Date: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 20:44:14 +0100
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Pretend I'm Asleep

PRETEND I'M ASLEEP
By Zachyboy
M/b, oral, anal

The following story is a work of fiction and contains sexual situations
between an adult man and his underage son. If this material is illegal
where you live or you find it objectionable, please leave now.

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# # # # # # # # # #

My son and I, we play a game. "Pretend I'm Asleep." It's a game he
invented, and he makes all the rules. He's 10, my son. Philip James is his
given name, or Filip Jimmy, as he wrote it when he was little. Which we
turned into nickname. Which we turned into Fiji.

It started three months ago, when Fiji was 9.

I tucked him in, he closed his eyes, he giggled and said, "Pretend I'm
asleep, Daddy. Pretend I'm asleep."

"Okay, Fiji," I said with a shrug. "You're asleep, little angel. You're
asleep, little boy. Now what?"

He giggled again. "Now you can kiss me."

So I leaned over his bunk bed, little two-story cuddle castle of Cars on
the bottom and Mickey Mouse on top. Buzz and Woody watching my
waist. Mickey and Pluto smiling at my head. And I kissed him on the
forehead and he giggled and reached up with his too-tiny hands and grabbed
me around my neck and pulled me down to his rosy-red lips of sweet
bubblegum toothpaste and kissed me back happily.

"I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, Fiji. Sleep good, little prince."

And that's how it started, this curious little game of his called "Pretend
I'm Asleep." And quickly, he became much more insistent that I follow the
rules. Even the lightest attempts at conversation or guidance were met with
petulant pouts and rolled-over shut-outs.

"Daddy, you're not pretending," he'd say sadly, and he'd roll over away
from me, and that was the end of the game for the night.

So the first week, as much as I could, I followed instructions and kept to
my role, and every time I took Fiji up to bed, he'd squeeze his eyes
tightly, and giggle and whisper, "pretend I'm asleep," and that's exactly
what I'd do. I'd wait for a moment. Kiss his tousled forehead, kiss his
creamy cheeks, his button-perfect nose. And sometimes if I dared, his
pretty-red lips.

I could almost tell when he wanted his lips kissed. He'd lick them first,
and smile in his "sleep." That was my signal that Fiji wanted lip
kissing. Just chaste ones through; that's all I delivered. Though my cock
was stirring when his little tongue darted out to lick his lips and give me
the signal, I kept my kisses pure. I wanted more. Of course I did. But I
foolishly believed at that point that perhaps he didn't. Perhaps I should
remain reserved and in control. French kiss their little boys? That's not
what daddies do.

So chaste I remained. Just chaste, short kisses.

And after the first morning, at breakfast, at wakeup, "Fiji," I asked
him. "Do you like that, my Fiji? Playing kissing games with Daddy?"

"I don't know what you mean, Daddy," he smiled at me innocently. "I was
just sleeping. I was fast asleep. I don't know what you do to me while I'm
sleeping."

Fiji giggled and he ran off to play.

And this, my friends, went on for a week.

# # # # # # # # # #

By the second week, Fiji had enough of chaste kisses.

We were walking up the stairway, his pretty flannel pajamas swaying softly
as he walked in front of me, his slender legs and bubble-soft boy butt an
absolute treasure when he said to me, three steps behind, "Kiss me harder
tonight, Daddy. Harder and longer. Like they do in the movies."

My mind did dances and my heart skipped beats.

"Fiji," I said softly. "Daddies don't kiss their boys like that. It's not
proper. It's not..."

"Shhh!" Fiji ordered, turning around on the stairs, fingers to his lips,
giving me a giggle and giving me a glare. "You don't make the rules in this
game, Daddy. I do. And I say, kiss me harder."

And with that, the scamp was up the stairs and into his bed before my
racing mind could catch up with the orders.

I peeked my head around his doorway before entering. He was already tucked
in.

"Fiji," I started fruitlessly...

"Shhh," he giggled. "Pretend I'm asleep."

I knew better than to argue with that. And frankly, in for a penny, in for
a pound. I'd already been following his orders for more than a week. I
might as well see where the next level led us. My cock was leading me. It
had been a long time.

Eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling with deep lovely boy
breath, I lowered to my knees, and a bit like praying, I leaned forward to
touch my lips against his. Sweet, savory prayer.

