Date: Sun, 8 Jan 2012 23:44:29 -0700
From: Josh <10234evr (at) gmail (dot) com>
Subject: Sometimes It Gets Better Part 1

The names of people, characters, products, companies and/or data mentioned
within this document are fictitious and are in no way intended to represent
any real individual, company, product, or event, unless otherwise noted.
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, for any purpose, without the express
written permission of the author.  That means NO COPYING!

Any mention of celebrities is strictly fiction, and of my own creation. I
don?t know them, or who they really are, nor do I own them, their image,
nor do I want to. It?s all made up.

This story involves graphic, romantic sex between minors and men. This is
not one of those stories where man meets boy, takes pants off, and has
sex. This is a STORY with erotic content, so if you are looking for a quick
fix, this ISN?T the story for you. If you are looking for a lengthy story,
about how much a man can love two boys, sometimes in bed, physically, and
sometimes just being their friend who they can trust, then this is the
story for you.

There is no direct sex in this chapter of the story, just a fair warning.

I am an ugly, lonely, old man who as failed at everything, including
writing in my life, and decided to give this a go, and see if I could write
erotic boylove stories. Let me know what you think. 10234evr (at) gmail
(dot) com

If this illegal where you are? well, stop reading, and leave this site,
considering you are here on nifty reading this, when you know you shouldn?t
be.

Copyright 2012 Josh T. D. Writer.  All rights reserved.



	They are ten, and eight. Fit, smooth, and na‹ve, these boys are
a gift to anyone who happens to lay eyes upon them.
	My name is Josh, and I live in a small town between town. You know
the type. It's the type that you pass through, and if you happen to be
adjusting the radio, or checking your GPS, you'll miss the entire thing.
	The strange thing, though, is we are within a few driving minutes
of two military bases. We should be a large, bustling town, thanks to the
many men and women of the armed forces. But everyone seems to just pass by.
	This fact makes being a boylover, not only taxing, but also, very
depressing.
	See, my town is a rural community, meaning that every house sits on
very large tracks of land, with the smallest ones being large enough to
support a large pool, house, and a football field, whereas the larger ones
could be divided into their own neighborhood.
	My particular house sits on the corner of the neighborhood, so,
even if there were young boys running around the other properties, I would
need binoculars just to see what type of shoes they were wearing, if any.
	But, alas, there are no children in the neighborhood. Being located
in a temperate climate, nearly every house sits vacant during the cold,
bitter, winters, and are only occupied during the summer by young couples
on vacation. The remainder of the houses are retired couples, looking for
a, "quite little town to settle down in." Sure, sometimes the grandchildren
come to visit, but these occurrences of few and far between, and hardly
last long enough to lead to anything more then a few platitudes, and the
occasional brushing of a shoulder, or arm, as I walk past them playing on
the road, or riding their bikes. There have been a few times I have
considered taking, shall we say, "aggressive" actions on those very warm,
very lonely summer days, but have never acted on them.
	I live here, primarily because, as a failing photographer, writer,
and teacher, I have little choice. The house was left to me after my mother
died, never having known my father, or any of the rest of my family.
	Rather then give up a large chunk of beautiful, expensive land, to
take a chance in some other town, and possibly be around many more boys, I
would rather be safe, never being one to take risks.
	Though, now, as I reach my thirtieth birthday, I am coming to
realize that, perhaps the reason I am so miserable here is because I never
took any risks, outside of a select few involving classmates, their pants,
and the bathroom.
	I have been living in this town since I was born, and it hasn't
been until recently that the houses nearby have been emptying out, and
going up for sale. One such house of note, and importance, was the one next
to mine?
	It was a much newer house then my own, and much larger, easily able
to support a family of eight, and still be confortable.
	The original owners were a couple that had a young boy, around the
age of five. He was a very withdrawn, and privet boy, as was his family. No
one in the neighborhood knew anything about him or her, until, about a year
ago.
	Within the span of a few months, that family' dark secrets became
public domain. These secrets ranged from the husband brutally beating his
wife, and son, many times to the point they had to go to the emergency
room, to dealing in stolen military-grade weapons to anyone with enough
cash.
