Date: Fri, 4 Jan 2008 11:05:35 -0800 (PST)
From: Gale Adams <tothestable@yahoo.com>
Subject: g/m adult/young friend "Me at Nine"

It was Thursday night. My mommy was at her charity work. Marcus, the
teenager down the street, was babysitting me. The other baby sitter
wasn't available, so this new, to me, adult ambled in. He was not very
tall. He had one of those faces that makes a kid, me at least, smile back
at him.

It was January, shortly after the New Year had begun. He came in,
bringing some snow and chill winds with him. He introduced himself to my
mommy and she, brusque as always, introduced him to me, whom she not so
affectionately called, the kid. He came up to me. I was sitting
cross-legged on the couch, pretending to watch TV, pretending I was not
scared and shy.

He held out his large, to me, hand and said, "Hi, I'm Mark, and you
are?" I looked into those eyes. They were brown and large and they made
me feel happy. "I'm ah Toby," I managed, keeping my hands to myself of
course. As I always did.

"Shake hands with him," Mommy said as she adjusted her coat. Always
doing good things so she could get her picture in the paper. That was
her.

I held a thin small hand out and he touched it briefly, knowing I didn't
want to. That satisfied her and she said, "Food's in the fridge, and
the pop too. I'll be home about eleven."

Marcus said goodbye and not to worry about a thing. Then he asked me had
I had supper? I said no, kinda said no, mostly I shook my head no.

He said, "Let's see what's available." His voice was kind of man/boy
and I thought maybe he's scared a little, himself. So I got off the
couch. I was in my Superman jimmies. The house was nice and warm. Not
much of a house. Small, yes. But it was comfortable for the two of us.

I went through the curtains to the kitchen and turned on the switch,
which ignited a yellow dim bulb in the ceiling. I said there was the
fridge, though that was superfluous, the room being so small, and the
refrigerator so large, pretty tough to miss it. Then I pulled out one of
the yellow wooden chairs and sat down at the table with the orange
oilcloth on it.

I thought let him fix the supper. He's being paid, after all. I was so
scared of people then. As now.

He bent over and rummaged through the icebox, turned to me, and asked if
spaghetti was ok? I said sgetti was fine.

He said he would take off his coat and get started then.

Some people rustle when they move. They're faking it but fake it well.
Some people make kind of a gliding sound. They know where the world goes
and the wind stream and just naturally follow it. Kids fall and the sound
is clumping and tripping. Old people rust sound squeak when they move.
Kids like me, we don't sound like anything at all when we move. Because
the world moves around us and we get in trouble if we forget our place.

He went to the living room, and came back in a moment, with his coat
gone. He wore a white dress shirt. A gray cardigan over it. He wore
chocolate colored pants and white socks and wing tip shoes. I didn't
know for sure then, but by his clothes, I thought maybe just maybe...and
then the horror...I am not going to grow out of me at nine..ever. God.

It was when the sgetti was fixed and it was put on a paper plate, all we
had or needed then, and when my glass of milk was placed next to it, on
the right side; I put it on the left side, because I am left handed and
resent people always thinking I'm right handed, like them, like that
makes them something big deal special.

He fixed his own plate, got a Coke from the refrigerator. I wanted a Coke
instead of milk. I hate milk to tell you the truth. Especially Carnation
powdered milk, which this was. I don't care if Red Skelton is sponsored
by them. I can laugh at Red and still hate his milk.


So Marcus placed eating utensils next to our respective plates and just
as he was going to sit down, I accidentally/on purpose, as I was picking
up my fork to very badly twirl sgetti and get the sauce and the noodle
things on my chin and on my jimmies--hey mommy, it was his idea, not
mine-well I accidentally/on purpose knocked with my elbow the full glass
of milk over.

I looked at Marcus who looked at the spilled floating off the table cloth
and rushing, then dripping onto the floor. He put his left hand, I
realized then, somehow, in the middle of my fear and daring and anger,
that his milk was on the same side, his left side, as mine. He was a
leftie. And I feared that I had alienated one of my own kind.

He stood up.  He did not look happy or mad or resigned or anything. He
just stood up and told me in a somewhat flat voice that did not resemble
Richard Crenna's on "Our Miss Brooks" at all; no Arthur Denton, high
pitched voice, comedy foil screw up, he. He told me to clean up all the
spilled milk (and added, "don't cry over it," the meaning of which he
thought I didn't understand; ok, he was right. When I finished that and
put the sopping paper towels away, he pointed with his left hand and told
me to go to the living room and take down my pajama bottoms.

Mommy had told him if I didn't mind the babysitter, she insisted on
corporal punishment so her son would learn. So, dutifully, this was
hardly new to me, but it was a new person, I trudged, with my eyes on the
floor, and my head down, through the curtains out to the green sofa that
faced the television. He didn't have to tell me to kneel over the sofa.
I took off my jammy bottoms and knelt. Awaiting his arrival.

I was bare to the warm air of the heater and constructed myself in such a
way that my little penis and balls weren't showing. That was always
important to me, to keep them hidden at all costs. Because they were so
tiny and the other kids in the gym changing room razzed me enough about
them.


I could feel my rear end getting red and hot in painful anticipation. And
then I closed my eyes, and put my hands under my chin, as if I was saying
a prayer before bedtime. And, you know?-- maybe I was. He had taken off
his belt as he stood above me. He said he had to hit me five times
because he could see I had done it on purpose. He didn't know the reason
why. Not the real reason. I wanted to tell him later, but I thought it
was kid-goofy and he might laugh.

