Date: Thu, 28 Apr 2016 14:23:19 +1000
From: Jeff Albertson <albertson194@gmail.com>
Subject: Soccer Instruction

Soccer Instruction

a story by plantagenet

Disclaimer: All of this story is fiction except for the existence of the
game of soccer - that's factual. But all the interesting bits are
fiction. They are my own invention, not to be taken seriously. Strictly for
adult use only. And please send a few dollars in the direction of Nifty if
you want the Archive to survive. Factual dollars, not fictional ones.

Author's note: Now that I have proofread this story, I notice that there's
a sequence in it that bears a close resemblance to a scene in an episode of
Family Guy. I still left it in, though. See if you can spot it!

Dedication: This one's for Joe!

Soccer Instruction

Luigi Ferrignoni (or 'Lou' as everybody called him) was the ten-year-old
boys' soccer team coach in our little part of the suburbs. He was the only
dad with adult soccer experience, having played a season of Third Division
back in Italy twenty years ago. All the rest of us were just guys who had
sons that wanted to play soccer. Some of us had maybe played for a few
seasons in our childhood, but we had nothing on Lou. He not only knew how
to play, he was a good coach, too. He even went to the trouble of getting a
coaching certificate from the Association, something none of the rest of us
parents could be bothered to do. Hell, we all appreciated Lou. Plus, he was
a scream to watch on the sideline, when his Italian temper flared up. And
the boys liked him, and that was a big advantage.

Me, I was a soccer dad, like the other men who paced up and down the
sidelines. My boy played defence. Well, I call him 'my boy', and he is, but
not really. His mom and I never married, and when he was born, she didn't
put my name on his birth certificate. "No ring, no dad" was her comment at
the time. I just accepted it. I didn't want to make waves. Not my style. So
when we broke up two years ago, she told me to move out, and she would keep
the house and the boy, I got the car and the investment accounts, no child
support money needed to change hands. I could visit whenever I wanted, but
Jackson was her son. Always. So, to save aggravation, I accepted it. Hell,
it was what I really wanted anyway. I didn't consider myself to be
full-time daddy material. But I liked being a weekend soccer dad, and
Jackie liked it when I showed up at soccer games (and birthdays, and Xmas,
and class graduations, anytime there was a requirement for a gift - you get
the picture).

So, as long as I made the occasional shouts of "Good kick, Jackie" and
"Great tackle, son", I felt that I had done what little remained of my
fatherly duty. Besides, it was fun to feel the energy of all these
ten-year-olds, who played as though their lives depended on it for fifty
minutes on a Saturday morning, then when the full-time whistle blew, only
cared about which of the soccer dads were going to drive them to McD's. I'm
sure a few of them didn't even know what the final score was most of the
time.

One thing I noticed after a few weeks of watching the games, was this one
boy who never seemed to get any game time. Just sat on the sidelines near
Coach Lou. He always wore the full soccer clothing (or 'strip', as they
called it, which I thought was amusingly ironic) but never got any on-field
time. Now, I knew that Lou's policy was that every boy got a run on the
field at some time, it wasn't supposed to be just about winning at that
age. I thought maybe the kid was carrying an injury or something, so I
asked Jackson what the boy's problem was.

"That's Ronnie. No, he's not injured" my son answered. "He comes to
training every Tuesday and Thursday, and he tries hard at getting fit and
learning the skills like everyone else, but he has a problem with getting
hit by the ball"

"Hit by the ball? Wouldn't that happen a lot in soccer?" I answered
stupidly.

"Sure, dad, but Ronnie's problem is, whenever the ball comes at him fast,
he always puts his hands out to stop it. If you do that on the field, it's
a free kick against us. Worse, if you do it inside the 18 yard box, it's a
penalty, which means we probably get a goal scored against us. All the
other teams in the league know that's what he does, so they always kick the
ball at him if he's on the field, so they get a free kick. He's hopeless."

"Now, son, don't write anybody off, there's always hope - look at me, after
all. So, he puts his hands out to protect himself, eh? Why doesn't Lou make
him the goalie? Goalies are allowed to handle the ball, aren't they?"

Jackson gave me that look which children reserve for irredeemably dense
adults. "We already got a goalie - Roberto. Lou's son. Anyway, Ronnie
doesn't actually catch the ball, that's what a goalie is supposed to do. He
kind of sticks his hand out and turns his head away, like a..." He trailled
off without finishing his sentence.

I smiled at my son. "You were going to say 'like a girl', weren't you,
Jackie? Well, I'm glad you didn't. I hope I taught you better than
that. So, why doesn't Coach Lou show him how to do it properly? 'Trap' the
ball. Isn't that what it's called?"

"Yeah, dad, that's what it's called, but there's like, thirteen of us in
the squad, and he can't really spare a lot of time on one kid, you know?
Why don't you tell Lou that you'll coach him, you're so worried about it!"
he snapped at me and strode away. He was getting cranky, as he sometimes
did when he got tired. But he had a point. Why didn't I?

I could immediately think of one good reason. An extremely good reason, as
it happens - I have a weakness for boys. A sexual inclination towards them,
if you will. I've known about it for a long time. Decades, even. Oh, don't
worry about Jackson - he's always been safe with me. Apart from the fact
that his mother would castrate me if I tried anything with Jackie, he's not
my type. Jackie is strong (physically and mentally) and independent. He
doesn't appeal to me sexually at all. No, the type of boy I am drawn to is
the needy, dependent, weakling type. Or to put it another way, boys exactly
like Ronnie.

See, I know all about boys like Ronnie. They, well, they like to have a man
around them. They like to have a man show them what to do. They need a
man's firm hand to guide them, even if that sometimes means guiding them
into adolescence, into sexual awareness. And if there were fringe benefits
for the man when giving that guidance, well, where's the harm in that?
Everybody wins. And I had a feeling that I might like to win with Ronnie.

I arranged to attend soccer practice the next Tuesday. Lou welcomed me, he
knew who I was because he had seen me at several matches. I offered to help
with training the team, to the extent that I could, particularly if any
individuals were having difficulties. I made sure I began that particular
conversation while both of us were gazing in the general direction of
Ronnie, who was busy dribbling a soccer ball in and out of a line of
witch's hats (by himself).

"Hey!" says Lou, like he just had an inspiration. "Right dere's a kid dat
needs-a some one-on-one witcha! Dat Ronnie kid! Go help-a him, okay?" I
chuckled to myself at his comical accent as I trotted over to where the boy
was completing his dribbling drill.

"Hi there - it's Ron, isn't it? I'm Jackson's dad" I introduced myself.

The boy stopped the ball with one foot and looked up at me. "Yeah, I seen
you at our games. Jackie's a good player", the boy opined, which gave me an
opening.