	Needless to say, the house quickly came up for sale, and sat that
way through the winter? until the middle of spring, when, seemingly out of
nowhere a moving van arrived, and my story began.
	It was a warm, but damp, spring day. Having nothing to do, and
looking for inspiration for my art, I had decided to take a walk around the
block, something I rarely did, having the luxury of a massive forest
preserve, quite literally, across the street from my house.
	I adore those woods, ever since I was old enough to walk. During
the rain, it always smells of musk, and soil, and detritus. On warm, sunny
days like today, the sun drifted through the oak bushes and pine trees,
giving way to small clearings of sunbathed grass, perfect for dozing in the
nude, and letting the days fade from one to the other. So vast was this
tract of land, one could lost for days without seeing another sign of
civilization, which was perfect for my passion of nudity, masturbation, and
photography, and on days like this one, usually, a melding of all three of
those passions.
	However, on this day, I had opted for a faster, simpler walk, and
settled on the road, rather then the river.
	As I said before, it was a musky, warm day, and the dirt of the
road depressed beneath my feet, my new Five-Fingers fooling me into a
belief that I was barefoot, and allowing my mind to drift, something that I
frequently did.
	A sudden sound of metal grinding, and the shouting of a powerful
male ripped me out of my day dream, and I came to a stop at the mouth of
the driveway leading to the vacant house, which, by the look of the small
moving van, was no longer vacant.
	Another shout came, and I saw a tall man, probably near my height,
around six-feet-two-inches, holding a large box, teetering upon the edge of
the truck. He was clearly calling out for help, and yet another yells,
"Jake?" The box slides a bit, and the man grunts, throwing his shoulder
into the box, "Dylan? Someone, damn it, help!"
	Without hesitation I ran towards the man, and grabbed the box,
which must have been filled with bricks, led, or possibly all of the
dark-mater present in this galaxy, and I too, grunted as me and the
slender, but cut man set the box on the ground.
	"Oh, thank God!" Said the man, his strong, square chin, mesmerizing
me with every word, "I thought I was going to lose this thing!" He wipes
the sweat from his brow, and opened the box to reveal the back of a large
flat-screen television, and what appeared to be a selection of computer
components.
	A moment later I realized that the ground was still moist, and
soft, and the cardboard of the box was soaking up the water like a towel,
"Yikes. We should probably pick this thing up." I say, pointing at the
darkening bottom, "Is there anyone else that can help lift?"
	The man looks down, and laughs, "Only my two sons." My heart
stopped, and I said a silent little prayer to Florian the boy god, that
they would be boy gods too.
	I look down to see the strong, surprisingly smooth arm of the man
extended out towards me, "My name is Sam," he says with a slight laugh, "I
know, it's boring, and so are the names of my kids, but? You know?" He says
with a shrug.
	His handshake started firm, and strong. He could easily over power
me, and for a brief moment I imagined what he could make me do, then his
grip softened, to match mine, the sign of a very well mannered individual.
	Sam must have been able to, not only see that I wasn't physically
strong, being somewhat, shall we say, "pleasantly plump," but could feel it
in my grip, and rather then try to dominate me, he respected me position.
	A thought passed my mind that even if his sons happen to be much
older then I would prefer, they would still be a joy to be around.
	"Well, hi, Sam. I'm Josh. Apparently simplicity is a common theme
at the moment," I say with a bright, long smile, insuring that I hold his
grip for only a second longer then normal. "We should really get this thing
up, out of the moist sand."
	My words seemed to set Sam off balance, as I caught a slight sign
on his face of surprise, or distain. But this did not seem to hinder his
haste as Sam bent over, his tight-fitting t-shirt sliding down to reveal
his smooth, strong back, and every strong, tone muscle in his lower
back. For a moment I could see the tip of his crack and his two little
dimples. It was becoming clearer that this man was quite fastidious.
	With a huff, Sam attempted to lift the heavy box, a bead of sweat
rolling down his bicep, and to his wrist, cutting a road through the
light-brown layer of grime covering his body, undoubtedly a result of a
stressful move.
