Date: Mon, 16 Mar 2015 18:14:44 +0100
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Memphis Boy, Chapter 5

MEMPHIS BOY
CHAPTER 5
By Zachyboy
M/b, oral, anal

# # # # # # # # # #

Dedicated to my friend Scuba Steve. He was Davey then, and he's Davey now.
True friends never leave us, baby boy. They just transcend this silly
mortal plane and turn into the most beautifully-remembered stories of our
lives.

Love, Zach.

# # # # # # # # # #

The following story is a work of fiction. It involves sexual situations
between an adult man and an underage boy. If this type of material is
illegal where you live or you find it offensive, please leave.

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Please give something back today.

And now, on with the show.

# # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 5. "A HUMP IN THE RUMP"

# # # # # # # # # #

Dear Jess,

I fucked him, baby.

This time I really did it.

It was deep and good, and perfectly real.

I fucked him, Jess.

I fucked him beautifully and I came up his ass.

Deep up his ass.

I really, really did it this time.

I fucked him good.

Oh so good.

# # # # # # # # # #

If you lost track since the last time I wrote you, Jess. Here's my sexual
scorecard with Davey...the footprints that led to my blissful climb up his
anal Mount Everest, breathless and light-headed from the lack of oxygen
from the 12-year-old Nirvana that awaited me on top, when I proudly planted
my flag and stood victorious at the peak.

Whoof, what a fuck.

Good Lord, what a boy.

There was the bathroom stall in the Kirby Woods Mall, where I found him
naked and fingering himself and he shyly asked me to take my
"you-know-what" out.

"Your you-know," he said. "Your C-Word." He couldn't even say it out loud
back then.

And I sure as hell did take my "C-Word" out, Jess.  I ate his ass out,
too. Something he'd probably never even conceived of a grown-up doing to a
boy, but he learned it that day, Jess. He learned it well. And then I made
him open his mouth so I could jack off inside it.

"You know what little gay boys eat?" I whispered as I watched him open his
mouth.

"Please," he whispered. "Please make me eat it."

"Say it," I ordered him. "Say it out loud."

"Stuff," he whispered, too quiet to hear.

"What?" I hollered. Pushing my head at his mumbling mouth.

"Stuff," he whined. "Juice! Stuff!"

"Cum!" I barked. "Call it cum!"

"Cum," he whimpered, trying to swallow my head. I pulled back.

"Louder," I told him, painting pre-cum on his mouth like lipstick.

"Cum," he said louder.

"What do they eat?"

"Cum!' he shouted, and this time, it was HIS order. He was angry now. "I
want to eat your cum!"

And now his mouth was open wide. Open and begging for it.

Good boy, Jess. He ate it like a good boy.

And then I fingered his ass and he jacked off in my mouth.

And then we went to a movie. And he sat naked under a blanket sticking
Twizzlers up his ass and letting me smell his fuck finger. We kissed. We
made out. And then with my pants so sticky with pre-cum I'd have to throw
them out when I got home, I drove him home in my van, where we pulled over
near the woods so I could suck him and he could suck me.

He swallowed and swallowed and he didn't miss a drop. He looked up at me
proudly as I tapered off. Looked up at me proudly as he drank my last
drops. Slipped my cock out of his throat. Licked around the head. Licked
around the piss slit. Lapped up the side of my shaft. Got it all. Every
drop. He loved cum from the start, Jess. Took to it like a duck takes to
water. More on that later.

He stuck his nose into my pubes. Smelled deeply. Made a satisfied sighing
noise. Sucked my tip a little more. Reached up with a little hand and
fondled my balls. Licked the shaft. Kissed the tip.

"That was good," he smiled up at me. "That was really, really good. You
make a lot of juice. You make way more than me."

The next time I found him, he was naked in the woods. He told me where he'd
be, then left a trail of scattered clothes so I could find him, naked on a
blanket, sliding his brother's little 5-inch eggshell vibrator in and out
of his asshole, moaning.

"Before I cum," he whispered. "Put your sperm in me."

"Oh, God," I groaned.

"But just a little," he added quickly, still afraid. "Just put your tip in
me, okay? Not your whole cock. I'm scared."

I fumbled shakily with my pants, a man on a mission, and got my tip inside
him, but no more.

"Yeah," he whispered with a smile on his lips. "Just hold it there. Just
like that. That's really, really nice."

And without another word, he gasped, he stiffened and he started to cum.

"Hurry," he said. "Cum in me. NOW!"

I moved just a little, Jess. Just a few, tiny back-and-forth movements,
maybe five, maybe six times, I don't know, just a slight jiggle of the tip,
and "UNNNNNNNNNNGGGHH! FUCK!!!!" I was cumming straight into his tight
little asstip, so tight, so good, but so shallow, my cum was already
bubbling out around the seal of my cockhead and spilling down onto his
blanket.

I was alive with fireworks, shooting wads of pent-up, horny cum -- gotta
fuck him, gotta fuck him, I thought -- but no, I just held it there
steadily, a pillar of impossible restraint, and came buckets up his
backside. Not daring to move another centimeter.

He didn't care. His head was tipped back and his smile was euphoric.

"Oh yes," he whispered. "Your cum is inside me, your cum is inside me!"

But of course I wanted more, Jess. I wasn't happy to leave it at that.

So he stayed over at my house. Faked a sleepover with a friend but he came
to my place instead.

I took him in my arms, laid him down on the bed, wrapped myself up in his
beauty and softness and kissed him with hunger. Time fell off the clock. I
have no idea how long I kissed him, Jess. We were barely aware of our own
mutual moaning. His little hard spike ground against me. My harder spike
pushed into his naked tummy. My hands reached around to cup his ass. To
part his cheeks. To prod for his hole with an eager, firm finger.

"Don't," he whined. "You promised no butt stuff."

"Please," I moaned. "Just let me just try. I'll go so slow. I swear I
will."

