Date: Wed, 13 Aug 2008 17:24:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: Beautiful Creamer <beautifulcreamer@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sissyboy Showoff

  Sissyboy Showoff
  By Beautiful Creamer

  One -- The Boy

  Timmy Skinner opened the room to his bedroom door, walked in and locked
it behind him.

  The 12-year-old little charmer tingled all over in anticipation at what
he was about to do.

  It was "show time."

  The boy knew that the neighbor man watched Timmy as he undressed.
Mr. Santos's bedroom window was about 15 feet from Timmy's.  The man stood
there every night.  Watching Timmy.  Mr. Santos kept the lights off, but
Timmy spotted the glow of the man's cigar one night two weeks earlier.
Since then, Timmy made sure he gave the man a nice show every night.

  That night, Timmy slid off his shorts and underpants, showing the man his
plump, pink bottom.  He pretended to drop his clothes on the floor, giving
himself a reason to bend over and show his parted cheeks to his audience.

  He knew Mr. Santos was probably gagging at the sight of "pink."  Probably
stroking his fat cock as he watched.

  Timmy couldn't resist giving his bottom a little wiggle as he stood up.

  The boy stripped off his shirt and turned around, giving a full-frontal
view to the man-who-would-be-his-lover.  He was already nice and erect,
just thinking about what was to come.  And how Mr. Santos would surely
react.

  He liked Mr. Santos.  He really did.  The man was a longtime friend of
his mother and was always nice to Timmy.  Giving him candy and such when
the boy was younger.

  It wasn't until Timmy was 11 or so that Mr. Santos had begun to look at
the boy with that
I-want-to-throw-you-on-the-living-room-carpet-climb-on-top-of-you-and-fuck-you
look.  Which Timmy recognized right away, but Mama never seemed to catch
onto.

  Mama had been preoccupied lately, what with that hot love affair she was
having with Carlos.

  Timmy liked Carlos.  He would have liked Carlos's cock up his bottom.
But Carlos only had eyes for Mama.

  Carlos was younger and better-looking than Mr. Santos, who, at 38, had a
small beer belly and wasn't exactly gorgeous.  But he made Timmy's pecker
nice and stiff.  Just thinking about "doing things" with Mr. Santos.

  Timmy wasn't sure how to move things along with him and Mr. Santos.
Wasn't that supposed to be the man's job?

  Timmy wished the man would get with it.  Timmy wasn't getting any
younger.

  Mr. Santos worked some kind of a job where he got his hands dirty.  And
calloused.

  Timmy thought a lot about how those calloused fingers would feel in his
bottom.  Rubbing on his prostate.

  Ooohhh

  Mr. Santos wanted Timmy.  The boy knew that.  Why else would he spy on
Timmy every night?

  Fortunately for their inevitable love affair, there was no Mrs. Santos.
Not any more.  She had run off with the pizza-delivery man a year ago.
Right about the time Mr. Santos had begun "looking at" Timmy.

  That night of the "Big Show," Timmy had a nice surprise for his audience.
He reached between his bed's mattress and box spring and extracted a
"masturbation aid."

  Timmy often masturbated in bed.  Naked.  In full view of Mr. Santos and
his glowing cigar.

  That night, he had a copy of "Sissy Boy" magazine.

  Oooh.

  Sometimes, as he wanked, Timmy looked at the men in "GQ" or even "Sports
Illustrated".

  "Sissy Boy" was better.

  It was a wonderful magazine with a rapidly growing readership.  He was
way too young to buy it of course, but the man at the newsstand gave it to
Timmy.  And all the boy had to do was go into the storeroom and pull the
man's "thing" a few times until he spurted.  He wanted to do way more than
that with Mr. Santos.

  Way more.

  Timmy lay on his back and opened his legs.  To give Mr. Santos a nice
view of his "pink bag."

  The boy opened the plain, brown wrapper and extracted the latest issue of
"Sissy Boy."

  Wow!

  The cover alone was a ball-drainer.  Excellent photography of a gorgeous,
13-year-old angel who was lying on his back in bed.  His face was masked in
thick, creamy cum.  His bottomhole was gaping and drooling out a man's
thick, baby juices.  His tummy was drenched with his own boy's cream -- his
innie was a lake of cum.  His beautiful, five-inch prick was limp and
drooling boy juice.

  Timmy had never seen a happier looking boy!

  Timmy wanted to be like that boy!

  He opened the magazine to the lead "article."  It was called
"After-School Delight" and it used pictures to tell the story of two
beautiful boys around Timmy's age.  They came home from school together
and...

