Date: Wed, 22 Jul 2015 12:48:06 +0800
From: Anon
Subject: The Scavenger Boy (gay, adult-youth, interracial)

THE SCAVENGER BOY

  I was in Burma for about two months, in a consultative capacity for an
aid project. I had a sparsely furnished flat in the capital. I was very
busy, and even though I had experience with a couple of charming rent boys
in Thailand, I met nothing comparable in Burma. But I did find Burmese boys
to be some of the comeliest I had ever seen, and so many different types.
And the lungyi, the Burmese loincloth or sarong, had to be the most erotic
garment on the planet. A generous tube of cloth that reached the feet was
fastened round the waist and tied in a knot at the front. The result was a
most graceful garment with folds of cloth in front ensuring absolute
modesty, wrapped tight round the buttocks. At that time, no one wore
underpants under the lungyi, so the thin material wrapped itself tightly
and revealingly round the boys' bare buttocks, revealing the exact size of
his buttocks, the divide between them, where they met his thighs, how they
rocked as he walked, and when he bent over, you could see his buttocks
flare. When doing manual work or swimming, they would gather the material
in front, twist it, and then pull it back between their thighs behind, and
up between their buttocks, to tuck it into the waist behind. This left
their entire legs bare, right up to the upper thigh: bare, alluring,
hairless thighs. Heart-warm ¬ing smiles, and boys of all ages would touch
your arm, touch your knee and your thigh, they would even rub as they
talked to you, but it was innocent like children, devoid of eroticism. I
suspect that was ultimately what made them so lovely. Some of the boys were
so gorgeous and charming and sweet, it was close to impossible to see them
in a sexual light.
  Every morning, I'd have breakfast at a tea shop near my office, sitting
on little plastic stools, drinking the sweet tea and eating the deep-fried
sticks of dough. The small dark boy who served the tea looked as if butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth. Yet a couple of times when I left the office
late, I saw him with his chums inside the empty shop, slamming greasy cards
on the table like a pro, puffing on a Burmese cheroot, loud and coarse like
a navvy. No doubt, within years, he'd be a betel nut addict, spitting out
endless gobs of blood-red saliva.
  On Saturdays and Sundays, I'd have breakfast elsewhere, near my flat, or
near the market where I'd go on Saturdays. At various times during the day,
I'd also take tea breaks at one of the ubiquitous tea shops wherever I was.
About ten days before I was due to leave, I had come home early, and was
having tea in the evening, at that special hour when the teashops are
largely empty, because most people are having dinner, later to re-appear. I
took a corner table, and just behind me was a pile of old furniture and
cardboard boxes, obviously waiting to be picked up. As I sat there smoking
my cheroot, a young boy appeared, with a white plastic sack over his
shoulder, toffee golden skin. A scavenger. His hair was dyed. Many mothers
in Burma dye their sons' black hair blond, and it turns out sort of orangey
brown. This one sees throughout Asia: people with dark brown eyes, black
eyebrows, and orangey brown hair, more or less blond. Mothers in Burma will
also varnish some of their sons' fingernails, but it doesn't `mean'
anything. It's just decorating their little darling. And when the boys
spend their obligatory period at the local monastery as novices, they are
brought to the monastery supposedly dressed up as princes, with red lips
and make up, looking quite grotesquely like young girls. But that is not
the local perception; the local perception is that they resemble ‬The
Buddha when he was a young prince about to go forth, with ear-rings and the
works.
  My young scavenger's face was smeared with the white paste that the
Burmese always apply, his lips were red and shiny, but naturally so. He
glanced at me through exquisite slits, but did not smile. And then he
investigated the pile of furniture and cardboard boxes. Doing so, he leaned
over, and exposed his bare buttocks. His oversize boardshorts hung on his
hips, and when he bent over, they slid down. He was going commando. Two
smooth little globes of flesh, globes of innocence. But I caught his dark
slits looking at me from under his arm. Watching me study his cute little
buttocks. And then he smiled. Maybe not so innocent. And he leaned over
further than before, deliberately sticking out his cute little arse. That
was for me. He watched my mouth water and my tongue hang out. I looked
round. Nobody could see, and briefly I cupped his arse with my left hand.
Stroked it. So smooth the golden skin was. One could not compare it to
silk, no, one had to go the other way -- one could only compare the finest,
finest silk to the smooth skin of his exquisite little arse. The skin so
delicate it seemed to caress would be to bruise it.   Never before had I
touched the arse of one so young. And since he had offered his arse to me
in a sexual way, my caress was sexual, so I was aroused. But I caressed him
for only a split second. He emerged from the bin and turned to look at me,
with a wry smile. The little hands so dirty, the shirt dirty but darned. I
could see he was aroused. A generous erection bulged out in front. He
couldn't be that young after all. He groped his own crotch with a disarming
grin. Never before had I been sexually aroused by one so seemingly young.