His little mouth was warm and wonderful. My senses again were overwhelmed
by the sweetness of bubblegum toothpaste, his sweet breath blowing from his
nose and lips and onto my mouth, hungry and closed. Slowly, with my tongue,
I licked lightly across his lower lip. He made no movement. Not a stir. Not
a flutter. Sighing baby-soft boy. Still "asleep."

I did it again. And again. And a third. Teasing him lightly and closing
with a hope.

A lick. A try. My tongue sliding between his lips. Actually feeling his
shiny clean teeth. His sweet lower gum. Sweetly prying into his "sleeping"
mouth. My cock already hard. Begging his boy tongue to "wake up" and join
me.

And then like a springtime miracle, it did. Still "asleep," my beautiful
boy opened his mouth, just ever-so slightly and let my tongue slide in to
meet his. I licked it softly, enjoying the feel of the inside of his
mouth. The heat of his cavern. The sweetness of his saliva. And then, more
miracles, his tongue kissed back. Involuntarily, I made a soft sound. A
high, gasped whimper. A hunger for him.

And tentatively at first, he kissed me back. Just shy. Unknowing. And then
realizing he had turned my softness into a quiet whimpering hunger, he
kissed me with passion. With boy-happy completeness. With a firm, steady
knowingness a boy comes to master.

And God, it was exquisite. I wanted it to last forever and knew it quite
likely could, as long as I followed the rules of the game. The minute I
spoke, this magic would be over. Like enchantment ruined by speaking a
counterspell, all I'd have to do is say, "Fiji, I love you," or "Fiji,
you're beautiful," and I knew what would happen. He'd roll over sullenly,
his little arm crossed. "Daddy," he'd whine, "you're not pretending." And
then I'd be done. The clock would run out. And there'd be no more tries
until the next night.

So this kiss, this heaven, this lingering moment of illicit mad perfection,
I did not ruin it with questions or comments. I just surrendered myself
into it, kissing him hungrily. Whimpering, lost in the beauty of it all. He
did not make sounds. He did not whimper back. The sounds and the whimpers
were all mine. But the hunger we shared. I could tell by the way his little
tongue darted and wrestled and spilled its sweet saliva against my own, the
hunger for each other was something we shared.

Growing more daring, I ran my arms under his small frame. Let them rest
underneath his back. And, lifting, I pulled him forward. Lifted his torso
up from the pillow and continued to kiss him. He laid loose in my arms like
gentle, weightless rag doll. But he continued to kiss me. And when I pulled
him up and into my mouth, then I did hear him whimper. Then I did feel him
shudder.

He quickly recovered and went back to his "sleeping," but for that one
brief moment when I surprised him with my power, he did not seem asleep. He
did not play pretend. He whimpered completely and shuddered in my gripping
warmth; the hungry-soft sound of a little boy waking, and embraced by a
man.

This went on for another week.

# # # # # # # # # #

Up the stairway that next night at bedtime, Fiji once again turned to me to
smile and make his new demands.

"You can touch me, Daddy," he smiled and he giggled. "Not just lift my
shoulders up, but touch me wherever you want to."

"Fiji," I cautioned. "I think we should talk about this."

"I can't talk, Daddy," he giggled and wiggled. "I'm already sleeping!"

And with that, he ran up the stairs, shaking his boy butt at me. "Wagging
his tail behind him," the thought came into my mind.

When Fiji's mother died when he was five-years-old, when we came on the
plane to America from France, we brought a book of nursery rhymes, and I
read it to Fiji to help him with his English.

"Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep. She doesn't know where to find them," I
read out loud.

"Leave them alone, and they'll come home," Fiji read back to me, bright
eyes dancing off the page and sparkling in the dark of the window as the
plane lifted skyward, "wagging their tails behind them." And he giggled at
the sweet simplicity of it. How silly sheep are to come back home for
nothing. For kindness. For want.

And later when we landed in Los Angeles, our new home, he grabbed his
backpack and flung it around his shoulders, shaking his pretty little
bottom at me as we walked down the aisle and disembarked from the plane.

"Look, Daddy," he giggled, looking over his shoulder and shaking all that
prettiness at me. "I'm wagging my tail behind me!"

"You certainly are," I smiled. And the flight attendant in front of us
smiled at us too.

And now as Fiji scampered up the stairs already assuring me he was "already
asleep," that's what I thought of as he shook his sweet bottom:

"You can touch me, Daddy. Touch me anywhere you want to."

And he scampered off.  10 and alluring. Boy bottom wiggling. Enticing and
lovely.

