Date: Sat, 19 Dec 2009 19:45:32 +0000
From: Josh Cock <joshcock@hotmail.com>
Subject: Simon's Boy

All the usual disclaimers apply: if you should not be reading this for
legal or moral reasons, then please do not read it. If you do read, I hope
you enjoy.  My stories are not about the abuse of boys, but of the pleasure
they willingly give, and I try not to just look at the events that take
place in the bedroom.  `Simon's Boy' has been divided into five chapters,
hopefully for the ease of reading: I know that not everybody has either the
time or the inclination to read a longer story in one sitting.


Simon's Boy


I traced Simon, or `Si' as he was always known, on a whim. I'd just retired
and thought it might be a laugh to track down some of the boys I'd bedded
in the past, just to see how time had treated them. Not all of them, you
understand, just a select few, you know, those that it would have been good
if they'd stayed teenagers forever, so you could have enjoyed their
adolescent charms through the years.

That doesn't happen, of course. Boys, like the rest of us, grow older. They
get hair on their legs, develop far too many pubes and you lose interest in
them as bedroom material. For them, nature takes over, the instinct to
propagate the species clouds their reason; they find a female, marry it and
breed. I just wondered how many, if any, of them, had found that the other
part of nature, the part that our society so condemns, had pushed its way
through all their conventional lives and allowed them to find the same
pleasure in boys that they had given when they were boys. Perhaps boys are
nature's antidote to a man's married, mortgaged life?



At thirteen, almost fourteen, Si had been a tall, slender boy, slender
almost to the point of being skinny. His long, coltish legs were a source
of delight to me and shame to him. `Like overgrown, fucking chicken bones'
was how he described them, and he never revealed them in public, you'd
never see Si in shorts, no matter how hot the weather. Shorts in Si's youth
were real shorts, not the knee length monstrosities so fashionable today,
they were shorts that allowed you to admire a boy's legs, and to speculate
on what delights were concealed above. Si was ashamed of his legs, I
thought they were delicious.

Sharp features, black hair worn thick and shoulder length, eyes so dark
they seemed black points set in his pale skin, skin so pale that the only
proper description is `alabaster' and all this emphasised by the careful
use of makeup. Black eyeliner and a hint of lipstick: he called it
`Gothic'; I called it `beddable'.

He shed his clothes for me with a minimum of fuss, before I was even half
way through his planned seduction and carried on feeding me his baby making
juice till the day before his eighteenth birthday.

I fucked him only once, he said it hurt too much to try again, and he
fucked me just the once as well. He almost never sucked and never kissed,
but he was still a boy I'd choose to have in my bed in preference to many
who did frequently all the things Si did only once, or not at all.

His main interest was in cunt rather than cock, and I didn't blame him for
that. I don't mind a girl now and again, especially the ones who, with the
proper clothes on, could pass as a pretty boy, and when he was fifteen, I
introduced him to an eighteen year old female I was shagging. She was
nothing special, but she could suck cock almost as well as a boy, and she
didn't mind being turned over so I could use the tighter, more pleasurable,
entrance. She was into the older male, so wasn't too keen on being asked to
fuck with a fifteen year old, but she changed her mind after one night with
Si! He was blessed with an insatiable appetite, lots of stamina and the
ability to reload very quickly, and he fucked her senseless. She gave him
an appetite for older women as well; the last one I remember him fucking
was thirty five - he was seventeen!

Then, on his eighteenth birthday, he did a runner to Bristol. I heard he'd
got into serious weed smoking and was making some money by dealing it. I've
nothing against weed, in fact I've found it very useful at times in helping
boys out of their underwear, but Si had apparently gone for it in a big
way. I never checked it out. Now it was time to do just that.

He wasn't that hard to trace, even after twenty two years, and I took
myself over to Bristol, armed with a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, in case he
had somewhere I could crash if we made an evening of it.