  Timmy stopped to apply some baby-oil gel to his aching privates. Oh, that
felt so nice.  If only a man would rub him now.  Kiss him.  Put his big
cock inside him.

  Timmy went back to the literature.

  The boys were dressed for only the two pictures showing them at school,
then coming to one boy's house, where they went to a boyish bedroom, took
off all their clothes and love-wrestled for the rest of the "article."
Kissing.  Sucking each other's pretty cocks.  In almost all the 30-or-so
pictures, one or both of the boys was spurting cum.  So they may have
photographed it all in several sessions.

  Who cared?  It was fucking hot!

  Timmy blew two shuddering loads "reading" the article.

  Who knew how many spurts Mr. Santos made?

  Timmy almost came again when he saw the article's wrap-up picture of the
two boys lying side-by-side on their backs.  They were smiling at each
other, chests heaving with exertion. They looked really happy.

  Cum covered their faces, necks, chests, and pubic areas.  Timmy noted
that they didn't fuck each other.  That was for men to do to them.

  Should Timmy proceed to the second half of the magazine?  Could
Mr. Santos's heart stand it?

  Timmy's balls ached a little, but it was a good ache.  He turned the
page.

  Oh my.

  There was the boy from the cover.  With a rampant, naked man.  Who was
fucking the boy as they stood, facing each other.  The title of the article
was "Birthday Kisses from Daddy."  It showed a boy and his father sharing a
birthday cake with 13 flaming candles.

  Daddy was handsome!!!

  Was that his real Daddy?

  Undressing his boy.  Sucking his pert nipples, then his hard, little
cock.  Fucking him from seven of eight angles.  Spurting about nine loads
of cum on and in the boy.

  The thought of that...the dirtiness...

  Poor Timmy spurted again.  Just some dribbly drools that time, but a
powerful tearing of his abdomen.

  Timmy didn't have a Daddy, but he was ready to fill that position with
Mr. Santos.


  Two -- The Man

  Marty Santos could only hold his spunk back until he saw Timmy pull out
that "Sissy Boy" magazine and start whacking off to it.

  That excited Marty for lots of really good reasons.

  Since his wife left him, Marty had become an avid reader of "Sissy Boy".

  Why not?

  He'd tried women and look what it got him.

  The first time he bought a "Sissy Boy", two days after his wife left,
Marty creamed his pants before he got the magazine home.  As he was
driving.  Just from looking at the cover.

  Every month, Marty would be the first customer at that pervert Josh's
newsstand.  He was a little ashamed for Josh to see Marty buying such
raunchy literature.  But all Marty did was read the magazine.  Marty knew
that Josh was "selling" copies of "Sissy Boy" to young boys in exchange for
certain "favors."

  Young boys who dreamed of men dominating them sexually.  The way Marty
wanted to dominate Timmy.

  Ah, Timmy.

  Those beautiful boys in the magazine, the ones whose pictures he jacked
off to every night, those weren't the ones he truly dreamed of fucking.

  It was his neighbor boy Timmy.

  Marty Santos loved Timmy.

  He was obsessed with Timmy.

  Sure he knew it was wrong.  In a way.

  But how could it be wrong if, in a world where there was such little
love, Timmy loved Marty to?

  Marty was pretty sure that Timmy loved Marty.  Or Timmy was the biggest
cockteaser in history.

  Every night the boy "showed his goods" to Marty.  Then, for good measure,
the boy played with himself until he emptied his testicles.  Right in front
of Marty.

  For Marty.

  And let's face it.  If the boy read "Sissy Boy", he wanted cock.  "GQ"
and "Sports Illustrated" may have had some girls' pictures Timmy was
looking at when he spunked.  But whacking off to "Sissy Boy" was completely
unambiguous.

  It was time for Marty to connect the dots.

  Find a way to bring Timmy and himself together.  Give Timmy the
opportunity to...enjoy himself in new and wonderful ways.

  Soon.

  He had a plan.

  Not a great plan.  But it was a start.

  Marty picked up the phone.  Dialed Timmy's mom's number.  [Ring]

  "Hello"

  "Hi, Grace.  It's Marty."

  "Hi, Marty.  How are you?"

  "Great, thanks.  Listen, Grace. I know you're really busy, but, I just
called to offer some help."

  "What kind of help, Marty?"

  "With Timmy.  I mean, Timmy and I have been friends for a long time and I
thought that maybe sometime you and Carlos would like some time alone.  I
could take Timmy out for pizza or something."