"Don't," he said, and he started to cry. "I'm not clean back there. I got
scared today. I had the runs at school. I'm not clean. It's not ready."

He broke down sobbing, ashamed and embarrassed.

"Oh, Davey," I whispered, holding him to my chest and petting him and
soothing him. "I'm sorry. It's okay. Shhh. Don't worry. We don't have to do
that part. Don't be embarrassed, baby. It's no big deal. Really, it's
not. We won't do that part at all."

And we didn't Jess. We did everything but that part.

I lavished attention on his feet, on his cock, on his tiny little ass like
never before, but I didn't fuck him fully. Then he ate MY ass, Jess. It was
a night for the record books. I ate his ass and he ate mine. He swallowed
my staggeringly thick load and I drank down his few tiny honey drops. It
was beautiful. Sensual. Impossible. Davey.

And then he cried because he loved me, Jess.

Cried because he loved this. What we were doing. But he was scared to be
gay.

"It's not supposed to feel like this," he whispered, his chest heaving
softly.

"Like what, baby? I don't understand."

"Like love," he cried softly. "It's not supposed to feel like I love you so
much. I don't want to be like this. I'm no supposed to be gay."

"Oh, baby."

"I wasn't sick," he sobbed. "I didn't have the runs down there. I just
don't want it in me all the way. If I let you put your thing in me all the
way, then I'll be gay for sure and I can't stop it after that. Then I can
never go back."

He was sobbing when he said it, Jess. Really sobbing. So much pain.

"But I want it!" he wailed, and his cry broke my heart. "Stupid, stupid,
stupid! Because I want it all inside me! And I want to feel like I love
you. I just don't want to be stupid, stupid GAY!"

I held him there and I let him cry.

"I'm stupid," he sniffled. "You think I'm a baby."

"I think you're an angel," I told him as I kissed him. "I think that I love
you."

And there we were, the two of us, Jess.

Both of us surprised it turned out to be love.

Which leads me to this letter, Jess, and the next night he slept over.

The night I finally fucked Davey, my Memphis Boy.

# # # # # # # # # #

When he showed up at my house after school, still sweaty from football
practice – and sweet fucking heaven, Jess, in case it's somehow slipped
your mind since you were 11 and I started fucking you – I do admire a
sweaty boy.

He showed up wearing a Morris the Cat t-shirt, can you believe that
retro-loving shit? Morris the Fucking Cat.

"Do you even know who that is?" I smiled at him.

"What?" he asked, looking momentarily puzzled. "Know who what is?"

"Your shirt," I winked, and pointed at the picture. "You know. The
cat. Your pussy."

He giggled.

"Boris," he said. "Boris the Cat from cat food."

"Close," I smiled. Oh God, I wanted to fuck him. "It's Morris, baby. Morris
the Cat."

He lifted the shirt up and studied the picture, giving me a flash-dash
quick perv on his tight little abs, his sweet innie belly button and his
sweaty-sleek tummy skin.

"Whatever," he shrugged. "Let's go down in your basement and play
foosball."

I admit to having a somewhat self-indulgent man cave, Jess, and Davey
remembered it from his last visit. I like it myself for its own merit, but
for your average American neighborhood boylover, hoping to put the moves on
the tween element, it's as essential in your new house as a kitchen, a
bedroom and a place to take a shit at night. Mine was a work in progress,
but to Davey, it hung the moon.

I had an American Legend Manchester 55" foosball table. Davey was red, I
was white. You should see him play foosball, Jess. It's a dream come
true. All boy. All effort. All intense.

Over in the corner, I had a totally refurbished Ms. Pac-Man original
upright arcade machine I picked up last year for way too much money on
E-Bay. Even set it up to take quarters and keep a full dish of coins on the
end table nearby. Call it a middle-aged man's necessary indulgence, because
fuck it, Jess, if I'm gonna get old, I'm at least gonna do it with a game I
remember. I'm not turning 50 playing an X-Box, that's for sure. But, oh
yeah, I like fucking boys, so P.S., there's an X-Box in the basement
too. With an HD big screen on the wall. Any port in a storm.

The first time Davey saw the upright arcade model, he said, "Cool, your
Pac-Man guy has a bow tie in his hair." I looked at him blankly and said,
"That's because he's a chick." And then we both laughed, and then I let him
kick my ass three games in a row. I could have easily beaten him, but why
would I do that? There's no more powerful aphrodisiac to a boy than letting
him beat you in a video game, preferably every time you play. They get
alpha mail boners over video victories, Jess. No kidding. They eat that
shit up.

I also have a pool table down there. The crowning piece in a man cave of
M/b libido. It's a Sportcraft 8-foot green one that comes with an optional
ping-pong layover, but who the fuck wants to play ping pong? I'm honestly
not much of a pool player, Jess, or at least I thought I wasn't until I
read Boybottomzup's story "Wanna Bet" back in ought-three, and after that,
I had the credit card out and a call into Sears so fast it would have made
your head spin. I took delivery three weeks later and dubbed it the
S.S. Shane.

There's nothing sexier in the world, Jess, than watching a nervous boy play
man cave games. He knows he's gonna get fucked. YOU know he's gonna get
fucked, and he knows it. Ther are no secrets in the man cave. You're really
just killing time. All this is just prelude. Fun and formality before the
coach turns into a pumpkin and it's fuckin' time.

You watch his tight little ass bent over the green of the table, all crack
and definition as he scratches on the 8-ball, and you know just like Boyz
did before he fucked Ben, Brian and Shane, you're gonna be balls-deep in
that sweet little cock-catcher in no time. The boy at the pool table
nervously stares at the cock in your pants, because it hasn't gone down any
and it looms threateningly ahead like an inevitable spanking. He racks the
balls up, and in the safety of a second pool game, he honestly thinks like
Ben in the story, he might not have to take a cock up his ass. You smile at
the very thought of it.