The door was answered by a lad in his early teens; a tall, slender lad with
sharp features, black hair, dark eyes and pale skin; it wasn't hard to make
a guess at his paternal origin! In fact, the only major difference between
him and the teenage Si, was that this kid has his hair spiked up like a
frightened hedgehog instead of a shoulder length mass.

"Yeh?" he said with full teenage charm when he opened the door.

"I'm looking for Simon...." I started, but he interrupted with a shout over
his shoulder,

"It's for you."

"Who is it?" came the reply from within.

"I don't know," the boy called back which drew the response,

"What they want?"

I saw the boy's lips move in a silent, "How the fuck should I know!" as he
looked at me, hoping for some sort of answer to the off stage question.

"Si," I called, "Come to pay you a visit, and I've brought a bottle of
gin."

There was a pause, a shuffle and Si appeared.

"What the fuck?" was all he could manage. He was in serious need of a shave
and even more serious need of less weed. Neither seemed imminent.

"Gin's conditional," I said, "I'll need to crash if we open it."

To his credit, even in his super stoned state, Si didn't hesitate.

"Yeh, no prob," he slurred.

Si's flat was a mess, at least the living room was. I didn't even dare to
think what the kitchen would be like. A battered armchair with a bong
beside it, an armless couch with rolled and screwed up bedding at one end
and a TV: nothing much else except a small table, and a lot of mess.

"What's with the offspring?" I asked, nodding in the boy's direction.

"Fucking bitch dumped him on me two weeks ago," Si moaned, and took a long,
soulful look at his bong. "Said she'd had him for thirteen years, now it
was my turn." He picked up the bong and took a long drag as though hoping
that would remove the problem.

"Should have used a rubber, Si," I said with a grin and no sympathy.

"Said she was on the pill. Didn't expect her to fuckin' sprog, did I!"

"Oh, fuckin' cheers," the boy snorted, obviously well aware that his
presence in the world in general and Si's flat in particular, did not get a
five star rating.

"It's called Sam," Si said.

"But he usually calls me other things," Sam put in, which showed he had
both a sense of humour and a healthy sense of resentment.

"An' you'll have to crash with him, `cos he's got the only bed." Which
explained the messed up stuff on the couch. "Don't `spose you'll mind that,
though," Si added, and, of course, he was right there!

"Oh, fuckin' cheers," Sam said again, with a little more enthusiasm this
time, the idea clearly not appealing to him over much.

"Kip on the fuckin' floor, then," Si suggested, gracelessly.

I thought I'd make a suggestion that might reduce the boy's resentment at
having me dumped on him, and, hopefully, reduce the chances of him sleeping
on the floor at the same time.

"Tell you what, Sam," I said, brightly. "By way of compensation you can
have your share of the gin, and smokes as well, of course," and I nodded
towards Si's bong.

Sam looked almost interested; I detected signs of global warming around his
polar ice cap. Then the ice age returned.

"Like he'd fuckin' let me!" he snorted.

Before Si had a chance to confirm the boy's suspicions, I nipped in with,

"He can't really object to you doing what he did at your age, can he?"

Even stoned as he was, Si was capable of flashing me a look that said he
knew exactly what I had in mind: given half a chance, I was going to try to
get inside his son's knickers, just like I'd got inside his, and I sent one
back that said, `Well, you've made the sleeping arrangements. What do you
expect?'

Sam looked hopeful, not about his knickers being entered, he was blissfully
unaware that was on my agenda, but about the possibility of booze and
weed. Si had another drag on his bong and just shrugged, and I thought,
metaphorically at least, that I might just have got the top button of Sam's
jeans undone.

"He does smoke, I suppose?" I went on, "weed, that is?"

Si shrugged again, "Dunno. `Spose so."

I could almost hear the crash as a huge lump broke free from Sam's ice cap
and allowed a flash of light to spark from those dark eyes.

"I assume you've got some around, Si," I said. "Two twenties should be
enough."

Si rummaged around in the mess beside him and came up with the required
deal. I gave him the notes.