"Yeah, he's okay. Well, he oughtta be, since I taught him everything he
knows" I bragged. Not entirely untrue either - I think I taught him how to
tie his soccer boot laces way back when.

"You did?" Ronnie gasped with excitement. "Maybe you can teach me!"

"Teach you to play soccer? Well, I dunno...you'd have to do everything that
I tell you..." I mused, as if reluctantly considering the deal.

"Oh, I will, I will. Please, I really wanna play on the team, and not have
everybody yell at me". The earnest appeal in his eyes sealed the matter. He
was mine!

"Okay then, let's start. Coach Lou already told me I could help him with
the team, and coaching you is helping the team, right?"

"Right!" Ronnie agreed, grinning.

"So, first we gotta get you used to the feel of the ball. I've seen you
practice, and I think I know what you need. I want you to stand still,
hands by your side, while I bring the ball in contact with your
chest. You'll feel a little bump, but it won't hurt, okay? You trust me?"

"Uh huh" Ronnie answered, screwing up his courage. I took a ball in two
hands and carried it through the air until it collided gently with the
boy's chest. I saw his arms come half way up in reflex, to protect his
body.

"Okay, that's a good start. This time, make sure your arms stay still, hold
them by your sides. Here it comes!". I collided the ball into his chest
again, a bit more firmly this time. He gave out a little grunt, but kept
his arms still. I praised him and did it five more times, each time with
slightly more force.

"Well done - now I'll throw the ball at you, softly at first and always at
your chest, so you get used to it. Remember, where do your hands go?"

"By my side!" the excited boy replied.

"Good! Here comes the first one." I underarmed the ball towards him as
gently as possible, and grimaced when I saw his hand come up reflexively
and bat the ball away. Ronnnie looked like he was going to burst into
tears. "Hey, no big deal, Ron, you'll get the next one." I tried again,
with no improvement. If anything, Ronnie's effort was worse - he flinched
and turned his head away at the same time, pushing a feeble hand out
towards the ball. He slumped to the ground in frustration.

"I'm hopeless" he moaned. I thought the waterworks were sure to flow any
second, but thankfully he got back up and begged me to try again.

"Sure," I answered, "but first I think I should check your protective
gear. Maybe that's the reason you don't do it right, that you think you're
gonna get hurt by the ball. You're wearing shin pads, I can see them under
your socks, that's good, and you've got some padding in the sides of your
shorts, that's good too, but, er - have you got a cup?"

"A cup of what?" he replied naively.

Oh boy, I thought, I've struck it lucky here. Not only will I explain what
a cup is, but where it goes and how exactly it is fitted. I'll have little
Ronnie's junk in my hand within minutes, and what's more, he'll think I'm
doing him a favour.

"Well, Ron, a cup is a piece of protection that us guys wear when playing
ball sports." I stepped right up close to him. "It's shaped like this,
see-" I cupped my hand "-and it goes here," I explained as I moved my hand
towards the boy's crotch. He edged backwards to avoid the contact, but I
put my free hand behind his back to stop him. "It's okay, all us guys wear
them." My cupped hand settled over his groin and I held it there to let him
get used to the sensation of a man holding his little package.

"To prove it works, why don't you hit my hand, Ron. You won't feel a thing,
I promise." Looking me in the eye as if trying to figure if I was going to
pull my hand away at the last second, like Lucy with Charlie Brown's
football, he gave my hand a little slap. "There!" I praised him. "Did you
even feel that?" Ron shook his head in wonder. "Hit it a bit harder this
time," I urged. The boy punched the back of my cupped hand, and a huge grin
broke out on his face at this amazing discovery.

"But...where do I get one of these 'cups'?" Ronnie asked plaintively.

"No prob", I replied, finally (reluctantly) taking my hand away. "Where
does Lou keep all the equipment, you know, the goalnets, corner flags, all
these witch's hats and training balls and stuff like that?"

"In the shed behind the change rooms", Ronnie informed me.

"Well, what are we waiting for? I'm sure we'll find one in your size."

We started walking towards the sideline, when Ronnie asked "How...er...how
do I know what my size is?"

This was almost too easy! I would soon have the boy begging me to put my
hand down the front of his shorts! "Well, I can do that for you, if you
want - it's not difficult, I've done it before. So, here we are, the
equipment store, let's see what Coach Lou has got here."

We entered the cool of the darkened room, littered with sports equipment of
all shapes and sizes. I scanned the shelves in the dim light and quickly
found a bucket labelled 'Cups' - I figured that was it. But before bringing
the bucket down I thought I would see how far Ronnie wanted to go.

"Okay, Ronnie, let's see what size you are. If I remember right, these
things come in three different sizes - there's Adult, I don't think we'll
be needing those. Then there's Youth, I think they're more for teenagers,
and then there's Junior..."

Ronnie nodded vigorously at the mention of the smallest size. "Can I try a
junior one first, please?" he asked, voice laced with caution. I smiled my
agreement and starting fossicking through the bucket to find a small cup
that appeared to be in good condition.

"Okay, here's one that might be a good fit - just slip it down the front of
your shorts and into your, er, undies, and we'll see how it works," I
explained. Ronnie took the curved piece of white plastic in one hand,
turning it over to examine it from all sides first, then pulled the front
of his shorts out a few inches and dropped the cup into the space. The
small item of equipment promptly slithered down his leg and out, clattering
on the concrete floor. Ronnie looked up at me with this priceless look, as
though his underwear had just discovered gravity.

"It, uh, I don't..." was all he got out. I didn't want an outbreak of
tears, so I quickly stepped in.

"Oops, that's my fault, I should have explained better. Don't tell Coach
Lou on me, okay?" The boy grinned weakly, glad to share a secret and to let
me take the blame. "Do you want me to put it in for you the first time,
then you can see how it's done?" Nods and smiles greeted this suggestion,
so I pulled up an empty upturned milk crate and sat on it, beckoning the
boy a bit closer. My head was now level with Ronnie's, and I was about to
pull the waistband of the boy's shorts out and peer inside at his package,
all with his full complicity. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I
slipped two fingers inside the elastic of his shorts and pulled gently.

I heard Ronnnie sigh softly as I took a peek inside, holding the cup in my
other hand, ready for positioning. I expected to see a small pair of
briefs, possibly with a childish cartoon motif printed on the front - I
sure wasn't expecting what I actuallly did see: the purplish head of
Ronnie's little pecker on a half-inch stalk, and nothing else. No sack,
balls, and certainly no briefs.

Ronnie saved my confusion with three words. "I wear boxers," he stated
weakly, and it was true. In pulling out the waist of his shorts, my fingers
had gathered his boxers as well. Well, they were the same white as his
shorts, what did I know?