  [Long pause, during which Marty was panicked that he had gone too far.
Though he couldn't say why.]

  Then, voice choked with emotion, "Oh, Marty.  That is so sweet.  You've
always been my favorite neighbor.  I'm touched.  Marty, I hate to ask you
this. It's such a big favor...  But Carlos and I were hoping to go away
tomorrow night for the weekend.  We had a babysitter, but she's sick.  And
my Mom wouldn't approve, if you know what I mean. It's such a big
imposition, but, could Timmy stay with you this weekend?  If it wouldn't be
too much trouble."

  Marty choked out his response.  "Uh, sure, Grace.  That would be fine.
Timmy and I could hang out.  We'll have a good time together.  Uh, I should
be home from the job site tomorrow around five.  Would that be OK?"

  Grace squealed happily.  "Oh, thank you, Marty!  Thank you.  You and
Timmy will be just fine together, I know it.  We'll be home by six Sunday
afternoon, if that's OK."

  OK?

  It was potentially the greatest thing that had ever happened to Marty
Santos.

  Alone with Timmy for a weekend.

  Timmy wanted him.  Marty knew that.  Marty wanted Timmy.  And it looked
as if he was about to get him.

  Marty was so excited that he just had to get comfortable and spurt his
cream.  He went upstairs to see if it was still "show time," but Timmy had
turned off his light.  The little nipper was sleeping, Marty thought.  Rest
up, Timmy, he thought.  I'm hoping you won't get much sleep this weekend.

  Marty looked through his extensive, cum-stained collection of "Sissy
Boys" and selected the latest swimsuit issue.

  He stripped naked, lay on his back on his bed and lovingly applied
babyoil gel to his thick, foreskinned cock and heavy, hairy balls.
Stroking with his oiled right hand, Marty held the magazine with his left
hand.

  Four beautiful, sissyish, almost-girlish little angels were undressing in
a locker room.

  For the thousandth time, Marty reflected on how sissyish all the boys in
the magazine were.  His assumption was that showing the most girlish boys
increased readership, drawing in the men who still considered themselves
"hetero," despite frequent ball-draining while reading a magazine about men
fucking pretty boys.

  In the pictures, the boys in the locker room had all stripped naked and
were in various combinations of kissing, sucking and cumming their pretty
guts out.  But that was only the appetizer.  The boys put on the most
obscene, briefest, teasiest bathing suits ever created -- thongs, speedos
-- wispy little things that barely covered their stiff little prongs, plump
testicles and puffy little bottoms.

  They left the locker room and onto the beach, sissying past a string of
hunky, sweaty men.  Cockteasing shamelessly.

  The men gave the boys what all cockteasers deserve -- a good, stiff
fucking.  The men pulled the boys' bathing suits off and plowed their
bottoms with their big, hot, hard cocks.  Right there on the beach.
Spurting inside and all over the delighted boys.  Making the boys spurt
joyously all over themselves and each other.

  When Marty was close to cumming, he paused at the centerfold.  A long,
landscape-oriented picture of Marty's two favorite boys of the four.  A
blond doll, who, when he emerged from the locker room, was wearing a pink
thong suit so brief that his six-inch stiffie tented it to expose most of
his hairless ball bag.  The other boy was a brunet cutie who had once worn
a baby-blue, mini-Speedo over his 2.5-inch mini-prick and baby balls, but
was as naked as his blond friend.  The boys were on all fours, facing each
other, and kissing as a muscular, sweaty man at each end split a boy's tiny
bottom with his massive rammer.  The photographer had caught the boys in
their simultaneous moment of ecstasy, spurting their creamy tributes to
Love as they hungrily ate each other's tongues.  The boy with the teeny
weenie was spurting a respectable load!

  And so was Mr. Marty Santos in anticipation of his wonderful weekend to
come.


  Three -- Man and Boy

  Somehow, Marty Santos got through a very distracted Friday of
construction work without losing an appendage.  It was difficult for the
man to think of anything other than the realization of his dream/obsession
by loving Timmy.

  The only thing that kept Marty just a bit grounded was the fear that
Timmy would turn out to be a prickteaser.  He knew women teased and never
pleased.  Had known lots of them.  But he couldn't imagine a boy would do
that.

  Boys need to empty their bags.

  And so do men.

  Marty checked out of work and got home around four -- one hour until he
took "possession" of the boy.

  Ohhhh.

  Marty had to clean himself up, get dressed and be careful not to "lose a
load."  He had a feeling he would need every drop of his manly juices that
weekend.