Really, Davey?

Wanna bet?

# # # # # # # # # #

Davey was halfway into some chatter-ass story about riding his bike with
his friends to some dinky little mom and pop general store up the road to
play arcade games last year, but honestly, I was too busy staring at his
ass crack through his jeans and wondering what it might taste like after an
hour and a half of football practice to pay much attention to the
narrative.

I heard, "chatter, chatter, chatter, had to get some quarters," and
"chatter, chatter, chatter, ride our bikes barefoot," and that one caught
my ear, but otherwise he was a buzz of nervous adrenaline and way too much
soda.

I hated to interrupt, but it was already nearing 6 o'clock and tempus
fugit, we didn't have all night. Oh wait. Yes we did. Fuck, I was grateful,
staring at his exquisitely perfect ass. I'd waited a long time for this
night, Jess, and come hell or high water, I was getting in that butthole
tonight. Sooner rather than later, I hoped, I prayed.

"Let's have dinner," I told Davey, ruffling his sweaty hair and reminding
myself to lick my fingers later. "I'll call Pizza Hut and you can start
getting naked."

I smiled and he smiled. An impasse. An understanding.

"Okay," he said, upping the ante by kicking off his shoes and peeling off
his socks. There were those beautiful arches again, Jess, and I couldn't
help stopping to appreciate them in reverence.

"You like these, don't you? You pervert," he grinned, teasing me and waving
one in the air. The soles alone were enough to make me readjust my cock.

"After we eat, I'm going to rub one on your face," he dared.

"After we eat, I'm going to take you in my bedroom and fuck you in the
ass," I countered.

"Whatever," he shrugged, with completely false bravado. "It's your house. I
just come here to play foosball. Let's play another game til the pizza
shows up. If you can keep it in your pants that long, ass wipe."

Cocky little fuck. I almost came in my pants.

# # # # # # # # # #

And to be honest, Jess, there is a sense of impossible bravado that comes
with a boy, and an additional interview process, when he's about to be
fucked for the very first time, and he'll talk and chatter and show you his
nervous nonchalance right until the minute you bed him, to steady his
nerves, to steel his own resolve. Davey was no different.

I watched him eat his pizza with amusement and arousal, teasing me with
it. Licking long strands of melted cheese with the tip of his darting, pink
tongue. Running his finger through the sauce and sucking it off, blowjob
style, looking me straight in the eye. Daring me not to be aroused by
him. Imagining, incorrectly, that he was still controlling the outcome and
calling the shots. I smiled and enjoyed the boner he was giving me. Let a
boy dream.

I knew it was the calm before the storm, the cockiness before the fear, but
it turned me on anyway, and I made no effort to hide or downplay the raging
erection that was bursting in my pants.

"What's the littlest kid you ever fucked, Zee?" he asked me between
bites. "How old?"

"Six," I said. "But I was only seven. We were cousins. We fucked a lot."

"What's the littlest kid you ever fucked as a man?"

"Eleven," I said. "His name was Jess."

"Was he pretty?"

"Really pretty," I said. "And perfect. Same age as you."

"I'm twelve," Davey bristled, not letting me cheat him out of a year.

"Eleven, twelve, same thing," I said. "Same general feeling when your cock
goes in the hole."

"Hmm," he pondered as he chewed some more pizza. "Did he have a tight butt?
Was his dick bigger than mine?"

"He had an incredibly tight butt," I assured him. "I fucked him a lot. And
his dick was the same size as yours. But you both taste different."

"Different how?" he looked fascinated.

"Yours tastes like graham crackers," I told him. "And his tasted like
strawberries. He used strawberry body wash." I closed my eyes and smiled
and remembered it, Jess. Remembered your flavor.

"Did it hurt him when you fucked him the first time?" Davey asked casually,
trying not to seem like it was the most important question on his mind
right then, which of course, it was.

"It didn't hurt him at all," I told him. "He came to me. He was already
horny and he just sat down on my cock. But he was already loose. His uncle
was already fucking him. His uncle fucked him that night. Then I did."

"Wow," Davey said quietly. "That's quite a life you lead."

I laughed in spite of myself. "Yeah," I said. "And I only tell you the
uncomplicated stuff."

He took a last bite and blotted his mouth with the back of his hand. Sweet
marinara I'd like to lick from his knuckles.

"What happened to him?" Davey asked. "To that kid you fucked. Jess."

"He grew up," I shrugged.

"So you couldn't love him anymore?"

"Oh, I still love him," I said. "I still write him letters. We're still
really good friends. I just don't fuck him anymore. That part is over."

"Cause he got too old?" Davey said, understanding.

"Cause he got too old," I confessed.

"Oh. Okay."

He paused for a minute, considering his own eventual fate, I'm sure.

"You'll leave me too, right? When I get older? When I grow up?"

"Yeah," I said honestly. "It's just how it works."

"Okay," he said. "No problem. Just checking."

He looked silent and sad. Understanding, I'm sure, his own short but
vibrant shelf life.

"But it's okay," I smiled, trying to cheer him up. "Jess grew up. He's a
good man. He fucks boys now, too. We get to talk about it to each
other. Compare notes. Jack off. It's hot. It's fun. It's just a different
kind of relationship now."

Davey put down his pizza crust and stretched out on the couch. His long leg
extended toward my lap. His naked foot found my crotch and my hard-on. He
began kneading me with his toes.

"Am I gonna like boys when I grow up?" he asked me with more than a little
naughtiness in his eye.

"I don't know," I moaned, as his foot worked me over. "You might. You never
know."

"Maybe I'll want to fuck boys like you want to fuck me."

He was daring me now. He was purposely talking dirty. I could see the
pleasure in his cheeky smile. He pressed the pad of his foot into my
straining cock and I could feel it milk the pre-cum from my piss slit.

"Oh God, Davey," I moaned.