"You provide your own," I said to him. "I brought the gin."

Two twenties is a fair bit of weed for an evening when you consider that
one of the smokers would be a thirteen year old boy who would probably
consider one joint a month a luxury.

That, I hoped, was more than just the top button on his jeans, that might
just possibly be the zip down as well. Still a long way to go, though,
before the belt got undone and I had a chance of exploring the contents of
his knickers.

Of course, we discovered that there was nothing to put with the gin, so Sam
was dispatched to the shop to get some orange squash, gin and orange is a
bit sickly, but easier for a thirteen year old to swill than stuff like
tonic.

"I'm taking it you've got no objections," I said to Si as soon as the boy
had gone.

"If that's your sort of thing," Si said, unconcerned.

"You know very well he's exactly my sort of thing," I grinned.

"'Swhy I said you'd have to crash with him," Si grinned back. "See if it
got you all hot and panting."

Si always did have a wicked sense of humour.

"He is your son," I pointed out.

"Didn't do me any harm, won't him either. I know you'll stop if he says
`no'."

I really hoped Sam would not say `no'! But then, by the time I got him to
the bedroom he probably wouldn't be in a fit state to say anything.

"Never could see what you liked about boys," Si said.

"No," I grinned, "You preferred older females."

"Boys don't get up the duff, though" he mused, "So maybe you got the better
deal."

"True," I agreed, and then added, "I seem to remember that you quite liked
being a boy, though."

"Yeh, loved it," Si sighed at his bong. "Pity I grew up, really."

We might have got a bit maudlin, even without the gin, but Sam returned
with the orange and we got down to the serious business of the evening,
getting pissed and stoned and, on my part, seducing Sam.

Sam had to sit beside me on the couch, or on the floor, and he chose the
couch. He knew where the booze and weed had come from and he wasn't going
to appear ungrateful. I didn't give him too much room, so he had to be
fairly close or fall off the end and by the time he'd had a couple of
spliffs and gins he was wasted enough for me to get an arm round his
shoulder without him objecting, or probably even noticing. He was very
definitely having the best evening of his young life.

After his third spliff he went from giggles to sleepy and sogged into me,
head on my shoulder. I took the opportunity of his doze to slip my hand
under his top and have a feel of his naked back.

"Not wastin' any fuckin' time, are you," Si commented when he saw what I
was doing.

"Jealous?" I asked.

"Would have been, twenty five years ago," he had the grace to admit.

"How much of a thirteen is he, Si?" I asked as I counted the sleeping boy's
ribs with my fingers.

"Couple of months," Si told me. "Birthday's at the beginning of June."

It was now late July, Sam had obviously been dumped on his father at the
start of the school holidays.

"Not too young for you, is he?" Si asked, wickedly.

I gave Si the `don't be so fucking stupid' look, and asked what he was
going to do with him.

"Not the same as you," Si snorted into his gin, then added, wearily, "I
really don't fucking know."

I'd finished counting Sam's ribs and was now exploring his hip. A boy's
pelvic bone fits a hand perfectly.

Enjoyable as Sam's hip was, I thought it time for another joint, partly
because I had a strong urge to see if it was possible to slip a finger or
two under the top of his jeans, and it was too soon to try doing that, and
partly because I thought I'd better not get too close to Sam's genitals
while his father was watching. I don't suppose Si would have minded, he
had, after all, assisted me in the exploration of a couple of his school
mates, but Sam was his son, not a mate. We all have standards, and whilst
Si was obviously not bothered by the fact that I was going to try for his
son, he might not be too keen on me playing with the boy's cock in front of
him.

I had to come off Sam's hip, but kept my arm round him, he did feel good
all close with his head on my shoulder and I didn't want to move him. The
movement must have disturbed him though, because he snuffled, opened an
eye, saw what I was doing and asked,

"That for me?"

He didn't move, though, until I'd finished rolling it and offered it to
him, and then he sat up to smoke it.