Wagging his tail behind him.

# # # # # # # # # #

At first I just touched his titties. Sweet little boy breasts, I ran my
arms under his pretty flannel pajama top and rubbed his chest, his skinny
boyish pecs. His dime-sized nipples became erect at my touch. A flutter of
my fingertip and they grew to tiny dots.  Beautiful pinheads I could see in
the moonlight as I unbuttoned his pajama top and admired myself stroking
him. His breathing grew shallow and I rubbed on his tummy. Rubbed on his
titties. Ran the bigness of my hand up the littleness of his torso. Sweet
copper baby titties on a creamy peach chest. His breath rising and falling
in short delighted gasps, sometimes tickled, sometimes in rapture. His hard
little cock made a spike in his bottoms. I could see it growing. I could
see it poking out like a boynail inviting me, but I didn't touch it
yet. Not that first night.

The second night, I rubbed on his titties. I rubbed on his tummy. And I ran
my hand down the front of his pajama pants. He gasped when I did it. He
shivered and jumped as my fingertips stretched through the elastic to rest
on his bare pubis. I let them lay there as I kissed him and I went no
further. He pushed up against my fingertips wanting more. Wanting
lower. But I was happy to tease him. Happy to restrain. If Fiji could tease
me, then I could tease Fiji too. He desperately wanted his boy cock
fondled, but he would have to wait, or wake up and ask. Daddy could tease
Fiji too.

I walked away that night smelling deeply of my fingertips. They smelled
like clove and graham crackers from resting on his warm and tender
pubis. Deeply of clove and the scent of a boy. Standing in the bathroom
with the door shut, I smelled my fingers and stroked my cock rapidly,
cumming in the sink on the tenth stroke of my hand, so strong was my lust
for Fiji's tiny cocklet.

The third night, I touched him everywhere. I touched his titties. I rubbed
on his tummy. I ran my hand down the back of his jammies and squeezed both
his butt cheeks which made him arch his head back and moan in spite of his
game. And then when I could stand it no more, I reached down the front of
his pajama pants and rested my hand over the raging hardness of his little
boy bone.

A little boy's cock could be no harder! It was firm as a tiny steel
pole. No bigger than the size of my thumb, but rock hard and eagerly
pressing against me. So tiny and hard. So hot and straining. I rubbed it. I
pressed against it. I kissed my son. I felt him buck up against me, and
suddenly he was shuddering, gasping, cumming, pushing up. One tiny drop of
semen. One tiny squirt of stickiness. I rubbed him, He shuddered. He still
kept his eyes closed.

I kissed him. I pushed my tongue as deep inside his mouth as I could. I
brought my sticky finger up to my mouth and licked the sticky cum. It was
sweet like corn syrup. Like powdered sugar and honeycomb, this first sweet
taste of Fiji.

After his boy cum, he smiled and sighed. Eyes still closed. Chest rising
rapidly.

I took out my cock. I held it over his face. I stroked it at his mouth. He
felt the tip but did not open his lips. I saw him tensing. Excited and
scared. Knowing what I was about to do, by the feel of my cock at the
entrance to his mouth. By the smell of my cock as it ran across his lips
and under his nose.

I grunted and came on him in a torrent of desire. My thick ropes of cum
shot out over his mouth and into his nose and over his cheeks and Fiji just
gasped. Eyes closed and pretending to be asleep, he gasped and he shuddered
and his hands grasped the sheets. He did nothing after that. Just laid
there "in sleep." I looked at the sexy sight of him, dripping with my
semen, his face painted white with the streaks of my need. The strength of
my release.

I backed away slowly. I stood in his doorway, just in the shadows and
watched. Out of his sight, I saw what he did, unaware I was still watching
him.

As soon as I left, his tongue darted out, and he swallowed the seed that
had painted his lips. He swallowed and moaned. He reached up with one hand,
and swiped a large load of cum from his cheek and his chin and he ate that
too. He moaned some more. His hand went down to the front of his pajama
pants and he began beating his cocklet, already hard again, masturbating
himself as he lapped up my cum.

I saw him wipe a strand from his eyelid, wet his finger with it, and that
hand went down his pajama pants too. Only that finger strained to find his
asshole. With one hand, he clumsily masturbated. With the other, he tried
eagerly to push his cum coated finger into his tiny sweet asshole.

Jacking and fingering himself, as I stood in my doorway and listened to him
whimper. Sweet little puppy sounds of fingerfuck love.