"I don't know if I'll ever fuck boys," he said with a shrug as his toes dug
at my erection and his eyes never left my bulge. "But I'm sure gonna like
playing with their feet."

He pressed down hard on me and I almost came.

I picked up his foot and I put it in my mouth. I ran my tongue along the
length of his sole.

He shivered and his back arched up. It was his turn to get an erection.

"Oh yeah," he whispered. "I'm gonna like that a lot."

# # # # # # # # # #

The first man who fucked, Jess, was Artie, the guy who ran the video
arcade. I told you about Artie last time.

Back in the days of Pac Man and Space Invaders, he was the man who first
sucked my hairless little cock when he was 40 and I'd just turned 12. We
were on-again, off-again suck-buddies for two more years until he finally
fucked me. I'm sure he had other boys in between our secret blowjobs. There
were way too many boys in that arcade to think I was special, but in a way,
I knew I was.

"You're sweet," he used to say to me, and he'd flip some magic switch on
the back of a machine, and I'd play free for the rest of the night. And
later in the back room when he locked up at nine, I'd get down on my knees
and suck his cock as his reward. I ate a lot of Artie's semen before he
finally fucked me, and he ate a lot of mine.

Up until then, anal sex was just a reciprocal concept to me, Jess. I mean,
what did I know about it? The art, the style, the finesse involved? I was
14. I was horny nonstop. I was swagger and bullshit. Boners and hormones. I
fucked the boys in my neighborhood and the boys in my school. I fucked
cousins and I fucked playmates. I liked to be on top. And if I got fucked
back (and I did, no problem there), it was only because butt fucking was a
reciprocal concept.

No kid really liked taking it up the ass, I surmised. I didn't particularly
care for it. But sometimes, when in Rome, do as the Romans. Let a kid butt
fuck you and he owes you one. You get to fuck him next. And the feeling of
putting your dick up another kid's ass was usually well worth the wincing,
the clenching and the biting of the pillow as you took one up yours. The
reciprocal butt-fuck. A means to an end.

So when Artie fucked me the first time, Jess, I wasn't exactly an anal
virgin. I'd had numerous same-age boy partners up my ass dozens of
times. At 14, I was no quivering cherry. But when Artie rented the motel
room and invited me to spend the night with him, I knew he was expecting
the full-out family fuck fiesta. He'd told me flat-out he was getting in my
ass that night, and I told him I could take it. I knew I could spread my
cheeks and open up my ass and bite the pillow and let him finish off in my
ass. I owed him that much, baby boy. He was good to me. He was my friend.

I just didn't have a clue it would feel so good, Jess.

It was the first time I understood that a kid getting dicked by a guy who
knows how to use it can feel just as satisfied on the bottom as the guy
doing the fucking up-top. Even better sometimes.

A bottom could feel good. That was an epiphany. A breakthrough.

As Artie slid it into my eager ass, kissed my mouth and made me see
fireworks in a cut-rate motel, the on the shady side of 3rd Street, the
fact that a kid getting fucked for the first time could feel good...?

Well, fuck Jess.

That was news to me.

# # # # # # # # # #

Up in my bedroom, pizza long gone and the man cave closed for the night, I
put on some porn to put Davey in the mood. He told me how he watched his
brother's porn, but it was all straight guys fucking straight girls.

"I never saw a man do it to a boy before," he said, wide-eyed and
jaw-dropping at a particularly lube-impressive moment of cinematic
insertion. "Other than, you know, you trying to do it to me all the time."

He watched fascinated as some old newsgroup clip I picked at random, twenty
years old, looped enticingly on the big screen before us, thanks to the
wonders of advance planning and a good HDMI cable.

He was naked and beautiful and laying in my bed. He was fingering himself,
making himself wet with my 8-ounce bottle of Slippery Stuff. Stretching
himself in an attempt to get ready. I tried to finger him a little myself
but he pushed my hand away.

"I'm just gonna do it myself for a minute," he said, almost shyly. "I know
how to work it."

I smiled in the moonlight at the cocky little tease. I knew how to work it,
too. He didn't know it yet, but this was going to feel good to him. This
was a night he'd remember for a long, long time. Well into his
adulthood. Etched in memory and not soon forgotten. We never forget the
first man who cums in us, Jess. Ever.

I watched his finger go in and out of his tiny ass. His globes were
perfect. His chest was rising up and down. His cock wasn't hard. He was too
scared, I'm sure.

I looked down at the floor and saw his pile of disheveled clothes, a sexy
juxtaposition to the day I'd first found him naked in a bathroom stall in
the mall, with his clothes neatly folded and stacked on the back of the
commode, like he was sitting there naked, fingering his asshole, cruising
guys through a crack in the door and simultaneously putting his laundry
away.

Now his clothes were shucked and scattered in a nervous hurry to get naked
for me. His jeans, his undies, his Boris the Pussy, all piled and reckless,
haphazardly-sexy, like ripped-open and tossed-aside gift wrap on Christmas
morning.

My cock grew harder just looking at his cast-aside kid clothes. I
particularly moaned inside at the adorable white boysock in the upper
right, like some sort of cherry on top of several scoops of ice cream,
although the real dessert was a few feet away in my bed, fingering his own
asshole and getting ready to be feasted upon. Let the ice cream melt for
all I cared.

"Who's my little man," I whispered to Davey, as I watched him naked,
watching my porn and finger fucking himself with a grunt and a purpose.

"I am," he grunted coyly, as I added my own clothes to his perfect
disheveled pile on the floor.

# # # # # # # #

"I'm almost ready," he said with a slight quiver in his voice. "I think you
can try to put it in me now. But just try to get it over with fast, okay?"

I laughed a little and shook my head.

"Sorry, Davey. My house, my rules. This is going to be a slow night. A long
night. A stretcher."

"Oh boy," he peeped. And I laughed again.