A fourth spliff was enough for Sam. He could hardly keep his eyes open and
even turned down the offer of another gin. I was glad about that, because,
while I obviously didn't want him to think I was putting any limits on him
– that is not the best way to seduce a boy – I didn't want him puking
while I was trying for his cock.

"Time for bed, I think," I said when the spliffs were finished and it was
getting on for midnight. Eight joints had emptied the first twenty bag and
Sam's share had done all I had hoped it would do for him. He was totally
wasted. His obligatory teenager's moan about having to go to bed already
was so slurred it was almost indecipherable.

I got up, hauled Sam to his feet and supported him to his bedroom. Like the
living room it was messy, but what teenage boy's isn't? It did have a
decent sized bed, though, and that was the most important factor. Room
enough for two, and room enough to play without falling out of it.

"Take off whatever you normally take off," I said to him, "And get into
bed; far more comfortable than the floor." I was going to add that I always
slept naked, but he'd find that out in a couple of minutes anyway, if he
didn't go straight off to sleep.

I didn't stay to watch him undress but took myself off to the bathroom for
a piss and a shave. I'd brought along a razor, like the gin, in case I
stayed overnight, but I thought a shave now would be a good idea, I didn't
want stubble irritating the boy's skin if I was lucky enough to get in
close.

I did wonder, while I was shaving, just what the removal of Sam's clothing
would reveal. He was only just thirteen, so there shouldn't be any
unpleasant hair on his thighs and not much, if anything, in the way of
pubes. He might not even be able to spunk yet. It was a long time since I'd
had a naturally bald non-spunker, and whilst I hoped he could shoot because
I'm addicted to boy cream, I'd live with it if he still came dry.

I popped a pill, not a purple one, a Chinese herbal thing I found very
effective – it acted very quickly and its effects lasted a couple of
days, and I always carried one around in case I struck lucky. That,
combined with the weed, which always has an upstanding effect on me, would
cope with anything young Sam might be good enough to let me have.

Sam was in bed when I returned, but propped up enough to reveal that his
top half, at least, was naked. That showed some promise; I hate it when
boys want to sleep in their tee shirts. I noticed that he hadn't pulled the
curtains and assumed that his room was not too overlooked, especially as
the light was still on.

I undressed in front of him, not checking to see if he was looking or not,
but if he was I gave him a full frontal when I removed my boxers, then
climbed into bed beside him after turning out the light.

There was enough illumination from the street lamps for me to see that now
his eyes were fully open, which probably meant he had treated himself to a
good eyeful, and even if he hadn't, he certainly knew I was fully naked.

I was a bit surprised to see him awake, I'd expected him to have zonked out
in his wasted state, and I was even more surprised when he spoke.

"In that case, I guess we'd better have another spliff," he said with
almost no sign of the slurred delivery of earlier.

I was so surprised I never really took in the first part of what he said,
only the bit about wanting another joint.

"I thought you were totally stoned," I said.

"Stoned, yeh, but not totally," and I could see him grin in the light from
the street lamps. "Yet," he added.

I leaned out of bed and retrieved the makings from the pocket of my jeans
which I'd dumped on the floor, then looked around for something to roll
them on.

"Use this," he said and dragged a book out from under his side of the bed.

"We'll need something for an ash tray," I pointed out and he leaned out
again and came up with a saucer.

"I use this if I'm havin' a crafty fag," he sniggered, "When I can get hold
of one."

My initial plans for having a good feel around while he slept off the booze
and weed were now well and truly destroyed. I hadn't mentally gone beyond
giving him a pleasant dream and myself something pleasant to dream
about. That was obviously no longer a possibility so I had to go in a
different direction and test the waters around the shores of a more open
seduction, and hope that he'd be grateful for the weed and booze.

"You do realise," I said as I passed him the lighter for his spliff, "That
in this not over large bed, there is a distinct possibility that, during
the night, portions of my anatomy might come into contact with portions of
your anatomy."

