Date: Tue, 26 Apr 2016 10:31:12 -0600
From: Jordan Bradders <jordan.bradders@writeme.com>
Subject: Jordy Stories II: My Scoutmaster
Jordy Stories II: My Scoutmaster
By Jordan Bradders
(c)Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders. The author reserves all rights.
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The following story is meant for adults. If you are under 18, stop reading
now and do not download this story.
This work of fiction involves sexual contact between an adult man and an
11-year-old boy. The story is set in the late 1960s, so even if the
11-year-old had been real, he would be in his late fifties now and the
adult would surely be deceased.
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------------------------------------------------------
Jordy Stories II: My Scoutmaster
It was the Sunday after Labor Day, 1968. I'd turned eleven about a
month before, and had been bugging my mom ever since to get me signed up
for Boy Scouts. They'd announced sign-ups at school all week and at church
that morning. I was champing at the bit to go on my first camp out.
I'd been in Cub Scouts since I was eight and had been bored since I
was nine. All the leaders were women and all we did was sit around doing
arts and crafts. I couldn't wait to go camping and hiking and all the
other cool things the big boys did in Scouts. But when I walked into the
church hall that evening, I got shy and hid behind my mom. We made our way
over to the sign-up table and I watched as my mom filled out the papers to
make me a Scout. I was so excited!
My mom sat me down at a table with some other boys and walked back
over to talk with the Scoutmaster. I watched in dread, terrified that she
was going to say something that would embarrass me. I ducked down, my face
burning, when the man looked over at me and smiled.
My mom had been worried about me for years. I used to sit at the top
of the stairs and listen while she talked with her friends after we were
supposed to be in bed. I'd gotten into that habit when my dad was still
around; I'd listen to their fights, determined to protect my mom if he ever
hurt her.
When I was five, and we were still living in the city, I was caught
with my best friend, Billy, down in the basement. We were having a sleep
over and had set up a makeshift tent so we could pretend we were camping in
the woods. Really, it was just a blanket we'd thrown over the pool table,
but we were little and didn't care. Billy's mom caught us when she came
down to bring us a snack. We were lying there on our sleeping bags, naked.
I had his dick in my mouth, and he had mine in his, and we were sucking
away. It wasn't the first time, but we convinced her it was; that we'd
been wrestling and got curious. I think she believed us, but the truth
was, we'd been doing stuff like that for a while. We moved out of the city
to our "dream house" in the suburbs just a few months later and I didn't
see Billy again until we were teenagers.
My mom was always talking about how I needed a man in my life because
my dad was never around. I guess she was right because I was always
watching the workmen who were building the houses going up on the edge of
the neighborhood, and any other men I saw. There really weren't that many
men in my life, though. All of my teachers were women, and the priests at
my church were pretty old and didn't seem to like kids.
After a while the Scoutmaster nodded at my mom and then walked out
into the center of the room. He put one arm up in the air, did something
weird with his fingers, and said "Signs up," in a booming voice. The room
went quiet, and the uniformed Scouts formed up around him. An older boy
called out "New Scouts, front and center!"
I noticed my mom gesturing at me so I got up and walked out to the
center of the hall with the other boys. I was so excited I was shaking.
This was my first Scout meeting!
The older boy introduced himself as Chris and said that he was the
"Senior Patrol Leader." He explained that he was the chief "boy leader,"
then broke us up into small groups, each led by one of the older Scouts,
who were called "Patrol Leaders." Each took his group - mine was "Wolf
Patrol" - to the outskirts of the big room, and told us to sit in a circle
on the floor, "Indian style." Jimmy, my Patrol Leader, explained that we'd
be meeting the other members of our Patrol later in the week, but he had
some things to teach us tonight. He taught us the Scout Oath and Law, and
how to do the Scout Salute, Handshake, and Sign. That last one was the
funny thing the Scoutmaster had done with his hand.
When Jimmy asked for a volunteer, my hand shot up. He had me put my
arms out in front of me, then took a length of rope, wrapped it around my
wrists, then around both arms, pulling them together like a pair of
handcuffs, and demonstrated how to tie a square knot. When he had me tug
at my bonds to show that I couldn't get lose, my tummy felt funny and I
shuddered. He grinned at me as he untied me, then told us to pair up and
talked us through tying the knots ourselves. When we'd finished he gave us
each a length of rope and had us tie them around our waists like belts. He
explained that we'd be expected to do everything he'd just taught us at the
meeting on Thursday, and that we couldn't be Scouts until we did. Finally,
he told us about the Scout Motto, explained what it meant to "do a good
deed daily," and said that we'd be expected to describe our "good deeds" at
the meeting. Then Chris called us back and our Patrol Leaders formed us
into a half circle around the Scoutmaster.