"I think you should suck me and swallow my cum first," I told
him. "Otherwise I'm going to cum too soon. It'll all be over in a
heartbeat. "

"Why?" he looked puzzled. "I don't get it. Why would you cum so fast?"

"Because I've wanted to fuck you so long, I'm going to cum the minute I put
it in you."

"Really?" He looked flattered. Pleased. Impressed with himself.

"Really," I assured him. "I will. If you don't suck me first and take a
load off the top, I'll shoot as soon as I get the tip in your ass."

His voice was hushed. "You're that excited to do it to me?"

"I'm that excited to do it to you. More excited than you can ever
understand probably."

"Wow," he said. "That's cool. That's kinda hot. Okay. I can suck you
first."

I waited. He looked at me.

"Oh. You mean now?"

"Yeah," I nodded down at my hard, leaking cock. "I mean now."

# # # # # # # # # #

Artie's cock was thick and impressive. He fucked me four times with it that
night, Jess. He fucked me until I couldn't feel the inside of my ass
anymore. Until it just felt all squishy and open and wet. Until I was
afraid if he fucked me a fifth time, I might just shit all over the bed
sheets. Which I sort of did anyway, but what are cheap motels for?

He fucked me the first time with my legs scrunched up and my feet on his
pecs. That was fun. That was deep.

He fucked me the second time in the doggie style I begged him for. I asked
him to pull my hair a little when he mounted up and fucked me, and he
did. Just right.

He fucked me the third time in my sleep. We'd drifted off spooning, and I
woke to realize I wasn't dreaming about pooping. I was sore from getting
fucked again.

And he fucked me the fourth time on my belly. Hard. And he swore in my ear
which made me cum on the sheets as my dick rubbed back and forth under his
perfect, encompassing weight.

"You like this fat cock up your ass, you hot little cunt," he growled in my
ear. And playing the slut, I told him I did. I growled back "Fuck me
harder, you shit wipe."

Ay-yi-yi, Jess. Be careful what you wish for.

# # # # # # # # # #

Davey swallowed my first cum load dutifully.

He liked to play in cum, this Memphis Boy. He liked to play in it and he
liked the taste of it. He wasn't like some other boys I'd been with who
would fearfully brace themselves, or squeamishly gag themselves on it, or
surreptitiously try to spit it out when I wasn't looking.

Davey liked cum, plain and simple. Some boys just do.

And this kid gave a hell of a blowjob, Jess.

He bobbed up and down like a genius twice his age. I'm not kidding you,
Jess, if they ever put a fellatio section on the S.A.T.'s, this kid's
getting into Harvard.

His cherub cheeks, his under-eye smattering of freckles, his glossy red
lips bobbed up and down on my throbbing boner no more than one, maybe two
minutes, before I was grabbing him by the sweaty back of the neck and
pushing him down to cum deep in his throat. I felt his swallow-reflex and
he didn't gag for a second. I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as I
fed him my wad. He gulped me whole and made an "Mmmmm" sound way deep in
his throat that buzzed around my cock head and made me moan and push
deeper.

After he pulled his head off, he dipped his finger into the remaining
strand of juice on my tip and sucked it off sensually, looking me straight
in the eye. He licked it off one finger, showed me the stickiness he'd
gatherd with his other hand, and looked me right in the eye. Doe eyes. Baby
eyes. I wanted to fuck him so bad, Jess. You want to get fucked hard? Look
at me innocent with my cum dripping off your fingers.

"You taste good," Davey giggled at me, tonguing my piss slit to catch a
last drop. "It's salty. It make my throat numb. And you always make a lot
of juice. I like it."

He scooted up on the bed and presented me with his spike. It was slender,
long, hairless and demanding and he pushed it up against my lips. He put
his own finger back in his ass. It was lubed in my sticky jizz mess.

"Me too," he panted, shoving his little cock in my face. "Suck my boner
too."

I sucked his tasty mini-rod and I took him to the brink, but I wouldn't let
him cum. I needed him hot and ready in a fog of "fuck me."  Don't ever let
your virgin boy blow his load before the cock goes in his ass, Jess. That's
what you do on the second and third date. On that first time, when a boy's
getting deep-fucked for the record books, you want him crazy and buzzing
and as horny as possible before you drive the deep stuff home. It goes
without saying, you want him anxious and full-balled.

I sucked his cock, I licked his little taint, I nuzzled his honey graham
nut sack, and I slathered my tongue up and down and in and out of his
magnificent, sweaty-vinegar boyhole. I did it until he was shaking and
grasping at bed sheets by the fistful, but I wouldn't let him cum yet. I
needed him in full-fog hotness.

The flavor of his ass was exquisite, and with the taste of him still
lingering on my tongue and the scent of him still musky and raw on the
indentation between my nose and my upper lip, I removed my mouth from his
wet and sloppy boyhole, raised my head, showed him my hard cock, pulsing
and straining in my hand, hungry for him, generously lubed it, watched his
saucer-wide eyes, and prepared to stick it inside him.

# # # # # # # # # #

In your first sexual experiences with a boy, the initial three or four
times he lets you fuck him, there's something very vital about trust and
safety and creating a space for him where he knows he's safe and respected
and not talked-down-to, no matter what happens. Until he becomes accustomed
to the sexual rhythms and the baser biological workings of his own
brand-new sexual body, make sure he knows you'll never mock him. Make sure
he knows he can do no wrong.

This is all brand new territory for him, Jess, and he honestly doesn't know
what's going to happen or what his body is going to do, and that excites
him, but it scares the hell out of him at the same time. He doesn't want to
do it wrong. He wants you to think he's a grown-up. He doesn't want you to
think he's a baby. Ironically, he may not even understand it's his total
inexperience that makes him so extra-arousing to you. In his mind, he wants
it to go off without a hitch. He wants you to be proud of him.

