Date: Sat, 26 Jun 2004 06:21:15 -0700 (PDT)
From: fernandobuddy <fernandobuddy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Next Door - Part 1

Next Door - Part 1

The Neighbor

There was this neighbor who lived next door and used to spend a lot of time
in my house, especially in the evenings when my father was home and they
could spend hours talking, while drinking beer and smoking spread on the
couch. He had his own business with his brother, but he still spent a lot
of time in his backyard raking and fixing one thing or another. I have
known him my whole life and I liked to hear him talking to my father, who
seemed not to care about me hanging around. Mostly they talked about old
times and what they used to do when they were young; and this neighbor had
a hearty laughter that shook his whole body, like Santa Claus. He was a
large man but wasn't fat. He just had a large frame! Thru the opening of
his shirt, tufts of fuzzy hair projected out abundantly, creating an
intricate mass of hair that seemed to invite me to draw near and run my
hands errantly. I wondered what it would feel like to touch his hairy chest
with my hands.

He had been present in my life since I was a toddler and was like an uncle
to me, even like a father, maybe. His wife used to give me enormous chunks
of chocolate cakes and pineapple pies, and they seemed happy to have me
sticking around, like a son. I remember taking naps with him and his wife
in the few occasions my parents left me with the couple when they had to
stay away for a few days. My place was always between the two. Nothing
happened, of course, I was too young and there had been no opportunity,
even if he wanted to try something. But I used those moments to kill my
curiosity about many things. For example, why was that bulge of his moving
up and down inside his pajamas shorts while he was asleep? Why did he try
to cover it, seeming embarrassed, when he realized I had seen it? One day I
had a chance to touch it (it had slipped out thru the slash in the front of
the pajamas) and I felt funny inside when it expanded in my hand and the
tips of my thumb and index finger could not touch each other due to the
large, hard, throbbing meat encased inside them. He woke up and asked me
why I had done that, since a man should never touch another man's penis,
and went to the bathroom quickly.

In other occasions I tried to feel it with my buns when I sat on his lap
while he talked to my dad. He would pat my legs and pretend his legs were a
little horse for me. I would "accidentally" loose my balance and my hands
had to grab somewhere to keep me from falling. Guess where they landed?
Once again, nothing happened because my father was there and he would
always pretend he was not getting my meaning.

But he surely was getting my meaning. The way he began to act when we were
alone told me that he was intrigued by my actions and something else. For
some reason he not only allowed me to go on with my games, but also began
to respond to them in his own way, always careful, but more relaxed and
with some reciprocity. He did not come straightforward and showed me his
intentions, but he rather let me be in control of the situation in case
something went wrong and he had to explain things.

And I can write here a number of times I tried to show him I wanted more
than I even comprehended it myself. If I were questioned why I was doing
that, I would have had no response. At least, not in words! But, if one
could, somehow, study my behavior and my metabolism, one would conclude
that I was horny, that I was sexually aroused and that the only way to have
that fixed was by having sex, just like everybody else. Teenagers,
obviously, don't know how to put in words what they feel, but they
certainly go thru the same sensations grownups experience. Even more acute,
I would say. Therefore, there I was stalking my much older hunk of a
neighbor, trying to corner him and get what my body wanted, even though my
mind didn't. And he was willing to play the game with me, although he was
scared too, I must add.

He was taking a shower and I found out that the door was unlocked. I told
him that I really had to pee, to which he simply nodded and kept lathering
his hairy body, not really bothering with my presence. He told me to leave
after I finished peeing, but he kept squeezing his cock while talking to
me. I asked if I could help him, but he said `no` and made me leave, still
rubbing his balls.

I kept an eye on him every time he spent his weekends mowing, raking and
fixing something in his backyard. I learned that sooner or later he always
used the outside bathroom and in the first opportunity I got I went quickly
after him when I realized he was heading for the john. He didn't even close
the door since there was nobody else around, not even his wife, who must
have been somewhere else. He was leaning forward, legs spread, both hands
on the wall and his cock was pouring a strong jet of yellow, pungent piss
into the white porcelain. He looked at me, sighed and shook his head as if
accepting the fact that there was nothing he could do, and returned his
eyes to his cock. I could not resist the urge that took my body, so I gave
one step forward and quickly encircled as much of the girth of his cock as
I could and held it for him, feeling the flow of his urine running thru my
fingers. After a while he told me to let it go and pulled his cock from my
hand and tucked it away. He had enjoyed it too because I felt it start to
inflate in my hand, but, I think he was still afraid of the consequences.

After many other situations like these ones he finally decided to question
me what I had in mind, why I was trying to embarrass him. I simply told him
that I wanted to see him naked and touch his cock. He asked me if I was
conscious of the gravity of what I wanted and tried to dissuade me from
doing that, but I told him that I wouldn't and that all he had to do was to
allow me jerk him off and hold his cock when pissing. He was calculating in
his mind. In my inexperience I had no idea of the implications here, I
didn't know, for example, that a man, once he has his cock well worked, he
hardly stop until it is soft again; and, sometimes, that only happens after
the man has gotten it deeply buried in a wet, tight, hot hole. He said that
he was not sure if he would comply, but he also didn't say no. And I kept
stalking him.