	Sam stands and stretches backward, allowing me an extended show of
his perfectly cut "V" running down into his two-ring fabric-belt. I caught
myself gasping, quietly to myself, which Sam must have noticed because he
leaned forward again, and spoke, "Alright," he sighs, "Let me see if I can
go find my boys. They should be able to help lift?" He pauses and looks
around complacently, "I really have to remember if I ever move again, to
start weeks before, rather then the night before!" We both share a
half-hearted laugh.
	Sam leaves, and I let out a large sigh.
	It has been years since I have any kind of intimate contact, and at
this point, even that handshake made my dick plump slightly, which then
began to grow a little bit harder as I began to think about how
immaculately beautiful his children must be.
	Sam was an Adonis, himself, and, even with my limited knowledge of
genetics, any baby this man could produce would be gorgeous, and from the
look of his dress, the cost of the watch he wore on his right hand, and the
cut of his body, the mother of his boys was just as beautiful as he.
	A few moments pasted as I began to fill my head with the possible
outcome of the next few minutes.
	Was I about to be greeted by two young boys, whom will live only a
few hundred feet from me at all times? Or will they be handsome teens,
perhaps just entering that age where they will not admit it, but they
desperately want to experiment? with anyone. Or will they be adults,
themselves, shinning examples of perfection?
	Whatever the outcome, I would undoubtedly plump up, so, with a
quick look around the garage area, I reached into my pants and pulled my
slightly stiff, uncut cock, upwards, wedging it into my jeans waste ban.
	A minute later my heart skipped, and stuttered, as I heard the most
beautiful sound nature has ever produced: The voice of a young boy, far
from puberty, and close to innocence? then the squeak of another boy,
closer to puberty, but still far enough from it that there would not be a
think hair to be found anywhere on his body, safe for the top of his head.
	The younger voice wined, "Sorry Dad! We were in our room!"
	My mind immediately filled in, "?touching ourselves?"
	Then the older boy's voice spoke up, "Why didn't you wait for us?"
	Sam responded, softly at first, then harshly "You know I'm in a
rush, we need to finish this sooner, then later!"
	At that moment I saw them, as the two young, perfect boys rounded
the corner of the large garage.
	The youngest one, probably no more then eight-years-old, was the
first one I saw. He stood three-and-a-half-feet-tall, and wore name brand
clothing, clearly two sizes to big, making a t-shirt into a flowing cone of
fabric, obscuring any hint as to what type of body he had. The only tell I
could see upon him, that told me he was as fit, and cut as his father was
the perfect, peach-colored patch of chest peaking through the long,
wrinkled, drooping colure of his shirt, that ran into a long, tight, thin
neck, upon which, rested his round, pleasant face.
	He clearly had his father's chin, which was square, and powerful,
even at this very young age, and cute, just-right chubby cheeks; not enough
to look like a baby, but not quite to the point you could tell he was about
to start puberty. His noise was small, and his mouth fit it perfectly. His
eyes, though, stood out above all else, as to shimmering grottos of emerald
green, strong enough to reflect themselves on the sunlight. Only his
"beiber-like" dirty-blond hair could draw my gaze from his eyes. It was
unkempt at the moment, and dashed about his head and face as he walked
toward me, clearly being ushered by his father.
	I followed his body from his perfect face to the ends of his arms,
which only barely peaked through the ends of the oversized t-shirt. His
hands where long, and his fingers longer still, and as I followed the thin
tendrils of smooth flesh to his brother's hand, which was much bigger, and
better proportioned, with wrinkled fingers to match his wrinkled hand.
	His brother was much more tan, and stood about
four-and-a-half-feet-tall. This boy god was no more then eleven-years-old;
unless he was a "late bloomer" then he could have been as old as
fourteen. His clothing fit much better, and showed off his godly form.
	He wore a white t-shirt sporting some random slogan, but even
through the shirt I could tell he had a small, developing six-pack, with a
deep "V", like his father. He too, had a long, thin neck, but unlike his
younger brother, appeared much, much stronger, with a single, strong sexy,
muscle showing itself as he stretched his head back toward his father. His
face was just a cute, and perfect as his brothers', but all but the
faintest hint of baby-fat remained, showing a hint to his true beauty when
fully mature.