Mr. Taylor stood looking at us, a big smile on his face. I'll never
forget the first thing he said: "Welcome to the great adventure we call
Scouting." I don't remember much else, but I do recall that when he looked
at me, I got all tingly inside and my face felt hot. Just at that moment,
Mr. Taylor nodded and smiled. I felt like I had a special connection with
him, and found myself thinking "I wish he was my dad."
My mom took me the next day to buy a Scout Uniform and Handbook. I
begged her to get me some camping equipment, too, but she explained that
the Troop had all that stuff and the Scoutmaster had told her not to buy
any of it yet. Though I was used to arguing with her until she gave in, I
didn't this time. Mr. Taylor had said so.
I read that whole book by Thursday. I carried the rope with me all
the time and tied square knots until my mom took it from me, laughing that
I was going to get blisters on my fingers. I put on my uniform every
night, and practiced the Scout Sign and salute, reciting the Scout Oath and
Law over and over in front of the mirror. I know I made my mom crazy
practicing the left-handed Scout handshake, but I was determined to be the
best Scout Mr. Taylor had ever seen.
I was the oldest of four kids and my mom worked, so she didn't have
time to take me to meetings. I was thrilled when she told me that the
Scoutmaster would be picking me up and taking me home. I was sitting on
the bottom step in full uniform, obsessively tying and retying the square
knot, a half-hour before he was scheduled to pick me up. I would have been
ready even sooner but my mom had made me eat dinner with the family.
I don't remember much about that first Scout meeting except that I
was the only new Scout who completed all of the joining requirements that
night. I'll never forget what happened on the way home, though. We
talked. Really talked. Mr. Taylor asked me all kinds of questions; and he
listened to me! He wanted to know if I liked sports, and how I did in
school, and my favorite subjects, and about my younger brother and sisters,
and whether I was looking forward to Junior High School, and ... you get
the idea. When we pulled up in front of my house he put his hand on my leg
and gave it a quick squeeze, and then told me how proud he was of me for
completing the joing requirements so quickly. I literally shook with
excitement and had trouble opening the car door. I wished more than
anything in the world that Mr. Taylor could be my dad.
Wanting Mr. Taylor to be proud of me was such a great motivator that
I completed the requirements for the "Tenderfoot" rank in no time. That
included pitching my own tent, cooking, tying some knots, and some other
things that I did on my first campout, only three weeks after joining. The
best part of that campout weekend, though, was getting to spend time with
Mr. Taylor, including almost an hour each way in his van.
We all met back at the church on Sunday afternoon. I waited while
Mr. Taylor talked with some parents, and then climbed back into his van for
the ride home. I was thrilled when he asked if I'd help him unload the
camping equipment before he took me home. He backed the van into his
garage, then I helped him stow all of the gear. I didn't know it but this
was to become a routine for me.
He invited me into his house, offered me a Coke, and then went to the
phone to call my mom. After a minute, he asked for my number and redialed,
a puzzled look on his face. "Hmmm ... it looks like your mom must have
gone out for a while. I guess you'll have to stay here until I can get you
home." I had a house key in my pocket and knew that my mom wouldn't mind
me being home alone, but I agreed, not really wanting to leave.
Mr. Taylor turned on the TV and handed me the remote, then said "I'm
going to take a shower." Leaving his bedroom door open, he called out
"I'll be right back here if you need anything."
I flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch,
but when I heard the water running in the shower I suddenly needed to pee.
I looked around for a bathroom, but finding none as my urgency grew I ran
towards the sound of the shower. Afraid that I might embarrass myself by
wetting my pants, I called out and asked if there was another bathroom.
Mr. Taylor stuck his head out and laughed "Nope ... just this one,
but we're both men. Go ahead. Just don't flush while I'm in here."
I stood at the toilet and carefully directed my stream into the bowl,
my mind reeling at the word "men." I flushed out of force of habit and
then winced. "Sorry, Mr. Taylor. I forgot." I was relieved when he
laughed. I washed my hands and went back out into the living room. While I
waited I looked around the little house, imagining what it would be like to
live there with him.
When the sound of the shower stopped I ran back and sat on the couch.
Mr. Taylor walked out in a pair of gym shorts, vigorously rubbing his hair
with a towel. I guess I must have been staring because he laughed and
asked "Something wrong, Jordan?"