The first time Artie fucked me in the motel when I was 14, I made a mess on
the sheets. Not a big one, of course, but just enough to see. Just some
smudgy little smears on the white motel sheets, but I was horrified when I
noticed them, and I went beet red with embarrassment and I tried to cover
them up, tried to lay on them so he wouldn't see, and I cried when he
caught me doing it.

I tried to lay on the wet spot – the (good Lord) brown spot – but he
knew something was wrong, and he moved me, physically picked my little body
up in his strong arms and set me aside, and then he saw them too. And all
he did was smile.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, horrified, embarrassed. "I'll clean it up."

I actually started to get up. To stand up. To get out of the bed and go to
the motel bathroom for, I don't know, a washcloth? A towel? Here I was 14,
with his cum dripping down my leg, and somehow, ridiculously, I thought
he'd be mad at me for messing up the sheets in a stupid Motel 6. Like it
was all my fault I was this fucking new at it. I angrily wiped my baby
tears with the back of my clenched fist and I tried to get up for a
washcloth.

He pulled me back by the hand and laughed and said, "Shhhh, Zee, knock it
off!" and his laughter made me feel even more like a baby, and I started to
get mad at him, but he melted my bristling silliness in an instant when he
cuddled me back into bed with him.

"Crazy boy," he smiled, smoothing down my sweat-matted hair. "It's okay,
Zee. It happens. Even to grown-ups. That's why God gave us washing
machines. Relax!"

I smiled half-heartedly for him. Sniffled. My heart hurt. I felt
small. Like I messed up the romance.

He pulled me into his chest and kissed me. Like a grown-up.

He made me feel bigger in an instant. Safer. More confident. I felt so
grown up when he kissed me like that. Like an equal.

"Don't think about sheets," he whispered as I melted into his arms; into
his warm, surrounding embrace.

"Sheets are the last thing we have to worry about," he reassured me
tenderly as he held me tighter and made love to me again.

Talk tenderly to a boy, Jess, and if something goes wrong, kiss his
embarrassment away.

And the first few times? Put dark sheets on the bed.

Just to keep his pride intact.

For dignity.

For him.

# # # # # # # # # #

Fucking a boy for the first time, truly slipping your penis deep inside his
rectum and fucking him fully is a testament to your skill and his
courage. First of all, something that big should not even conceivably fit
into something that little, yet somehow it does with room to spare.

Or maybe, rather, it's a testament to your patience and his acquiescence,
because that's what it boils down to, Jess...his total surrender. Because a
boy's instinct is to fight it, to clench up, to remain in charge of the
angle and the insertion rate, to "stay on top of it," managerially
speaking. A scared boy like Davey's every instinct is going to tell him to
take charge of that first fuck, because he thinks it'll hurt less that way,
if he follows his own logic and instinct and retains full control.

He's completely wrong, and you have to make him see that.

The trick is getting him past all that, because for that first deep man
fuck, logic's not going to help him. He needs to give up his own ideas and
ego and listen to you, because frankly, he's not very good at this yet, and
you are.

Your job is to guide him into the point of acquiescence where that second
sphincter opens up and you're home free. Because honestly, Jess, anybody
can get the mushroom head of their thick cock past the first tight anal
ring of a boy's level-one clencher. It's that second sphincter one that
takes his trust and your skill.

In online erotica stories we see that essential "opening up" step -- the
second wince-pain sphincter step described over and over again by writers
with the dialogue phrase, "push out like you have to poop," and the boy
does, and bingo, there you go. Everything's coming up roses.

In real life when you tell a boy like Davey "push out like you have to
poop," he's going to fight you and not want to do it. He's going to follow
his gut instinct which tells him, "Holy shit, this cock is so huge, and it
hurts going in, and I've never done this before, and I've never felt like
this before, and I feel things happening, and I smell things happening, and
I'm not quite sure what's going on down there, and holy fuck, I've never
been this wide open in my life before, and if I push out like I have to
poop, I'm afraid I'm going to shit all over the bed for real."

True fear.

Just like me and Artie and my first time, Jess, he doesn't want that to
happen. He wants to be a grown-up for you. He doesn't want you to think
he's a baby, or not good at this. He wants you to be proud of him for doing
it right (and cleanly), so instinct and embarrassment will keep him from
giving into that essential last step for insertion.

He doesn't understand that pushing out to let a cock in is as natural as
bearing down to have a baby. He distrusts your coaching because to him it
feels counter-intuitive. You can see the disbelief in his eyes. "Push out
like I have to poop?" you can almost see hear him say. "If I do that, you
idiot, I really might poop!"

That's why you really have to reassure him at this point, Jess. You have to
look him right in the eye. You have to stroke his face tenderly, see the
fear, kiss away the beads of cold sweat and determination that are forming,
and you have to say the words "It's okay, baby. Just relax and don't try so
hard and trust me. I'm going to make it fit in there, and we don't have to
hurry. Don't worry about clenching and controlling it. Just relax. Relax
more than you've ever relaxed in your life. Just feel it in there. Know
it's me, and I'm not going to hurt you, and when it you let it happen and
go all the way in, it's going to feel beautiful in there. I promise you."

And usually with a statement like that, your boy will sigh, he'll finally
understand, he'll let his guard down and presto-chango, in it'll go. Like a
baby's head crowning through the birth canal, making that last slippery
slide into a waiting world of wonder, that's the point where you crown past
his second sphincter and you're truly home free.

Online erotica writers always describe this as "I put it in him a
centimeter at a time, letting him get used to it," and that's somewhat
correct, but not entirely. In actuality, it starts with patience, but ends
with persuasiveness and surrender. You start out feeding your cock into his
ass a centimeter at a time, but then you tell him everything's going to be
okay, then he believes you, and then he opens up like a flower and the rest
slides in deeply and quickly, a sigh of relief for both of you, slippery
wet inches, all at once, like magic, like homecoming.