	Unlike his younger brother, this young, sexy boy, had a wide,
prevalent scare across his aqua colored eyes, which burned as fiery as his
brothers.
	This scar wasn't off-putting, but enhancing, giving this walking
boy idol an air of mystery, and sexiness, causing my cock to rush to steel
strength. It has never hardened that quickly since the first time with my
friend in kindergarten. For a moment I was afraid my six-and-a-half-inch
cock would explode right there, sending a river a cum in front of me,
ruining any chance I would ever have to spend time with this perfect,
smooth, young boys.
	My stupor was broken by Sam's deep, masculine voice, adding itself
to my reeling head, "Josh? Right?" Sam points down to the smallest boy,
"This is Jake, say 'Hi' Dylan." The boy reluctantly does as his father
commands, and my cock twitches, then Sam points at the taller boy, who
stands closer, and prouder then his brother, to myself, "?and this is
Jake." Before his father can finish his sentence, Dylan throws his left
hand toward me, just as his father had done minutes before, and spoke in a
happy, high, angelic voice, "Hi, Josh!" My cock throbbed such so, I was
afraid the boy could see, his eyes scanning me.
	I pause for a moment, probably far to long, admiring Jake's
perfectly smooth, featureless, tanned arm. I always expect to see a wisp of
peach-fuzz covering a boys' arm, something I look forward too, but saw none
on his thin arm.
	Reaching out to grab his hand, I could feel the heat coming from
his hand, and I felt my cock push into my stomach, which told me, that if
my short hoody was to move up, even an inch more, the boy's and their
father could see my pink knob pushing its way out of my pants, almost
pulling me toward Jake and Dylan.
	Once my hand touched Jake's, I found myself gasping, at first loud
enough to hear, then quickly taking it unto myself, and gently sliding my
hand around his, feeling every wrinkle, every muscle, and bone.
	All the while, the boy continued to look me over, as if he was
expecting to see some kind of tell that I was instantly infatuated with
him, or a glimpse of my groin.
	As I shook his hand, which felt like a forever, I could feel my
large, shaved sack pull up towards my body, and the burning, twisting of
orgasm building in my stomach.
	I immediately dropped Jake's warm, soft, touch, and brought my
hand's into my hoodies front pocket, ensuring, should I cum, it would land
on my inner shirt and flesh, rather then the front of this wonderful boy,
who had moved slightly closer without my noticing during a quick handshake.
	I looked Jake up and down, as he was still doing to me in a subtle
way, and could see through his sport-shorts, no hint, or whisper of action
near his groin.
	Of course, a large part of me knew a ten-year-old boy is unlikely
to have an experience similar to what was currently happening to me, or
even show a sign he might be having such an episode, but the pervert in me
wanted to see a small, shapely stalk pushing the boy's pants forward, with,
perhaps, even a small spot starting to show, of pre-cum.
	Alas, this was not the case, and a quick look at Sam and Dylan
proved footless, also, I took a step back, and looked once more a Jake's
round, tan, face, and the scare that drug itself across his left eye, from
top of brow, to base of noise.
	I found myself suddenly stating, "Wow, that's quite a scar."
Something I wouldn't normally do. But once it was said, I realized I must
have done so to break myself from staring, which I realized I had been
doing.
	Watching Jake closely, partially with fear of offending him and his
family, and partially with curiosity, he draw back, then laughed, "Oh,
this," He pointed to the scar, and then looked back at his father, who nods
toward him, "I got this by accident. I was being stupid."
	I did not detect any fear, or concern in his voice, as you would
with someone hiding a truth, but the look to his father concerned
me. However, I did not pursue it, and instead turned all of our attentions
to the heavy box.
	"We should get this box inside," I point at the box, and begin to
move toward it, my cock slowing shrinking back into my pants, and my balls
receding back down my leg, "?and the afternoon is coming, meaning rain?" I
look towards the perfectly blue sky, and squint into the sun, another
attempt to take my mind off of the two boy gods, and their hot father, "It
always rains in the afternoons here."
	Sam and the boys move to the sides of the box, "Tell me about
it. I've lived here for thirty-some-years." My mind reeled.
