring loose and put my thumbs into the waistband,
then pushed them down my legs and kicked them off.  My hard cock, throbbing
with excitement, nearly hit Mateo in the forehead.
	He became giddy for a moment, laughing, covering his mouth but not taking
his eyes off of it.  Then, he looked up at me with a serious look and I
tried to remember if I had ever seen him look so serious.  When he looked
back at my cock, he licked his lips.
	"Suck on it," I said gruffly.
	He shook his head and wrinkled his nose.  "No way," he said, but he
remained there with my cock just inches from his mouth.
	I took his head in my hands and guided his mouth to my cock.  He opened up
without hesitation and it slid in between his lips.
	I shouldn't have to point out the ways in which he could have objected to
this, not the least of which would be to bite down on that hot dog and put
an end to not just this sexual encounter, but all subsequent encounters for
the rest of my life.  Instead, he pretended to struggle, his arms waving at
his sides.  It seemed that the struggling was what excited him more than
anything.  With only my hands holding his ears, I plunged my cock in and out
of his mouth and he, opening wide, closed his eyes and became submissive,
his own hard dick pulsating between us.  He swirled around my cock with his
tongue, and at one point, when I released his head, he pulled his mouth off
of it and it bounced around.  He pursued it eagerly, mouth agape, until he
caught it again and bobbed up and down on it.  I took hold of his hair and
encouraged the movement, and he made noises like he was objecting even as he
initiated the in and out.
	He had a hot mouth.  My cock was slipping and sliding around inside it and
he slurped and sucked.  I thrust my hips into his face, fucking his mouth
furiously, my orgasm approaching.  I panted and groaned.
	"When I cum," I said to him.  "You down the load, got it?  Every last bit
of it."
	He shook his head as if to object, but he kept sucking and plunging onto my
cock, even reaching down to stroke his own with quick and graceless yanks.
Minutes later, I grunted and shot into his mouth, holding his head there as
my cream flowed into his throat.  He choked and his eyes bulged, but he
never tried to pull his head off of it, and his own cock suddenly jerked,
and with shuddering shoulders, he shot two drops of sperm onto the grass.
	As my orgasm subsided, I held his head there, unmoving, and he seemed to
hang from my cock like a rag doll, his own penis dripping.  I grabbed my
cock at the root and squeezed the last of my cum out and into his mouth, and
he swallowed it dutifully.  Finally, I pulled my cock from his mouth, and he
puckered and licked his lips as if lamenting the loss of it, eyes closed as
if in sweet reverence.  I slapped him in the face with my wet cock and he
dropped his head back, smiling, surrendering.  Then he collapsed onto the
grass, pretending to be beaten, defeated, sighing pleasantly.


	I went and sat down in my chair, my cock slowly going down, and Mateo lay
panting in the grass, his own cock still hard, his legs spread wide.  Even
freshly spent, I was turned on by that amazing body.  I sipped my lemonade
and watched him as his breathing returned to normal, then he sat up abruptly
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "That was disgusting!" he
said.
	He was an awful liar.  I remembered the look on his face as he swallowed it
down.
	"You loved it," I said.
	"Fuck you!"
	I shook my head and chuckled and he couldn't conceal his smirk.  This was
just a game to him.  It was his way of getting what he wanted and it had
worked.  Why shouldn't he continue with it?  He seemed sated for the time
being.  Indeed, I hadn't seen him so stationary, so calm, since he had
walked in the door.  He probed his asshole as if it were tender and sore.
	"You hurt me," he said, pouting disingenuously.
	"You're welcome," I replied, and he laughed.
      "I oughta kick your ass!"
      "And I oughta fuck yours," I said.  "But you'd probably cry like a
little girl."
	"Bull shit!" he retorted.  "And you wouldn't dare!"
      Yet it seemed that this suggestion inspired him, reenergized him.  He
rose to his feet slowly, languidly, gracefully, like a cheetah rising from
rest.  He walked toward me and I could tell he was getting worked up again.
His cock was still hard.  He toyed with it absent-mindedly as he approached
me.  He stepped in front of me and jutted his cock out at me.
	"Now you suck it," he said with a snarl.
	I looked up at him calmly.  "Look, little boy," I said.  "I'm the one who
gives the orders around here, you obey them.  You got that?"
	He scoffed and snorted.  "Fuck you," he spat, and he landed a slap
alongside my head.  It was quite a slap and my head sang for a moment with
the impact.  "Now suck it," he growled.  He stuck the pretty thing in my
face again.  I shook off the blow, then reached up and took hold of his cock
and smiled up at him.  It was like a small silken pole.
	"You have quite an attitude," I said to him.  I gave his dick a few
seductive strokes.
	He sneered at me and smiled.
	I suddenly grabbed his cock tightly and stood up--tightly enough to make him
yelp--and I led him, with his cock as a leash, to the grassy area.  He
laughed and cursed, trying to pry my fingers off of his root, but he
followed me obligingly.