When I blushed, shook my head, and looked away, the man dropped onto
the couch next to me and said "It's okay, Jordan. It's natural to be
curious. You can ask me anything you want." He stretched his arms out
along the back of the couch, which gave me an unobstructed view of his
hairy underarms and torso.
We sat that way for a few minutes but I was too shy to ask him any
questions or even look away from the TV. I was curious – I'd never been
that close to an almost naked man before – but I was just too scared.
After a few minutes he got up and picked up the phone. This time my mom
answered so he got dressed and drove me home.
Our Troop was well known for a really active schedule, including at
least one outdoor activity a month and sometimes more. October was no
exception. At our next meeting, Chris, the Senior Patrol Leader, announced
that we'd be attending a Camporee at the end of the month.
The next few weeks were a blur of activity as we worked to prepare.
Chris had explained that Camporees were more than campouts; they were
competitions in which Troops could show off their skills. Chris clearly
wanted to win; and even though Mr. Taylor claimed otherwise I could see
that he wanted that trophy just as much.
When the Senior Patrol Leader asked for volunteers to help get the
Troop's equipment cleaned up, he laughed when he saw that my hand was up
first. He announced that we'd be meeting Saturday morning at Mr. Taylor's
house and that the "uniform of the day" was to be play clothes. "We're
gonna get dirty," he laughed.
I was up early and skipped my routine of cold cereal and Saturday
morning cartoons. When my mom asked when I'd be home, I just shrugged and
promised to call if it was going to be too late. She nodded, and I was on
my way, peddling my bike the short distance to the Scoutmaster's house.
I got there so early that Mr. Taylor wasn't even dressed yet. He
peeked out then opened the door, standing aside because he was wearing only
briefs. Laughing, he said "My ... what an eager boy. We aren't starting
for another hour." Pointing at the couch, he tossed me the remote and
walked into his bedroom to get dressed.
To be honest, I knew we weren't supposed to start until 9AM. I'd
gotten there early because I wanted to spend some time alone with
Mr. Taylor. I followed him and stood in his open bedroom door, asking
questions about the Camporee and about what I would have to do to earn the
next rank, while he dressed. As before, I was very curious, but this time
wasn't as shy, letting my eyes linger on his hairy body. He didn't seem to
mind and made no effort to hide his nakedness when he pulled off his briefs
and tossed them in the hamper. I felt a stirring in the pit of my stomach
and had to struggle to remain still but I didn't drop my eyes this time.
Once dressed, Mr. Taylor sat me down at the kitchen table and took
out a worn copy of the Boy Scout Handbook. I felt a flush of pride when he
commented that he'd never seen a boy earn Tenderfoot so fast. Then he
showed me where I could find the requirements for Second Class Scout. I'd
already gone over these at home but pretended this was the first time I'd
seen them. He explained that I'd be able to complete many of the
requirements at the Camporee the next weekend, but that I wouldn't be able
to advance until I'd been on a few more Scout activities. Then the other
boys started to arrive and it was time to get to work.
Chris was right. We did get dirty; me more than most. The biggest
stuff was stored neatly on shelves in the garage or in the van, but some of
the smaller items were up in the attic. While the bigger boys carried the
tents, tarps, tables, stoves and other things out into the back yard, the
Senior Patrol Leader directed me to a small hatch in the ceiling. Because
I was the smallest boy present, really the smallest in the troop, I was
elected to climb up into the attic and drop things down to the other boys.
It was hot, dusty and dark up there, but I didn't stop until the last of
the equipment was piled in the garage below.
The day went fast and we got a lot of work done when we weren't
roughhousing or eating pizza. By 3 o'clock, we had all of the gear
cleaned, repaired and stowed, either in the van, or back on the shelves. I
was climbing on my bike, tired but happy, when Mr. Taylor stopped me. I
nodded and followed him back into the garage when he asked if I could stay
and help him get the rest of the smaller items back in the attic.
I climbed back up the little ladder and stood with my body half in
the attic, while the big man handed up one item after another. Once they
were all piled in the attic, I climbed up to stack them in their place by
the back wall. Mr. Taylor stuck his head through the opening, nodding his
approval. I shook with pleasure when he praised me, saying "You do nice
work, Jordy. I can't even fit up there, so I couldn't have done this
without you."
I guess I must have pushed myself too hard that day, between the work
and the heat in the attic, but I got dizzy and fell as I climbed down the
ladder. Mr. Taylor caught me in his arms and carried me into the house
like I was one of those manikins they use to teach CPR. He dropped me onto
his bed, a look of concern in his eyes. That look turned to alarm when he
touched my forehead. "You're burning up," he said as he strode into the
bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth and draped it over my
forehead, then unbuttoned my shirt. He went back for a few more
washcloths, and put one under each of my armpits. I felt better
immediately but didn't say so because I was enjoying him taking care of me.
