Date: Fri, 10 Apr 2015 23:34:11 +0200
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Memphis Boy 6

MEMPHIS BOY
CHAPTER 6
By Zachyboy
M/M/b, oral, anal

# # # # # # # # # #

The following story is a work of fiction. It involves sexual situations
between two adult men, an underage boy, a cabin, some lube, and a tent in
the woods. If this type of material is illegal where you live or you're
afraid of mosquitoes, please leave.

Due thanks and a proper nod of respect to Nifty author Jon Steynbeck for
his most excellent story "Boys at My Campsite," which inspired this chapter
and gave me two smoking hot lines to shamelessly plagiarize.  What a great
story, and I thank you for it, Jon. When it comes to camping, I tremble in
your shadow. In a good way, of course. With a really hard weenie.

Your donations help Nifty and the kind readers and writers who live here
and love here. Please be a sport and give back today.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

And now, on with the show.

# # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 6. "TWO GENTS IN A TENT"

# # # # # # # # # #

Dear Jess,

Well. Didn't I go and let the genie out of the bottle.

After I broke Davey in with that first deep fuck, let's just say the
floodgates broke open. That little fucker just couldn't stop fucking.

I sort of had a feeling it would be that way, Jess. I mean, after all, he
was horny, dirty, inquisitive little minx long before I showed up with my
dog and pony show. Self-pleasuring and putting naughty things up his butt
were already well on his radar. Blossoming little gayling status already
firmly established.

As for me, talk about your classic case of right place, right time. I
simply showed up and gave him the necessary nudge into butt fuck land. A
boy's gotta learn, Jess. And I'm glad to teach him.

So, post firstfuck, I can't say Davey's sexual insatiability was
unanticipated, but it was astounding to see it nonetheless.  It was a sight
to behold and a force to be reckoned with. It's one thing knowing a
tornado's coming and an entirely different thing to be caught in one. On
one side, you assume you'll be knocked on your ass. On the other side, you
hang on when it actually hits.

We..Fucked..Everywhere.

That first night, after the, I don't know, second? third? fourth? time I
did it to him? He just sat there, Jess, naked on my legs, my cum dripping
out of his ass and matting my leg hair, sitting there, smiling up at me,
absently milking the sticky drops out of my painful shaft and my sore,
leaking piss slit. How I was still capable of manufacturing pre-seminal
fluid, I have no idea, unless it was looking at the little minx sitting on
my legs, squeezing me like he was trying to get one more udderful of milk
from a washed-up cow.

"You wanna do sex stuff in other places?" he asked me. "I mean, we don't
have to just do it in your house now, right?"

"Baby," I smiled. "We can have sex wherever you want."

"Good," he smiled back, and continued squeezing my dick, which was
impossibly hardening once again.

"I love your cock," he whispered, leaning down to expertly suck the precum
off the tip, then sitting back up to stroke it and watch it make more. I
watched him wrap his little hand around it and stroke it up and down. The
beautiful obscenity of it. And yeah. I got so hard I had to fuck him
again. Right there. Right then. Aching balls and all.

# # # # # # # # # #

I fucked him back at the Kirby Woods Mall again. The stall at the end. The
handicapped stall. The stall where I first met him. First watched him
finger himself. First shot my load in his mouth. This time, he showed me
"how I always wanted to do it," he said.

At his instruction, I lowered my pants around my ankles, he took all his
clothes off and folded them carefully and stacked them on the back of the
toilet tank. Then barefoot, he climbed on top of me.

I lubed him, and facing me, he lowered himself on my cock. He bent his
knees in toward his chest and leaned backwards. I supported his back with
my hands. He angled back and let me support his weight.

He placed his tiny feet against my stomach, and I fucked him like that,
Jess. Picking him slowly up and down. Sliding his sweet, lubed bottom up
and down my aching cock, people coming in and out, only one pair of feet
showing under the stall, while inside I was fucking the most beautiful boy
in the world.

Lifting him up and down on my cock.

Filling him full of semen in the place I first met him.

# # # # # # # # # #

We fucked in a convenience store bathroom, standing up against the wall. I
grabbed his hair and I pulled it backwards. I licked the sweat off the back
of his neck as he whimpered and took my rutting, pants around his ankles,
ass wide open like a good boy.

"Cum in me. Hard this time. Shoot your cum way far up in my ass."

I licked his ear and bit the back of his neck like a Klingon.

I was happy to oblige.

# # # # # # # # # #

It occurs to me, if this were a movie, cue the montage music, Jess, because
this next part would be an impossibly fast fly-by of all the places we
fucked over the next two months. What song would we even use for that? How
would we put it to music? It would need a lot of drumbeats, Jess. It would
need a lot of high notes. A lot of whimpering. A lot of swearing. A lot of
sweaty backbeat. This was no symphony, Jess. This was some hip hop.

There was a story online ages ago, Jess (and I can't for the life of me
find it again) called "Making a Baby," where the 40'ish protagonist fucks
the 7'ish mini-protagonist for the first time, and after that, the kid is
insatiable. Needs it again in a most desperate way. Not "wants it," but
NEEEEEEEEEEEDS it. And takes it wherever the man can give it to him.

They sneak away. Fuck everywhere. Even if they only have five minutes, they
find a way to fuck. And there's an exceedingly hot scene that probably goes
all of five lines where the man taps on the kid's bedroom window at night,
the kid climbs out of the window and they go stand in the alley. The man
pulls the kids pajama pants down, right around his ankles, and he fucks him
standing there, bent over a brick dividing wall in the alley. And the kid
moans and wails like a cat in heat, according to the story.

The thing is, Jess, we did that. Still had our weekends, our big time, our
long time, but in between then, we grabbed five minutes in whatever sneaky
place we could find, and fucked.

Davey turned into some sort of perverted jungle cat. My whole life for the
past two months has been a motherfucking montage of Davey in heat.

I let the assfuck genie out of the bottle and Davey wants to get fucked
EVERYWHERE now. Not to call anybody names, but he can't get enough, the
little fucking ass monkey. And gentility has been taken out of the
equation. Davey likes to fuck. Anywhere and everywhere. And P.S., foreplay
not required.

# # # # # # # # # #

Once he learned how to take a fuck, Davey couldn't be without one. We
fucked in every bathroom stall in the universe. He'd tug at my shirt and
say, "Zee, in here," and before I knew it, I'd be fucking him in the
changing room at Walmart while two PTA moms tried on school clothes with
their first-graders two doors down.

He'd raise his eyebrow and lick his lips and before I knew it, I'd be
shelling out $120 for a Homewood Suites, his personal favorite, because
"then we get to fuck on the bed, on the couch AND in the kitchen."

I like fucking boys, Jess. Always have and always will. I've just never met
one who liked getting fucked so much. He had an actual need. The fuck was
legitimately required, repeatedly. Diabetics need insulin. Davey needs
cock.

# # # # # # # # # #

I took him to the drive-in movie and I fucked him there.

Pitch dark, sitting in my van, I pushed the seat back and he straddled me,
Jess.

Little fucker was wearing sweat pants. He'd cut a slit in the back. No
undies. Smelled divine. He opened up that slit and giggled and spread his
crack and showed me his hole and the sweet scent hit me like an Easy Bake
Oven. Boy in heat. Boy ready to take one. I was in heaven.