  Timmy had gotten home from school at 3:30, went to his room and,
uncharacteristically, closed his curtains.  He wanted Mr. Santos getting
ready for their "date" and not spilling his stuff watching Timmy.

  The boy wanted all that creamy stuff for himself.

  Timmy took a nice, hot bath, dried himself off, then powdered his pretty
tummy, bottom and "privates."

  The boy was very excited about the weekend.  Though he acted like an
experienced dickteaser, Timmy had really only stroked off one man -- the
newsstand guy who gave him "Sissy Boy."  He and his best friend Greg had
been french-kissing lately, but Greg had put the brakes on whenever things
were about to escalate (or ejaculate).

  Greg's worries about being gay.

  Stupid, eh?

  Anyway, Timmy had read about sex, had dreamed about sex, had jacked off
to pictures about sex, but now he was going to be having sex.

  Wow.

  Timmy wished he had some really sexy underwear, but all he had were
tightie-whities.  He put on a tshirt that some might say was too small for
him and shorts that all would say were too small -- except for men who
wanted to fuck him.  Flip-flops that showed off his pretty toes.  He looked
in the mirror, pronounced himself "fuckable" and looked at his watch.

  4:37.

  Twenty-three minutes to wait.  Ick.

  But no.


  His mother was calling him.  "Mr. Santos is here.  Bring your things."

  Timmy had packed his bag the night before.  He was ready.  And glad that
Mr. Santos was early.  Eager was good.

  Timmy loved the look on Mr. Santos' face as Timmy descended the stairs.
The man was hungry for Timmy.

  Mr. Santos loved how effing beautiful Timmy was as he descended the
stairs.  Gosh, he couldn't wait to fuck him.

  Mrs. Skinner couldn't wait for them to leave so Carlos could give her a
nice fucking before they drove off for their weekend of fucking.

  Everyone would get his or her wish.

  Timmy and Mr. Santos went to Mr. Santos's house.  Both were clearly
nervous about what was unsaid and unfucked.

  At Mr. Santos's suggestion, Timmy went to the guest room and put his bag
on the bed.  Nice room, Timmy thought.

  The boy went downstairs and rejoined Mr. Santos.  Now what?

  "Let's go get pizza. Do you like pizza, Timmy?"

  I like cock better, Timmy thought.  But he said, "Sure."

  They drove to Timmy's favorite pizza place and chowed down.  Nervous,
trite conversation.

  Drove home.

  At 6:10, they were back at Mr. Santos's house.

  Spring night.

  Two more hours of daylight.

  What the hell, Mr. Santos thought.  "Why don't you go get dressed for
bed, Timmy?"  Mr. Santos asked.

  Great idea, Timmy thought.  When he agreed without mentioning the
incongruity of jammies at 6:10, the ice was clearly cracked.

  "I'll get changed too," Mr. Santos said, as he closed the living-room
drapes.  For privacy later.  Lots could happen in 47 hours and 50 minutes.

  So it's going to happen., Timmy thought.  Cool.

  Man and boy climbed the stairs together.  Not touching.  Not talking.
Timmy to the guest room.  Mr. Santos to the master bedroom.

  Mr. Santos stripped off all his clothes and washed his hands, armpits and
face again.  Brushed his teeth again.  He put on his bathrobe and was
looking for his slippers when his bedroom door opened and there was Timmy.

  In his pajamas.

  Sort of.

  Part of his pajamas anyway.

  The gorgeous boy was wearing only a pajama top and a very sexy smile.  He
was carrying a floppy, stuffed rabbit.  Bare legs and feet.  The pj top
barely covering the boy's scanty pubic hairs.

  The ice was rapidly shattering.

  Mr. Santos had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

  The man slid off his robe and stood naked before the overheated boy.
Beer-gut-beginnings and all.

  Timmy knew his time had come.

  He walked toward Mr. Santos, dropped his bunny and threw his arms around
Mr. Santos's naked torso.

  Mr. Santos wasn't rushing this.  He held the boy's torso in his strong
hands, lifted him a foot and a half, and kissed his lips.  Then, gently, he
laid the steaming boy onto his bed.  On his back.

  Timmy trembled as he imagined the man mounting him and with one painful
thrust, impaling him on his stiff prick.  Which Timmy was sneaking peeks at
and judging quite boy's-bottom-worthy.

  But impetuous youth would have to wait.

  Mr. Santos was about to enjoy his feast one course at a time.  The
appetizer was Timmy's pretty toes.