I thought fast. "Hey, boxers, cool, Jackie wears boxers sometimes too!" I
congratulated him, a little too profusely, but I was nervous. "That just
means you'll need a jockstrap, to hold the cup in place. No problem." I let
his shorts slip from my fingers (again reluctantly) and got off the crate,
searching the shelves again, hoping to find a bucket marked "jockstraps".
Could I be lucky twice in one afternoon? Apparently not. I tried a cupboard
- I found a set of shirts, some goalkeeper gloves, plenty of shin pads, a
left boot, but no jocks.

"What do they look like?" Ronnie asked me from the other side of the room,
poking around among the equipment.

Continuing my search I called back, "well, they're usually white, er, with
stretchy straps, uh, a thick elastic waist...I guess they look like a pair
of stretchy briefs that somebody cut the bottoms out of, heh heh."

"So, like these things?" he replied. I looked around and saw him holding up
a small tangle of elastic.

"Bingo!" I yelled. "Good going, Ronnie, you found some! Now let's see if I
can make them fit you." I crossed the room to where the boy had been
rummaging in a cardboard box of old socks and took the jockstrap off him. A
few twists and turns and the garment was restored to its pristine state. It
even smelled clean (I checked).

Ronnie looked at me expectantly as I held the small athletic support up to
his waist to measure for size. "To put these on you, Ron, I just want you
to slip those shorts off, okay?"

"Okay!" the boy concurred, pushing his shorts and boxers down to his feet
in one motion. He stepped out of the puddle of clothing, waiting
expectantly for me to show him how to put on a jockstrap. It's a tricky
thing to manage, the first time, after all, even for an older athlete. For
a ten-year-old, it's an enigma. So while Ronnie lifted his leg to put his
foot into the strap, I got a better look at his junk. His circumcised
pecker was small, even for a boy his age; the reason I couldn't see his
balls earlier became apparent - they were only grape-sized and tightly
pulled up under his dick, making it stick out a little.

"I only got a small one", Ronnie remarked, seeing where I was looking.

"What?" I said, busted.

"My wiener - it's not as big as what the other boys got," the boy said in a
matter-of-fact tone.

"You...you've seen the other boys?" I asked, pulling the strap up his
thighs.

"Sure. In the showers, after our games. Even though I don't get dirty and
sweaty sitting on the sidelines, Coach Lou lets me go in with everyone
else, 'cause we're a team. I like looking at the other boys' wieners, but I
wish mine was bigger, like theirs. Your Jackie's got a nice one. Roberto,
our goalie, his is really long! And Stevie and Jacob, their balls are
really big! Not like mine, I got really shrimpy balls."

I finally got the waistband of the jockstrap up his thighs and over his
slim hips, and settled the pouch over his modestly-sized genitals. "Oh, I'm
sure they'll grow bigger really soon, Ron. Jackie's were only small when he
was, er, well, every boy always wants bigger than what he's got, and by the
time you get to puberty, they'll be just fine. I'm sure. So, how does the
pouch feel? That's this part here, by the way?" I added, rubbing my
fingertips along the front of his support.

"Kinda scratchy, I guess," the boy ventured. "And they're tight, not like
boxers."

"Well, they have to be tight, to hold the cup in place, " I explained. "Now
let's try the cup, okay?"

The boy nodded eagerly, and looked down to watch. Clearly, he expected me
to slide it in. Now, I've heard that they got some jockstraps nowadays that
have a pocket in the front for putting the cup in, but these were the older
style, no pocket. I pulled the waist strap out and down and edged the cup
into position. Just to make sure, I reached down under Ronnie's scrotum and
pulled his balls up a little so they were inside the rim of the cup.

"How's that feel, champ?" I asked the boy. He smilled and nodded. "Ready to
give them a tryout?" Ron nodded again, so I rapped the front of the jock
with my knuckles. "Feel anything?" The boy answered by shaking his head in
the negative. "How about this time?" I asked, rapping more
forcefully. Ronnie flinched a little, but denied any pain. "Okay, let's get
your shorts back on and go practice some soccer!" I declared triumphantly.

We trotted out to the field and I attempted to run through the drills with
Ronnie again, just lobbing the ball up to him very slowly, urging him to
let the ball hit him in the crotch. He still flinched a little, but there
was no hand pushing the ball away this time, which was a vast
improvement. After about ten minutes of drills I switched to some dribbling
and passing, and the boy's confidence was up in that area also. I kept up a
constant barrage of encouragement, kicking the ball into his shinpads and
occasionally higher than that. Ronnie seemed to be overcoming his fear of
getting hit by the ball (or in the balls), until he suddenly stopped in
mid-stride with a horrified look on his face.

"Something's wrong!" he called out. "I have to go back to the room!"
Bemused, I followed him back to the equipment store. No sooner had he
passed the doorway than he was pulling his shorts down and grabbing at the
cup inside the jockstrap.

"My wiener's doing that thing again," he moaned, his voice plaintive and
whiny. "It's really uncomfortable inside this cup thing," he added, even
though I had already discerned the cause of his distress.

"What is it, Ron? What's the matter?" I asked, my voice dripping with false
innocence. The boy turned to face me and I saw what I had been hoping to
see - his little pecker had stiffened up to produce a boner, about two,
maybe two and a half inches long. I got the impression that Ronnie was
maybe going to be one of those unfortunate boys that are termed 'late
bloomers'. Not that I minded!

"It does that sometimes at school, too," he explained, as I eased the
jockstrap down his hairless thighs. "When I take a shower after Gym and I
see all the other boys' wieners, mine goes hard right away."

"Yeah, it can do that sometimes," I said, lifting one foot then the other
to get the jock off him.

"And when I watch mommy and her boyfriend wrestle in bed, it does it as
well," Ronnie explained.

"You...watch your mommy and her boyfriend in bed?" I asked, a little
disturbed. "Do they leave the door open?"

"Not the bedroom door. We got a bathroom with a door from my bedroom and a
door from mommy's bedroom as well. The doors got these wooden slat things,
and if you crouch down you can see right through them."

"And you've seen your mommy's boyfriends', er, wieners, as well? When they,
ah, wrestle?" I asked, running my hands up and down his delightful thighs,
and over his bottom. Just to comfort him in his distress, of course.

"Sure, lotsa times," Ronnie nodded his head strongly. "They all got really
big wieners. Mommy does all sortsa stuff with them, it looks like fun," the
boy explained. "Sometimes mommy puts her mouth on their big wieners, and
they make this noise like they're liking it a whole lot, then they wrestle,
and after, their wieners are not stiff any more."

The boy seemed to have the gist of things, I thought. 'Wrestling' is
probably just what a vigourous bout of consensual sex looks like to an
innocent ten-year-old. I was musing on this when Ronnie asked me to take
him home, as he was tired.

"Er, doesn't you mommy usually pick you up?" I asked, as I pulled his
boxers and shorts back up his legs. His little cock was still erect, but
without the cup it wasn't going to be noticeable under his boxers and short
trousers.