I slid off my pants and he straddled me. Wrapped his arms around me and sat
down on my cock. I fucked him right there through the slit in his pants
while he sighed and whispered "I love you, Zee. Put it in me far. As far as
you can tonight, okay?"

The guy to the right of us looked over and smiled.

He knew what we were doing. He nodded respectfully, took his cock out and
started to masturbate. I tapped Davey on the shoulder and told him to
look. He looked up. The guy smiled at him. Davey was too far gone to
care. He simply nestled his sweaty hot head back and continued lowering
himself up and down on my dick. He didn't care who was watching and neither
did I. He groaned and he whimpered and he wrapped his arms tighter around
my neck. He had a job to finish. He was taking care of business.

"Sorry," I mouthed as I shrugged at the guy. And then I didn't give a shit
either. I was way too lost in the magic of the fuck.

I don't know if the guy blew his load, but I sure did. I came deep in
Davey's ass smelling the watermelon shampoo from the back of his hair and
watching X-Men kick the shit out of somebody who needed it. The plot's a
little fuzzy but my dick felt divine.

# # # # # # # # # #

If fucked him in the bathroom of a nearby Chick-fil-A, and that one felt
wonderful. A little bit like justice, actually. We caught a lucky break
because that one had a family bathroom between the men's and the ladies'
rooms.

He pulled down his pants, I propped him up and I fucked him on a changing
table. You know, the kind that flips out of the wall to change your baby's
diaper? Nasty, Jess. Fucking hot-nasty.

It said "Max Weight 40 lbs." Davey was four-foot-eight and a hair shy of
90, but we decided to try it anyway. We broke the damn thing, but not
before I injected my babies.

"Change that diaper, bitch," I growled and he giggled.

# # # # # # # # # #

I followed him out into the woods the next week and I fucked him on his
sexy little vibrator blanket again.

That was the place I first stuck my tip in him. Where Yogi first stole his
pickanick basket.

It was there I had found him, after he lured me with a promise and a dare,
running naked, clothes all akimbo, fucking himself with his brother's
eggshell slim.

"Last time you just stuck your tip in me," he giggled. "This time, put it
all in."

"Hard or gentle?" I asked him, lubing up and waiting.

"What do you think, fucker?" he giggled infectiously, and he lifted his
legs to his chest, stuck a foot in my mouth, and spread open heaven.

His head snapped back and he moaned when I cocked him.

It wasn't gentle.

# # # # # # # # # #

"I wish I could make more cum for you," he said after that one.

"What do you mean?" I said. "You're doing fine. Just right for a boy."

"Yeah," he said, sitting on my legs and playing with my cock again, "but I
only do a little. I wish I could make a lot, a lot, a LOT. I wish it could
squirt out everywhere. I want to make a whole bunch, like you, so you can
eat it."

"I like what I get," I told him.

"Yeah, but still."

"Watch," I said, wanting to nip this lack of self-esteem in the bud.

I flipped him over on his back. Switched positions and straddled him.

I took his little cock in my hand, and took my own in the other. Looking
him straight in the eye, I jacked us both off. His breathing got heavy. So
did mine. After a few minutes of unbroken eye contact, I felt his ass
cheeks clench together and I heard him hiss, and it sent me over the
edge. I pointed my cock down and I came all over his shiny wet dick. My
white cum covered it in thick globs and strings.

"Cool," he whispered, watching it drip.

"Shhh," I told him. "I'm pretending it's yours."

And I bent down with my mouth and I took his cock in my mouth and I cleaned
off all my cum.

"Wicked," he whispered. "That's fucking hot."

And then as an afterthought, he giggled and added, "Eat my cum, bitch."

"Nnn-nnn," I shook my head, holding the mouthful.

I raised myself up, leaned into his face and brought my lips over his. I
puckered, I pursed, I squirted some out. He was ready for it. Knew exactly
what I was doing.

He arched his head back, hungry and whimpering. His finger went down and
started prodding his butthole.

I fed him my cumload a peep at a time. Cum I'd sucked off his hard little
cock.

I fed him my semen and he whimpered and ate it as it dripped from my mouth.

Arched up and gobbling. Trying to get more.

Like a little baby bird.

# # # # # # # # # #

I even fucked him in the bathroom at his school, Jess.

One Monday morning, I dropped off his backpack. He'd left it at my house
that weekend. They paged him in the office. He asked for a bathroom
pass. He made eye contact with me as he left, backpack in hand. I waited a
few minutes to keep up appearances, thanked the secretary, then followed
him down the hall. I found him in the furthest stall from the door, always
his favorite, pants down, bent over and waiting. Again, in heat. Again,
with a scent that would make the Pope drop his socks.

I ate his ass until I was afraid we'd attract a janitor with the
caterwauling, then I spit on my hand, rubbed it on my cock and I fucked
him. I sent him back to science class with biology in his bottom.

# # # # # # # # # #

I fucked him in the locker room.

I picked him up after football practice, and after everybody else left, we
fucked.

I bent him over a locker room bench, smelling the sweat of 200 middle
school boys as I filled his ass with semen and watched the sweat and grime
of a hard day's practice run down the back of his pretty white neck. His
jock, his cup and his Packers jersey lay in a disheveled pile at my feet.

"You like this don't you?" I growled as I fucked him.

"I like it a lot," he growled back. "Way more than you know."

I laid him back on the locker room bench, lifted his feet to my face and
licked his hot pops while I fucked him again.

The whole room smelled like ass and jizz and boy and football.

# # # # # # # # # #

We fucked, of course, in my bedroom...a lot.

His football friend Corey the Quarterback ("Corey Cooper touched my taint")
continued to run interference with Davey's parents, pretending Davey was
spending weekends at his house, when in reality, he was all but living in
mine from 5 pm Friday to 6 pm Sunday.

Shit, Jess, Davey kept spare clothes at my place. Those were the best
times. Playing house. Playing marriage with a 12-year-old boy. It's a
wonder we slept. It's a wonder we ate.

I fucked him at his house too. In his bedroom, Jess. His own childhood
bedroom. How's that for a triumph? You can't begin to know what it's truly
like to fuck a kid until you nail him on his own monkey sheets. Curious
George, Jess. Curious Fucking George. If your dick wasn't hard enough
already, fuck a boy on his Curious George sheets. Now that, my friend,
makes it stand up like a mofo. That's some conquest shit right there.

# # # # # # # # # #

His parents were at Pizza Hut. Parents, sibs, the whole damn family, not
too far up the street in fact. Davey told me, "Take your time. They won't
be back for two hours. Really. They're slow." But still, of course, I was
nervous as hell. Fucking their kid in their own damn house? That takes
balls, Jess. More than I usually carry in my sack. This was madness,
baby. Pure, horny madness.

"You have a queen bed?" I asked him quietly. My mind still sure his parents
were going to jump out the closet at any time yelling "surprise, call the
cops!"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "My parents got us all queens when we moved from
Detroit."

God bless parents who plan ahead, huh?