I came on his face. He ate it. He fingered it. And now he was jacking
himself and trying to put my sperm in his bottom. He was hungry, my boy. My
Fiji. My angel.

This went on for another week.

# # # # # # # # # #

"You can kiss me anywhere, Daddy," he said on the stairway. "Kiss me and
lick me. Wherever you want. Even on the naughty parts."

"Fiji," I said, knowing my role by now. "Don't you think we should consider
this, Fjji?"

"Quiet!" he giggled. "I'm already asleep. And I'm running upstairs."

That he was, as I watched his sweet ass shake my cock into wakefulness.

"And I'm wagging my tail behind me," he giggled, giving it a solid shake in
my direction.

"If you're not careful, I'll lick that tail, Fiji."

"I can't hear you, Daddy," he giggled as he shook it. "I'm already
sleeping."

# # # # # # # # # #

The taste and smell of a young boy's cock are a marvel to behold. My face
pressed in to his hairless groin as I ate his cock that night, my mouth and
my moans enveloping his boyhood were one of the greatest miracles of my
life. That first God grateful moment when Fiji's cock went into my mouth, a
million tastes exploding on my tongue. There was cinnamon and maple syrup
and fresh cherries and salt. There was clove and pee and the light taste of
graham crackers under his tiny little ball sack. He pretended he was
sleeping but lost his resolve in spite of himself, and when cumming,
grabbed my head as hard as he could and pulled me down into him, fiercely
toward his cock, and jutted his hips up like a bull in mating season,
firing his two tiny drops of boycum into my eager, sucking mouth. It was
exquisite tasting Fiji's nectar straight from the tap. I wet one finger and
stuck it up his asshole while he came in my mouth. And he gasped and pushed
again harder.

Then hungry as hell, I flipped him over, still "sleeping," my Fiji, and I
pulled his pajama bottoms the rest of the way down, and growling like a
starving bear, I spread his creamy butt cheeks and buried my mouth in his
crack, licking and gobbling and tonguing his tight cherry starfish like a
man's last meal.

And God in heaven, the taste of his ass! It was copper and brown
sugar. Vinegar and dandelion stems. Pepper and licorice. All those flavors
danced across my taste buds as I ate his gripping anus, his hole nibbling
back to me, his body writing on the bed, his eyes still shut but his young
body in the throes of gasping pleasure at the way I made him feel. Game or
no game, there was no way he could lay still as I inhaled the ass of Fiji
from my nose, from my tongue, from my mouth.

"I don't care if you wake up," I whispered like a mad man.

I pulled him out of the bed. Down to the floor. Ass still exposed and
gleaming in the moonlight.

I straddled his crack. I spread it open with my fingertips. I spit on his
hole. He shuddered. He moaned.

I rubbed my cockhead twice against his boyhole and just barely slipped the
tip inside.

I ejaculated immediately!

"Oh GOD!! NGGGGGH!!!!" I shouted, pressing forward and hearing an audible
gasp from Fiji as my cockhead shot through his first slippery sphincter and
I filled his ass with my copious jizz, just the tip squirting firehose
heavy inside of him, locking in and making contact, firing my seed into
just the very tip of his tight rectal tube.

"Nnngh, ngggh," he said, making little gasps as my cum pumped into him.

"Oh Fiji," I whispered. "So good, so tight, little Fiji."

He sighed. He went limp. My cum oozed back out around my sticky, sparkling
cock tip. It felt so good.

"Oh Fiji," I grunted. "Oh baby, oh baby..."

"Shhh," he insisted. Even after this, he still wanted fiction.

I didn't know why. Perhaps it was easier on him this way. To pretend this
wasn't really happening to him.

But I didn't know why. I just loved him so much.

"Pretend I'm asleep, Daddy," he said to me in the tiniest whisper. "Put me
back to bed and pretend I'm asleep."

I respected his need for this game. Cum still dripping from the tight-tippy
seal of his anus, I let him have his neccessary fiction.

I picked him up. Left his pajama pants off. Carried him back up to his bed,
my cum bubbling out of the tightness of his anal tip.

I leaned down. Swiped it from his asshole with my mouth and tongue. Felt it
dance across my tastebuds, thick and salty.

I hadn't deep-fucked him yet, no. But I had cum in his ass.

My Fiji, my son.

I had filled him with my baby seed.

I hadn't fucked him yet, properly. But I had seeded him, yes.