"Nah, I just walk, it's not far," he answered, so I went along with the
idea. Maybe it might be good for me to meet the boy's mother, it might give
my interest in the boy some parental approval. We shut the equipment store,
I waved to Lou in the distance as we were leaving, practice was nearly
officially over anyway. As we walked I figured I could easily walk back to
the field after I dropped Ron home and get my car. That was when the boy
surprised me by putting his hand in mine.

"I like you," he said, simply, as we strolled along hand in hand.

"Well, that's good, because I like you too, Ron!" I replied. Well, what
else could I say? It was true, anyway - I was starting to grow fond of the
little fellow. His openness, his honesty, the way he was very connected to
his feelings...

"Have you got a big wiener?" he asked cheerfully, swinging both our arms as
we walked, and I had to concentrate on keeping my legs moving in the same
direction without tripping over them. The honesty that I was just admiring
had come back to bite me in the ass, in a big way.

"Well, I...I guess I have a...a regular sized one, for a grown-up," I
conceded.

"Good," he replied, which made me wonder what on earth he was thinking, but
I had no more time for deep thoughts because we had arrived at Ronnie's
house. We took the side path to the back door, which he opened with a key
that was hidden in one of those fake pebbles. It obviously didn't occur to
Ron that once you show somebody a secret hiding place, it isn't a secret
any more, but I decided that he thought me trustworthy. "Come on in!" he
urged, now dragging me by the hand inside his home.

Ron kept dragging until we both reached his bedroom, and I could see what
he meant earlier: he had a shared en-suite with wooden louvres in the top
half of the connecting doors. His was ajar, enabling me to see through to
the shower and vanity unit, and his mother's connecting door, which was
shut. We sat side by side on Ronnie's narrow bed.

"Your mother isn't home yet?" I asked, but I already knew the answer - why
would he need to use the hidden key if she was home?

"Nah, she won't be home until suppertime. Can I see your wiener?" Even as
the question was emerging from the boy's lips, he had hopped off the bed
and was standing alongside, pulling his shirt over his head. When he pulled
his shorts and boxers off in one movement, leaving himself naked except for
his soccer boots, I got the strong impression that merely looking at my
wiener wasn't going to be the end of his investigations, only the
beginning.

But after all, I'm only human, and the sight of his little cock rising
towards a full immature boner convinced me that saying 'no' wasn't going to
be an option. I lay back on Ronnie's bed and nodded my head towards my
zipper. He grinned and reached for the pulltab. "I hope it's a nice big
one," he said, almost to himself. The 'zzz' sound of my zipper being
lowered seemed awfully loud in the stillness of the boy's room, but I guess
the senses are heightened at times like this.

When Ronnie had my zipper all the way down, he pulled the two sides of my
trousers apart, like he was laying out a napkin at a banquet. What a vivid
image! But realistic - he licked his lips (in anticipation?). My own dick
had started to respond, a situation not helped by Ronnie running his
fingers over the bulge in my briefs and moaning with what I could only
guess was desire. How could a ten-year-old make noises like that?

"Ooh, he's really big!" the boy cooed, saying the words every man likes to
hear, as he pulled the front of my briefs down to expose my dick. "Can I
suck on him? That's what mommy does to her boyfriends. And you're my
friend." I shrugged my shoulders in acquiescence at that logic, thinking
ahead to when I would be explaining all this to some police detective - at
least I can say that I didn't order the boy to do anything! Ronnie was
blithely unconcerned with legalities at that point - he opened his lips
wide and lowered them onto my cock.

"Uhh," I groaned as his mouth settled onto the head of my dick and his
tongue began to swirl around. My only rational thought was that the boy
must have seen his mother perform this action many times, to be this
good. He certainly was a quick study!

Ronnie climbed up onto the bed without releasing my cockhead from his lips,
probably to get a better angle, I thought. As he sucked and slobbered, he
tugged at my trousers until he got them partway down my thighs. He lifted
his head off my dick and said "Thank you for helping me with soccer
stuff. Can I take your pants all the way off? Only it'll be more
comfortable." I nodded, thinking, 'Ronnie's bedroom, Ronnie's rules', and
lifted my thighs up to let him pull my trousers and briefs all the way
off. My loafers and socks followed. The boy's mouth returned to my cock, so
I lay back and let him get on with it.

I ran my hand up the inside of his bare thigh to feel his little boner. As
soon as my fingers touched it, he moaned. I felt the hum transfer directly
to my dick. I groaned back, and played with his balls. I pulled his hips
around so I could get a look at his asshole - I was wondering whether he
was still virgin, or whether maybe one of those boyfriends of his mother's
had taken a little side trip one day in Ronnie's bottom. I prised his
cheeks apart, but it didn't bother Ronnie: he still sucked and licked like
it was his last meal on earth. His hole looked pink and unviolated -
good. Not that I would have cared: I had every intention of fucking him. It
just meant that I should take his seduction more carefully. More fun for
me.

When Ronnie grabbed my balls and started to massage them, my prostate
decided it was time to bail out. I moaned and heaved my hips off his little
bed, making him scramble to stay connected, and shot off in his mouth,
quite a burst, really, since I hadn't had an orgasm for about a
fortnight. Ronnie held on like a drowning sailor on a life preserver, his
mouth making a liquid-tight seal so that he copped all of my load. I could
hear him hum "Mmm" as he swallowed.

After he finished getting all my juice, he smacked his lips and grinned. I
opened my arms in invitation, and he fell into them. We cuddled for a while
as he told me how much he enjoyed it when I touched his boner, and how
lucky I was to have a big wiener that made the white stuff, and thanking me
again for helping him with soccer. Honestly! You think women get talkative
after being fucked - Ronnie was a real chatterbox. I cuddled his buttcheeks
with my hands and let him ramble on, not paying much attention, until he
got to the part where he invited me to come to dinner one night to meet his
mommy.

It felt a little like being asked by your girlfriend to "come meet the
folks", only it was a ten-year-old boy. I thought it was only right that I
should meet his mother, after all, he was sure to mention at some point
that he was getting extra coaching at soccer practice from a nice man, and
any parent would be understandably interested in who such a man might be
that was taking such a generous interest in her son. "Sure, Ron, I'd love
to," I replied.

He set it up for two days' time, the Thursday, on the evening of our next
team practice. When the day came I ran through drills with him again, and
he seemed to me to be getting better - his 'flinch index' was getting lower
every time I sent the ball his way, and he took great delight in showing me
that he was wearing his cup by punching his crotch with his little
fist. After practice, we both went to his house together.

"You must be Jackie's father!" the boy's mother exclaimed as she met us at
the door. "Ronnie's told me alll about you! Come in! Ronnie, boots off in
the house, darling," she added as her son pushed through the blockage we
adults made in the small entrance hallway.