The room was nice. It was sporty. All boy. Up the stairs, first door on the
right. A lock, thank God, with Adidas Stan Smiths kicked randomly in the
corner. If a boy's gotta wear shoes and socks (The Garments of Despair),
you might as well make it a good pair.

There was a Big House poster from Ann Arbor, Michigan. A few smaller
pictures of Wolverine football players. A Maroon Bells poster.

"That's Colorado," Davey explained, as if I could mistake the
mountains. "I'm gonna live there someday."

I nodded. Pretended to be interested. I didn't hear a word he was
saying. God, he was pretty. He had no earthly idea.

On the other wall, Mackinac Bridge and the Grand Hotel. A poster of palm
trees, white sand and the ocean. Kitsch everywhere. Trophies, ribbons,
medals and victories. Sports endeavors. Football, baseball, track and
wrestling. How could a kid be so gay and so straight at the same time?

Souvenirs from family outings. A seashell collection.

"From Florida," he told me. "I like the ocean. It tickles my cock."

Detroit stuffed Lion. Shamu from SeaWorld.

And sports idols everywhere. Davey had it covered. I saw Larry Byrd, Magic
Johnson, Dr. J., Isiah Thomas, the greats from the past. Retro kid, this
monkey boy.

He had a killer stereo for a minx so young. Docking station, Bose speakers,
and kiss my ass if that wasn't a fully tricked-out Fisher turntable. I
hadn't seen one of those in years. Suck my cock, Jess. Davey did vinyl.

"Wanna see my dirty stuff?" he asked casually, bragging like a boy
does. He'd seen my man cave. Now he was showing me his.

I said yes politely, feigning great interest, and he pulled a box from
under his bed. It was a great big Marshall Field's sweater box, Jess. You
know the kind. Big and red. Sturdy and secret. He opened it up and there
was the Vibrator of Legend and a bunch of DVD's.

"Is that the one you use in the woods?" I asked him, pointing to the slim
jim.

"Yeah," he said. "I stole it from my brother. The movies are his too. I
borrow them, but he borrows them back."

"What about the vibrator," I asked him. "Does he take that back too?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "He gave up on that. You know. Cuz it's been up my butt
so much."

I couldn't argue with him there, Jess. But if I were his brother, I'd be
sucking on that thing like a Popsicle. More than likely two times a night.

But in the grand scheme, Jess, who cared about his secret stash? Who cared
about his sound system or his dildo or his Isiah Fucking Thomas? Who cared
about his seashells?

I was too busy staring at his bed and trying to deal with the lump in my
pants.

His bed was a jungle theme, and it made my cock lurch.

The bedspread was something out of an old Marx Brothers movie. Jungle
pattern, decadent and soft, silky and sexy. There was a warm fuzzy tiger
blanket folded neatly at the bottom. Oh, fucking hell. To wrap him in that?
My naked little tiger?

And the sheets when he pulled them back to get ready? I kid you not,
Jess. Curious. Fucking. George.

"I'm sorry they're baby," he said, embarrassed.

Why is it every single boy fails to understand when it comes to fucking
him, the babier the better?

"I've also got Star Wars," he offered defensively. Like it might
matter. Like I might call bullshit and tell him the fuck was off.

"Oh, sweetie," I assured him, with lust in my voice, "it's really
okay. Curious George is just fucking fine."

I locked the door (big fucking help that would be if mom and dad came
home), walked over to him and lifted his shirt over his head. I pulled it
off and dropped it on the floor. A disheveled pile of clothing again. Why
was that so hot to me? He kicked off his flip-flops and there were his
babies, those sweet naked boy feet, waiting and wiggling.

I stood there and looked at his perfect flat tummy and his tiny dime
nipples before I took him in my arms and pressed him to my body and I
opened his mouth with my tongue.

I felt his tongue lap at mine and his dickie press against me. It was hard
again, Jess. Davey's dick was always hard.

"Fuck me," he whispered. "Fuck me on my baby bed."

# # # # # # # # # #

I undressed him slowly and laid him down gently on his back. His body was
so soft and pure it was gleaming. I reached down to stroke his perfect
cheek.

"I like when you take my clothes off for me, Zee," he whispered. "It makes
me feel like I'm helpless for you."

"Do you like feeling helpless for me?" I asked him, as I ran my hand slowly
down his nearly hairless leg to pick up his foot and bring it softly to my
mouth for a kiss.

"I like to feel like you're in charge of me," he said simply, as I licked
across the pad of his foot and slowly sucked a toe into my mouth. I licked
between each one. I fellated the big. He moaned quietly and stretched out
his leg to offer me more. I watched his dick grow hard from this
pedaministration alone.

"I've wanted to do this here for so long," he whimpered, eyes closed, dick
hard. "This is what I dream about at night, all alone, jacking off. A man
in here, in my bed, doing this to me."

I picked up his other foot and gave it equal attention.

"Any man, or just me?" I teased as I sucked the football practice off his
sexy hot heel. An Achilles tendon never tasted so good.

"You, Zee," he said instantly, with sincerity and backtracking. "I always
want it to be you. Never any other guy."

I opened my mouth wide. Took all of his toes into my mouth at once. My cock
lurched skyward. His foot was beautiful and tasted like boy salt. Sweet
little boy flavor. My cock was leaking and saliva formed as I opened wider
and gobbled it in. I gagged a little and watched my drool spill out and
drizzle down his inner arch. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted
back in bliss. God, my cock was hard. I could do this all night.

I picked both his feet up, held them by the ankles and lavishly licked his
heel and his toe mounds. His front sole. His heel base. The bottoms and
tops. My mind ticked anatomy: metatarsals, phalanges.

I kissed his ankles. I tasted his tendons. I brought one to my cheek and
just rested it there, enjoying the warmth and the nearness of it. How it
made me feel safe and connected to him. How it made him seem utterly naked
for me. Beyond trusting and beyond vulnerable. A level of intimacy, a
giving of himself. Fully, nakedly, openly mine. All because he gave this to
me. All because he let me have this.

I picked up his right foot and brought it to my mouth. I extended my
tongue. With tiny swipes I spelled the letters "D," "A," "V," "E," "Y."

He giggled. It tickled.

On the other foot I spelled "I," "L," "O," "V," "E," "Y," "O," "U," until
he couldn't giggle anymore. Until he was just a lost and writhing, a
whimpering mess, begging me to love him. Begging me to fuck him.

I lifted his legs and I scooted my head down for slow, steady tongue laps
against the taste of his taint. His perfect hairless scrotum. His sexy bald
perineum.

"My taint," I heard his memory calling. "Corey Cooper touched my taint."

Corey Cooper ain't ever tasted this, I thought to myself as I dove in
wholeheartedly for a lick and a smile. I felt his anus pulse around my
tongue, attempting to open, attempting to take me, to be mated to
something...anything it could find. And then I knew Davey was ripe for my
rutting.

His legs around my shoulders and his foot at my mouth, I lined up my
cockhead and pushed my thick plum into the tight, fighting starfish of his
most private boyplace. At first it was unyielding, but then it suddenly
blossomed like roses in June and it burst free to admit me. He grunted and
grasped me and scratched at my arms as my penis slid into him...his
fingernails hurting me in the best way as I gave him my steady and slippery
ball-deep insertion.