  Mr. Santos unbuttoned Timmy's pajama top and opened it to expose the
boy's soft tummy and pouty, brown nipples.  Then he took a deep breath and
began to kiss, then suck each precious toe on Timmy's beautiful left foot.
Timmy gasped with newly defined lust as, for the first time, he found
himself the object of sexual worship.

  Mr. Santos took his time, licking all around and between each cute digit
as the boy writhed in obscene appreciation.

  He licked the boy's sole making the boy squeak, kissed his heel, then his
ankle, at which point he abandoned the left foot and went to work on the
right.

  Timmy was panting and gasping as the man adored his feet, then kissed and
licked his way up the boy's right leg until he reached Timmy's inner thigh.
Soft, butterfly kisses along the fleshy inner thigh had the boy moaning
with unrequited, needy lust.

  Feeling the boy was sufficiently steamy for the moment, Mr. Santos
stopped kissing and used the tips of his calloused fingers to explore the
boy's pubic regions.

  He reached under Timmy's tiny scrotum and lifted his pretty pearls
gently.  Then kissed each sweet sphere with soft lips.  Delighted with the
boy's squeaks and moans, the man used his tongue to bathe each beautiful
egglet.

  Poor Timmy.

  He was only human.  He wanted to hold his first creamies in as long as
possible.  That point had been reached.

  Timmy arched his back and hurled thick, creamy ropes of cum toward his
tummy, his chest, and even his chin as the roguish Mr. Santos watched in
lustful awe.

  The man licked and sucked each delicious testicle until the boy's heaving
orgasm was finished.  Then he abandoned the scrotum and set about tidying
his lover up.

  Slowly, Mr. Santos licked his way from Timmy's cum-tangled pubic hairs,
to his cum-puddled belly button, along his cum-spattered chest,
particularly his cum-streaked nipples, to his cum-globbed neck.

  Timmy was in erotic paradise.  He loved being the object of a man's
man-to-boy desire, even more than just teasing said man.

  His little peter was getting all stiff again, even though Mr. Santos
hadn't even touched it yet, with his lips or his hand.

  That would change.

  But not quite yet.

  When Mr. Santos had licked up all of Timmy's scrumptious sperm. He stood
up and looked into Timmy's lovestruck eyes.

  He produced a tube of some very slippery stuff, then slathered it on the
middle and index fingers of his right hand.

  Mr. Santos looked into Timmy's baby blues and saw Timmy making eye
contact.  With the man's fat cock.  Which was drooling profusely.

  Timmy licked his lips.

  Mr. Santos liked that in a sex partner.

  The boy can wait for the "meal of his life," Mr. Santos thought.  But not
much longer.

  Mr. Santos asked Timmy, "You're a little cockteaser, aren't you?"

  Timmy whimpered and licked his lips again.

  Mr. Santos repeated the question.  "You're a little cockteaser, aren't
you?"

  Timmy croaked out a yes.

  Mr. Santos slid his two well-lubed fingers into Timmy's ultra-tight
bottomhole.

  Timmy cried out.

  Oh, that felt good, the boy thought.

  Mr. Santos found Timmy's prostate and began to rub it.

  Timmy yelped, then settled back into a new, higher plane of pleasure as
Mr. Santos rubbed his prostate and said things like, "Little cockteasers
like you deserve a hard fucking.  A big cock in this tight, little bottom
of yours.  That's what you want isn't it?  That's what you need?"

  Timmy couldn't answer, merely nod, gasp and pant.

  So Mr. Santos stopped talking and took the boy's cock into his mouth.

  And gave it several long, wet sucks as he tormented the boy's prostate
with his thick, slick, calloused fingers.

  Timmy screamed and, in full, erotic agony, wrenched the cum from his
balls, hurled it through his little stiffie and into the man's hungry
mouth.

  Yum!

  Mr. Santos swallowed his big reward, kissed and licked the boy's cock
throughout his puerile orgasm, then removed his fingers from paradise in
order to replace them with his cock.

  He stood and leaned over to kiss Timmy on the lips, tonguing Timmy's
mouth, letting the boy taste the remnants of his own sperm.

  When the boy had sufficiently recovered from his full-body orgasm,
Mr. Santos lifted the boy's knees, placed three pillows under Timmy's hips
and placed his drooling peehole at the boy's lubed, dilated puckerpoint.

  "Now I'll give you what cockteasers get, Timmy boy.  I'm going to fuck
you in your cockteasing, man-disrespecting, sissboy ass.  It'll hurt at
first, but that's what cockteasers deserve."

