Date: Wed, 6 Jul 2011 12:31:18 -0700
From: Lucas Ryan <lucas.calif@gmail.com>
Subject: Mad at Johnnie

It was a quiet bright Sunday morning.  I was washing my car in the long
driveway in front of the open garage, when I heard a door inside open.
10-year old John and one of the neighbor kids came out to the garage from
inside the house, chatting and laughing.  They settled on the long couch
there to watch cartoons on the big antique TV.

I could tell that John noticed me, because all of a sudden the chatter got
quiet.  He remembered.  I was mad at him.  Three days before John and his
cousin were caught stealing candy at the nearby grocery store.

It was a year now that I had been living with John, his older brother and
his mother.  The four of us had become very close, and I was considered one
of the family.  John became particularly attached to me, always preferring
to sit in my lap, following me everywhere when I was at home.  I took my
role as a major adult figure in his life seriously, and stealing was
something I could not accept.

That day I was furious when I came home from work and heard the news.  My
happy-go-lucky Johnnie, the love of my life, how could he have done
something like that?  I stormed into his room, determined to make sure he
understood how upset I was.

"Stealing?" I shouted.  John stared up at me with large brown eyes, his
hands clasped anxiously at his sides.  "I am VERY upset with you - I HATE
people that steal."  Turning to leave I hissed, "Nobody likes a dirty
rotten THIEF!"

When I slammed the door the sad look that was frozen on John's face was
etched in my mind.  It hurt me to see him like that, because he was a good
boy, and I knew that it was not really in his character to steal.  I
already felt sure that the incident was probably a one-time thing- the sort
of impulsive thing that little boys might do on a dare.  But I was
stubborn, and felt I had to prove a point.

Normally, we were inseparable, but since that day I had been ignoring John,
refusing to talk or even acknowledge his presence.  He had been contrite
and somber, walking on eggshells around me; keeping a distance yet staying
close enough to catch any sign that maybe I was not mad anymore.  But as of
that morning, I was holding out.  This was not easy for me to do.

John was a beautiful young boy, his half Brazilian skin soft and brown, his
body small, well defined, compact and shapely.  In the sunlight, a tint of
red that he got from his mother's side would shine sweetly through his dark
brown hair.  After coming home from work, I would barely be out of my car
before he would run and leap into my arms with a bright dimpled smile and
sparks in his eyes.  I delighted in his joyfulness when we would play
soccer or wrestle on the back lawn.

At night when John would get cold or lonely, the sound of his hushed
footfalls making their way to my bed and into my arms elated me.  When I
would break our embrace to tug his underwear down, he would smile as he
arched his body up to let them slide over his bottom and off his legs.
Being away from him for those few days was a trial for me; my body ached
for his touch, his smile, his boyish smell.

A door closed, and I looked up to see that John's friend had gone back in
to the house, leaving John alone on the couch.  It seemed that he wanted to
stay near me, even if I wouldn't talk to his.  When I finished with the
car, I walked to the garage and glanced over as he quietly watched TV.  The
sight of his legs sticking out off the large couch cushions made him look
small and vulnerable.

His too-small shorts hiked up on the sides of his thighs, revealing the
soft transition of color from the tan of his legs to the soft white of his
hips.  I wrestled for a moment with wanting to forgive and comfort him and
not yet wanting to relent.  As if on a whim, my body moved in a new selfish
course of action.

I grabbed a small towel, putting it in my back pocket and walking straight
over to John, took his hand without speaking and lead him behind me out of
the garage and around the side of the house.  We passed through the gate
that leads to the backyard, walking past trashcans and hoses.  The silence
of the still morning was briefly interrupted when John asked quietly, "But
I thought you were mad at me Lucas?"  A stiff "Shush!" was my only reply.

We passed through a second gate that leads into the fenced-in back garden,
where I directed John to a secluded area between two work sheds that stood
against a tall wood fence.  It was quiet and private back there on a small
square of grass where no one could see or hear us.  John gave me a
questioning glance, but I remained impassive, positioning him so that he
faced the back fence with his back towards me.

John ducked his head slightly and bowed his shoulders forward in a manner
that suggested he knew what was coming, for I was not moving in unfamiliar
motions.  I sensed that he realized this was a new tactic I was employing,
and probably hoped it would lead to me not being mad at him anymore.

When I pulled John's t-shirt up over his head, placing it on a shelf on the
shed wall, his bronzed back curved before me.  My finger moved to the small
of his back, below the two dimples, where the sun glistened on the small
soft hairs just above his buttocks.  I stroked these tiny soft hairs for a
moment, before pulling his pants and underwear down around his ankles.