No man had ever done that before, either.
Mr. Taylor continued to care for me, leaving my side only to refresh
the cold, wet washcloths, and to get me water to drink. When he could see
that I was feeling better, he started to remove the washcloths, and
laughed. "You're filthy, boy! You'd better get a shower and rinse off
this mud." He helped me sit up, pulled off my shirt, and leaned down to
take off my shoes and socks. Then he stood me up and helped me take off my
pants, leaving me covered only by my briefs, and walked me to the shower.
Helping me in, he said "I think you can take it from here," and closed the
shower curtain. I stripped off my underwear and tossed it out on the
floor, then turned on the water. Once he saw that I was okay, he said "I'm
gonna go call your mom and let her know what happened."
I jumped out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor, and
ran after him. "No! Don't call my mom! She won't let me go camping next
weekend. Please!" I stood there, naked and dripping, staring up into his
eyes.
He stared back at me for a few seconds as if thinking then ushered me
back into the bathroom and helped me back into the shower. Taking some
towels from the closet, he mopped up the water, still apparently thinking.
"I won't call yet. You get cleaned up and we'll talk." Then he picked up
the towels and my now sodden briefs and walked out of the room.
I finished my shower quickly, not wanting to give him time to change
his mind. I dried myself, and when I saw that my clothes were gone I
wrapped one of his towels around me. It was big enough that I had to wrap
it around myself twice, and though it was up under my armpits it still
dangled almost to the floor.
I walked out feeling like I was wearing one of my mom's dresses and
found him loading the towels and my clothes into the washing machine. I
stood there, waiting, and trying to figure out how to convince him not to
call my mom. I knew how much she worried about me and was sure she
wouldn't let me go camping.
He gestured towards the couch and I walked over there, but waited for
him to sit down. Then I sat down right next to him, my side pressed
against his, and said "Please don't call my mom. She treats me like a
baby. She won't let me go camping."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs, but not
moving away from me. "Well," he said slowly, "you seem to be fine now. You
sure you're okay?"
I nodded and said "That happens to me sometimes. It's not a big
deal, but it makes my mom crazy. She gets all scared, and won't even let
me out of the house. Please don't tell her. I don't wanna miss the
Camporee."
Mr. Taylor handed me the remote and dropped a magazine in his lap. I
thought I'd seen his pants tenting out, but said nothing. "We might as
well relax while we wait for your clothes. Then I'll take you home. No way
am I going to let you ride your bike after this." He stretched his arm out
behind me and I curled into his side, loving the feel of my body nestled
against his. Though he opened the magazine he never looked at it, but
turned and looked at me every few seconds as if thinking.
I started at the sound of the washing machine buzzer, reflexively
pressing myself into the man's side and burying my face in his chest. When
he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close, that was the highlight of
my day. He held me that way for a moment then got up and put my clothes in
the dryer. When he came back and sat down next to me he seemed much more
relaxed. He didn't cross his legs or cover his lap this time, just held me
close. 'Like a father with his son,' I thought happily.
When the dryer stopped, I dropped my towel into the washer and
dressed in front of Mr. Taylor, not even turning my back. Then we went out
and loaded my bike into the back of his van so he could drive me home.
The next night all of my plans were wrecked. My mom learned that a
distant relative, someone I'd never even met, had died. She said that we'd
be leaving Wednesday to go to the funeral and would be gone all weekend. I
begged and pleaded, even arguing that I couldn't afford to miss three days
at school, but she said I wasn't old enough to be left home alone.
Heartbroken, I called Mr. Taylor to tell him I wouldn't be able to make it
to the Camporee. He listened to my explanation and then asked to talk with
my mom. I called her to the phone hoping for a miracle; and I got one!
She talked with him for a few minutes, then thanked him and hung up
the phone. Looking at me thoughtfully, she said "Mr. Taylor says you can
stay with him while we're gone. He doesn't want you to miss the
Camporee. I'll let you if you promise to be on your best behavior and do
everything he says." I agreed, of course. After all, that was what I
wanted more than anything else in the world.
Tuesday evening my mom drove me over to Mr. Taylor's house to drop
off my bags and talk with him. She made me repeat my promises of
politeness and obedience, and thanked him over and over for his kindness.