  Mr. Santos wasn't angry or vengeful.  He just figured that Timmy wanted
to be told exactly that.  And he was right.

  "Yessir," Timmy said.  "I'm a cockteasing, little, faggoty sissyboy and I
deserve whatever you do to me.  Stick your big cock into me.  Now!  Please!
I need it!"

  And that was just what Mr. Santos needed to hear.

  He pushed his cock past Timmy's anal ring.

  Which hurt the little cockteaser a lot more than it hurt his lover.

  If Timmy's blood-curdling scream meant what it seemed to mean.

  Mr. Santos stopped to let the boy accommodate the stretching.  Then he
pushed in a bit more.  Engendering only a half-scream.

  One more push and the whole salami was hidden.

  Timmy gasped.  His bottom was filled with his dream man's cock!  He was a
fucked little sissyboy.  He was practically split in two by the lustful,
snorting man, but he was OK.

  He might even live through it all.

  It was still a little painful when Mr. Santos started to thrust back and
forth.  But even that discomfort passed.

  Timmy settled into full enjoyment of his first fucking.

  And a great one it was.

  He felt like the total "possession' of a rutting, snorting dominant man.
Covered by the man's powerful body.

  A helpless little sissyboy.  Powerless under the massive, masterful man
who was satisfying his own disgusting needs.

  Just like in Sissy Boy magazine.  Only way better.

  Mr. Santos had never enjoyed a fuck more in his life.

  Timmy was hotter, sexier and more enthusiastic about sex than any woman
Mr. Santos had ever been with.

  And his ass was heaven on earth.

  Mr. Santos was getting close to his orgasm, but he didn't want to cum
yet.  Then Timmy blew his third load of that wonderful evening.  And that
was that for Marty Santos.  The gripping of the ass muscles on Mr. Santos's
cock!  The pure lustful rapture Timmy demonstrated as he shuddered through
his climax.

  Mr. Santos heaved his sperm into Timmy's perfect bottom.

  It was a magnificent moment for them both.  And more were imminent.

  Young Timmy loved the "dirtiness" of having a spunk-and-cock-filled
rectum.

  Scant moments after his loss of virginity, he was already quite the
little cock lover.

  The lovely boy scrunched his face in disappointment when his anal passage
involuntarily rejected Mr. Santos's deflated cock.

  In a naughty impulse of passion, Timmy slithered up to the reclining
Mr. Santos's cock and began to apply soft kisses to its
cum-and-poop-flecked tube of flesh.

  Mr. Santos groaned with lust as the boy kissed and licked his way up to
the cum-drooling peehole.

  With a bit of sweet effort, Timmy got Mr. Santos all stiff again.

  And Mr. Santos knew just what to do with his newly formed wood.

  Back where it needed to be, firmly lodged in his new "boy" friend's
asshole.

  And there it stayed for most of that fantastic weekend.



  Four -- Man, Boy and Boy

  When Grace Skinner and her friend Carlos returned from their own
fuck-filled weekend on Sunday night, she thought Timmy looked wonderful.
He seemed happy.  Happier than she had seen the boy for some time.

  Good man, that Marty Santos, Grace thought.  A real father figure for her
son.

  Grace was delighted and couldn't thank Mr. Santos enough.  "Oh, Marty!
Thank you so much.  You were wonderful to watch Timmy for me.  I hope he
wasn't a bother."

  "Oh no," Marty said honestly.  "I loved having him."

  He actually loved having him three times on Friday night, seven on
Saturday and five on Sunday.  Plus some nice cum loads that the little
sword-swallower managed to extract with his hot mouth.

  Mr. Santos awoke both mornings with Timmy nursing on the man's swollen
cock, greedily claiming the first-and-creamiest-of-the-day load for his
hungry belly.

  "In fact," Marty continued, "Any time, and I mean any time you want to
send him over, that's fine."

  Grace turned and looked at Timmy, who said, "That would be cool, Mom.
Mr. Santos is a really great guy.  We had a lot of fun."

  So much fun that the boy was walking very stiffly.

  Grace's eyes filled with tears of gratitude.  Now she could pursue her
romance with Carlos and not neglect her boy.  Plus, Timmy was gaining a
role model.  She didn't think Carlos would be much of a role model for
Timmy, what with his rap sheet and all.  But he sure was hot in the sack.

  Though not as hot as Timmy was.  Mr. Santos was planning on going
straight to bed after Timmy left.  To sleep.  For at least 12 hours.
Hooked up to an IV bag to restore fluids.