"Fuckohfuckohfuckohfuck," he whispered. "I hope it always hurts like
this. I hope it always hurts this way."

I sawed my penis slowly in and out of him. I felt like singing him
lullabies. It felt like fucking him in a rocking chair.

There is something so special, so important, Jess, about fucking a boy in
his childhood bed. I hope you get to do it sometime, sweet baby, I really
hope you do. There's such a level of honor and completion. To slide your
penis in and out of the boy you love in the place where it all began for
him sexually? There's no greater honor, Jess. Here, in the very first place
he touched himself, now he's fucking you.

I sucked his sweet toes and I deep-fucked his ass and I listened to him
moan as he twisted and turned and he pushed back against me, until finally,
in heat, he pawed at his cock and brought himself off to his own shivering
tingle. As his ass clenched around me, I pushed myself deeply and with a
kiss to his ankle and a whisper of "Davey," I grunted my load up the heat
of his ass.

It takes all sorts of skill, Jess, to fuck on Curious George sheets without
spilling your semen, and Davey and I were still sort of new at it.

As we whispered and cuddled and his little hand stroked my chest, he tried
not to drip ass-cum on the Man with the Yellow Hat, but I'm certain at some
point we probably did.

Fucking little monkey.

# # # # # # # # # #

Parents don't stay at Pizza Hut forever, so afterwards, dressing fast and
making like a tree, he walked me to the garage. His family would be back in
30 minutes, give or take. Like it or not, I had to run.

But on my way out through the garage, I stopped to admire the Caddy in the
two-car. A 1976 Eldorado as I live and breathe, Jess. Gold and pretty. Mint
condition. I whistled out loud.

"My dad's," he shrugged. "He never drives it. I'm not allowed to touch it."

"Oh, I think you should touch it at least once," I dared. "Wanna hop in the
back seat and take it for a spin?"

"I can't mess it up," he said. "I'll get in trouble."

We both looked at the back seat longingly.

Do you know big the back seat of a '76 Eldorado is, Jess? Whoof. You could
fuck two boys back there. But sigh, regrets. Rules were rules.

"So, don't get in," I shrugged. "Just open the door and bend over with your
pants down."

He giggled. "You like it when I bend over for you, don't you, you pervert?"

"Oh yeah, baby boy. I like it a lot."

He squeezed my cock. He tiptoed and kissed me. He opened the door and
pulled down his shorts. His ass was still pliant and dripping from
earlier. No lube needed. This would be easy.

"Do it," he said. "But you better go fast."

You better believe I went fast, Jess.

One hock of courtesy spit and 25 strokes later, I was out of there
pronto. I took a fingerful of cum from his ass and gave him a taste.

"I think you peed a little on the floor pad," I pointed.

"Oh shit," he whispered. "Really?"

"Nah, just fucking with you."

He didn't say a word, just gave me a "ha-ha, very funny" smile as he
flipped me off, the garage door came down, and I left him standing there
with his pants around his ankles and my second load of cum running down his
leg.

God bless Cadillac. Sleek as a dream.

And you should smell the interior.

# # # # # # # # # #

I probably would have gone on fucking him solo forever, Jess. Believe me,
no complaints.

But then as fate would have it, your Uncle Taylor called me. My first
fellow boylover. Your first manfuck yourself, baby boy. The man who took
your cherry. And I think you already know where that was going to lead us.

Good old Uncle Taylor.

Your Uncle Taylor was the man who taught me how to strike up conversations
with boys in public, Jess. To lure them, I guess. To make them walk over.

"Go into any food court," he said, "Any zoo, any library, and leave a video
game sitting out on the table. And then bring a book. Pretend to be
reading. And your game is just sitting there, ignored and wide open."

I tried it at once, and you'd be surprised at how fast it draws boys for a
peek.

"Wanna play it?" you casually offer. "Go ahead. Grab a chair." And nine
times out of ten, they'll plop themselves down.

Back in your uncle's day – your uncle and me – we used to use Game
Boys. Now we use iPads.

"Minx bait," he calls them.

They work like a charm.

# # # # # # # # # #

"What's new with you, Yogi Bear?" he asked me, using our old college
nicknames.

"Not much, Boo-Boo. Keeping busy."

"Too true," he said, and I heard the ice clink in his drink. Not shy of
vodka, that one, your uncle.

"How's everything going on the weenie front?" I ventured. "Any special love
muffins in your life these days?"

"Bit of a dry-spell," he admitted. "I was seeing a minx for a few years,
semi-elite, but he aged out of the system and I had to let him go."

"I understand," I said, because I did. "They'll do that to you."

"How about you?" he asked. "Seeing anybody special?"

"Hell, yeah," I replied. "Really special."

"Do tell, Yogi. Don't leave me hanging."

"Name's Davey," I told him. "Fucking minx-and-a-half."

"Cute?" he asked, all ears.

"Like a mofo," I assured him. "Like a double mofo, in fact."

"Phewww," your uncle whistled appreciatively.

"I met him one day at the food court in the mall. Got a little bathroom
booty. Sucked him and fingered him in the handicapped stall."

He chuckled. "You're a true romantic, Zee."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? He brings out the Shakespeare sonnets."

"TAFFY?" he asked, using our old code.

Could the kid T.A.F. You know. Take A Fuck.

"Definitely TAFFY," I told him. "Slow out of the starting gate, but he's
making up for lost time. Holy fuck, I can barely walk after the past two
months. My dick's rubbed raw.

"Any hot dates in the works?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah," I said. "I'm taking him camping this
weekend. To my dad's old cabin up at the lake."

"Oooh," he said, perking up. "How'd you pull that off?"

"Surprisingly simple to set it up," I said. "He's faking a sleepover with a
football friend, and the kid's gonna cover for him."

"Football friend," Taylor said. "Sexy. The plot thickens."

"Not yet," I told him, "but we'll see. I've got half an idea the friend's a
little ass-hound too. Or at least he wants some of Davey's. So, we'll see
where it goes. He says Davey owes a big one – we'll leave it at that."

"God, don't you just love it when kids are horny AND ambiguous?" your uncle
asked me.

"Yeah, no shit."

"I've got half a mind to invite myself along," Taylor said. "Make up for
you stealing Jess out from under me."

"Oh, hell," I rolled my eyes. "I never stole Jess out from under you. You
still fucked him red and raw every chance you got. Even after I started
banging him."

"Yeah," your uncle said with a genuine wistful note in his voice. "But it
was never the same after that. You taught him too well. He started showing
ME stuff."

I laughed. "What can I say? I raise the bar."

"Once you go Zach, you'll never go back," Taylor said, and we both had a
chuckle.

"If only that were true," I sighed.

"So, do I get to come along?" he asked, not beating around the bush.

"I don't know," I told him truthfully. "He'd probably wear you out, old
man."

"Shit," your uncle whispered respectfully. "He's that good at it?"

"Fuck yeah, he's that good at it. I just don't know if I'm ready to open
him up for a double. He's too sweet to share."

"Come on, man. Be a pal. You owe me for Jess."

"I guess so," I sighed. "But if I let you come along, you have to be
decent, man. No ass hat tricks. I'm kind of in love with this one."