The line was designed to let him realise the possibilities of sexual
contact and see if his reaction gave any chance of continuing with what I
had in mind. His reply was a complete bombshell!

"What, like earlier?" he said with another grin.

Like earlier??!! He'd been zonked out, hadn't he? At least, I comforted
myself, he'd have been so far gone with the weed and gin that he wouldn't
have made sense of the remarks about him that Si and I had made, if they'd
even registered with him at all.

"Sorry," I said, lamely, "I really thought you were gone."

Sam giggled delightedly.

"Did it well, didn't I," he sniggered, "Took you right in."

"That you did," I conceded. "Totally, and brilliantly," I added, hoping a
bit of flattery might partially redeem a situation that was rapidly getting
out of my control.

"Cheers," he said happily and dragged contentedly on his spliff, which gave
me a moment or two to think things through.

Hang on! If he hadn't actually passed out, if he was only pretending, then
he'd deliberately put his head on my shoulder and allowed me to count his
ribs and check out his hip!

"Why?" I asked, feeling a little more in control again.

"Why what?"

"Why did you pretend to pass out and put your head on my shoulder? And not
seem at all bothered when I got my hand under your top?"

"What you and the old man said when you thought I weren't around," Sam
said, obviously relishing the power over me he thought he had.

The only things Si and I had said about him were when he was down the shop
getting the orange squash, everything else had been while he was pretending
to have zonked, and none of that openly referred to bedroom activities.

"Never went to the shop," Sam giggled, putting me out of my puzzled
state. "Knew we had a new bottle in the kitchen. I was just waiting outside
the door long enough for you to think I'd gone out so I could pocket the
cash. Heard some interesting things."

Shit!! If he'd heard all that stuff, then he knew he was in bed with a man
who went in for boys; not only that, he must have heard the bits about me
asking his father if it was ok if I had a try at him!

My initial reaction was a sort of panic; I thought my chances of getting
anything from him had been completely blown. Panic was followed, very
rapidly, by the opposite; if he'd heard all that and hadn't opted for
sleeping on the floor.....?

"And you pretended to zonk in the hope of hearing some more?" I asked as I
tried to work out his thoughts.

"Yeh, well, you'd already got yer arm round me shoulder when you thought I
was stoned enough not to bother and that sorta fitted in with what I'd
heard, so I thought I'd see how far you'd go and what you and the old man
might say. Teasing you, really."

Even in the almost dark, I could see the smirk on Sam's face. He was well
pleased with himself!

"Teasing?" Or was it `testing' I wondered?

"Yeh, I could wake up any moment and you'd have to whip your hand away and
pretend you weren't doing nothing," Sam giggled violently at the
recollection.

"Turned down another gin, though," I said, desperately looking for some
control of the situation, "But now you say you weren't pissed."

"Pissed enough," Sam admitted, "An' I didn't reckon you'd go for it if I
puked on you."

"Got that right," I agreed, and stubbed out the end of my spliff. Sam took
one more drag and did the same.

Hang on; had he just said what I thought I'd heard him say? I wouldn't go
for it if I thought he might puke on me? Was he hinting he wanted me to go
for it?

"So, half pissed and fairly stoned," I said, feeling I had to say
something.

"Two thirds pissed and totally stoned now," Sam grinned, an ear to ear
grin.

"So what happens now?"

"Ain't sleepin' on the floor, am I," Sam pointed out, confirming that I had
heard him correctly!

Never have I got an attempted seduction so wrong! Yes, there have been some
that never worked out, the boy making it very clear that he was just not
going there, but never a boy that was in such total control throughout
without me realising it! Well, perhaps one other, but Mervin had never been
in this league, he'd just enjoyed being seduced and wanted his seduction to
last as long as possible before he finally gave in.

"Better get your knickers off then," I said bluntly. I knew without
checking that he still had his underwear on, things would have been far too
obvious if he'd got them off to start with.