  Timmy went over and gave Mr. Santos a goodbye hug, rubbing his stiffie
against Mr. Santos's crotch.

  The boy was one in ten million all right.

  Timmy slept the sleep of the innocent that night and didn't even dream of
sex.

  When he awoke on Monday morning though, he was once again quite randy.

  It would have to wait.  Timmy got home from school around three.
Mr. Santos got home 90 minutes later; Timmy's Mom at sixish.

  Timmy was the proud owner of a key to the Santos estate.

  He planned on going over to his lover's house a few minutes before
Mr. Santos arrived.  Getting undressed.  Greeting his man stiff, naked and
ready.

  But then his friend Greg suggested that they go to Timmy's house after
school and "hang out."

  Was Greg ready to go beyond "French-kissing?"  Had he gotten over his
"fear of fagging?"

  Timmy was determined to find out.

  The boys arrived at Timmy's house at 3:05, at which point, Timmy
announced, "I have a key to the next-door neighbor's and he has dirty
magazines Want to go?"

  No 12-year-old boy in history has ever said no to that question.

  The boys sneaked over to Mr. Santos's, opened the door and giggled their
way to Mr. Santos's bedroom, where Timmy went straight for the stash of
"dirty magazines."

  Greg was astonished to see that they were all back issues of "Sissy Boy."

  Greg had heard of "Sissy Boy," but had never seen one.

  One day, a few weeks ago, when Greg was in the park, a man had approached
Greg and told the boy he was a "talent scout" for "Sissy Boy" magazine.
The man offered Greg a "tryout" right there in the park's public restroom.

  Greg ran home.

  But he didn't run that fine Monday.

  At first, Greg was disappointed that there weren't any magazines
featuring superannuated bleach blondes with huge boobs, black garter belts,
black, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings and
five-inch-stiletto pumps.

  But then he got a closer look at "Sissy Boy."

  The first issue he looked at featured twin 12-year-old blond angels who
were making their twin, mid-30s uncles very happy.  Sucking the men's fat
cocks.  Taking their massive pricks into their miniscule, boyish
bottomholes.

  Cum everywhere.  Even making the pages stick together.

  Greg was stricken by what he saw.  It was the most erotic thing he had
ever witnessed.  It made him feel heat in his ears and his legs trembled.

  His cock was so stiff that he was afraid Timmy would notice and think
Greg was gay.

  Until Timmy stripped naked, lay on Mr. Santos's bed and began to flog his
cock as he "read" an issue of "Sissy Boy" where a teacher was fucking a
beautiful boy who was pressed face-down on the teacher's desk in the
classroom after school.

  Greg had never seen Timmy naked before.  That made him even hotter.

  What to do?

  Timmy stopped wanking, motioned to Greg in a "come on in, the water's
fine" way, then resumed wanking.

  Greg sighed, then plunged in.  He stripped naked and lay next to Timmy on
Mr. Santos's bed.  Touching bare legs as they wanked.

  Timmy sneaked looks at Greg's body.  Not bad!  Excellent, in fact.

  Yum!

  Though Greg had joined the wank party last, he spurted first.  Blowing
his load as he watched the "Sissy Boy" twins lying side by side, being
fucked to thick, creamy spurts by their uncles as they leaned over and
kissed each other's pretty lips.

  Seeing Greg spurt and listening to his friend's little squeals made Timmy
spurt too.

  So there they were.

  Lying next to each other.

  Naked.

  Cum puddled on their tummies.

  Boys who had French-kissed before.

  Time to do it again, though "naked kissing" is an entirely different
sport than its clothed cousin.

  Greg actually initiated the kiss.  And the rubbing of cummy privates as
they sucked each other's tongues.

  Beautiful boys kissing.

  Ultra-gay magazines strewn about.

  Beautiful boys fondling each other as they kissed.  Each rubbing his
sperm on the other boy's privates to make his lover stiff.

  On a man's bed.

  A man who had gotten off work early that day and was standing at the
bedroom doorway watching in full fascination.

  Timmy noticed Mr. Santos first.  Which is a good thing because if Greg
had, they would have had to call 911.

  Playing his part, Timmy squeaked out, "Mr. Santos, you're home early!"

  Mr. Santos, recognizing yet another opportunity of a lifetime, waited
until he saw Greg's terror-stricken reaction.  The boy froze in fear.

  Mr. Santos answered Timmy by saying, "It looks as if I got home just in
time to see two gay little sissyboys cumming all over each other. And don't
even try to tell me it's not what it looks like."