"I'm still making dinner," she explained as she breezed back into the
kitchen.

"Anything I can do?" I called after her, thinking I might be required to
open a bottle of wine or something.

"Oh, can you take Ronnie upstairs for his bath? I usually do it, but I
don't want these pork chops to burn. He can do most of it, but he might ask
you to wash his back, that would be great. And can you make sure he does
under his foreskin, he gets a bit sweaty when he's been at soccer. And if
he asks you about erections, can you give him some advice? You know,
man-to-man, like. He's going to be getting at that age soon, and he doesn't
think I know anything about them, ha ha."

I stood there in the hallway, at the opening for the kitchen, frozen to the
spot, jaw agape. She may as well have said, 'Oh, would you mind molesting
my son for a bit before dinner'. I shook my head and recovered. "Uh, sure
thing," I mumbled, climbing the stairs after Ronnie. He was waiting for me
in the bathroom. The bath was already running.

"Do you like my mommy?" the boy asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

I shrugged. "She seems like a nice person," I said, noncommitally.

"Do you want to wrestle with her?" Ronnie asked as he shucked his shorts
and boxers down in one go. His slim pecker started to pump up into
hardness.

"Uh, not particularly. I have to know a person really well to want to do
that," I replied, wondering if I got the answer right.

"Good," the boy said as he took my hand for balance and climbed into the
tub. "Why does my wiener get stiff?" he asked as soon as he sat down and
began lathering up the bar of soap.

Lucky for me his mother had warned me this was coming. I wondered briefly
why he didn't raise the subject two days ago when he was sucking my cock on
his narrow bed. I figured it had something to do with asking his mother if
it was okay to broach the subject with me. I tried to think back whether
I'd ever had the same conversation with Jackie, but was pretty sure I
hadn't. I pondered for a moment whether I should give the boy the medical
answer about stiffness being a necessary prerequisite for penetration, then
decided that would be stupid. "Well, Ronnie, I suppose it gets stiff
because it wants to be played with," is what I settled on.

"Like we did the other day?" he persisted.

"Exactly. You...enjoyed that, didn't you?"

The boy was slowly rubbing his foreskin back and forth over his little
knob. "Uh huh," he answered, but I wasn't sure whether he was referring to
what we did or what he was now doing. "Can you wash my back, please?"

"I'd be delighted to," I answered, taking the soap from him and lathering
up a washcloth. Then I changed my mind and decided to use my bare
hand. Ronnie giggled and squirmed as my soapy hand caressed his shoulders,
back, ribs and sides. He knelt up in the tub, no mean feat on that slippery
surface.

"Now do my butt!" he ordered, spreading his thighs as far as he could to
let my hand go up between his legs. Naturally, I obliged, making sure to
run my soapy fingers all along his crack. Ronnie giggled the whole
time. Since I had a spare hand, I took over the stroking of his boner,
leaving his hands free to hold on to my shoulder. We would have kept going,
but his mother called us to the table.

"Dinner's ready, boys" she called out from below. I lifted Ron out of the
tub and dried him off (more giggles), then led him back into his bedroom. I
expected to see him put on pyjamas, but he slipped on a long sleeveless
basketball shirt and wore nothing under it. I decided it must have been a
family custom and didn't remark on it. The food was pleasant and wholesome,
and the table conversation innocuous, until Ron's mom's mobile pinged. She
listened intently to it, and finally said "sure, I'll be right there." I
had already begun to stack the dishes in the dishwasher, and was somewhat
surprised when she asked me whether I could stay and mind Ronnie a bit
longer. Apparently a friend of hers needed her right away, and she said she
wouldn't be long. Ronnie's bedtime was 8:30, she advised me, and we were
still a long way short of that, but if it came to that, I could tuck him in
and read him a story "if I didn't mind". Mind? Tucking a ten year old
sexually curious boy into bed? Why should I mind?

My first expectation was that Ronnie would want to watch some TV. Wrong. He
took the remote off me, pressed a button to turn the TV off, set it aside
and sat in my lap. "Can you play with my wiener again? You do it real
nice," the boy stated, and I have to admit, he was right. I ran my hand up
underneath his shirt and found his stiff little pecker. He giggled when I
started to stroke it, and moaned when I picked up my speed.

"Can you...oh...oh...do you...ohhh...want to wrestle? In...uhhh...in my
bed?" the boy gasped. It was yet another surprise in a very surprising
night. Throwing caution to the wind, and remembering what his mother said
about the 8:30 bed time, I figured I had a good hour before Ronnie's mom
returned, based on nothing more than pure lust. I picked Ronnie up and
carried him up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. I set him down
beside his bed, and he immediately drew back the covers, then whipped the
shirt over his head.

"Oh! Just a minute!" he said, rushing naked through the ensuite to his
mother's bedroom and opening the top drawer of her bedside suite. I watched
with amused curiosity as he pulled out a familiar tube, uncapped it and
squeezed some of its contents onto his fingers. Returning, he explained
"Mommy uses this stuff on her boyfriends when they wrestle. Take your
clothes off!"

I did as I was bid, fascinated by this role reversal where the boy orders
the man around. After I doffed my trousers and briefs, Ronnie stepped up
and slathered my cock (already pointing at the ceiling) with his mother's
lube, murmuring that it was how his mother did it when she wrestled. I was
getting a little antsy about Ron's constant use of the wrestling euphemism
- did the boy really know what his mom did with her boyfriend/s?

The answer to that very relevant question was revealed immediately. Ron lay
back on his bed and pulled his legs up and apart with his hands behind his
knees, exposing his pink hole. "Come on!" the boy urged, giggling. "Let's
do it!"

No red-blooded boylover could resist such an invitation, and I certainly
wasn't about to let the team down. I knelt on the bed, my knees just
touching Ronnie's buttcheeks, and reached around for his pillow. The boy
watched my every move. "Mommy used to do it this way with Harley," the boy
informed me as I lifted his bottom and slid the pillow underneath. "He was
the one before Mack," the boy added, in case I wasn't sure of where Harley
fitted in to the scheme of things. I suspected those two boyfriends were
named after their preferred mode of transport, but didn't really care. I
had already made up my mind about Ron's mother's morals, and knowing the
names of some of her partners only reinforced that judgement.

"This might hurt a bit, at first, Ron, but then you'll like it," I lied to
the boy. Well, only the part about it hurting 'a bit' was a lie. In fact I
expected it to hurt like a sonofabitch.

"Okay," the boy replied, smiling, as I lined up my knobhead with his
now-greasy pucker. I ground my cockhead around his little starfish, trying
to get the point seated. I have rather a pointy glans, unlike some men
whose dickheads are quite blunt. Unexpectedly, I felt Ronnie jerk his hips
upwards at exactly the right moment, and saw my whole knob enveloped within
Ron's hot little orifice. "Oh!" he peeped, in surprise but not much
apparent pain. I leaned down to rest my upper body on my elbows and kiss
his mouth (to prevent any screams from escaping) as I pressed forward. I
could feel the boy's body squirm as my cock pushed through the greased
opening and explored new territories.