He chuckled. "Good. For a minute there, I was afraid this wasn't going to
hurt you."

I grumbled, not knowing if that was true or a joke., "All right, come
along. But if I say `back off,' you gotta back off, man."

He contemplated this for a second.

"Has Davey ever said `back off'?"

I thought about this.

"Not yet, no."

"Aw, fuck. I'm gonna love this kid."

"All right," I sighed. "You know where the cabin is. Bring some weenies."

"I'll bring the one that counts," he said.

"Fun starts Friday after school. Be there at 5'ish. B.Y.O.L."

He laughed. "Bring your own lube."

"Right, you cheapskate. Five bells Friday."

"See you then, Yogi. Looking forward to the teamwork."

# # # # # # # # # #

I don't know if I ever told you, Jess, about the first boy I double-fucked
with your Uncle Taylor.

His name was Noah and he was 12-years-old, if that even matters, and he was
young, and he was scared and he wasn't very good at it, but we fucked him
anyway.

He was the little brother of our frat bro Darien. Dee had to pull a double
shift that night at Pickle Barrel Subs, and his lil brother was in town and
he turned to us for help.

"Come on Tee, Come on Zee, help a brother out," he begged. "Just let him
hang out. I'll be back at ten."

By ten, his little brother had three loads of cum up his ass and another
three down his gullet. I forget whose was whose.

"Does it have to go in me?" he whimpered before the first one I gave him,
looking scared.

"It does," I nodded. "But it's okay, baby. It's gonna feel really good once
it's in there."

He smiled weakly and bared-up through the pain, like a woman giving
birth. And it turns out he liked it. Or at least he pushed back a little
and squeezed his anal muscles together. Maybe to milk me and make it feel
better, or maybe, instinctively, to get it over with faster.

Whatever it was, he did his job on the back end while your uncle serviced
him up front.

He came back next semester and while his brother worked another double
shift, he shyly asked me if we were gonna do "all the butt stuff" again.

Not surprisingly, we gave it another go and found him vastly improved in
technique and enthusiasm. It takes a village, Jess. And given the proper
intro, children will hone their skills all by themselves.

That second time, he wasn't scared a bit.

Not for a fucking minute.

# # # # # # # # # #

Friday came, and the camping trip was a go.

"Taylor, meet Davey. Davey, meet Taylor."

It was 5:30 Friday, and we'd just arrived. Your uncle was already there
drinking a Coors tall boy on the porch. 20 sweet ounces of no inhibitions.

Davey dropped his duffle bag on the porch and shook hands with your Uncle
Taylor. Funny how even the perviest things start out with the most normal
formalities.

"Zee says you want to fuck me," Davey said to your uncle.

He almost did a spit take, outgunned, mid-swallow.

"Well, hello Davey," he countered. "Pleased to meet you, too."

"Yeah, yeah, nice to meet you," Davey said impatiently. "Are you really
going to fuck me?"

Your uncle looked Davey up and down appreciatively with a leer and a nod.

"Yeah," he said quietly, in a voice just shy of danger. "I think it's safe
to say I'm gonna fuck you a lot."

Davey smiled. Grabbed his bag and headed inside the cabin.

"Good," he said. "Can we have dinner first? I'm starving."

The screen door slammed and your uncle looked at me speechless.

"Is he for real?" he laughed.

"Oh yeah," I assured him. "Four-inched, tight-assed, real as can be. I hope
you ate your Wheaties this morning, Boo-Boo. You're gonna need your
energy."

"Fuck," Taylor whispered. "Sweet holy fuck."

# # # # # # # # # #

Back when I was a kid and Artie shared me for the first time with his
friend Jack down the street (I used to call him Jack-Off, because damn that
guy annoyed me), I wasn't really crazy about being double-fucked. Not in my
head anyway.

I mean physically, there was nothing inherently difficult about it. It was
one dick in the ass and one dick in the throat for the most part. I pretty
much laid there and moaned and they did all the work. Any gymnastics were
up to them, and sexually speaking, it was all kind of hot. Who doesn't like
being filled at both ends? It feels good, Jess, and there's no sense
pretending it doesn't. You've been there, baby, when your uncle and I
double-teamed you.

The part that always bothered me was the steady stream of bragging that
went on.

"Jack, check it out, watch what I'm gonna do to him."

"Aw yeah, Artie, he likes that good. Give him some more."

"Oh fuck yeah, watch his eyes roll back when I stick it in deep."

"Oh, fuck man, Artie. Give it to him harder."

I mean, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Jess, there I was in mid-fuck, and those
two morons were chattering away like it was training time at the zoo. Like
I wasn't even there. Like I was just some objectified plaything. Just their
wailing, moaning, whimpering fucktoy.

Which I was, but that's beside the point.

I hated it that they used all that "watch me" narrative.

I hated it that they talked about me in the third person like I could have
been anybody.

And I hated them most of all because it felt so damn good.

Every time they finished up inside me and patted each other on the back, it
made me feel like shit about myself. Like I didn't even matter.

But all I could say was, "More."

# # # # # # # # # #

I was taking the tent out of the van. The tent and the air mattress. Davey
was with me.

The plan was to hike up the trail a couple miles, pitch a tent on a ledge
over the lake. Build a campfire. Roast marshmallows. Make some
s'mores. Fuck Davey's ass off.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I said to him simply.

"I know," he said. "It's okay. I wanna."

"I mean if you're scared or you're nervous or you're freaked-out about
anything..."

He gave me a look like "you've gotta be kidding."

"Okay, okay," I laughed and put my arms up, defeated. "I'm just saying
there's no foul for backing out. Nobody's taking points off. Nobody'll
think less."

He looked me right in the eye. Dared me to continue to belittle his
professionalism.

"I don't wanna back out," he said simply. "I wanna get fucked, Zee. Really,
really hard and really really lots of times."

He grabbed my cock and he squeezed it hard. He got on his tiptoes and he
licked my mouth and he bit my lower lip.

"Okay," I sighed, "because that's exactly what's going to happen. Really
really hard and really really lots of times."

I picked him up and kissed him deep. His legs wrapped around my waist. His
barefoot feet found a lock position and he wrapped his arms around my
sweaty neck.

"You know I love you, Zee. Better than anybody," he whispered.

"Yeah, I know," I said, and my cock started to grow. He killed me, Jess. He
killed me, this one.

I leaned against the van and we stood there kissing. Kissing hard in the
middle of June.

He tasted like lust and boy and apple Jolly Ranchers.

I couldn't wait to share him.

# # # # # # # # # #

"All children, except one, grow up."

That's how Barrie started Peter Pan, Jess. With the impossible concept that
childhood can be held in the palm of our hand, through magic and
fairy-dust, with wishes and pirate fights. That maybe there really is a
Neverland where our Lost Boys stay young forever and they never grow up.

I'm sorry, Jess, that I never said goodbye to you.

We both knew I was leaving, but still, I was wrong.

You were 17 then. You weren't anywhere close to a boy anymore.

Your voice had changed. Your body had, too.

You had pubic hair and a dick as big as mine.

The eternal problem with boylovers, Jess, is that they just love boys. Men
aren't something they've adapted to yet, and if they have, they're just a
sad replacement for what we really want. The voice with no low notes. The
cock with no hair.