Looking back I can understand his fear, after all, I was the son of his
best friend, who would kill him if he was caught abusing the boy, an
underage little boy. I spent more time in his house now and aunt Dora
seemed to like the idea cause she kept feeding me good portions of
cake. But, what she didn't know was that I was after her husband, the only
person I knew who could help me put out the fire I was carrying around. The
man who filled my mind, my dreams, my awaken moments and my jerking off
sessions! By that time I was jerking off at least two times a day. I didn't
have much spunk yet, but I was full of hormones. I knew exactly what I
liked in sex and it, definitely, was not pussies. I had fingered myself and
that brought me memorable orgasms, but there was something missing. I
needed the touch of another body against mine, holding me, caressing me,
making me hot until I came and my body felt relaxed, drained.

When we were alone now the neighbor didn't act as if he was scared
anymore. He was growing confident by the day and now he even provoked me,
although he was not ready for something more consistent yet. But he surely
allowed himself some more intimacy with me. I think the idea of having his
fucker getting some fun wasn't completely out of his mind. He never took
the initiative himself, though, but when we watched TV together I always
put my hand on his leg and I would always wind up squeezing his cock, which
now, he would allow to grow and twitch in his pants, or shorts. I liked it
most when he wore those loose shorts of his, with nothing underneath, that
would reveal his heavy balls when he spread his legs apart, making it seem
like a natural move, not intended to tease me.

"We shouldn't be doing this, boy!" He'd say. "Why not? You want it, too",
I'd remark. "You're too bold and too confident, aren't you? But I assure
you that you are messing with wasps here... and that can really hurt!" But
he'd recline in the couch, hands behind his head, and spread his legs,
causing the bulge to look bigger; but he never let me have it out of his
pants. Aunt Dora was always around, therefore, that was all we
did. Sometimes he would get so excited, after allowing me to squeeze and
rub his cock to the point of having large wet spots appearing on his pants,
that he'd run to the bathroom and take care of it himself. When I asked
what he did he told me that he had jerked off so that he could concentrate
in watching TV.

One evening, his wife was not feeling well and she went to bed earlier with
a terrible headache. We began to play (he was wearing one of his shorts)
and I simply inserted my hand thru the leg opening and grabbed his hard
mast. He moaned and I began to jerk him off slowly. He was aroused and
ready for something, but still fought against the urge to simply give up
and take me. He got up and said that he had go to the bathroom. I asked him
to let me help him. He paused for a moment and said OK, and after checking
if his wife was asleep, he guided me to the bathroom downstairs. He closed
the door and the room was silent. Just him and me! He wouldn't look
directly at me but I could clearly make out his gaze, and I went for his
cock. I touched him and squeezed him all over. He lowered his shorts and
exposed his hose that had lost its hardness but was beginning to show some
sign of life again. He just stood there as I began to pull on his manmeat
and it started to inflate again. It continued to twitch and fill until it
was sticking straight out, large and heavy and almost touching the wall. He
was shaking as I looked up at him. He looked down and our eyes met, then he
returned his gaze to his erection. Then I moved my eyes back at his
member. I swallowed hard and looked at his cock and, then, my hand began to
caress the heavy shaft of his rod. His breath hissed out from between his
teeth as I encircled as much of the girth as I could and stroked it up and
down a few times. To have a better view, and a better grip, I stepped
closer to him, sat on the commode in front of him, my eyes at his crotch
level, and settled into a steady jerking rhythm. He was so close that I
could smell that so peculiar scent of cock and precum. It happened so
quickly that we didn't have time to really enjoy it properly. My hand moved
rapidly over his hardon, I felt his breathing change and instinctively sped
up my strokes. He grunted something, leaned forward and placed his hands on
the wall above my head, as his juice squirted heavily onto my face,
splashing everywhere from may hair to my eyes, nose, mouth and neck. He
gasped deeply and his body shook as I finished him off, not caring with his
tick, warm cum running slowly down my face. It had all taken only a few
minutes. I released his softening cock, my hand slimy, and left it hanging
there. I did not know exactly what to do. He was looking down on me, and I
looked at him and smiled naturally. In this moment one gobble of his spunk
simply slid over my parted lips and I flicked my tongue out and ate it.

"Do you like? I mean, the taste?" "Yes", I said, still digesting his
cum. He used some toilet paper to wipe my face and hair and we left the
bathroom. Images of his body shaking, his belly trembling at each spurt
still danced in my mind. He was tremendously relieved and we said
goodbye. He said he would sleep better and told me that I was not supposed
to talk to anybody about what we had done. I asked him if he would let me
do it again for him and he said yes, reluctantly, some of his fears
resurfacing again. But, as he was opening the door to me, he squeezed my
ass, indicating that there was more to come.