I sensed as much as felt Ronnie grunting as I pulled my hips back and
pushed them forward, getting my cock in a little deeper with each
thrust. After about twenty pokes my cock was fully ensconced in Ronnie's
tight, hot passage, and the feeling was exquisite. The boy kept up an
unbroken stream of groans, which I took to be pleasure since he never told
me to stop, and before I knew it my hips were jerking, my balls were
tightening, and I was unloading my jizz in his bowels. A satisfied smile on
Ronnie's face told me my efforts weren't completely unappreciated. I eased
out of him and wiped my cock on a towel that hung over the back of a
chair. Ronnie fell asleep right off, so I rolled him onto his side and
covered him with the bedclothes.

When Ronnie's mom returned I was sitting at the kitchen table, acting
innocent. She turned the electric jug on for coffee, then smiled and sat
down opposite me. "So, did you give Ronnie a good fuck?" she asked, still
smiling sweetly.

All of the blood drained out of my face, at the same time that the air left
my lungs in a rush. "Wh- whu-?" I managed to gasp.

She tapped a cigarette out of a packet and put it in her mouth, then
flicked her lighter. "Oh come on, please don't tell me I faked that phone
call, then drove my car three blocks away and parked on a dark street for
an hour for nothing!". She didn't sound angry, but with some women you can
never tell.

"I...we...er...Ronnie and you...you set this up!" it finally dawned on me.

"Of course we did," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Ronnie tells me
everything. He enjoyed blowing you the other day, and wanted to go to the
next level. I expect tomorrow morning at breakfast I'll hear all about your
fucking technique, too. Look, the fact is, I was fed up with Ronnie
seducing my boyfriends. The last three, except for the guy I'm with now,
all got their dicks down his throat. Well, he's a cute kid, I can't really
blame them. Also, he takes after his mother. So I figured, dammit, why
don't I save myself all the suspicion and mistrust and just get him his own
boyfriend? That's where you came in."

"So...the soccer...?" I began.

"Was just a way for Ronnie to meet men on his own terms. And it worked! At
first I thought it would be that wop coach that he hooked up with; let's
face it, what normal man would willingly hang around with a dozen ten year
old boys three times a week? But he rejected Ronnie's approach. Then Ronnie
told me about you: how you offered to help him with learning to play. I
pretty much guessed you'd be the guy."

"So...now what?" I asked, expecting the worst. But I got another shock.

"Well," she replied, taking a deep drag, "it all depends on Ronnie, of
course, and whether you passed muster, but I think I know his appetites by
now. I'm offering you two afternoons a week after soccer practice, that's
Tuesdays and Thursdays, you pick him up, bring him back here and fuck him
or whatever you two want to do until his dinnertime, and Fridays he can go
home with you after school, you can feed him and bang him all night and
take him to the soccer game in the morning. You can bring him back here
after the game. How does that sound?"

"You're...offering me three fucks a week...with your son?" I ventured.

"Well, you're not as young as you used to be," she grinned, "and Ronnie is
going to have to learn some limits. It's a fair offer."

I couldn't think straight. Seduced by a ten year old, with help from his
mom. Every move I made was anticipated, even orchestrated. I was little
more than a stud bull, with my future couplings all mapped out for me. I
should have been at least slightly annoyed, but I wasn't - I was
delighted. Delirious, even. This was a dream come true! I got to fuck a
cute, enthusiastic boy regularly, with his mom running interference for me!
I started to drool.

"Want to give Ronnie another ride, before you go? If you're up to it, that
is..." his mom teased me. "He's probably only lightly asleep. Just climb in
behind him, he usually sleeps on his side. He'll be unresisting...putty in
your hands...open... yielding..." If she kept up this line of banter for
much longer, I'd be wasting a perfectly good load of sperm in my boxers,
and as my second load, it would probably be my last of the day. I got to my
feet and half ran up to Ronnie's room.

He was still in the position I had left him in: body on its side facing
away from the door, knees bent, arms tucked in to his chest. I stripped off
quickly and pulled the covers back. He hadn't put his shirt back on, of
course, being asleep - he ws naked, beautifully naked. His bottom seemed to
glow in the half-light from the hallway. I eased myself onto his narrow bed
and folded my body to fit his contours. I rubbed his bottom, then pulled
his upper leg away to uncover his little hole. Ronnie sighed as he felt my
cock probe for his entrance. "Mmmm," he moaned as I pushed forward,
somewhat more easily than earlier that day. I started rocking my hips,
pushing my cock in and out of his willing hole.

"Fuck him harder," I heard Ronnie's mother urgently whisper from the boy's
doorway. "He's been wanting this forever. Begging for it. Fooling around
with my dates behind my back. Give him that cock...pound him..." Her
urgings were to some degree unnecessary, as I was doing pretty well on my
own. I reached my hand over Ronnie's hip to his groin and found his little
dick, hard in spite of being assfucked, and started stroking it. I sucked
his earlobe into my mouth at the same time. I felt the boy flinch at first,
then start to rock with me. I sensed, rather than saw, his mother leaving
us. By the time I came, about ten minutes later, I had wanked Ronnie to two
dry orgasms, making his little body jerk and spasm as I fucked his
bottom. "Mmmm" was his only commentary on my technique.

"Good night, Ronnie, sleep well," I whispered to the boy.

"Thank you," was his drowsy reply, "...for everyzzz..." I climbed out of
the small bed and drew the bedclothes back over Ronnie's body, slowly,
admiring its beauty one last time for the night. I dressed and made my way
down to the kitchen. As I expected, Ronnie's mother sat at the table,
smoking another cigarette, sipping coffee. I didn't want to get into any
discussions about what she just watched, so I bade her a good night and
made to leave.

"See you Saturday," she murmured as I left.

I had a night and a day to think about my response to the unusual
arrangement Ronnie's mom suggested. But I didn't really need that long - I
knew that on Friday afternoon, tomorrow, I would be collecting Ronnie from
his school gate and taking him back to my home with me and engaging in sex
with him - not too much, because I didn't want him to be too tired to play
soccer the next day. Then, after the match, hopefully take him back home
again and - perhaps - a victory fuck? before returning him to the tender
care of his mother.

* * *

Ronnie saw me before I saw him, as I waited near the school gate with about
a million other fretful parents. He waved to get my attention, then pushed
his way through a gaggle of slow moving girls, his face beaming in a huge
grin. It may well have been the very first time he got to walk home from
school with a man! I felt privileged. Ron took my hand as soon as he
cleared the gate, and we walked to my house, hand in hand. I didn't need to
say anything along the way, because Ron launched into an unending stream of
chatter about his day. I think I got a rundown of every single lesson, plus
morning recess and lunchtime! I guess many parents get this every school
day, but for me it was my first time. I didn't have the heart to tell him
to cool it, I just let him run off at the mouth.