"That's your job," Sam giggled again and snuggled in close.

Nicely done; Sam had told me he was there to be had, but he wasn't going to
give himself to me as a present, if I wanted him, I'd have to take him.

I reached down and got them about half way before he took over and did the
rest, holding them up for me to see before tossing them on the floor.

Ok, once I'd made the opening move, he was quite happy to confirm that it
was the move he was hoping for!

He came right in, pushing one knee between my legs so his thigh was pressed
up against my balls and his hardness rigid on my stomach.

"Was the old man any good in bed?" Sam whispered in my ear.

So he had heard everything!

"He didn't fuck, he didn't suck and he didn't snog, but even so, he was
very special," I told him truthfully.

"Did you do him much?" the boy wanted to know.

"From when he was about nine months older than you are till he was
eighteen."

"Wicked," Sam breathed.

I reached down and felt the smoothness of Sam's firm, perfectly shaped arse
cheeks and was rewarded with a little "Mmmmm."

"Anything you don't like, you just say and it stops, Sam," I whispered to
him.

"K," he whispered back.

"And you can call a halt any time if things are going too far for you."

"Let you know if we ever get there," he whispered again and put his mouth
close to mine in an invitation I could not resist.

We lip nibbled for a bit, and then went for the full tongue exchange. I
don't know if Sam had snogged before, but if he hadn't he was a fast
learner and already in a clear lead over his father.

While we kissed I felt all over Sam's back, from his neck to behind his
knees. I like my boys slender, young and smooth, and Sam qualified in all
three areas. He was just that bit less skinny than his father, his thighs
just a bit fuller and there was no more hair on the back of his legs than
there was on his shoulders; totally, utterly, deliciously, erotically
smooth.

I turned onto my back, pulling Sam on top of me, our mouths still glued
together. I love having the weight of a boy on me, and this way I could use
both hands to adore his back, squeeze his globes and caress his silky
thighs.

Sam appeared to love it as much as I did. He made little moans and grunts
of pleasure as I fondled him and kissed him, and he kissed back,
greedily. When we finally parted mouths so we could both take in more air,
Sam put his face against mine, cheek to cheek and just breathed a long
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh," into my ear, followed by a deep intake of breath
which came out as a whispered "Fuuuuuuuuuuck." There was no doubt that he
was one, contented thirteen year old boy.

"Glad you didn't opt for the floor?" I teased him, and his reply was a
simple.

"Guess," which he followed with a return of his mouth for more kissing.

Delicious as his back was, I was in need of some of his front as well, so I
rolled him off me to lie on his back and began a manual exploration of the
other half.

My hand went straight for the important bit. I'd been wanting his cock
since I first set eyes on him when he answered the door, and I'd waited
long enough! My left arm went under him, round his shoulder to keep him
close, my right hand reaching for, finding and grasping his rigid, perfect,
boyhood.

I don't know how long he'd been wanting this moment, perhaps dreaming of
it, but the little gasp, followed by a long, contented sigh as a hand that
wasn't his wrapped round his cock for the very first time showed just how
much it lived up to his hopes and expectations.

It lived up to mine as well. Like the rest of him, Sam's cock stood tall
and slender, my hand estimated a good four inches, more than respectable
for a boy less than two months past his thirteenth birthday. A good
foreskin, too; a gentle trace of my thumb over the tip revealed that, even
as hard as he was, the glans was still fully covered.

"It's tight, don't pull back easy," Sam whispered, a hint of concern in his
voice.

"Mine's the same," I reassured him. "I love them like that, and I'll be
gentle."

"Thanks," he said, pushed himself closer to me and, at last, sent his own
hand down to check if I was telling the truth.

My cock has been felt many, many times, but it's always a wonderful moment
when a boy holds it for his first time, and, just like Sam, I gave a little
gasp, followed by a long, contended sigh as the little electric charge went
from cock, through body and into brain.

"Guess you like that, then," Sam sniggered.