	This perfect, fit man, who could have been a model, a movie star,
and probably even an astronaut, was older then myself. A wave a depression
washed over me, until I look to the boys, bending over to grab at the
bottom of the heavy box.
	Jake's fit shirt slid up his back, and like the rest of him, only
perfection was present. His spine was defined, giving him a definition of
strength, and the very tinny tip of his crack peeked out from his designed
jeans, which showed off his perfect, bubble-butt, and told me that he would
have a large, smooth crack.
	I twitched my tong inside my mouth with the quick fantasies of
running my hands up and down that perfect crack, and massaging his tight,
pink hole.
	These fantasies did not last long, and I quickly abandoned them
when I felt my cock twitch to attention again, but not being pulled against
my chest, would give me away.
	Unfortunately my eyes shot from Jake, to his lovely, little
brother, who was squatting by the box, rather then bending over as everyone
else, which made sense, due to his small stature.
	Looking down, Dylan's left leg was pointed right at me, as were the
opening of his shorts. Sadly, though, the shorts where just a little to
long, but I could see, nearly to the base of his leg, and only just a few
inches from his boyhood.
	I quickly closed my eyes, and faked a scratch, so not to tempt
myself any more, then proceeded to help lift the box.
	As we lifted, I could tell Jake wanted to help, and Dylan did to,
but between myself, and Sam, the boys where more for stability, and
guidance, then strength. This fact, though, did not prevent Jake from
huffing when we lift the box, as we did, in an adolescence act to fit in,
and be a "big-boy."
	That little huff was enough to tighten my cock to a half-stock, and
I was worried, till Sam suggested we lower the box to waist height, so the
boys could help, and it would be easier to lift.
	Upon doing so, I had a chance to push my hard-on down my leg in an
awkward fashion, in a hope it was a prevalent.
	Unknown to me, though, at that moment, Dylan had seen me do so, and
watched as my hands pushed my stock down, rolling it inside my pants, to
point down my right leg, and only stick out a slight bit. This slight bit,
though, was enough for Dylan to see, and watch.
	We quickly moved the box into the house, and into Sam's office,
where we all slacked off, and took a moment to rest.
	I looked at the two boys, Jake's face red from helping lift the
box, and sweat forming at the top of his forehead, clumping his semi-short
hair. Unlike his brother, Jake kept his trimmed to a reasonable length;
long enough to have a little bounce and life, but short enough to only
require a few seconds to style. Though it was a common hairstyle, it fit
him perfectly, the natural blond highlights twisting among the dustier,
darker blond hair. The hairstyle every boylover hopes to see on their boys.
	Dylan sat on the swivel chair, in the corner when I notice he was
still looking at my leg, where my once hard cock hand been yearning to rip
free, and looking at his own leg, feeling the muscle in his thigh.
	At that time I did not know he was attempting to figure out which
muscle it was, that was poking out of my leg?
	As we rested I mentioned, "So, what is it that everyone does?"
	The two boys look at me with weird smiles, and Dylan was the first
to speak, "I'm eight, so?" Jake joins in enthusiastically, "And I'm ten."
Dylan continues, "So I guess we're boys, and we go to school."
	I laugh to myself, and think, "Well, let me look between your legs
to see if you still have a cock." But of course, I say no such thing, but
laugh at Dylan?s' satire, as does everyone else.
	Jake slumps against the wall near me, and I hear him giggle at
Dylan's comment. If angels could laugh and giggle, it would never sound as
beautiful as Jake. I could not wait to hear him actually laugh out loud,
rather then a quick chuckle.
	At that moment, I made a promise to myself I would make him laugh
loud, and I would make his brother do the same.
	Sam spoke after a moment, "Well, my job isn't as glamorous as the
boys' job?" He chuckles, "But I work as a contractor for the military. I
guess you could call me a highly-paid Jack-of-All-Trades."
	Jake turns to look at his father, and as he does so, I get a
front-row seat to the back of his neck. At last, I found the perfect part
of every little boy, or at least the one you can see in public without
going to jail, the peach-fuzz. He had a thin, delicate layer covering the
back of his darker tanned, smooth neck, that showed no muscles moving, or
bone of spine.