# # # # # # # # # #

The flavor of his ass was exquisite, and with the taste of him still
lingering on my tongue and the scent of him still musky and raw on the
indentation between my nose and my upper lip, I removed my mouth from his
wet and sloppy boyhole, raised my head, showed him my hard cock, pulsing
and straining in my hand, hungry for him, generously lubed it, watched his
saucer-wide eyes, and prepared to stick it inside him.

"Maybe we should do it like before," he said nervously, and I could see the
fear in his eyes. I could see his shoulders tensing up. "You know," he
said. "Where you just put the tip in me and you came in me that way."

"No, Davey," I said firmly but quietly. "This is the real time now. This
time it's going in you all the way."

"Oh," he said quietly. "Okay. Okay."

I could see him resign himself to it. Accept it. Make peace with
it. There's a time, Jess, when you have to remind the boy that the shots
are called by someone other than him. He's the boy and you're the man.

"It's going to hurt you for just a minute," I told him honesty. "Then it's
going to feel better. Than it's going to feel big and really full. Really
stretchy and really wide. It'll feel so full, it'll be like you feel it in
your throat. But that's okay, Davey. That's what it's supposed to feel
like."

"Okay," he repeated quietly. "Okay."

"We'll go really slow. I'll help you through it. Are you ready?"

He shrugged weakly, his knees up, his ass open and glistening and
inviting. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Okay," he said. "Just
go really slow, okay?"

"Okay," I promised him. "But open your eyes, Davey. Open your eyes and look
at mine."

"Okay," he nodded. And he did. And they were glistening with scared-happy
tears.

I lifted his legs up, his knees against my chest, and I felt his feet
touching my stomach. I felt him clench-up in nervous anticipation.

"Shhh," I told him, rubbing the length of his leg with my hand. Reassuring
him. Stroking him, the way you'd soothe a frightened pony. "It's going to
be just fine, baby. You'll see."

Slowly, I placed my cockhead at the very tip of his perfect, tiny
starfish. Even that first touch of cock skin to ass skin was
electrifying. Heat like nothing you can imagine. Softness inexplicable and
yielding. A tiny, heated button of wild-hot sponginess. A
gateway. Perfection.

I pushed forward slowly, and the head of my dick began its slow entry
inside.

"Ow," he whispered softly. "It's big. It's really big."

I hadn't even put the first half-inch in yet.

Pop. My mushroom slipped through his tight first sphincter and he clenched
and gasped.

"It's in," he said, grasping my arms with his white-knuckled fists and
sighing for a second. Then giggling a nervous giggle. Then relaxing a
little. I could feel the tension drain out of his legs and shoulders as I
held it there, letting him get used to the head.

I cupped his ass, scooted him up a little for better leverage, and prepared
to push forward.

"Now, this is the part that's going to hurt a little," I warned
him. "There's another muscle I have to go through now. We haven't done this
one yet, so it's going to feel a little different now."

"Okay," he said nervously, and I could see the tension coming back. "But I
want it," he said. "I really, really do. So don't stop. Not even if I get
scared and tell you to. Really don't stop."

"I won't," I promised him. And I wasn't lying. I wouldn't.

"I need this part," he said so quietly he could have been saying it to
himself or thinking out loud. I felt his ass ring squeeze around my cock
head, making me even harder. "This is the part I really, really need."

I pushed slowly forward and gave him what he'd been craving.

He winced and froze and tried to lock me out. I felt him gasp and grasp and
pinch himself off to me.

"Owie," he whined. "Owie, stop, Zee. It's not going in..."

"Shhhh," I told him. "Relax. It will."

"But I can't relax," he whined, he whimpered. "It's too big. It's not gonna
fit."

"Davey," I said softly. "It fits in lots of boys. Boys littler than
you. Believe me baby, it goes all the way in."

He looked at me to see if I was lying. He sighed again, resigned.

"Okay," he whispered. "Go slow. Try again."

I pushed forward. He winced. He clenched. He expelled me.

I smiled. Stroked his sweaty hair. Relubed. Told him it was
okay. Repositioned.

"We're going again," I told him, and popped my head past the first ring
before he could object.

"Ssssss!" he hissed, as I popped past the ring. "It feels funny when it
goes in like that."

"Now the other part," I told him, pushing forward just a nudge. "Push
out. Open up. Let me come in."

"I can't push out!" he argued. "What if I make a mess? What if I poop!"

"You won't poop," I promised him. "It'll be fine, believe me."

"But it's so full!" he cried. "Like I might accidentally get it on you."

"You won't," I promised. "It's supposed to feel that way."

He looked skeptical.

"Besides," I told him, stroking his face. "There's nobody here but
us. Nothing matters at all. If we get poopy, we get poopy. It's okay,
Davey. It's all okay. You don't have to be scared. I love you and I want
you no matter what happens. It won't be dirty and I don't even care if it
is. I just love you and I want to come in. Open up, baby. Let me come in."

And that was it, Jess.

That's when the magic happened.

Davey believed me, pushed out, opened up. I could see his tense shoulders
sag down in release, I could feel his tight anal ring blossom open like a
flower, and cupping his ass cheeks and pulling him up along the length of
my shaft, I could feel my cock slide into the warm, wet sponginess of his
tight, hot rectum in a long, deep stroke that made us both sigh out in
surprised and synchronous relief.

I sank entirely into him and he gasped in shock and pleasure, taking his
hands from my arms and grasping them to my butt to help me. To have
this. To pull me in further.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," he whispered in relief. "You're in me. It's in me
all the way." He was crying now, surprised. He was proud and full and a big
boy and crying. "I didn't think it could go in me that far. Oh my God,
Zee. It's big! I love you!"

"I love you, Davey," I laughed as I kissed him. "I love you very, very
much."

I kissed his cheek, nibbled his salty tears, cupped his ass in my hands and
began to lift him up, then slowly slide him down again on my deep, slippery
cock.