	"Shit!  Shit!" he shouted.
	"Shut up," I said, and I pulled down on his cock and, of course, he
followed, onto the grass, onto his knees, whining with a smile, laughing
with a groan.  "Oh, dude!  Ow!"
	I knelt behind him, between his legs, his cock still clutched in my hand.
"You do like to play rough, don't you?" I said.  I put my hand between his
shoulder blades and shoved him down so that his face was pressed into the
lawn and his butt was sticking up.  My cock was on the rise again,
surprisingly excited by the boy's sordid game, and I rubbed it against his
crack.  "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
	"No!" he said, still laughing, still wincing from the pressure I was
applying to his little tool.  Yet he didn't struggle against that
position--me between his legs, my hardening cock hot against his hole.
	"Say you want it," I said, and I squeezed a little harder.  He cackled and
moaned.  "Say it!"
	"Go to hell!" he barked.
	I squeezed a little harder.  "Say it!"
	"Ow!" he yelped.  "Okay, okay!  I want it!"
	"You want what?"
	"It."
	I slapped him on the rump and he whined again.  "What?" I asked.
	"Your cock!" he said plaintively.
      "Where?" I asked.
      He grimaced and grinned.  "In my ass!"
	I released his cock and spat on his hole and he knelt there submissively,
happily, a smile on his face even as he frowned at me over his shoulder.  I
poked at his asshole roughly, inserting a finger up to the second knuckle
with one jab, and he growled at me.
	"Fuck you," he smirked.
	I gave him another smack on the ass and he howled.  "Okay, okay!" he
sniggered.  "Fuck me!"
	We both laughed at that.  He was growing on me even as he scared me and
sparked these strange tendencies to manhandle him and rough him up.  Where
did this come from?  Why was I, usually so tender and romantic, so sexually
excited by this sexual deviance?  I plunged my finger in and out of his
chute and he moaned in response, yet his hole became notably more pliant
with each in and out stroke and, when I added a second finger and some spit,
he grimaced and whined as he thrust his hips back at me.
	I lubed my cock with more spit and took him by the hips firmly, holding him
still as I zeroed in on that wet, pink, gaping hole.  It took little
pressure to insert the head of my cock into him, and he cried out as if he
were in agony, but once in, I slid in easily and quickly and lowered myself
down on him, pressing him into the grass, settling in for a nice long fuck.
	For him, this ordeal was about the physicality, the roughhousing, the
playacting.  He thrashed with his upper torso, acting as if he were trying
to break free, but it was clearly disingenuous, lacking his full strength.
Indeed, if he had managed to dismount me, he would have been sorely
disappointed.  He grunted as if he were struggling to get up and he couldn't
help snickering when I shoved him back down, and there was no masking the
pleasure that coursed through his body when I began to fuck him with hard,
slamming strokes, forcing his legs apart with my own, pulling out all the
way to the head and crashing back against him.  He smiled involuntarily and
dug his fingers into the grass and said, in the most unconvincing
performance yet, "Stop! Get off me!"  Then he sighed and smiled more broadly
and turned his face into the grass to hide it from me.
	I lay full on top of him, plowing into him with the wet slapping sounds of
flesh against flesh in my ears.  He panted madly.
	I rolled us over onto our sides and lifted his leg, giving me leverage and
something to hang onto to pull him back against me as I thrust into him.
His whole body shook with the impact and he lay completely submissive in my
arms as I caressed his chest.  When I pinched a nipple, he gave an
undisguised groan of pleasure, and looking at him, eyes closed, head lolling
to the side, it was obvious that he had lost the fortitude to keep up this
game--that he had lapsed into ecstasy and was no longer regarding that
pretension as necessary.  I nibbled on his ear and neck and took hold of his
stiff little cock, tugging at it with rapid strokes that made him even more
excited.  He opened his mouth and let out a huge sigh, smiling, chuckling
softly.
	"Yer the boss," he said, and the words inflamed me, much to my surprise.
"Whatever you want."
	"Damn straight, whatever I want," I growled into his ear, and he snickered
lewdly.
	I was fucking him furiously now.  His whole body was rocking with my
violent thrusts.  His body trembled and he started breathing even more
rapidly, groaning and tossing his head from side to side.  He let out a loud
groan--"Ohhhhhhhh"--and then his body flailed in my arms, legs twisting,
stretching and kicking, and he shot sperm out onto the grass.  I continued
pumping his cock to the last of his spasms, and then released it so that it
twitched and dripped obscenely.
	I maneuvered us so that he was on his back and I on my knees between his
legs, holding him behind the knees, shoving his legs up to his ears,
stretching that glorious hole for easier access.  He was completely
submissive to all this, and as I started fucking him again, he looked as if
he were having a wonderful dream, face grinning, eyes closed in pleasure,
mouth slightly open.  He gave out little grunts as my cock rammed in and out
of him.  His cock stayed hard and he reached down and stroked it slowly,
making it throb in his little fingers.