	At that very moment I could only think about running my hand up his
back, following his spine, feeling the warmth and every twitch, up his
neck, watching him quiver, and into his soft, smooth hair.
	Sam continued to explain what he did for the military, which was
mostly as he described; if something breaks, or needs to be upgraded, or
cleaned, or pretty much anything that involves the type of "grunt work" the
"grunts" don't want to do, or don't have time to do, Sam does do.
	Over the next few hours I helped the three handsome males move into
their overly large house and they shared their backstory with me, as I
shared mine.
	Their story was a basic one most military families have; move to
one base, then get reassigned, and move to another base, repeat. At no
point did Jake, Dylan, or Sam mention the scar that improved Jake's
delicate, little face, which continued to off-put me, but I was having fun,
talking with the boys, teasing them of whatever cute things I could, and
listening to their stories of their old home. I wasn't going to jeopardize
this perfect time I was having, which was about to get a lot better.
	As noon pasted, and the clouds began to roll in, giving the world a
darker contrast, and the illusion that everything is in sharper focus,
Sam's cellphone rings, and he excuses himself from the kitchen, where we
were all sitting.
	The boys, as he does this, sigh, and look at each other forlornly,
which I quickly picked up on, "What's wrong boys?"  Dylan sat to my left,
and Jake sat to my right, and I wanted to so badly place my hands on their
necks lovingly, and massage their shoulders with my fingers. But such an
action would be completely out of the question, as I had yet to show any
form of physical contact with the boys, save for my first handshake with
Jake.
	Dylan looks up at me, and I swear he is about to cry, "He's going
to do it?"
	My mind immediately jumped into a defensive mode, and I formulated
a plan to subdue Sam the moment he tried to strike, or heart ether of the
boys, having assumed Dylan meant that Sam was going to abuse them.
	I look over at Jake who sighs again, and leans back in the chair,
rubbing at his face, "Ya, probably Dill, I told you this was going to
happen."
	"What is going to happen?"
	Jake looks at me, "Dad is going to go to work?" He looks back down
the hallway where his dad is talking on the phone, and when he turns back
to me, I see redness forming in his eyes, and thickness in his voice, "He
promised? He PROMISED!"
	The pain in Jake's voice ripped through my heart, and then pissed
on the pieces, it hurt so bad. I wanted to grab him, and hug him, and kiss
him, and do everything to him to make him feel better.
	Unfortunately, I just look down at him, and frown, and in such a
pandering voice, "Oh, I'm sorry." Then place my hand on his shoulder, and
felt his warmth once again.
	"It's okay. We're used to it." Jake raises his hand places it on
mine.
	Sparks, and fires, and butterflies, and rainbows rushed through me
upon his slightest touch, and I let myself go, let out a loving sigh, and
leaned in towards his face. Jake, however, looks up at me, but nothing
more. No emotion on his face, or reaction to my motions.
	This moment is broken by Sam, "Um? Guys?"
	Upon hearing this, both boys throw their hands up in the air, and
grunt at Sam.
	"Boys?" Sam puts up his hands defensively, "I know? I know I
promised," his voice was truly sincere, "But something big has come up, and
they absolutely need me?" Then Sam looks over at me, "Speaking of
emergency? Can I talk to you Josh?"
	Sam and I walk into the living room, and he steps in close, "Okay,
I know we have known each other for about two hours now, and you probably
have a life to go live, but I was wondering if you could be me a favor?"
Sam looks over my shoulder towards the kitchen, where the boys sit in their
depression, "Can you?" He motions towards the boys, and I grab his arm and
lower it.
	"?Watch the boys?" I smile gently, and genuinely at him, "Of course
I can. Trust me, I have nothing else going on right now. I'm in a sort of
"writers-block," but with photography. Any kind of stimulation will help
me." I smirk every-so-slightly, and continue the rest of the sentence in my
mind, "?and your boys look like they know how to stimulate an older man?"
	Sam grabs me, and hugs me, a sudden, and surprising action for him,
"Thank you! I have left everything important in this file," Sam holds up a
manila folder with their last name on the label, "This is how you can get a
hold of me, and things I don't want to boys doing, and things I want them
doing, that kind of stuff." He hands me the folder, and reach?s for his
wallet, "I don't know if anybody delivers out here, but if they do, here is
some cash for dinner?" Sam's voice goes quite, and soft, "?and maybe even?
breck? fest?"