The stark whiteness of his protruding bottom made my heart race, and I fell
to my knees at his side.  Placing one hand over his smooth backside and one
hand on his protruding boy-cock, I groped these private areas with
intensity, absorbing the sultry softness by squeezing and pulling the skin
greedily.

When my lips licked and kissed John's bellybutton, his small, circumcised
boy-cock stiffened quickly and poked against my palm.  My mouth moved
upward over the smooth textures of his abdomen to his nipples, where I
lingered, lightly sucking and biting them.

John's eyes closed, his lips parting slightly, and his posture relaxed.  I
stood to a crouching position and kissed his lips hungrily.  When my thumb
gently nudged his chin down and my tongue pushed in, John responded with
enthusiasm, immediately circling and savoring my mouth with his own small
sweetly flavored tongue.

I dropped back to my knees and pulled John toward me, placing my mouth on
his erect boy-cock, which jutted upward like an arrow to the sun.  My
tongue swirled over and around the small blooming head, the straight stiff
shaft, the tender balls and ball sac, while the index finger of my hand
wedged between his buttocks and pressed against his soft anus.

When I enveloped the stiffness of his erection completely with my mouth and
tongue, assuming a familiar up and down motion in earnest, John shuddered
slightly, his eyes closing and his hips writhing in rhythm to my movements.
Within moments I felt his body stiffen and his hands clasp my head,
bringing it to full stop, while the tiny spasm of his dry orgasm lurched
and pulsated the engorged organ in my mouth.  I remained still, waiting for
the moment to pass as his quickened heartbeat thumped gently above my head.

I stood up and brusquely pulled my pants and underwear down to my knees,
guiding John to a kneeling position where I placed my cock in his mouth.
He licked and sucked obediently, stroking the back of my ball sac with his
fingers, but I soon withdrew and moved behind him, directing him up to a
standing position.

Now I knelt behind him and tilted him forward, reaching my hand around to
grasp his erection, and then pulling his bottom into my face.  My tongue
swathed his anal area with abundant saliva, deftly lubricating the entire
area between anus and ball sac, until I could wait no longer.

Standing to a crouching position, I inserted my cock between his legs, my
fingers pressing it up under the shaft to hold it in place deep between his
buttocks.  Slowly I began to thrust in and out of the wet warm area,
absorbing the sensation of my cockhead pushing over and past his anus to
stop against the back of his small fleshy ball sac.

As John was a small boy, I made no attempt to penetrate him, the soft wet
crevasse between his buttocks being sensuously sufficient to where I was
soon thrusting wildly.  The morning air was quiet and still around us,
punctuated only by the "splat, splat, splat" of my crotch slapping against
the swell of muscle that was John's round soft bottom.

The sonance of his gentle gasps of breath as my hand pulled his belly
inward towards me in rhythmic steady motion drove me to the apex of
arousal.  My eyes savored the view of John's naked body arched before me,
and I focused on the delicate taper of his neck when my cock erupted in
fervent orgasm, spurting silent and deep between his buttocks.

We remained coupled for a few moments, my heart beating steadily against
his bowed back, before I ultimately disengaged and took the small towel out
of my pocket.  I dried the semen and saliva off the velvety skin between
John's legs, pulled up his underwear and shorts, and put on his t-shirt.

Taking his hand, I walked him out of the garden and back to the garage
without speaking, a part of me reveling in the fact that he did not
question me, despite the fact that I had just taken my pleasure with him.
His quiet subdued manner suggested that he accepted this new test of his
devotion to me, and that he was willing to endure it.

When we entered the garage, I released his hand, and he returned to his
place on the couch.  He looked to my face, smiling faintly, but I gave him
no sign as I went into the house, leaving him alone with the TV.

Later that day I came back out to the garage and found John and his friend
again on the couch idly watching TV.  I sat down on the end, a couple of
feet away from them, with John turned away from me quietly chatting with
his pal.  His hand inadvertently reached toward me on the cushion between
us, and the sight of its soft innocence struck a chord in me.

Something broke inside me, and my stubborn will collapsed.  I reached out
and touched John's fingers.  He turned to me startled, eyes locking on
mine, searching for a sign of acceptance.  I looked directly into his
sparkling brown eyes and smiled, tugging his hand toward me.

He leapt into my arms and I hugged him tightly, kissing his face and head
intently.  No words were spoken as John turned around and happily assumed
his rightful place on my lap.  An audible sigh escaped me- things felt
right in my world again, my sweet boy was back where he needed to be.

We continued to watch TV in our comfortable embrace, when a wave of guilt
rippled through me as I realized what I had done; I used the pretext of
punishing John to feed my own insecurities.  This beautiful boy was devoted
to me and loved me to death.  Why did I make him demonstrate it to me in
this way?


If you liked my story or have comments please contact me:
lucas.calif@gmail.com