When the school bus dropped me off the next day, I let myself into my
house, got a snack, changed my clothes, grabbed some comic books and other
essential supplies my mother hadn't included, and rode my bike over to
Mr. Taylor's house. He wasn't home from work yet but he'd said I could
wait in the back yard. I fell asleep in a chaise lounge on his back porch
and woke up to the delicious smell of hamburgers cooking on the grill only
a few feet away. There was even a glass of iced tea on the table next to
me. I knew immediately that this was going to be a great week!
I was just standing up when my host walked through the sliding glass
door wearing only sandals and a pair of gym shorts. He stuck out his hand
in a mock formal way and said "Welcome to Casa Taylor! Mi casa es su
casa." I didn't know what that meant but it sounded like he was happy I
was there. So was I.
We ate at the picnic table outside talking comfortably. One of the
things I liked about Mr. Taylor was he never treated me like a kid; he
talked to me like I was an adult. When he asked if I had any homework I
told him I'd get right to it instead of arguing like I always did with my
mom. Though it was easy I pretended to need help and was thrilled when he
gave my shoulder a little squeeze while he leaned over me to see my work.
When I was finished he suggested that I get a shower and change into my PJs
before we sat down to watch some TV (VCRs hadn't been invented, let alone
DVDs or Blu-rays, so we were stuck with network TV).
I ran off to what I would soon come to think of as "my room" and
undressed, then went through his bedroom to the bathroom. After showering
I wrapped myself in a towel, went back to my room, and made a show of
searching through my luggage for my PJs. They were there, of course,
because my mom had packed my bags. But I pretended that I'd forgotten them
and came out dressed only in my briefs and a tee-shirt.
Blushing, I explained that I'd forgotten my PJs. Mr. Taylor smiled
and patted the place next to him on the couch and said what had thrilled me
so much the previous weekend: that we were both men. We sat side by side;
the man's big arm draped across the back of the couch behind me, and
watched TV. When I leaned against his side he brought his arm down and
wrapped it around my narrow shoulders. I was in heaven!
Mr. Taylor shook me awake just as the news was starting. I was
sprawled out across the couch, my head on his thigh. I just about died
from embarrassment when I saw I'd drooled on his bare leg. The man just
laughed and said "Don't worry, Jordy - I'm fully washable," and told me it
was time for bed.
I got up, feeling a bit groggy, and staggered towards my bedroom, but
Mr. Taylor reminded me to brush my teeth. After I'd finished in the
bathroom I came back out and told him "goodnight" then went off to bed.
I was so excited I couldn't sleep. When the news ended I heard
applause and laughter and a man's voice. Later, I would learn that
Mr. Taylor had been watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
Eventually, he turned off the TV and then one light after another. He
quietly opened my door and looked in on me, then closed it again and went
to his own room.
I must have fallen asleep but woke up a few hours later needing to
pee. I got up, now dressed only in my briefs, and padded through the dark
house through Mr. Taylor's room and into the bathroom. After I finished, I
went and stood by his bed, shifting my weight from one foot to the other,
nervously staring at him.
His eyes popped open and he asked if I was okay. I made a small
choking sound, as if I'd been crying, and told him I was scared.
"Sometimes when I get nightmares my mom lets me sleep with her. Can I
sleep in here with you?"
I was disappointed when the man shook his head and said "You're too
old for that now, Jordy. I think you'd better go back to your room." When
I didn't move right away, he said "Don't worry; it'll be okay," then
gestured towards the door.
I reluctantly went back to my bed and lay still for a while, but then
started sobbing, quietly at first, then louder. I wasn't really scared but
just hoped he'd hear me and call me to him. I really wanted to sleep with
him.
After a few minutes, Mr. Taylor came in and sat on the bed next to
me. He gently stroked his hand over my back and whispered "You really
sound scared, Jordy."
I turned over, then sat up and hugged him. "Please, Mr. Taylor?"
The man picked me up in his arms and carried me back into his room,
my arms clinging around his neck. He laid me down, climbed in next to me,
and pulled the covers up over us. I nestled my body into the curve formed
by his torso and legs and was almost instantly asleep.
When I woke up in the morning, Mr. Taylor was already in the shower.
I went in and stood in front of the toilet, peeing for what seemed like
forever. When I finished, I giggled "Don't worry, Mr. Taylor – I won't
flush this time," then went back to my room to get my toothpaste and brush.
When I returned, he was just getting out of the shower. I watched out of
the corner of my eye as he dried himself, still fascinated, and a bit
excited, by his big, hairy body.
When we sat down to breakfast, I pretended to be embarrassed, and
said "Thanks for letting me sleep with you, Mr. Taylor. But ... umm
... please don't tell anybody I got scared. Okay? I don't want the other
guys thinking I'm a baby or something."