The brown eyes hiding inside the exquisite slits, the long eye-lashes, the
little mouth with pouting wet lips, and fine white teeth. The little nose
so fine too, and fine little monkey ears, begging to be mouthed. He was
offering himself to me. Then someone spoke, and he turned away to rummage
again in the boxes. I trembled with fear and desire. That night, I
revisited the image and sensation of his little bum and his wry smile.
Tadzio smiled at Aschenbach and Aschenbach was flummoxed.
  I saw the boy again on the following Saturday morning, idling under the
tree outside my block of flats. We had eye contact and both smiled. Then he
ran up to me. Oversize, heavy sandals, the same green oversize boardshorts,
and an oversize orange wife-beater. Standing, he reached my shoulder. He
grabbed my shopping bag. It was quite common for boys to make money
carrying people's shopping, so I let him.
  He spoke no English, and I practically no Burmese. I did not understand
his name, but understood that he was fourteen years old. His size was ten
years old, but his maturity and the bulge he had shown me was more like a
pubescent teenager's. Asian boys so often maintain their childlike size and
even their childlike smiles. Because of the diet and because of the
innocent culture. Even many Thai rent boys have an innocence about them.
Perhaps it is the Buddhist detachment. Being sodomized by strangers doesn't
corrupt the soul, for Buddhists deny the existence of a soul.
  I never had much to buy at the market, but today I bought some cake for
the little man, and Coca-Cola. I was presuming he'd stay for a snack. I
couldn't help looking at his cute bum moving inside his shorts: would he
offer it to me again? I was not happy being aroused so by a boy of that
age. Had he corrupted me? Did I really want to get involved, however cute
he might be?
  Shopping done, and he carrying the big shopping bag in his arms, we
walked back to my flat. I stopped at a café and bought two ice-cream cones.
The horrible cardboardy kind of cones. And quickly I walked up to my flat
on the first floor. He carried my things into the kitchen and I gave him
the ice-cream cones. A face-splitting grin, he wiped his hands on his
shorts, and clean hands grasped the cones, and his little tongue, pink and
wet, licked at the cold white cream. He grinned at me approvingly and I was
consumed with love.
  He leaned against the kitchen counter as he licked away, looking very
pleased, very boyish, and I put the shopping away. Then into the sitting
room, whereto he followed me. I sat on the sofa and he stood beside me,
grinning and licking. I lit a cigarette and he sat on my right thigh.
Looked at me as he bit into the cardboard cone. Crunch. Crunch, crunch, he
rubbed his little knee against my crotch. I was already hard. He kept on
eating and grinning as he rubbed my crotch with his bare knee. I put my
hand round his waist and rubbed his stomach. Smooth, oh, so smooth, and
flat. I moved my hand down into his shorts, there, his dick hard and smooth
as a piece of polished ivory. It filled the hollow of my hand. I slid my
hand down and cupped his balls, so soft. God, I wanted to kiss that smooth
neck, those little ears. He popped the last bit of sticky cone into his
mouth and crunch. There was ice-cream about his lips, and a cardboard
crumb. He licked his lips, and then jumped up and ran into the kitchen.
Like a good boy who didn't rub strange men's crotches with his knee, he
washed his hands and face. Ran back into my lap, drying his hands on his
shorts.
  I'd never done anything like this before, and had no idea what to do, but
he sat there, looking up expectantly, again rubbing my crotch with his
knee. He reached up and put an arm round my neck and stretched forward.
Pressed his lips against mine, breathing heavily. An attempted kiss? We
pecked at each other, and then I pulled away, and brushed his hair back,
and kissed his forehead. And then I leaned down again and pressed my tongue
gently into his mouth. Soft and smooth and warm. Quickly he responded and
we were snogging. I sucked his little tongue and he giggled. His mouth
tasted of ice cream, and his breath was heavy and erratic. I sucked his
little ear and probed his earhole with my tongue. He whined lightly, his
hands exploring my crotch. I nuzzled my face in his hair, and he unzipped
my trousers and slipped his little hand inside, caressing my dick through
my underpants. I was wet with Cowper's fluid. I pulled his arms up and
pulled off his wife-beater. Before he could lower his arms, I pressed my
mouth into his armpit. Smooth, smooth, with only a few hairs, and the smell
of freshly baked bread. I sucked his armpit greedily, and with his free
hand, he rubbed my crotch. He was keen but clearly inexperienced in these
matters. Again we snogged and I undid his boardshorts, pulled the zip down,
past the wet splotch left by his straining dick, and made him stand up.