You were changing, Jess, and I wasn't changing fast enough to still want
you.

Given time, I probably could have. But my job told me otherwise. I got
uprooted, moved, halfway across the country. A world away from the new you
I was still trying to adapt to, still trying to love.

I meant to find you that last night, Jess.

Find you to say I was sorry.

Sorry I was going and leaving you behind.

Sorry that our sex had become furtive and rare.

Sorry I couldn't love you the way that you needed.

Sorry the 11-year-old who had stolen my heart was turning into a man of his
own, something I regretted and feared and I hated with my own special sense
of self-loathing. You had to grow up, Jess, and for a boylover, that's
life's cruelest magic trick.

I'm sorry I was too much of a jerk to say goodbye.

It was wrong, I regret it, and I'll never forgive myself.

I loved you then, Jess, and I love you now.

But I'm sorry I never found the balls or the decency to say goodbye. I'm
sorry I was just the coward who slinked off and left.

I'm sorry I didn't know what to do when I found out you weren't Peter Pan.

# # # # # # # # # #

We found our clearing at dusk and made camp.

"I don't get it," your uncle Taylor said to me. "You've got a perfectly
good cabin up there. Lights, beds, fridge and the whole ball of wax. And
we're spending the night in a tent?"

I shrugged. "Davey wants to get tent-fucked," I said. "He says it's always
been one of his fantasies."

"Always?" Jess laughed. "Like since he was ten?"

We both stared at Davey's ass from a distance. He was bending over, cooking
a hot dog in the fire.

I just shrugged. I pointed at Davey's tight pooper.

"You want to say no to that fine thing?"

"Point taken," your uncle said, and he whipped out his dick to piss. It was
of respectable girth, and it had been a few years since I'd seen it.

Davey came back and he giggled and blushed a little when he saw Taylor
peeing.

"Sorry," he said, averting his eyes.

"You might as well look at it," your uncle shrugged. "It'll be up your
hiney soon enough."

"If you're lucky, you mean," Davey dared charmingly, but we all knew luck
would have nothing to do with it. This thing was sealed from the start. Two
men. One boy. Two cocks. One ass. Everybody knew what was going
where. There was no need to be coy.

Campfire snuffed and hot dogs gobbled, we scooted to the tent. We all knew
we were there to fuck, Jess, and everything else was just the
preliminaries. Even Davey, who'd been practically fellating his Hebrew
National kosher phallus was looking at us like, "could we skip the dinner
and get to the fuckin'?"

To speed things up, we pissed on the fire, unzipped the flaps, all crawled
in and took a gander at the air mattress inside. Battery-powered inflation,
thank God. And it was the perfect size for comfy fucking.

"So, who's gonna fuck me first?" Davey asked innocently, like perhaps there
was a pecking order.

"I don't think you quite understand how this works, baby," I said to him
quietly. "We both sort of fuck you at the same time. One up front, and one
down below."

"Ohhhh!" Davey lit up. You could tell the logistics had perhaps not
occurred to him.

When the clock strikes the hour and it comes time for you and a friend to
start fucking a boy, Jess, there's really no need to pussyfoot around. Just
get in there and get going. I lifted an ankle and your uncle lifted and
ankle and side by side we started eating Davey's pups until he was a
quivering, shaking, barefoot mess, pawing away at the boner in his shorts
and offering all sorts of suggestions for what he thought should come
around next.

As always, preposterously, Davey thought he was in charge of all of
this. Like two men, horned-up and hard were somehow going to let the
12-year-old take the lead. Fat fucking chance.

Still in his shorts, he started to balk, to nitpick, direct traffic, but a
seconds later, we shushed him with my cock in his mouth, told him to be
still, shut up and leave the driving to us. He started to squirm when your
uncle started to finger his hole through the cloth of his shorts, but
Taylor was having none of it.

The beauty of fucking a boy with another boylover is, you've both read the
same stories. You know the same dialogue. Certain lines become iconic to
your lexicon.

So when you're uncle swatted Davey on the ass and said, "Stop fighting me
boy, I know what I'm doing," I smiled at the shared reference point, and
added another.

"Drop the shorts, son. You know what you want."

Your uncle winked knowingly, Davey dropped trow, and believe me, sweet
Jess, we were off to the races.

# # # # # # # # # #

It was fun. It was crazy. It was wild. It was Davey.

It was Gershwin, not Mozart. You think it's gonna be a symphony, but really
it's some wacky-ass repeated theme. Cable cars, staccato leaps and taxis in
Times Square. Some atonal nonsense that nobody gets. And just when you
think it's over, motherfuck if it doesn't start up from the beginning
again. It's motherfucking Pops night with the London Philharmonic.

"Zee, check it out, watch what I'm gonna do to him."

"Aw yeah, Boo-Boo, he likes that good. Give him some more."

"Oh fuck yeah, Yogi, watch his eyes roll back when I stick it in deep."

"Oh, fuck man, Taylor. Give it to him harder."

Your uncle had his cock so far up Davey's ass, I thought he'd split his
eyeballs out. Davey was a panting, back-clenching, spread-eagled, sweaty,
fuck-dripping boy mess, but he didn't lose traction for a minute. He
gritted his teeth and he kept up appearances, taking every deep boning your
uncle had to offer.

"You fucking...mother..fucking...monkeeeee...boyyyy!!!!!" your uncle called
out as he blasted Davey's guts full of goo.

We all cracked up, it was so unexpected.

"Where the fuck did THAT come from," I laughed.

"I don't know," said your uncle, shaking and quaking and wiping his sweat
off. "It just came out."

He reached for a water bottle and guzzled 12-ounces.

Even Davey laughed, and he'd just been power-bred.

"Fuckin' motherfuckin' monkeeeeee boy! That's meeeee!" he giggled, until I
shut him up with my cock.

I'm not sure if you've ever smelled a tent, Jess, after you and a friend
have fucked a boy in it two or three times. After stepping out to pee,
getting some fresh air, then coming back inside, the smell you're hit with
when you lift up the flaps is so wild and overwhelming it almost catches in
your throat and makes your eyes cry. For lust. For joy. For the "one more
time, let's take it from the top."

You should smell that humid, stinky tent after two or three fucks,
Jess. The sex-scent alone can make you cum in his ass a fourth time.

There was one. There was two. There was three. There was four.

Three he said "ouch" a little. But four, we made it up to him.

And then we lost count.

And then we fell asleep.

# # # # # # # # # #

Cue the montage music again, Jess. The day after that was blur of hot
boyfucking. I woke up in the tent, tangled at matted, dried cum everywhere
to the sweet bobbing rhythm of Davey sucking my cock.

"Whoa there, little man, you trying to start without me."

I was balls deep in his ass before Taylor woke up and quickly squatted
around front side to feed him some breakfast, his morning wood making his
impressively ginormous cock bigger than usual.

Davey took us both like a champ, switched places and took us again.

"You guys fuck really good," he whispered halfway through it. "Is this bad
of me? Fucking two guys at once?"

His ass was full of Taylor's cock and his mouth was full of mine.

"No, Davey," Taylor said. "You're a good boy for doing this. A very good
boy."