He nodded "Don't worry, Jordy... I won't tell anyone. That would
probably be best for me, too."
That school day dragged along slower than any I could remember but
finally it was over. I couldn't wait to get "home" to Mr. Taylor's house.
I proudly let myself in with the key he'd given me, then went to my room
and took off my school clothes, changing into just a pair of shorts. Then
I started straightening up the house, starting in my bedroom, then the
living room and kitchen, and then the bathroom. Finally, I made his bed,
and then went looking for the vacuum cleaner. My mom would have fainted if
she'd seen me cleaning like that but I wanted to make him proud.
I was standing looking into the refrigerator thinking about dinner
when Mr. Taylor walked in. He walked through the little house, going from
room to room, then came over and gave me a hug, pressing my sweaty body
against his. "You didn't have to clean my house, Jordy, but thanks. You
go put some clothes on. I'm taking you out for dinner."
Mr. Taylor took me to Pizza Hut, which he knew was my favorite
restaurant. I was happy to be there with him. I was even happier when the
waitress mistook me for his son and he didn't correct her. On the way out
to the van I laughingly called him "daddy." He didn't laugh but hugged me
close. I knew at that moment that I'd do anything to be close to him.
On the way home he told me he wanted me to get right on my
homework, warning that he wouldn't turn on the TV until I was done. I ran
into my room and stripped down to just my shorts again and spread my
homework on the dining room table, while he went in and took a shower.
Like me, he came back out in just a pair of shorts and sat down next to me
to read and offer me help when I asked for it. I was in a state of bliss.
I finally felt like I had a dad!
When I told him I'd finished my homework he went over it and made
me redo several pages before declaring me done. Walking into the kitchen,
he asked if I liked popcorn, to which I responded with an enthusiastic
"yes!" Then I went in and got a shower, this time returning only in a pair
of briefs. He didn't object.
It felt completely natural to curl myself into the hollow by his
side when I joined him on the couch. He must have felt the same way,
because he wrapped his arm around me, holding the bowl of popcorn on my
lap, his hand resting on my thigh. We sat that way, watching several
programs and talking while we munched on the tasty snack. When I started
to feel drowsy, I stretched out on the couch, resting my head in his lap.
Again, that felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When the news came on, I hopped up, not waiting for him to tell me
to go to bed. I went in and brushed my teeth, then quietly climbed into
his bed, hoping he wouldn't make me go to mine. I lay there waiting
through the news, and what he'd told me was "Carson's monolog," until he
came in.
He just stood there for a moment, shaking his head but smiling.
Then he went in and brushed his teeth and joined me in bed, wrapping his
arms around me like I was a big teddy bear. I nestled back against him,
unbelievably happy.
Then I felt a lump in his shorts; a big lump. Being a boy I knew
exactly what that was. I was terrified that he'd kick me out of his bed,
but pressed back into him, wiggling my little bubble butt against it.
He didn't kick me out of bed. He groaned softly and pressed
himself into me, kissing my neck gently, and roaming his hand over my body.
I continued to wiggle against him, knowing that I was exciting him and
loving it. I giggled softly when his hand slipped down to my little dick,
which was hard as a rock; when he moved it away I used my own hand to put
it back.
I lay there, moaning softly as he stroked my dick through my
shorts. Then I pushed them down, and whispered "You can do anything you
want, Mr. Taylor; and I'll do anything you want."
That's how it began. Neither of us got much sleep that night. He
licked and sucked my little dick, and then I did my best to do the same for
him. His cock was much too big to fit in my mouth, but I kissed and licked
his dick and balls and sucked on his head until he came on my chest. That
was the first time I'd seen cum, and he smiled and laughed when I scooped
some up with my finger and tasted it, then started licking it from his
cock.
We cuddled until I fell asleep. In the morning, we didn't talk
about what we'd done. He drove me to school, and told me he'd pick me up
after because he was taking some time off work to get ready for the
weekend.
The Camporee was great. Our Troop won the overall competition and
I completed most of the requirements for Second Class Scout. I couldn't
earn that rank till I'd been on some more Scout activities but I was still
proud. More importantly, Mr. Taylor told me he was proud of me. He
recognized me in front of the Troop as the boy who'd earned that rank
faster than any Scout he'd ever seen. When he predicted that I'd earn my
Eagle rank in no time, I beamed, and got a little stiffy!
When we got home that afternoon, I helped Mr. Taylor put away most
of the equipment and then we went inside the house. I was excited. He
told me I could get a snack while he took a shower, but I had other ideas.