Down fell his oversize shorts and he stood slight and stark naked before
me, golden and dead serious. His dick stood upright, the foreskin slightly
drawn, exposing the slit of his glans. He was definitely no child.
Well-defined musculature, although he wasn't muscular as such, a triangle
of pubes at the root of his dick. He gasped lightly as I pulled back the
foreskin, his glans shiny with Cowper's fluid. I looked up at this gorgeous
creature and he cocked his head, raised a finger to his lips and smiled, as
if to say: `Am I not lovely?'
  Willingly, he let me pull him towards me, and gasped as I sucked his
glans clean. I looked up at him again. He had his finger fiddling with his
smiling lips. I grasped his little buttocks from behind and proceeded to
fellate him. He whined ever so softly and shifted on his bare feet, and
very soon he tried to pull away. But I held him close and he spurted a few
times into my mouth. I swallowed, sucked on, swallowed, and then he pushed
my shoulders away. He had reached the stage of hyper-sensitivity and I
pulled away. I gulped and licked my lips. He stood before me, panting
lightly, looking at me intently, not sure what to do. His dick glistened
with my spit. I squeezed it, and more sperm appeared, and I sucked his
glans clean again. I was still fully dressed, except for bare feet and an
unzipped fly. I pulled him down onto my lap and he clasped his arms round
my neck and we snogged madly, my hands caressing his cute little buttocks,
rubbing his anus with a finger. Then we sat and studied each other's face
with a smile. He traced a finger round the features of my face and when it
came near my mouth, I sucked it. Then I traced the delicate features of his
little face, and when I traced his lovely lips, he sucked my finger, and we
both tittered and played in this way for quite a while.
  Then he looked down at his erection, grasped it and slowly pulled back
the foreskin. Again Cowper's fluid had formed. He glanced up expectantly. I
made him stand up and he aimed his glans at my mouth. I sucked it clean and
then moved down and sucked his balls and the smooth soft flesh below. Then
I turned him round. Willingly he turned and stuck out his toffee gold brown
bottom. I pressed my face against those divine buns. Spread his legs and
ran my mouth up and down the smooth divide. His little hands parted his two
little buttocks. There, the little pucker that was his anus. No
discoloration at all, the same toffee gold as his buttocks and the rest of
his pretty body. I kissed his anus reverentially. Then I licked it and
probed it with my tongue, and he whined softly and writhed, pulled his
hands away to steady himself on the coffee table before him. I parted his
little cheeks, one hand on either buttock. Pulled slightly, licked his
anus, and pulled again, and licked again, and pulled again, and again and
again, till his anus opened slightly. Pink, smooth, and the heady smell of
boy's arse. I could barely breathe. He began to wobble, so I made him kneel
on the table, knees wide apart, and his head pillowed on his arms on the
table. And I ate out his little arsehole, he swinging his head from side to
side, and my saliva running in almost a stream down onto his little scrotum
and then onto the tiled floor below. His little hands reached back and he
caressed my head as far as he could reach it, tousling my hair, and pushing
my face further into his arse, pushing his arse further into my face.
  His desire fuelled my desire, and I sucked and slurped in a frenzy,
delirious at the intense eroticism of it. Without touching myself in any
way, I had a violent orgasm, driven solely by the smell of his boy's arse,
by the sound of his soft whimpers, by the sensation of his soft and squishy
arsehole against my tongue and lips, and his smooth little buttocks against
my face. I groaned deep in my throat as I came, and rubbed my face up and
down between his little cheeks, smearing my face in my own spit. Then I
just sat there, snogging his little arsehole, marvelling at the beauty of
it all.
  Having gathered my wits about me, I twirled him round and sat him down on
the coffee table. He giggled and bent over to kiss me on the mouth. His
dick glistened with Cowper's fluid, and greedily I sucked and gobbled, slid
a finger underneath in between his buttocks, and he lay back and wrapped
his thighs round my neck. With my long finger, I rubbed his anus, wet and
slippery with my spit, and his knees went up, so his thighs held my head,
and his anus was exposed. I wriggled my fingertip at the entrance for his
pleasure, and probed, but it seemed too tight for sliding my finger inside.