Davey moaned and squeezed his ass cheeks together.

"Good," he said. "I want to be good."

Taylor moaned and filled him up.

"Again," Davey whimpered, frantically looking for whoever's cock was the
hardest. "Do it again."

# # # # # # # # # #

We left the tent where it was, limped back to the cabin. No kidding,
Jess. That's the only way to describe it. We literally limped back to make
breakfast.

Davey giggled at wearing us out. Dared us to fuck him as soon as we got
back. Your uncle and I opted for pancakes. A man's gotta eat. A body needs
fuel. I think we polished off a dozen eggs between us. And we probably
would have taken a three-hour nap, but Davey went a little wild with the
Mrs. Butterworth's, and before we knew it, we were buck-ass naked in the
cabin's master bedroom, sucking maple syrup off a little boy's nipples and
fucking him up the hinder again with I Can't Believe It's Not
Astro-Glide. Any port in a storm, Jess. As your uncle passed me the
margarine, Davey got his ass filled. Right there at breakfast.

# # # # # # # # # #

The day passed quickly with a lot of sex and sucking. Kind of hot,
actually.

Your uncle and I sat on the couch drinking a couple of tall boys and
watching the game on rabbit ears, while Davey, still in his crusty cum
shorts from the night before kneeled back and forth between the two of us
in full, compliant service to the two men in charge.

"Hey Davey," I grinned. "I feel another protein shake in the works," to
which a happy Davey would scamper over and suck me to a whiz-bang
conclusion while your uncle Taylor nodded and whistled
appreciatively. Davey's lips were puffy by this time.

"Gotta get that kid some Carmex," Taylor said, freeing his own hard cock
from his sweat pants again. "Sorry to bother you, Davey, but I found this
cock thing under the couch cushion and I don't know what to do with it." To
which Davey scampered over and gobbled some of your uncle's meat while I
bone-whistled Dixie and stared at his undies.

This went on about two more rounds before Taylor called naptime and I had
to pee. I practically limped to the toilet. When I got back Taylor was
snoring and Davey was on the bearskin rug naked as a jaybird and fingering
his fuckhole.

"Jesus, kiddo, you never quit do you?"

"Not this weekend. I don't wanna quit." he uttered simply as he closed his
eyes, tilted his head back and made himself feel good. I just watched until
I was hard enough to fuck him again.

Midway through the cocking, your uncle woke up and joined the
festivities. We double-teamed him there on the rug, had a little dinner,
talked dirty and got hard again, and stayed right there, naked in the
cabin, taking our time, taking our turns, fucking his mouth, fucking his
ass, fucking his feet until exhaustion overtook us.

At one point before we petered out, we even had him up on the kitchen
table, me with his right foot in my mouth and my cock in his hinder, while
your uncle gave him one of the most enthusiastic skull fucks I've ever had
the pleasure of witnessing.

Davey's little head was backwards and hanging off the table. Your uncle
simply walked up and throat-filled him. You get a good angle that way,
Jess, if you're trying to piston-throat a boy real deep. It's a good
learning position for sucking cock. It takes your boy from beginner to
advanced.

"Look at him eat cock, Zee. He's got it all the way down his throat
now. Fuck, that feels good."

"Give him his drink, Boo-Boo. I'm about to batter his butt."

I licked his arches and felt him squirm as my balls unloaded for the
umpteenth time up his juicy, brick oven. Oh my stars, that quivering
rump. I heard him gag on your uncle's fresh offering just a little before
he swallowed it. Taylor and I looked at each other, amazed, exhausted, at
this insatiable little horndog, all sweaty and writhing on the table below
us.

His body was in fuckshock, on autopilot, no off switch. He didn't want to
stop. Even now, filled at both ends, he was pawing at his penis and trying
to put his fingers in his butt.

"Davey," I told him. "It's bedtime. Let's sleep."

Obediently, he sat up and hopped off the table. His legs were unsteady and
he grabbed me for balance. He had wobbly shakes and lust-glazed zombie
eyes. He was exhausted too. He was just too horny to realize it.

"Woozy from the fuck," your uncle said seriously, a spot-on diagnosis.

"Woozy from a lot of fucks," Davey piped quietly, and the three of us
laughed.

"We get the master," I said to your uncle. "You're down the hall, in
Jaycee's old room."

We parted ways with your uncle saying "one more fingerful" has he passed
Davey in the hallway. He slipped a quick finger into Davey's cum-drenched
ass and moaned in spite of himself as he helped himself to a taste. His,
mine, what did it matter?

"Damn, that's a hot piece of boy butt, Zee. The hottest piece I've had in a
long, long time."

I couldn't argue with him there, Jess. There was no denying that one.

MMb triples are great fun in general, and if you ever get a chance to grab
and old college buddy and sing a duet up a 12-year-old's ass, Jess, I
highly recommend it.

They're a super-charged speedball with jizz in the middle, and when you've
got an elite little minx like Davey on the line, there's never a dull
moment. Put that little fucker ass-end-up and legs around your shoulders
and it's one, two, three fucks you're out at the old...ball...game.

And your uncle sure loved it, and good for your uncle, but as we said our
goodnights and called it a night, it was me who got to take a sleepy Davey
back to my bedroom for extra innings. Popped in a single, matter of
fact. Line drive straight up his center field line.

# # # # # # # # # #

"Fuckin' motherfuckin' little monkee boy," I growled in his ear as my cock
slid in and out of him. Only this time, nobody was laughing.

"It feels so good when you fuck me, Zee," he growled back, biting my
ear. "I like this so much."

"Do you want my cum in your ass?" I teased him as I ground him sideways
with my cock shaft.

"Yes," he whispered as he winced in the good way.

"Then tell me you want it."

"I want it," he whimpered, twisting and impaling himself right back at me.

"You want what?" I teased him.

"Your cum," he growled. "I want your cum in my ass."

I grabbed his little hips and I fucked the air out of him.

"Nnngh!" he gasped. "Oh, please! Fuck me harder!"

"I'll fill you up, boy" I bitch-hissed in his ear. He grabbed my ass when
he felt me go trembly. He pulled me against him to take my seed
deep-level. He was ass-hungry for it, that one, my Memphis boy.

"Nnnnnnnngggggh!!" my cum blasted out of my cock and into his insides. He
lay there trembling and squeezing my ass. His fingertips hurt me, he was
grasping so hard. I'm sure they left marks. Little white indentations. Fuck
souvenirs. He pulled my ass to him, aching to get my cock inside him one
inch deeper.

"Oh my God," he panted. "I love getting fucked."

He licked my lower lips and he whispered in my ear.

"Fuck me and fuck me, forever and ever. As many times as you can."

I licked the sweat of his neck, salty and sweet. He shivered when I licked
him.

"I wish you could fuck me all night long," he whispered. "Every night
before I go to sleep, I wish you could fuck me like that."

I kissed his lips. I told him I loved him.

"This is what I want," he whimpered, taking my hand and putting it on his
hard little cock. "I want to do this with you
forever. Every..Single..Night."