I had put my cock to the tip of his anal opening, and made a seal and shot
my love into him.

Not a full fuck, but an ass and a moment I could still taste and smell on
the tip of my dick when I jacked off that night in my own bed, reliving it
and wanting it again.

I had marked the tight seal of the tip of his ass forever and made it
mine. I wanted so much more, but this would do for now.

I wanted to be gentle. I didn't want to hurt him or scare him.

This went on for another whole week.

# # # # # # # # # #

How old does a boy have to be before a man's big penis can slide into him
completely?

This I struggled with for the rest of the week, just barely sticking my tip
in his hole when I needed to finish. Just enough of my cock to fire off
inside him, but not enough to take him deeply, to rut him, to fuck him.

And Fiji grew impatient with this game. My restraint as usual, annoyed
him. Egged him on.

This time he did not say something simple like "Daddy, fuck me harder" as
we walked up the staircase.

This time I found him already upstairs, pretending to be asleep, with an
open container of Vaseline on his bedside table.

He had left it out for me, the little scamp.

Not just left it out, but took the cap off. Prepared it for me.

Telling me, in no uncertain terms, he wanted me to fuck him.

Fuck him deeply and all the way in.

"Can I have a glass of water, Daddy?" he whispered through his sleepy
eyes. "I just need some water tonight before you fuck me."

"Fiji," I said softly, and this time the concern was real. It wasn't a
game. "I think we should slow down. I could hurt you if I go deep. I could
make you feel hurt down there, Fiji, my angel."

"Shhhh," Fiji said, looking up and smiling at me. "Just some water,
Daddy. And don't talk anymore. Pretend I'm asleep."

# # # # # # # # # #

I turned around slowly and left his room, navigating the hallway in the
dark and slinking slowly down the carpeted stairs, almost in shame,
definitely in heat, knowing full-well what a frustrating dichotomy of lust
and logic he was creating inside me.

How old does a boy have to be before a man's big penis can slide into him
completely? I asked myself again. I had no answer.

Because by this point, it wasn't even a question of IF I was going to fuck
him, at this point it was just a question of HOW I was going to fuck
him. Would he be too little? Would I hurt him if I went too fast? Or to
deep? Or did it too long?

Faster? Slower? Deeper? Shallower? Do I enter him a little at a time and
try to be gentle, or all at once like ripping a Band-Aid off his virginity?
What was the protocol for father-fucking-Fiji? Because it was no matter a
question of "if." Now it was just a question of "how."

I was going downstairs to get him a glass of water. Ostensibly, my
friend. Ostensibly.

Because I knew full well when I came back up, his pajamas would be down and
his knee would be cocked up, exposing his rosebud, and there'd be Vaseline
on the table with the cap popped open, and as I laid there looking at his
begging little boyhole, he'd be pretending to be asleep.

And as long as I respected his sweet, aching mythology, I knew what the
Vaseline meant. We both knew what it meant. It meant permission from
Fiji. The need to have more.

For a minute coming back up with that full glass of water I knew he
wouldn't drink, I paused on the bottom step and actually whispered out loud
to myself, "no this is wrong." But I knew I was going upstairs to fuck his
whole ass anyway.

My brain told me otherwise, but my hard cock and every other wild, longing
atom in my body was telling me that's exactly what was going to
happen. WIth horny near-delirium that bordered on resignation, I climbed
the stairs that one last time, knowing I was going upstairs to finally fuck
my son.

That he wanted me, and urged it to happen. My good boy. My brave boy

My Fiji. My angel.

# # # # # # # # # #

My arms around his naked chest, his pajamas tangled at the foot of the bed,
I spooned him gently and I entered him from behind, a position that allowed
him to control the depth and speed and the firmness of my grease-slick
penetration.

His eyes still tightly closed, "pretend I'm sleeping," we worked quietly
together as my penis pushed forward and mounted his sweet rectum fully and
deeply for the very first time.

He groaned and he whimpered.

"Fiji," I whispered, but he said not a word. I knew the rules. I knew the
game.

So quietly, with no talk, no rule-breaking, I began to gently fuck him.

There are times in our lives I think no one can explain. No words can
prepare us. No stories read on a quiet night with our cocks in our hands
could ever make us ready for the sweet, gentle sounds a boy makes as you
fill his childhood with your cock and your conquest. It is a sweet
acquiescence and a trusting violation of everything he yearns to be for
you. And everything you hope you can be for him. It is poetry, this
fucking. Impossible to paint it. Impossible to draw you the right
picture. Impossible to explain the love in my soul as I fucked into Fiji
that very first time and made him my everything.