	I decided to try something that seemed to run contrary to our little game.
I leaned over and kissed Mateo on the lips, softly at first to gauge his
reaction, then, when he pursed his lips back at me, more deeply and
passionately.  To my surprise, he opened his mouth and greeted my tongue,
humming into my mouth.  He reached up and put one arm around my neck and
pulled me closer, the other hand working again on his cock with quick yanks
and pulls, and I continued to hammer away at his ass.
	It has always been mysterious to me how a man's lips can be so directly
connected to his own cock.  A kiss can be chaste and simple, or it can send
waves of sensations to his cock, stirring his balls and sparking him to
higher levels of lust and passion.  Kissing Mateo marked the start of my
orgasm, which seemed to be suddenly and obviously approaching as soon as our
lips touched.  I groaned into his mouth and increased my already manic
rhythm in his ass, jackhammering him with powerful thrusts that he would
probably feel afterwards and for the next several days.  After a few
blissful minutes, my orgasm overtook me and I spilled what felt like gallons
of cum into his hungry hole, my entire body buckling with tremors.  He
whimpered and said, "Ah, si, si, si, si, si!" and he shot another few pearly
drops of cum onto his tummy.  We were a writhing, sweating mass of limbs
there on the grass.
	Then suddenly, we were still.  My cock was still in his ass and his hand
remained on his dick, squeezing it gingerly.  Our faces were pressed
together, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, so that when he spoke, his
voice vibrated through my skull.
	"You fucker," he said, and we chuckled together.
	"Who's the boss?" I asked, joking.
	"You are."
	"Say it again."
	"You are!" he shouted, and we both laughed again.


	I have been with Mateo now for three months and have the bruises to show
for it.  I figured out that he is a reservoir of energy that gets poorly
expressed in misguided joking that gets translated into bullying and
violence.  His naturally good-natured disposition runs strangely contrary to
his actions, and he is relatively ignorant of the effects he has on those
around him.  He alienates potential friends the more he tries to bond with
them.  When I explained this to him, he nodded thoughtfully and said, "That
sure explains a lot of things."
	I have found a release valve, a means of ridding him of that pent up
energy, through which he becomes much more amiable and calm and more capable
of controlling himself.  Sex is his Ritalin, so to speak.  He arrives at my
house with excessive energy buzzing through that impeccable body.  Within
moments of entering my house, he nails me with a punch to the chest or
stomach that provokes a session of rough-housing, which inevitably leads to
me throwing him down and fucking him senseless.  The more volatile our
lovemaking, the more excited he becomes, and I have discovered that if I get
him hot enough, it launches him into a fantastically passionate place, with
deep kisses and embraces, and afterwards, he can become quite affectionate
and gentle for as much as an hour or so.  Then, the energy begins to build
up in him again, practically a palpable buzz in his body, and in two or
three hours, he needs another dose of the remedy.
	Don't think it's easy to be Mateo's lover.  It is a painful and challenging
role and I am thankful that I am still young and able enough to do it.  A
lesser man would shrink away from him barreling in the door, swinging his
fists and throwing insults, impishly grinning and chuckling.  But it all
seems worth it when I am easing my cock into his mouth or asshole, seeing
the pleasure on his face and the lust in his eyes, even if I am nursing my
bumps and bruises afterwards.
	We have our sexual encounters in the morning so that, by the time Pedro and
the others arrive to swim at noon, Mateo is as mellow as a kitten...well, as
mellow as he can be.  This has worked miracles in his interactions with
them, allowing them to become friends, and on occasion, when Mateo gets
overly excited and is oblivious to my subtle verbal entreaties to calm down,
I have to take him to my bedroom for a "talk", which sometimes includes a
quick fuck, but usually involves a threat.  I grab his arm and twist it
behind him and pin him to the wall.  He laughs in my face.
	"Calm down or you're going to have to fuck yourself," I tell him.
	"Kiss my ass, douche bag!" he quips, but my pretty words have a remarkable
effect on him.  He manages to hold it together for another hour or so, but
when Pedro and the other boys leave, I prepare myself for his attack.  He
leaps upon me like a wildcat, cock hard, fists swinging, laughing
maniacally, landing punches into my head.
      "Stop it!" I yell, even though I know it will go unheeded.
      "Fuck you!" he retorts, and I begin the painful and pleasant process
of subduing him.
      After one particularly strenuous workout, I lay on the floor with a
bloody lip, Mateo curled into my arm, naked, dabbing at my mouth with a
tissue.  He touched me so tenderly that I couldn't help smiling.  He smiled
back and spoke poetry to me.
      "Ya know," he said.  "'Fuck you' can mean `I love you'."
      I kissed him on the hand.  "Fuck you, too," I said lovingly.