# # # # # # # # # #

After I pulled my dick from his squishy-wet ass, and after I flipped him
over and sucked him exquisitely, swallowing his salty little load with two
fingers up his ass, he laid his head on my chest and we both fell
asleep. I'm sure I heard myself snoring softly, and Davey's breathing was
equally deep. The weekend had been exhausting, Jess, in a good way. I'd
spent my last dime and I thought Davey had too.

I should have known.

As soon as I was sleeping, or in that hazy, sweet half-life between "just
on the verge" and "out like a light," Davey slid his arm slowly from under
my side, quietly pulled back the blanket and inched himself out of bed.

I laid there awake since the minute he moved, but I kept up my ruse. At
first I thought he was leaving me to pee. But no, this was Davey. He was
sneaking away with far too much purpose for an innocent bladder drain. He
opened the door softly with a creak, then he froze, then he opened it again
and he tiptoed down the hall.

I heard him say in your uncle's doorway, "Can I come in?"

And your uncle's voice was muffled from the other side, but I didn't have
to hear it. I already knew what he'd be saying, Jess. I knew what I said to
you when you tiptoed down the hall into my room from his bed that first
night all those years ago.

"Come on in, baby," I'd told you with a flip of the covers, a mattress-pat
and a smile. "You can come on in here any time you want."

You didn't say a word. 11-years old and you just crawled on in with your
warm body and your cold feet and you melted into my kiss. The hungry little
vampire I would soon fall in love with.

"You can fuck me too," you'd whispered simply, and that's all I needed to
hear.

Funny how life comes full circle sometimes.

I heard them laugh. I heard Davey say "shhhhh!" I heard him giggle, like a
tickle, like a playmate. And then I heard no more laughter. Just sweet,
steady grunting. And bed springs. And moaning.

And I laid there in the dark wondering if this is what your uncle felt like
the very first time you sneaked out of his bed in the middle of the night
to come into mine. If this is what he heard. If this is how he felt.

I'm fairly certain that men love boys, Jess, because it takes us back to a
super-charged sexual time. We're aroused and excited by their corresponding
place on our own sexual timeline. They are the echoes and the mirrors of
our own burgeoning sexuality back when we were boys. Maybe we were fucked
back then like you and I were. Maybe we just wanted to be. But we love boys
now because we were loved boys then. In our asses or in our dreams.

And you'd think because a boy is a just boy, loving him should be
simple. They are, after all, our reprints and replicas. We know exactly who
we were back then, so it goes without saying, we should automatically know
how they are right now. In a way, it's like fucking ourselves, these
photocopies, these mimeographs.

But boys aren't us, and Davey wasn't me.

There was nothing simple about his needs and desires, Jess. Nothing easy or
clear, or elementary or uncomplicated. He was not child's play. He had very
layered and complicated needs.

I started this letter with "Davey needs cock." As he came sneaking back
into bed with me, still hot from your Uncle Taylor's room, he climbed in
next to me, sweaty and panting, breathing heavy and dripping another man's
cum down his leg.

I realized then that Davey needed more than anatomy. He needed something
inside him that one man couldn't put in him enough. Or two for that
matter. Davey needed filling, and I wasn't even sure what that meant
anymore.

My voracious little Memphis boy. Pretty and perplexing. Beautiful,
bewildering. A tangle. An intricacy. A hungry, lustful labyrinth.

"Was it fun?" I asked him.

He was silent for a moment. Busted. Embarrassed. He thought I hadn't
noticed. He thought I was sleeping. But now like a husband, a deer in the
headlights, he was caught. I'd bagged him. He'd had an affair and it was
time to pay the piper. Heady stuff for a 12-year-old to handle at 4 a.m.

"Yeah," he said with a little defiance. "It was fun. I liked it."

His voice said, "I challenge you. I dare you to be pissed."

"Good," I said. "I'm glad you got to feel good."

I started to roll over, but his little arms wrapped me in a hug instead.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked softly.

I kissed his forehead, sweaty and damp with the effort of fucking
Taylor. Kissing the sweat of another man's fuck.

"No," I said. "You're not in trouble."

"It's just supposed to be fun, right?" he stammered, he stuttered. "This
trip. This being here. I thought I was supposed to do this. You know. Do
stuff with both of you."

I was silent. Thinking. And hurting. And weighing the irony.

"I'm sorry, Zee," he whispered as he hugged me. He kissed my chest. Nuzzled
his head down. "I don't know how all of this works yet. Just tell me. I'll
do whatever you say."

"Get some sleep," I whispered, pulling him closer. Letting my arms find
purchase in the perfectness of his back. His sweaty-cool spine and his bony
boyish shoulder blades. He fit in my arms perfectly, Jess, and I wanted no
more Taylors to take my place.

"It's okay, Davey. Just get some sleep."

He snuffled and held me as tight as he could. He kissed my chest again.

"I love you, Zee. I'll do anything you say."

# # # # # # # # # #

We were driving home. The weekend was over.

I'd been silent for a while and his defiance was back. He drummed on the
seat and threw an empty Coke can on the floor.

"You're still pissed at me aren't you?"

He stared at the radio. Sirius-XM. 80's on 8. Mr. Mister. Broken Wings.

He didn't look at me. He just stared at the radio. Hair askew. Naked feet
up on the dashboard.

"I'm not mad," I said.

"Yeah you are," he said. "Because I fucked Taylor. Alone. Without you."

And really, he was right.

"Not mad, I said. "Just sad. Surprised."

He looked up at me. There were tears in his eyes. He took my hand from the
steering wheel and held it in his.

"It's only just sex, Zee."

Right, I thought. Only just sex. What could a boy possibly know about only
just sex.

"You and Taylor are different," he explained quietly. "You both fill me
up."

He dropped my hand. Slid his shorts down. Peeled off his underwear. His
cock was soft. His ass was pointed up toward the dash. He licked his
finger. Pushed it inside himself.

"Davey," I said quietly. "Don't."

"Taylor only fills me up here," he said quietly, little tears spilling down
his cheeks.

He took my hand again. Pressed it to his chest. Held it to his heart.

"You fill me up here, Zee."

He sucked my finger.

He fingered his ass.

"You fill me up here. In my heart. Where I need it."

He unzipped my fly and he sucked my cock and he swallowed my cum.

Sucked me and swallowed me all the way home.

And I loved him, Jess. Forgave him for everything.

Would have let him have this or anything else.

Any pain, any misstep. As long as he loved me.

# # # # # # # # # #

More soon, sweet man.

He turned the tables on me, my beautiful Memphis boy. How quickly the
master really does become the student. And I wasn't done learning.

If you think you don't feel it when a 12-year-old boy gets pissed at you
and fucks you up the ass, guess again. It hurts plenty. But I'll tell you
about that next time, Jess.

I'm tired, I'm spent, and I have an early shift tomorrow. Something's
coming down at work and I'm not quite sure what it is yet.

Miles to go before I sleep, to say the least.

I love you, Jess and I always will.

But Davey, I'm in love with.

Really deeply now.

And I'm not quite sure what to do about that.

I don't want it to end like it ended with you.

Like Peter Pan. Like Lost Boys.

Like wrong.

Unforgivable.

Gotta go, sweet man. More soon. I love you.

# # # # # # # # # #

Love,
Zee

# # # # # # # # # #

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