When he went into his room, I went into mine. I stripped off my clothes,
followed him into the bathroom, and got into the shower with him. He
looked down at me and smiled.
I picked up a bar of soap and started soaping his hairy body,
starting at his belly, and working down to his big cock. It was already
hard, it's single eye staring up into my face. I rinsed it off, then took
its head in my mouth as I reached around and started soaping his butt. He
moaned loudly then reached down and pushed me away.
Kneeling, he started washing me, rubbing the soap over my body, and
paying special attention to my hairless little dick. Then he turned me
around and soaped my ass. Bending me over, he rinsed me off, then did
something that absolutely amazed me. He spread my cheeks and pushed his
tongue into my tight little asshole!
I almost screamed when he did that. I had a hard time keeping my
footing on the slick floor of the bathtub as waves of pleasure washed over
me and my dick stiffened to the point where it was throbbing almost
painfully. After a few minutes he stopped and turned me around. Kissing
my face, he asked "Did you like that?"
I nodded enthusiastically and hugged him tight. In a hoarse
whisper I said "That felt so good. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He reached down, and pushed one soapy finger into my asshole. Then
he started wiggling it around, like he was searching for something.
Suddenly, I did scream, but not in pain. He'd touched something inside me
that made me want to sing. Gasping for breath, I clung to him, my ass
clenching and unclenching around his finger.
Laughing, he stopped and rinsed my body, then toweled me off.
Then he picked me up and carried me into his bedroom and laid me on the
bed. Straddling me, he stared into my eyes and said "Did you mean it when
you said I could do anything I want?"
My eyes wide, I nodded. "Anything."
He kissed me, this time pushing his tongue into my mouth, then
started kissing his way down my body. He stopped to lick and suck at each
of my nipples until they were hard, then worked his way further down and
started licking, kissing, and finally sucking my dick. Opening his mouth
wide, he took my dick and balls into his mouth, and sucked until I was
groaning and my body was writhing uncontrollably under him.
Then he stopped and looked up into my eyes. "You are so sexy,
Jordy. I want to do something to you now. It might hurt at first, but I
promise it'll feel good. Can you be brave for me?"
I'm sure there was fear in my eyes but I nodded. He gently turned
me on my belly and put a pillow under my hips. Then he reached into his
bedside table and took out a tube that looked like the one my mom used when
I had a chest cold. I couldn't see what he was doing behind me, but then
he kissed the back of my neck and said "This'll be okay, Jordy. I'll take
care of you." Then he thrust one finger into my asshole, pushing it in
deep, and started wiggling it around. I groaned loudly as my dick started
to throb. It started to hurt when he pushed a second finger into me but I
bit down on the pillow, determined to be brave. I kept telling myself that
I'd do anything to be with him.
I screamed into the pillow when he pushed a third finger into my
tight little asshole. He didn't stop, but kissed my neck and shoulders
over and over and cooed into my ear. "It'll be okay, Jordy. You're gonna
love this. I just have to get you ready. Oh man! You're so tight!"
I closed my eyes, and remembered how proud I'd felt when he praised
me just a few hours before. I told myself over and over that "This'll be
over soon."
Finally, he stopped. He pulled his fingers out of me, and
whispered "Are you ready, Jordy?"
I didn't understand what he was asking me, but I nodded anyway,
still desperate for his approval.
He climbed up along my body until his hard cock was jutting between
my butt cheeks. He reached down and slathered his cock with some kind of
cold, wet jelly, then started kissing me again. Suddenly, I felt his big,
thick cock pushing into my asshole, which had only a few minutes before
contained his three fingers. I did scream this time as the pain ripped
through my body. He held my shoulders down, pressing me into the mattress
as he forced himself into me, filling me with his adult-size cock.
I guess I must have passed out because I don't remember exactly what
happened after that. All I know is I was in the bathtub, soaking in hot
soapy water and Mr. Taylor was gently ministering to my body. I opened my
eyes to see him smiling at me and that was all I needed. I felt a fiery
pain from my butt but I didn't care as long as I was looking up into his
eyes. He bathed me, then drained the water and gently dried my body. Then
he picked me up and carried me back to his bed.
Fear flashed through my eyes, but he cooed at me "Don't worry, Jordy.
It's all over. I'm going to take good care of you now." He turned me on
my belly and rubbed some kind of salve into my butt. I didn't know what it
was but it immediately put out the fire. He climbed into bed with me and
cradled me in his arms, kissing me over and over, and quietly singing in my
ear. I fell asleep that way even though it wasn't dark outside yet.