It took about four hundred yards to get clear of all the other children and
parents walking home, and as soon as we did, Ronnie's monologue took a
spicier turn. Looking around first to check that he was out of earshot, he
asked me straight out, "What's a sixty-nine? Do you think I'd like it? Can
we try it out when we get to your house?" He looked up at me with his
puppy-dog eyes, so sincerely, that I almost tripped over my own feet from
lustful urgency.

"Well, yes, I'm pretty sure you'd like it, Ron. And yes, we can do it the
minute we walk in the door. You've probably already seen it once, or maybe
more than once, without realising what it was called, when your mother and
one of her boyfriend were, uh..." I faltered.

"Wrestling?" Ron supplied. I nodded.

"A sixty-nine is where I suck your wiener at the same time as you suck
mine," I explained, using my softest voice and looking around
furtively. "To do it, we would be lying head to toe, sort of. Did your
mommy, uh, suggest..."

Ronnie nodded his head. "Uh huh. She said it was really fun. Now that you
explained it, I think I remember seeing mommy doing it with Chevy,
sometimes. He was the one before Pistol, I think. Where is your house?"

"We're nearly there," I replied, glad that the topic had changed. "See the
house with the blue car in the driveway? That's mine."

"Good," declared Ronnie, squeezing my hand. I had a brief flutter of fear
about whether any of the street's busybodies were watching me lead a young
boy into my house, but I quickly dismissed it. If anyone was watching, they
probably would be watching tomorrow morning when Ronnie and I left the
house, this time in his soccer gear instead of his school clothes. If
anybody was supicious enough to ask, I would simply tell them an
abbreviated version of the truth - the boy's mother asked me to look after
him for the night and take him to soccer the next day, as he is in my son's
team.

The door had shut behind us for about three-tenths of a second before
Ronnie jumped up onto me, his arms around my neck. "You like kissing, don't
you," he said, half question and half request for confirmation.

"Sure do," I replied, kissing his lips. I scooped his bottom upwards a bit
to make his face closer to mine and kissed him again. I carried him to my
bedroom, kissing him all the way. Gently lowering him to my bed, I began to
undress. Ronnie smiled at me, watching me disrobe. He actually licked his
lips! "What do you want to do first? Is there something you have been
thinking about all day? Come on now, be honest!" I teased him.

"Sixty nine" he yelled gleefully, scrabbling at his zipper.

"Oh? I thought you would have your heart set on...wrestling...again," I
teased.

"We can do that after," he parried.

I dropped the last of my clothing on the floor as the boy pulled his
underwear off and threw it on top. "You do know that it's...not really
wrestling, don't you, Ronnie, " I ventured.

He nodded as he crawled up to the top of the bed. "Uh huh," he
agreed. "It's a curse word, really. Mommy said it's naughty to curse."

Child's logic, I thought. It's okay to pimp out your son, to encourage him
to be sexually active with an adult, but saying "fuck" is a no-no. Go
figure. I climbed onto the bed and pulled Ronnie's body around into
position. "Ready?" I said, trying to make light of our sex act.

"Uh huh," he confirmed, grinning. I pulled him on top of me, the head of
his little stiffie brushing across my cheek on its way to my lips. His
thighs straddled my head as he took hold of my own erection with his bony
fingers and started running his tongue around the glans. "This is fun!" he
commented before getting down to some serious sucking. We rolled around a
bit after some minutes, carefully so as not to dislodge our dicks. By this
stage I had already given Ronnie one dry cum, and he had cupped my balls to
try to coax a load out of them. I was happy to oblige.

After he swallowed, Ronnie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
crawled up the bed to join me. I cuddled him and kissed him, brushing his
dampened hair out of his eyes. "That was realy nice, Ronnie. You're good at
sucking wieners," I complimented the boy. "Do you want to...wrestle?"

"Yeah!" Ronnie sighed. He rolled around so that his back was to my
front. "Like we did before?" he asked.

"You bet. Just let me lift that leg up...that's the boy...now for my, er,
wiener...like so..."

"Uhhh," the boy groaned as I penetrated his bottom, and began rocking back
and forth. The bed creaked softly as I fucked the boy's tail, making a kind
of crude syncopated rhythm with Ronnie's gasps and sighs. I felt him orgasm
around my cock as I approached my own climax, his little yelps pushing me
over the edge. Ronnie dropped off to sleep amost immediately, instead of
talking, which I appreciated. When I tried to pull out of his ass, he
whimpered, so I left my cock inside him until it plopped out by itself. We
stayed like that, close together, until dark.

I sensed that Ron had awakened. "Hungry?" I asked. Silly question - he's a
boy.

"Starved," he answered. "Can we have pizza?" I made the call on my mobile
and thirty minutes later, after a quick shower, we were eating pizza in
front of the TV. Ronnie enjoyed game shows, of all things - I would have
picked him for a cartoon fan. When we had demolished the pizzas, Ronnie
yawned widely, and I took that as a bedtime sign. We slept in the same bed
but there was no more sex that night.

I woke up with Ronnie's mouth on my cock, always a pleasant sensation to
waken to. I held his head close as I filled his mouth with another load of
semen. I thought he would make some joke about breakfast being taken care
of, but he was too serious a boy to joke about sex.

I got him ready for soccer, and we walked to the pitch, holding hands and
swinging arms. Ronnie took up his position on the reserves bench with Coach
Lou, and I began my patrol of the sidelines, calling out encouragement. I
waved at Jackie, and he waved back.

The game proceeded well - in the second half I suggested to Coach Lou that
Ronnie be given a few minutes on the field, as we were leading 4-nil. Well,
'suggested' isn't quite honest: I begged. But it worked! He gave Ronnie a
position at left-midfield, about as quiet a place on a soccer field as it
is possible to find. To my delight, Ronnie performed creditably, and with
his cup in place, showed no signs of shying away from the ball. The other
kids congratulated him when he kicked a through-ball for our striker to run
onto and score. This was the first time Ronnie actually earned his
after-match shower with the other boys, and I let him go in the change
rooms by himself.

Ronnie was very excited when I took him back to his home - he couldn't wait
to tell his mom. But she wasn't there. We both assumed there had been some
traffic jam or something that held her up, so we go into the house and
Ronnie left her a note on the breakfast bench to say he's with me. Ronnie
told me she has no mobile phone, only the house phone, so that option was
out. Who ever heard of a woman with boyfriends and a pre-teen son but no
mobile phone?