That would require time and gentleness. `Next time', I thought. His thighs
rocked as I slobbered over his dick, and he ran his hands round and round
on my head, dishevelling my hair, and soon he sat up, holding my head, and
spoke softly, as he again spurted his boy semen into my mouth.
  My lovemaking was no longer so frenzied, so I had presence of mind to
keep his créme de garçon in my mouth. Still rubbing his arsehole, I leaned
over and with the other hand opened his mouth. Willingly, he opened wide,
and I let his sperm fall from my mouth into his, and then he grinned. An
enchanting spermy grin, with translucent threads of sperm between his pouty
little lips, between his fine little teeth. And we snogged, our tongues
soapy with his sperm. He, in typical boyish fashion, devoid of scruples.
When I raised my head, a couple of threads of sperm held our lips together,
and we both tittered and rubbed our lips together. He gave an exaggerated
gulp, showed me his emptied mouth, hugged me tight, tight, tight, and then
disengaged himself and ran out into the bathroom.
What a charming lad. I wanted to lie with him in my arms and cuddle for
days, watch his hot little mouth suck on my dick, and watch him swallow my
ejaculate; I wanted to rim him till he whined, and then hear him squeal as
I slid a finger into his tight little rectum; I wanted to watch him smirk
expectantly as he sank down onto my dick, gasping as he slid up and down,
spraying sperm onto my face; I wanted to feel his slender hairless thighs
wrapped round my waist as I rocked in and out of his arse, he sighing at
every thrust; I wanted to drink his warm sweet urine; I wanted to buy him
presents and feed him, see him waiting for me in the street, and then his
face light up at the sight of me; I wanted to feel his soft wet lips on my
ear as he whispered his love for me; I wanted to wake up at night and feel
his arms about my waist, his hair tickling my shoulder, and his soft breath
on my skin. There was only a week to go. Oh God, why hadn't I gone to that
tea shop before? I could have met him weeks ago. We could have been
full-fledged lovers by now. I could've paid for him to go to school, I
could've adopted him, dressed him in the ubiquitous green lungyi and white
shirt. We could've given alms to the monks together. All the missed
opportunities. I had to squeeze them all into one week.
The sound of little footsteps and he returned. Stark naked, fourteen years
old but like a young child. His dick was not a young child's, and still
hard. Grinning, he pulled on his shorts and his wife-beater. Ruffled his
hair dry and then sat on my lap again. Slipped his hand into my still open
fly and squeezed my dick, grinned: `You fuck me.' His first words. You
bloody fuck me. We giggled and I kissed his forehead. His kissed my mouth,
and then grinned again: `Tomorrow.' And then playful eyebrows: `Tomorrow,
you fuck me, please.' And a quick snog and run to the door. I jumped up and
grabbed his arm. Gave him some money. He shook his head. `Never mind, never
mind.' I stuffed it into the hip pocket of his shorts. `Never mind.' He
pulled it out and handed it back. I unbuttoned the pocket on the side,
stuffed the money in, and re-buttoned the pocket. He stretched up on his
toes and kissed me on the mouth, his tongue touching mine, and then he ran
off. I went back inside, collapsed on the sofa, besotted.
  Tomorrow he wanted me to do him up his tight little arse. I'd first rim
him till he went crazy. He probably couldn't fit anymore than my glans
penis in his mouth, but he'd suck it, and run his mouth up and down my
dick, till I was nice and hard, and then what? How would he prefer it? I'd
bathe him first, and he'd bathe me, and we'd snigger and caress each other,
his little hands on my dick. And he'd say, `You fuck me', and he'd say
`Please', and I'd slide in between those two little buns of his, and he'd
be ever so tight and hot, and he'd whine softly with desire. Then he'd lie
back replete, his legs drawn up and wide open, and he'd chortle as semen
seeped out. I'd suck it out of him, and we'd chuckle.
  Tomorrow. There was no tomorrow. I never saw him again. Cruel fate
brought him into my life and then kept him away. What happened? That was
the worse thing. Not knowing. Had someone forbidden him to see me? Had the
sounds of our lovemaking rung through the stairwell? Did all the people
whom I knew, did they all now know? Did they all disapprove? Were their
smiles concealing their disapproval? I did not dare too openly to be
looking for him. But I watched the tree downstairs where he had waited for
me. He never turned up. One day three I saw a scavenger boy near the
office, but he was too big and his hair was black. Like a secret agent
trying to spot his adversaries, my eyes wandered restlessly everywhere,
even on the way to the airport, even at the airport. Pretty boys everywhere
but not my little scavenger boy. I hadn't even thought to take a photograph
of his pretty face. I didn't even know his name.