There were no words as my glistening cock slid in and out. Deep and
serene. Forceful and deep. I heard him breathing, maintaining his fiction,
but clearly overwhelmed with the fullness. With the act and my
hardness. With the thought that the same hard cock that created his life
was now filling him to his heart, to his soul, to his throat, to everything
he'd ever been with my desperate need for only him.

He cooed and I fucked him. He moaned and I fucked him. He shook violently
and let loose his own groaning wet babycum and I fucked him even more.

"That's it, Fiji," I grunted in his ear. "Come for me, baby. Cum for your
Daddy."

He shook and he shuddered and he came as I fucked him.

I grabbed his chest and I pulled him to me, and I licked the back of his
neck and I shook and I shuddered and I whispered in his ear that the time
was now. Now it was Daddy's turn to erupt in his tummy. To fill the hot
bedroom smell of his sweet open ass with the heat of my semen.

I grunted. I moaned. I growled in his ear.

"Here is my cum, my Fiji, my angel.

My cock pistoned in and out of his shaking body.

"Let me cum in your body, my baby, my boy. Let me give you this gift. Let
me put it inside you!"

And grasping and shaking with one final heave...

"NNNNGGGHHHHH...MY FIJI...Oh GOD...!!!"

I pressed forward and erupted so deeply inside of his shaking, quivering
body I thought we both might pass out from the joy!

His ass spasmed around my cock and he was shaking and making soft,
whimpering puppy noises.

I fucked into him hard. My cock twitched and poured copiously into his
chamber.

I was beyond speech. Beyond articulation. I hugged him tightly to me and
kissed the back of his sweaty neck and came deeply inside him.

I heard a sob, and it was mine. I sobbed because I loved him. The
overwhelming completion of this nearness. This finish. This final, fuckable
perfection. I heard him hold back a sob of his own. A weep and a whimper
from the overwhelming love of it. He was not sad. Just completed. There
were tears running gently from his soft pretending eyes. And a smile on his
lips. I wiped the tears and I tasted them away. Took them into my mouth and
I licked them and I tasted them. I caught them on my finger and I brought
them to my mouth and I swallowed his happiness.

"I love you, Fiji," I whispered in his ear. He said nothing back but
pressed back against me. Sighed. Pressed his ass even farther back on my
softening, twitching cock. His anal muscles squeezed, trying to gobble out
one final drop of me. He sighed and grasped my cock with his ass and
weeping, let me taste his tears again.

"You are so beautiful," I whispered to him reassuringly. "I will love you
like this forever, Fiji. No matter how old you grow. No matter how soon you
grow up on me, I will hold you like this and I will love you, and treat you
like my prince, my perfect boy, every single night."

"I will love you forever, my Fiji, my Angel. This I promise you. This I
swear."

And I do love him that way. I did and I do, and I always, always will.

# # # # # # # # # #

Epilogue.

That was three months ago. And now Fiji was ten.

And this went on for another three months.

But tonight up the stairway, it was my turn for rules.

"Fiji," I asked him simply. "I've played your game. I've done everything
you wanted, haven't I, Fiji?"

"Yes, Daddy," he giggled so sweetly. "Pretend I'm asleep! You play it so
well. I love how you play it, Daddy. Especially now."

"I love it too, Fiji. We play all the right things."

He giggled. And wiggled. And started to blush.

"Do you think, little Fiji, we can play a new game tonight? A game just for
Daddy?"

His eyes grew wide. He nodded his head.

"We've already played "Pretend I'm Asleep." Tonight, little Fiji, tonight,
pretty boy. Let's play a new game, Fiji. Let's play a game just for Daddy."

He looked at me waiting. His eyes, they looked eager.

"This is a new game," I told him. "Pretend You're Awake."

He smiled and he nodded. Looked right in my eyes.

"Okay, Daddy," he said with a grin. "Let's pretend I'm awake."

And he ran up the stairs, my Fiji, my Angel.

Wagging his tail behind him.

# # # # # # # # # #

Peace, friends,
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com

As Zachyboy
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/james-at-nine
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/i-finally-danced
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/please-mike-just-try
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/swallowed-and-loved

As David Lemmaire
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/dariens-tears/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/growth-spurts
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/loving-andy/

Thanks for all your kind email.