I woke a few hours later, still cradled in his arms. I lay there a
few minutes, enjoying the feeling, but then had to get up and pee. Moving
his arms from around me, I stood up and started towards the bathroom. With
that first step, I called out in pain. Mr. Taylor leapt out of bed,
scooped me up, and carried me into the bathroom.
"It'll hurt for a little while, Jordy, but you'll be okay," he
whispered as he stood me in front of the toilet. I gasped when he reached
around, gently gripped my dick, and aimed it into the bowl. "Let me do
that for you," he whispered, as I started to pee. When I'd finished,
instead of shaking off the last few drops as I'd been taught, he stroked
from base to tip several times, milking out the last few drops; I still do
it that way to this day.
When I was finished, he carried me back to bed and applied more of
the salve. It had the same effect as before, immediately relieving the
fiery pain. He lay there, holding me and whispering in my ear. He told me
that what we'd done last night had made him very happy and that he loved me
very much. I fell asleep in his arms, a huge smile on my face.
We woke up early Monday morning and Mr. Taylor carefully examined me,
then carried me into the bathroom and put me in the bathtub. He took a box
from his medicine cabinet. I didn't know what it was, but saw the word
"Fleet" on its side. Pulling out a plastic bottle and some tubing, he
asked "Do you trust me, Jordy?"
I nodded but looked nervously at the tubing, aware of the pain that
had resulted the last time the man had asked if I trusted him.
He explained that sometimes men had problems going to the bathroom
after what we'd done, but that this would help me go. Then he put some of
that jelly on the end of the tubing – I could see the letters "K-Y" on
the tube – then gently turned me on my side and pushed it into me. He
held the bottle up over his head and I felt a coldness flowing inside me.
I lay there, clenching my butt cheeks, until I had an overwhelming need to
poop.
Alarmed, I tried to stand up, but he picked me up in his strong arms
and put me on the toilet, the tubing still sticking out of my butt. After
a few more minutes, he reached under me and pulled it out, then waited as
all that liquid flowed out of me. I felt much better once that pressure
was released, but my ass was on fire again. He stood me up and used a
towel to dry me back there, then bent me over and applied more of the
salve.
He explained that my butt would probably hurt for a few days, and
gave me the rest of the tube of what turned out to be Preparation-H.
We both got dressed and he took me out to breakfast at my second
favorite restaurant, what my mom called a "greasy spoon." We sat at a
booth in the back, talking in whispers as he explained that most people
wouldn't understand what we'd done and that he could get into trouble if I
told anyone. "You don't want to lose me, do you Jordy?"
I swore that I would never tell and I meant it. Until now I never
have.
Mr. Taylor and I were very close after that. We found lots of
reasons for me to spend time at his house, both overnight, and for a few
hours at a time after school or on weekends. That got easier as I rose
through the ranks in Scouting and I became a Patrol Leader.
Mr. Taylor was not a gentle lover, but I was absolutely sure that he
loved me. Every time we had sex I hurt for a few days. But I never
complained because he took such gentle, loving care of me after.
When I was approaching my thirteenth birthday I started to grow hair,
first above my dick, then under my arms, and then over my lip. I was very
proud, because it meant that I was becoming a man, but Mr. Taylor seemed
less and less interested in having sex with me. We still cuddled, but I
started to notice that he found fewer and fewer reasons to invite me over,
especially overnight.
Finally, he told me he wanted to stop having sex, but promised me
over and over that he still loved me and that he would still be there for
me. I was terrified of losing him and cried on and off for days. My mom
noticed the change and called Mr. Taylor, but he assured her that I was
just moody because I'd started puberty. As usual, my mom thanked him for
being such a good friend to me. She never did suspect a thing.
Mr. Taylor was true to his word. He stuck by me through all the
years of Scouting, all the way to the rank of Eagle Scout, and then made me
a "Junior Assistant Scoutmaster" at 17. When I started playing football in
9th and 10th grade, he cheered for me at most of my home games. He
attended my High School and College graduations, sitting next to my mom
just like my dad should have. When I went off to college, he helped me get
signed up as an Assistant Scoutmaster of a nearby Troop and we stayed in
touch through the years.
The last time I saw him was when I spoke at his funeral. It turned
out that I was in his will. He'd left me a Boy Scout Handbook signed by
Sir Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts. It is my most
treasured possession, and not just because of its historical significance.
==============================================================================
Did you like this story? Email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com I'm always
interested in story ideas, though I can't promise to use them. My
characters definitely have minds of their own!
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