"About as much as you do," I grinned back.

"It's fuckin' huge," Sam said in awe as his young fingers explored my
length and girth. In truth, I'm not over long, not quite seven inches, but
I am thick and he could barely make the tip of his finger reach his thumb
as he wrapped his hand round it. "Fuckin' enormous."

"And all yours to play with," I told him.

"Yeh," he breathed, and then Sam wriggled around and demanded more kissing.

While we kissed, I explored. His balls were fully dropped, not huge, but a
nice, comfortable size, and not even a hint of hair on the containing
sac. A finger check revealed there were pubes, but still few enough to be
able to count the individual hairs, and nothing at all beyond the very base
of his cock.

"Does it spunk yet?" I whispered gently to him when we stopped kissing.

For a thirteen year old boy having his first ever sex, whether it is with a
man, another boy, or even, heavens forbid, with a girl, it is essential for
him to believe he is perfect, and I knew it was vital that I neither
offended nor embarrassed him. If I assumed he was too young to spunk and
he'd been pumping it out for months, he'd be insulted; if I assumed he
could but he hadn't made any yet, he'd be embarrassed. That's why I asked
if his cock spunked, not if he spunked. If the answer was `no' then it
wouldn't be Sam's fault, it would be his cock's.

He wasn't upset, he was delighted to be asked, pleased that I thought he
might be old enough.

"Yeh," he grinned in my ear, "But only just. First time was last week!" he
announced, proudly.

"Bet you've tried a few more times since then," I said softly and cuddled
him tight to show how pleased for him I was, "Just to make sure it wasn't a
one off."

"You bet," he snorted.

"How many checks today?" I asked.

"Just this morning. Now you can see if it works for you."

"Oh, I will," I assured him, "And probably more than just once."

"Do it as much as you want," he said, generously, but then added
cautiously, hedging his bets in case it let him down, "It still takes quite
a lot of wanking to make it cum."

"It's not just going to get wanked," I breathed in his ear, "It's going to
have to put up with a lot of sucking as well."

"Wicked," he giggled, "An' I'll suck yours too, if you want."

His father hadn't kissed, sucked or fucked. Sam had already done the first
of those, was now offering the second and I had an idea that if I could
keep him for long enough, he'd do the third as well.

I started on him in earnest now, kissing his neck, his shoulders and
lifting an arm so I could plunge my mouth into his delicious, smooth
armpit. Sober and straight, Sam might not have allowed this, but more than
a bit pissed and very stoned, he was up for anything.

The armpit is an erogenous zone too often ignored, I love it, and so do
most of the boys I have taken to bed. Sam wasn't an exception, muttering,

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, bloody hell!" as delightful sensations travelled from
his armpit to his groin.

He was even more taken with having his nipples kissed, sucked and nibbled,
writhing around as I sent wave after wave of undreamed of pleasure coursing
through him.

When my mouth reached his cock he went into raptures, trying desperately to
get more of it in, which was not a possibility as my lips were already
right down at the root, so his brain, demanding even more lust fuelled
pleasure, sent his hips into action and he drove his slender boy rod in and
out of my mouth in a long, steady, spunk demanding face fuck.

The spunk, of course, never flowed, and he finally collapsed with
exhaustion, his cock still rigid in my mouth.

Gently I eased away from it, kissed it softly and slid back up the bed to
hold him in my arms again.

I felt a wetness as I put my cheek against his, I tasted salt as I kissed
him gently before he could turn his face away. Young Sam was crying,
desperately trying to hide it from me.

"What's the matter, Sam?" I asked, really concerned that I'd somehow upset
him, but he never answered, just buried his face in the pillow and shook
his head.

"Come on, Sam," I whispered, "You can't trust me enough to let me have your
cock in my mouth and not enough to tell me what's wrong."

He just shook his head into the pillow again.

"Come on, Sam," I urged him. What had I done wrong?