The whipping hurt. A lot. He didn't hold back. And I cried. Then he
knelt beside me and put a hand to my cheeks. My face felt hot as my bare
butt. He looked away from me and down at the couch. He stayed that way,
kneeling, like I was, for a minute or so, then he sighed, as if he had
made a very huge decision. He sat on the couch and he told me to sit on
his lap. I was rubbing my butt and started standing up, then was ashamed
of my little penis and balls and put my hand in front of them.

He was not a muscular boy, was not terribly well developed, but he
reached out big hands and raised me clear off the floor, my arms going to
my sides in amazement, he seeing everything. And he didn't laugh. He
did    not    laugh.

He held me on his lap. He took off my top and I was naked on him. He put
his arm round me and held me gently. I was crying from the pain, but now
I was crying because someone had been kind to me, was touching me, like I
was real or something. And I put my face to his cardigan and I wept like
my heart was breaking. I don't think I have ever felt as warm or as
cared for or as safe with another human being, before this, and after
this.

He told me my mom spent lots of money on groceries. That things were
tight all over and people had to pinch their pennies. That I deserved
what I had coming. I nodded kinda. I knew, though. He put his hand to my
left leg and rubbed it and kind of rocked me back and forth. He cuddled
me in his lap. And of course my little penis got stiff.

I had rubbed it sometimes. It felt sort of good. But other than passing
water, it was something that seemed not to be part of me. Though I wanted
to keep it always.

He asked if I was sad a lot and I nodded and looked up at him. He brushed
by dirty blond hair out of my eyes. He asked if I knew what a pee-pee was
for. I smiled great big, surge of knowledge coming out of my mouth, and
said "to pass water through." He laughed and it was a laugh that
reminded me how kind he was before the whipping and after.

He said, sometimes your penis, your pee-pee can make you feel happy and
not sad. I asked how and felt, what I would discover some time later,
sexy and seductive without knowing it then. I pushed my legs up a little
and nudged his hands to my erection. He touched me and I felt my penis
tremble and I felt all of me tremble. It was so nice being stroked and
being naked on Marcus' lap, and what a lovely name I suddenly discovered
Marcus is.

He leaned to my face and brought my lips to his. He kissed me. I had
never been kissed like that before. He touched my balls and fondled me at
the same time, and then he went back to rubbing my little one-inch hard
on. He held me close and we kissed a long time. I felt the same longing
in him that I suddenly felt in me. I put my arms round his neck as he
opened my mouth with his tongue and our tongue tips touched, which made
me so happy.

I didn't know what I was doing. I only knew I was intensely delighted to
do this with him. Whatever "this" was. I started panting really hard
and he drew his mouth from mine. We both watched my penis get ready to
make the greatest feeling I had ever had in my life. It was like a gentle
spring shower inside my body, all over the inside of me, as my penis
jiggled and spasmed and just rushed over me a ball of sheer joy and
abandonment.

For this time the borders had been removed. The box that had my name in
it was gone. I had a body and he liked it, thought it not a scrawny one
at all and he put his temple against mine as my penis just stood there
and took bow after excited bow. He looked at me. He smiled. I smiled at
him.

He asked, "Did you like it?" He was unsure I realized later. He was
unsure about all of this. To prove I did indeed like it, I threw my arms
round him and kissed him hard on the mouth, as he stroked my butt that
didn't seem to hurt nearly as much anymore.

We stayed like that--me naked on Marcus' lap. I asked him, "Do you do
that?" He nodded and I saw shyness and insecurity there that he had
heretofore hidden. He nodded. My heart sank. "Who with?" I asked
dejectedly as he played with my little brown almost invisible tits. He
sighed. I closed my eyes. It wasn't me after all. He was just doing me a
favor. It would of course have to end on a note like that. "Only with
myself, till you, Toby, till you."

And we laughed and he played with me some more.


Then he said for me to get dressed. He would re-heat the sgetti and we'd
have supper, for mommy would be getting ready to come home before we knew
it. So we kissed again and he held my penis in his hand and said it was
so warm and so soft and so perfect, and my balls too, and me too, all of
me.

I dressed. He reheated the food. We ate at the table, talking like
magpies. And if you knew how closed-mouth I was all the time, you would
think that was really something. We washed all the dishes and put them
away nice and proper. We watched a little TV, and then he said it was
past beddy-bye time for me, so he carried me to my bed in a corner of the
living room, tucked me in, made sure I had enough covers, for it was a
cold dark night. I said yes I did. My eyes sparkling. He leaned over me.

We hugged each other. I wondered what his penis looked like and felt like
and what if I rubbed it and what would it do mine did or didn't? I would
find out before long.

He said, "'Night, Tiger."

I said, "'Night-" and didn't know what to call him.

He smiled down at me, "Mark," he said softly.

"Mark," I said with my piping high child voice.

He went over to the easy chair to the left of the couch, picked up a
magazine to read and soon became lost in someone else's words. I kept my
eyes on him till my mommy got home and paid him. I had my eyes closed
then, so they would think I was asleep.

He asked her, "Would you like me to babysit next week?"

She said, oh how my heart clutched, "I'll let the kid decide. The other
one was pretty sloppy and didn't wash the dishes and would bring a girl
over now and then, even though I expressly--I'll ask the kid tomorrow."

I looked at Marcus, while she was not looking in my direction. I gave him
a quick YES nod and he smiled, relieved. I heard him leave and I counted
the time till next Thursday.

Don't know what you think about it, but I think I was a pretty lucky
kid. And would be even more lucky as I spent my precious time with
Marcus, my friend. Good old Carnation powdered milk.