Date: Sun, 24 Apr 2005 23:13:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Gay Storywriter <gaystorywriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Seed of Life Pt. 1

This story is purely a work of fiction and does contain sexual themes. If
you are underage or it is illegal in your locale to view such things please
do not proceed further. Otherwise I hope you enjoy the story.

The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the express written consent of the author.

Any comments can be addressed to gaystorywriter@yahoo.com. I will endeavor
to reply if possible.


The Seed of Life Pt.1


"I don't know if I can handle this, Vlad"

Ahh, yes. The refrain I've heard so often over the years that I've
seriously considered getting it tattooed on my ass. Not really, but it
would be amusing to explain it to those that might eventually be allowed to
see it. In this particular instance, it had been uttered by a particularly
charming youth of fourteen. The fact that I had to look up into his azure
eyes from my position between his knees, the head of his enticingly erect
penis lodged firmly in my suckling mouth, only made the comment all the
more poignant.

I suppose at this point I should flesh out a little of the back story, as
they say in Hollywood. You see, I'm a teenlover--as opposed to being a
boylover. I know it's a minor distinction, but it's a distinction
nonetheless. I've never really been attracted to any young man who hasn't
at least begun the agony that is puberty and, as such, qualify myself as a
teenlover; as that happy occurrence tends to begin in the teen years.
Nothing can take my breath away quicker, or make my heart beat faster, or
make my cock swell thicker than the sight of a supple teen youth lying
naked upon my bed. In particular, I fancy young men of a smaller stature.
One's that have grown enough pubic hair where it has become impossible to
count how many they have, but still haven't grown the full bush that will
eventually overtake the beautiful smooth sleekness of the lower abdomen.
They may have just a smattering of leg hair that has yet to become coarse
or harsh. They may also enjoy a brush of furriness under the arms, but it
has yet to impede or overpower the delicious aroma that is their boy
scent. And they must be able to ejaculate; that really is the most
important part, after all.

Anyone reading this account will most certainly understand and appreciate
that perfection of youth which I have just described, so I shan't go on and
on about it. Just think back on a young lad that you've loved in the past--
a friend, a classmate, a lover--and remember fondly.

But, I digress; there is the matter of that fetching boy cock in my mouth
and the worried blue eyes gazing down upon me. Did I mention that I have a
particular attraction to young straight boys? Well, no matter. I do, and
that explains why the refrain "I don't know if I can handle this, John" is
part of the lexicon of my life. I've always found it infinitely amusing
that it's usually after I've got their delectable boy parts under the
tutelage of my ravenous tongue that they utter this little nugget of
teenage angst. I, of course, can assuage their fears and concerns in short
order through many years of practice. And truth be told, have always found
their reticence extremely erotic.

The exchange usually goes like this:

"I'm sorry, honey. I would never do anything to make you feel bad about
yourself. It's just that I like you so much, and you're so handsome and
beautiful, and you make me feel so wonderful that I wanted to make you feel
wonderful, as well."

My fingers will lightly begin stroking his inner thigh. Lightly, barely
there, barely felt.

"But, I'm not gay!"

My thumb flicks across the head of the straining member in my hand...a
little squeeze, another little flick, spreading the oozing evidence of
arousal around the tip.

"I know you're not, beautiful. And I don't expect or even want you to do
anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Or be anything other than who
you are: the perfect young boy.  It's just that I care about you so much I
wanted to give you a gift."

Flick, flick on the head...knuckles brushing the tight, full sac...fingertips
ever moving on the silken inner thigh.

"I dunno."

A kiss, barely a breath, on the indentation where hip meets belly...I feel
the slender boy thigh shiver ever so slightly.

"Your cock is so beautiful and big."

Off balance now...a shy smile...insecurity allayed. Quickly, a firm stroke
along the entire length of the shaft ending with a darting flick of the
tongue.

"Ohh."

Soon another downward stroke, more softly this time; Mouth following close
behind. Hand spreading to cup and fondle the precious jewels.

"Close your eyes, honey."

Fingernails scrape the sensitive and tender thigh. They quiver...and
succumb.

"'K."

Now engulfed in the hot moistness, resistance is replaced by
hunger. Instinctively, fingers reach for the head that has grasped their
boyhood in such a rapturously satisfying way. Waves of pleasure emanate
from some hidden place deep within. Narrow hips begin to undulate in an
ancient rhythm learned in the dawn of time. Adolescent muscle trembles
under the stroking of hands that seem to be everywhere now; thigh, stomach,
back of knee. And there is always the heat, the moist heat, the suckling
moist heat.

"Mmmmm."

Well, he's mine now, isn't he? This moaning, trembling, quivering,
nerve-ending stretched before me on the altar that is my bed; a finer
offering no God ever had. No artist has ever captured the beauty that is
this boy I've engulfed. No flower or spice ever smelled so sweet. The
magical Nile never rippled like the pubescent muscle under my gentle
fingertips.

And no volcano erupted as forcefully as that tender young cock...as
satisfyingly...as finally. It came from deep down: Down below all the
concepts of straight and gay and in between. It came from a primeval need
for pleasure...and release. All the thrashing about, the keening sigh, the
tremulous limbs were but mere accompaniment to the prize that was his
nectar, his essence. That was what I craved and had worked to bring into
the world in a gush, to catch on my tongue and savor. The seed of life
immortal brought forth from the loins of my beautiful young boy.

I can go on living now, for a little while...

Till I need to be replenished.