The room already smelled like man dick and boy ass.

The room already smelled like fucking.

# # # # # # # # # #

After Artie fucked me in the motel – one, two, three, four, and an
aborted fifth time – I went home the next day still feeling the phantom
limb of his cock in my ass.

There was no bruising, no bleeding, just a wide-open feeling, like
something was missing.

I farted out cum and air for two days.

It was weird. It was sticky. It was gooey. It was uncomfortable.

I blushed when I thought of what we did. I turned red down deep in my neck
and I couldn't believe that we did it. I felt ashamed and grown-up and
unbearably delighted.

My ass felt numb. It felt weird. I felt vulnerable. I felt had. I felt
fucked.

I felt every adult who looked at me that next day could instantly tell what
I'd done.

My ass was sore. My body was pumped full of cum and air. It was icky. It
was uncomfortable.

And I couldn't wait to do it again.

I couldn't wait.

I wanted to do it again, Jess.

Right then. Right now.

# # # # # # # # # #

And Davey, after my cock slid in, turned into an animal.

A grasping, writhing, flopping little boy whore.

"Oh, that feels good," he grunted as he pushed against me. "Fuck, that
feels good."

"Deep, isn't it, baby?" I growled in his ear. I watched a bead of sweat
drip from his sideburn and into his ear canal. He wiped it aside
quickly. It tickled. He didn't have time to be tickled.

"Fuck it in me good," he whispered, and he leaned up and bit my ear. "Fuck
me good with it, Zee. I want it really good."

I cupped his cheeks and fucked him harder. He began to grunt with every
forceful in-stroke.

I fucked him hard for teasing me in a bathroom. I fucked him hard for the
Kirby Woods Mall.

He grunted and whimpered and twisted against the long slippery shaft of my
invading, hot rutting.

I fucked him hard for the Twizzlers. For the movie theater.

He licked my neck. He made little whining noises. Like a puppy. Like a
kitten.

I fucked him hard for the van ride. For the teasing. For the blanket in the
woods. For not letting me do this sooner, I thought with near-vengeance as
I fucked him.

He shook and he quivered and got ready to cum.

And mostly I fucked him for the interminable wait. I fucked him with
everything I had in my whole heart and soul, because I loved this boy, and
I wanted to own him, and fill him full of love, and fill him full of
sex. And he made me wait this long to do it. And now he was getting it. And
I was giving it to him hard. The way I needed to do it.

"You sweet little fuck," I whispered in his ear. "Open up your cunt for me,
baby. Let me fill you up with my sperm."

"Sperm in me," he whimpered, over and over. "Sperm in me, sperm in me," a
rhythm, a challenge.

"NNNNGHHHHH!" he cried out, and he was shivering, shaking.

"NNNNGGHHHH!" I echoed, as I clasped him tight to my shaft and blasted him
full of seed.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he whispered, he panted. "Fuck it in me, fuck it in
me."

I gyrated deeply. Swirled him like a paint brush.

My mouth was everywhere. All over him. Licking him. Kissing him. Tasting
tears and sweat and smelling his wonder. I smelled everything on him. Sweat
and salt and armpits and ass. Wide open, gaping, quivering boy-ass, now
splayed and dripping with the bubbles of my cum.

"So good," he whispered. "I love it, Zee. I love you."

"I love you, Davey. I love you so much."

"Again," he growled fiercely. "I want it again!"

He grasped my ass and he fumbled for my cock and he stuffed me back inside
himself. I slid right in with no effort at all.

"Again," he repeated. "Harder this time. Do it harder."

# # # # # # # # # #

It was a beautiful night of fucking, Jess. The first, full fuck with a new
boy is one you remember forever. That one that takes you in directions you
never saw coming. Sweet and hesitant, tender and frightened, then demanding
and intense. Courageous. Carnivorous.

We had some downright dirty fucks in the days that followed, because holy
shit, Jess, let me tell you; once the cork was out of Davey's ass, once we
let that particular genie out of the bottle, there was no turning back.

That kid wanted to fuck like a bunny. And I fucked him more times and more
places than I could count in the next week. I'll tell you about some of
them in my next letter, Jess. They were down and dirty and oh-so-plentiful,
God bless him. He offered his ass at the drop of a hat, and honestly Jess,
who was I to refuse?

My dick gets hard and raw again just thinking of that week. Artie, wherever
you are, I beat you, old pal. Davey and I made it to number five that
night, you old crazy masterfucker.

But next time I write you, Jess, I really need to tell you about the
camping trip.

It probably wouldn't be too much of a story, Jess. I mean, really, what's
the difference between "I fucked him in my bedroom" and "I fucked him in my
tent," other than a campfire, some s'mores and a couple of mosquitoes.

It probably wouldn't be too different at all, if it weren't for a last
minute addition to the cast. See, Davey and I had been planning the camping
trip for two weeks, working out the cover story and the hidden logistics.
And we were just about ready to head out to the lake when the phone rang
and I picked it up and ran smack-dab into an old college friend of mine you
probably remember.

You guessed it, Jess. It was just supposed to be me and Davey at the lake,
just the two of us for a weekend...but call it fate or good timing, it
turns out there was a third participant in the mix.

It was your Uncle Taylor on the phone, Jess. He called me up and asked if
he could come along. And I never say no to a friend, as you've known for a
long, long time, baby boy.

Davey was dripping semen from both ends that weekend, Jess. Top and bottom.

You remember what Uncle Taylor's cock felt like when he was up your ass and
I was down your throat. Then vice-versa. Then vice-versa again. Davey found
out how double-teaming works too, Jess, and he liked it every bit as much
as you did, kiddo.

I'll save that story for next time, Jess.  I gotta get some sleep.

I love you, baby.

Always have. Always will.

Talk to you next time.

Stay hard.

Love,
Zee

# # # # # # # # # #

z.blake@mail.com
scubasteve.11@hushmail.com