I took Ronnie home with me and we enjoyed some victory sex. Actually,
that's what I told him it was - we got naked and I showed him how to
straddle me and sit on my cock. While he was riding me he admitted that
he's seen his mom do it this way with some boyfriend or other and always
wanted to try it. I think when you're ten, 'always' could be as brief as a
few months. I played with his stiffie as he bounced around on my crotch and
brought him off just before he brought me off.

On Sunday we drove around to Ronnie's house again. We figure his mom must
have got in very late on Saturday night, found Ron's note and decided there
was no rush in phoning. But we were in for a shock - there was a realtor's
'For Sale' sign planted in the front lawn. Ronnie started crying. I took
him home with me. He didn't feel like sex. For a change, neither do I.

On Monday I took him to school. We had called around to his house again on
Sunday afternoon to get all his clothes and stuff and moved it over to my
house. I knew it was probably high time I called Child Services, but I
decided it was better somebody who Ron liked was fucking him (me), than
some foster-parent he didn't like. Ronnie and I grew to like each other
more and more over the next few weeks, which stretched out to months. We
never heard from his mom again.

At the end of the soccer season, there was a presentation night. Ronnie got
a small trophy for "Most Improved Player" and was happier than I'd ever
seen him. That night, back at our home, I fucked him doggy-style, something
we hadn't done before. I was quite forceful, and while Ronnie said he
enjoyed it that way, he said we should save it for special occasions.

Ronnie's eleventh birthday was marked with a small party at our house. None
of the boys he invited cared about where his mom was, or why he lived with
a guy not his father. Kids are pretty accepting nowadays, but I thought
they'd be more curious. They weren't - as long as there was free cake to be
had! Since it was a "special occasion", Ronnie said we could do it
doggy-style, after the boys had all gone. It's funny, but Ronnie's instinct
about reserving that sex position were spot-on - it was much more exciting
because it was comparatively rare. I fucked his ass twice, holding his slim
hips as he knelt on my bed.

I tried to keep Ronnie happy as the year motored on its way, and not just
in bed. Our sexual couplings had slowed down to about three a week, but
some nights I got a double load into him, and we were both content about
life.

I didn't notice Ronnie's blossoming physical development until it stared me
in the face - literally. Seemingly overnight, Ron grew a little bush of
auburn hair at the base of his cock. I hadn't noticed that organ getting
bigger either, but I guess I should have expected it. I had seen some
changes in his balls, I just didn't want to admit them to myself. His
scrotum went from smooth to wrinkly withut any fanfare, and his balls
dropped down into the roomier space. His voice started to fluctuate
wildly. He started asking me to buy him deodorant. Matters came to a head
when Ron asked me if a friend of his could come for a sleepover. Since when
did he have friends? I thought I was his friend!

I hid my disappointment and told him it was a great idea, and he could have
someone over anytime. "It's a boy, right?" I asked him, just to be sure.

He laughed. Not a boyish giggle, a full-on teen laugh. "Of course it's a
boy, silly!" he remonstrated. "He's in my homeroom at school. See you
tonight!". He walked out, his school bag thrown recklessly over one
shoulder. It had been quite a few months since Ron advised me, quite
firmly, that he was too old to be walked to and from school, and I took
that command with good grace, and (I thought) well-hidden regret.

I was contemplating life, sitting in my favourite armchair, when Ron barged
in the front door after school. Somehow he seemed to be getting louder
without making any actual noise. He wasn't alone - the schoolfriend that
was coming over for the sleepover was right behind him, and to my surprise,
another boy, much younger, maybe 9 or so.

"This is Caleb - he's in my class," Ron explained, dropping his schoolbag
where he shrugged it off. "He has to mind his younger brother Justin
tonight, so we brought him with us." No checking that this was okay, no
token apology for the extra mouth to feed, nothing. Ron turned to his
friend and said "Come on!", abandoning young Justin in the hallway as the
two teens headed for Ron's bedroom.

I shut the front door and smiled weakly at Justin, extending an inviting
hand towards the couch. Perhaps Justin was used to being an unwanted
accessory - he just sat down and watched the TV. After a few minutes he
cocked his head and looked in the direction of the bedroom that the two
older boys had escaped to. "They're doing it," he whispered to me.

"Sorry?" I replied, mildly startled.

"Caleb and Ron," the boy explained. "They're...you know...doing sex. They
done it before, last week after school, at our house. Caleb made me leave
the bedroom, and it's my bedroom too!" the boy declared, obviously
affronted by his older brother's selfishness. I didn't quite know how to
react, so I just watched him, and waited. Justin wasn't hard to look at - a
skinny kid, but with intelligent eyes and pleasant features. He reminded me
a little of Ronnie, in some indefinable way, on the day when I first had
seen him at soccer practice.

"Wanna go listen?" Justin whispered again. How could I resist an invitation
like that, especially in my own house. We got out of our seats and began an
exaggerated cartoon-style quiet sneaking motion, complete with fingers at
our lips. We crept down the hallway to Ron's bedroom and knelt by his
door. Justin grinned at me as we both could make out the sounds of grunting
and groaning, creaking bed, and rustling sheets from behind the door. When
the animalistic sounds coalesced into words ("Oh yeah!", "Mmm harder!",
"Keep going, faster!") I stood up and held out my hand to help Justin to
his feet. It might be his favourite game to eavesdrop on his brother, but
it wasn't mine, especially as I knew it was Ronnie in there with him.

I led Justin back to the living room, but before he could resume his seat
on the couch I pulled him onto my lap and fell into my armchair. Over the
last two years (has it been that long!?) I had cuddle Ronnie on this chair,
and it could easily accommodate two, particularly when one is only
boy-sized. I held Justin in my arms for a few moments without saying
anything. I guess I was feeling abandoned.

"They'll be a long time in there," Justin advised, though what a
nine-year-old calls a 'long time' is problematic. "Do you give tummy rubs?
Caleb used to rub my tummy, but now he spends all his time with Ron."

"I'll have you know that I give the best tummy rubs this side of the
Mississippi, young man!" I replied with mock seriousness.

Justin chuckled and whipped his t-shirt over his head. "Goody!" was his
reply, and with a sly glance at my face to see if I was shocked by the
shirt-removing thing, he popped the stud button of his jeans. I smiled at
him and began slowly caressing his chest and tummy with my fee hand. Justin
sighed and let his eyes droop shut. My hand continued its tactile
meanderings, my fingertips getting closer and closer to the waist of
Justin's jeans with each pass. The boy sighed loudly and reached down to
pull his zipper down. "Mmm," he moaned as my fingers drifted under the
waistband of his cartoon underpants. With the zipper open, there was a
little peak in Justin's undies right about where Spiderman's head was. My
fingers wandered lower, and as they grazed the hairless base of Justin's
stalk, he moaned loudly.

It dawned on me at that precise moment that Ronnie had done to me exactly
what his mother did to me two years earlier. She taught him well.

end