He shook his head once more, then snivelled into the pillow,

"I'm fuckin' useless. Fuckin' failure, fuckin' never get any fuckin' thing
fuckin' right."

"Course you're not a failure," I said gently, not having the faintest idea
what he was on about, but really concerned for him.

"Yes I fuckin' am!" His face now out of the pillow he almost shouted,
certainly loud enough for his father to hear if he'd been awake and not in
the stoned stupor he undoubtedly was.

"How are you a failure?" Real concern now, this was a thirteen year old boy
having his first real sex, he shouldn't be thinking like this!

"Cos you been nice to me, gave me weed an' stuff an' cuddled me an'
things," he snivelled: then stared me straight in the face and blurted,
"An' I can't even fuckin' spunk for you!"

So that was it! He'd fucked my face for all he was worth, desperate to give
me the spunk he thought I wanted, to prove he was a real boy, a boy old
enough to be given weed and gin, a boy old enough to have sex and his body
had let him down at the crucial moment!

"That's not a failure, Sam," I comforted him, "That's the weed. It has that
effect, holds back the spunk, makes you last for ages. Anyway, the spunk's
not that important, it's the cock that really matters."

"Really?" he asked, desperate to be told he was a real boy, a boy with a
cock worth having, not a useless, immature infant.

"Really," I said. "You could wank me for an hour and I doubt if you'd get
me there."

"Really?" he asked again, a hint of something like hope in his
voice. "Honest?"

"Honest," I said, holding him tight now. "Try it if you want."

He didn't. Instead he buried his face in my shoulder and just wept, not
with shame this time, but with relief.

When he'd got rid of all his tears and soaked my shoulder, he muttered
something that sounded like,

"Fuckin' love you," into my armpit, which I translated from Teenage into
English as "Thanks, you made me feel better," so I chose to ignore it and
just said,

"Perhaps we should have a fag break."

"Yeh," he said, wiping his eyes, and kissed me on the cheek.

We talked quietly while we smoked; Sam wanted to know why I liked boys and
I tried to explain that it wasn't just for the sex, although that was
important, yes, ok, very important, and yes, I did find boys better in bed
than girls, and yes, I had tried them; but also that boys were much easier
to understand, less complicated, less manipulative, more open, more honest,
and, oh, shit, I just liked boys! He asked me if I could love a boy, really
love him, and I told him I had really loved two, very much liked several
others, and just had fun sex with an awful lot more. He seemed quite happy
with my honesty especially about the number of boys I'd had, and he had
enough sense not to ask which category he fitted in to.

Fag finished, it was time to see if I could give him the ending he so
desperately needed in order to prove himself and I went back down to try to
suck him for spunk.

I do love boy's cocks, and Sam's was a real boy cock, big enough to know
you've got something in your mouth and small enough to swallow with no
throat problems.

Not too much finesse this time, no bothering with licking his balls or
teasing his body, just simple, straightforward cock sucking combined with a
bit of wanking to bring him off as quickly as possible so he would not get
embarrassed again. I had the head of his cock in my mouth, my tongue poking
inside his foreskin and fingers and thumb on his shaft, wanking him hard.

I could feel his body tensing as he tried to will the spunk to flow, trying
to force it from his balls and up his shaft and I worked with him, my spare
hand pinching at his nipples to drive him on. Finally, I felt his body
tense for real, his breath coming in short, panting gasps.

"Gonna shoot," he half whispered, half grunted, and his cock jerked in my
mouth and spat his boy juice onto my tongue. Not the thick load you get
from an older teen, but still enough cream in it for me to enjoy and I
savoured it in my mouth for as long as I could before letting it trickle
down my throat.

"Thanks, Sam," I whispered, and kissed his hip, his now rapidly softening
cock still in my hand.

"Fuckin' ace," Sam grunted, and I knew without looking, that he was
grinning from ear to ear at his success in proving he was a real boy.

As always, comments are most welcome, but it might be better if you read
all five chapters before mailing me.

joshcock@hotmail.com