	"So you are going to be gone that long?"
	Sam nods, "Yes. I'll probably won't be home until this time
tomorrow."
	"You know, your boys?"
	Before I can finish my sentence Sam interrupts, "I know. Let me go
talk to them."
	Sam leaves the room, and I look down at the wad of cash in my hand,
and the folder containing their entire medical history.
	I find a box to sit on, and rub at my forehead. I just can't
believe what is happening. In just a few minutes I am going to be left
alone with two amazingly hot, amazing na‹ve boys, for nearly
twenty-four-hours.
	My cock immediately jumps to attention as I start to fantasize
about the many sexy things that might happen within those hours, and I pull
it, once more, back against my chest.
	This time, though I take the time to make sure it is confortable,
and pull the skin from my tip back, revealing the layer of sticky pre-cum
from just a few hours ago. I run my finger around the tip a few times, and
I feel myself nearly cum, just from those few wispy touches, and replace
the foreskin, then pull my shirt back out.
	I pause for a moment and consider everything, once more, that was
happening. In all likelihood, nothing was going to happen in the next
hours, nor would I try to do anything of the sort, as that is not in my
nature to always try.
	Although, the last young boy I touch, sexually, or not, was a boy I
met on the road, riding is bike, at the end of winter four months ago.
	I decided at that moment to focus on the moment, rather then the
future, as to prevent any conscious, or subconscious grooming I might enact
on the two, wonderful, innocent, boy gods who know live just a few moments
from my back down.
	As I sat Sam, who reentered the room, ?Okay,? interrupted my
thoughts, ?I think it will be okay now. I did all I could to smooth things
over. You sure this okay?"
	I joyfully leap to my feet and beam a smile at Sam, "Yes, it really
is. Trust me, I love boys!"
	"Great!" Sam shouts, "As long as they consent, right?" Sam winks at
me, and with his tong and cheek, "clicks" at me, like they would do in the
old comedies after a back joke, or a bad pickup line.
	I however, was so throw by this comment I paused and looked about.
	Sam mentioned a few other minor important things, and then headed
out the door. I remained for a moment to ponder, just what he meant, by his
"consent" joke.
	Could he actually mean, that, if I get the boys to consent, I can
have sex with them? Or was it an outright joke?
	I took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen, where both
boys where sitting next to each other, Jake, coddling Dylan, whispering
something in his ear.
	When I enter, I startle them, and they leap up, "Oh. Okay Josh?"
Jake says, his arm still around Dylan's shoulders, a position that made my
jealous, "I guess you're our babysitter?"
	I could tell Dylan, and even Jake had been crying, and that
pain-through-my-heart hits me again, this time, bring me to the brink of
tears too.
	I walk over the boys, and extend my arms in a gesture of a
comforting hug, and the boys except. Jake comes to the bottom of my chest,
and he wraps his arms up, around my waist, and rest his head against my
lower stomach, just below my belly button.
	Dylan, however, was standing at the perfect height, his head came
to my groin, and he wrapped his arms around Jake, and my legs, his arms
brushing the bottom of my own bubble-butt.
	I wrapped my arms around both boys, ensuring I kept my hands away
from the bottoms, and allowing my fingers to gently fall upon the sides of
their chests, and sliding down softly, causing Jake to shudder, and giggle,
stating that he was ticklish, and causing Dylan to jump back chuckling,
claiming the same thing as Jake.
	This was a welcome action on Dylan's behalf, because within seconds
of the boy's touching me, and the feeling of Dylan's head resting on my
cock, I had began to plump up again, and this time, I would have clearly
given myself away if Dylan had stayed in place, most likely receiving his
first facial. The second reason was the fact that I get to hear the boys
giggle and snicker once more.
	A few moments pass as I pathetically grasp at the two boys, trying
to tickle them again, then I look down at them, their sorrow gone, and
around at the cluttered house, and realized out loud, "Well? Uh? We are all
alone now?"