  Timmy gave a pretty good imitation of a tremble as he nakedly embraced
his friend Greg.  "Oh, please, sir.  Don't tell anyone you saw us.
Everyone will hate us if they think we're gay.  Think of our families.  You
can do anything you want to us, sir.  Anything!  You can even fuck our
bottoms if you want!"

  Greg looked at Timmy with the same horror he had viewed Mr. Santos
moments earlier.  Promising Greg's bottomhole to Mr. Santos's cock wasn't
something Timmy was authorized to do—speaking bureaucratically.  Greg
was about to note that for the record when he saw that Mr. Santos had
already removed his pants, flipped Timmy onto his stomach and was eagerly
and actively eating out the boy's bottomhole.

  Much to Timmy's squealing, squeaking delight.  And Greg's frozen
amazement.

  It occurred to Greg, somewhat dimly, that he could leave that sordid
little scene quite easily.  Gather his clothes.  Put them on.  Go
downstairs.  Walk home.  Never speak of it again.

  Just leave.

  He wanted to, but his cock wouldn't let him.

  He was stunned that Mr. Santos, or anyone, would do anything as "dirty"
as tonguing a boy's bottomhole.  He was stunned that Timmy was taking such
obvious delight in that horribly emasculating act.  And he was doubly
stunned that he wished very much that he were Timmy at that moment.

  Just as in "Sissy Boy," a beautiful boy was being "sexed" by a powerful,
lustful man.  And they were both having the time of their lives.

  Greg audibly gasped when, after eating Timmy out completely and utterly,
Mr. Santos stood, leaned forward, and impaled Timmy on his thick, hot, hard
cock.

  Timmy gasped with pleasure and began to beg to be fucked harder!

  Mr. Santos complied, pumping and thrusting.  Making Timmy cry out and cum
at least twice before the man shot his sperm deep within the boy.

  Time to leave, a wide-eyed Greg thought.

  Nothing else to see here.

  Just move along.

  But he didn't move.

  Not even when Mr. Santos withdrew his cock from Timmy's bottom, took
Timmy onto his lap and kissed him.

  Greg did, in fact, move when Mr. Santos motioned for him to join Timmy on
the man's hairy lap.  He quickly sissied over, sat and opened his mouth for
the man's kisses.  And his legs, so that the man could enter his bottom
with two calloused fingers.  As his friend Timmy got onto his knees and
sucked Greg's overexcited cock.

  Oh my.

  That was nice.  Very nice.  Especially when all that delicious fingering
of Greg's prostate made it so that Greg's spermies wouldn't stay put and
shot all over Timmy's pretty face.

  Very nice.

  Somehow, Greg's hand had gotten onto Mr. Santos's cock and his delicate,
sexy touch had made Mr. Santos hard again.

  Mr. Santos had put some slippery stuff on his digits as he finger-fucked
and dilated Greg's sweet bottomhole.  And then Greg was on his stomach, on
the bed.  Just as Timmy had been.

  Mr. Santos was behind him and then he was inside him.  The man's cock was
inside Greg's bottom! Greg was a submissive, simpering sissyboy, just like
the little thrillers in that dirty magazine.

  How could Greg have ever thought, when he got up that morning, that he
would be butt-fucked that afternoon?

  Or that it would hurt like the fires of the "bad place?"

  Or that, despite the pain, he would enjoy it all very, very much.

  Greg screamed, and not from pleasure.  But Timmy kissed his friend's neck
and rubbed his friend's back, soothing him.

  And then it was all right.

  Not painful.

  Nice.

  Then it was what Greg needed more than anything on earth.

  A good, stiff fucking.

  It's what most people need.  And it's the happiest ending of all.


  I welcome your comments at beautifulcreamer@yahoo.com.

  Other stories on nifty:

  "Sweetyboys" (gay young friends) August 31, 2007
  "Boarding-School Bedmates" (bisexual adult-youth, though it's quite gay)
  May 5, 2008 
  "After-School Stroke Club" (gay high school) May 28, 2008
  "Pretty" (gay adult-youth) May 21, 2008
  "Hotel Management" (gay adult-youth) June 2, 2008
  "Dating Pretty Boys" (gay young friends) July 2, 2008
  "Schoolboy Pleasures" (gay adult-youth) July 26, 2008
  "Sissyboy Stepson" (gay adult-youth) July 30, 2008
  "The Little Prickpleaser" (gay-incest) August 1, 2008