***Author's note:  The following is a work of fiction intended for adult
entertainment only.  The author in no way advocates or condones the scenes
depicted.  Any resemblance to actual persons or places is entirely
unintentional.  If you enjoy stories of Man/boy love and/or the idea and
look of young boys in short pants, please refer to "Ian, One Man's Prince"
and "Arcadia Academy" and "Newspapers & Gym Suits."***


SUMMER AT UNCLE'S
by Short Boys-Pants


        When I was nine I spent the summer with my uncle.  My mother
divorced my father while I was still a baby and so I never knew him, and
that summer mother decided that I needed the influence of an adult male in
my life.  I'd never met uncle Ted, and the thought of spending the summer
with a stranger didn't exactly fill me with delight.  I protested,  but
once mother set her mind she never backed off until she got what she
wanted.  Now that I'm older, I can see how mother's strong will might have
led to divorce, but none of that matters.  If things hadn't turned out the
way they did, I would have never gone to my uncle's, and that has made all
the difference.
        So, on the first of June and several years ago, I found myself
disembarking an airplane in Chicago, anxious and already dreaming up
excuses to go back home.  I was so busy inventing excuses that I walked
right past my uncle and the cardboard sign he'd made to greet me -- Welcome
to the Windy City, Eric! -- and wound up wandering around the terminal for
almost an hour.  He finally found me standing at an information booth, near
tears and clutching my single bag to my chest.  Uncle Ted wasted no time in
being affectionate; he picked me up and gave me a hug and a kiss on the
cheek, then set me down.  I was a bit shocked by his familiarity and stood
quietly as uncle Ted ran his eyes all over me.
        Mother's reason for sending me was understandable, even if my visit
didn't have the desired effect -- not that she ever knew, even as I did not
understand her reasoning until later -- but the fact is that I was a sissy.
The lack of a male influence in my life was telling: Mother loved me
dearly and spoiled me but I don't blame her.  What else was a single woman
to do but dote on her one son?
        "Well!  Aren't you dressed nicely!" smiled uncle Ted, tousling my hair.
        I was used to boys at school making fun of me and to adults smiling
at me because they thought I was cute, but I wasn't used to a man looking
at me the way uncle Ted was looking.  He stared like I was a movie star or
something.  It made me uncomfortable, but it was better than uncle Ted's
being put off by my appearance, which is what I'd feared.
        See, mother liked to dress me in short pants.  Preppie, short short
pants outfits entirely out of synch with fashion.  All my shirts were real
shirts with collars and buttons, and my pants were real pants with pockets
and belts.  That's why other boys teased, and that's how I was dressed when
I first met uncle Ted; I wore a white short sleeved shirt tucked into black
short pants with a black leather belt, white footie stockings and black
shoes polished to a shine.  I looked like a neatly dressed little boy --
adorable, actually, judging by old photographs -- and a sissy with my
auburn hair tinted with red highlights, fair complexion and compact, soft
body padded with baby fat.  A full, pouting lower lip and round, brown eyes
completed my Little Lord Fauntleroy appearance.
        "How was your flight?  First time on an airplane?"
        I nodded.  Traveling to Chicago was my first time on a plane and my
first time away from Seattle and mother.  The flight had been exciting; the
stewardess had doted on me and the captain let me visit the cockpit.  It
wasn't unusual for grownups to fuss over me because I was a beautiful
little boy, and you know how it is.  I hope that doesn't sound conceited,
but I want to be honest in sharing my story.
        I didn't tell uncle Ted about my adventures, however, because of my
shyness, so he talked enough for both of us as he guided me to his car.  He
closed his right hand over the back of my neck as we walked and gently
stroked it with his thumb.  It made my skin tingle -- I felt a vibe I did
not recognize coming from my uncle -- and I kept glancing at him over my
shoulder, sensing his eyes on my body.  It was sunny, and our shadows,
large and small, flowed over the pavement.
        Uncle surprised me by driving to Navy Pier where we strolled the
boardwalk and its many shops, taking lunch at a restaurant with a live
blues band, then a guided tour on a real battleship.  We passed hours
together in the warm June sun, uncle Ted touching my cheeks or forehead
often to be sure I wasn't overheated.  I got used to the touch of his
large, gentle hands and his penchant for taking photographs of me, which he
did often.  We had "lost years" to catch up on, he said.
        We stayed late at the pier.  We sat on a bench and threw popcorn to
pigeons; we watched people and sat very close as the sun set over lake
Michigan, turning the waters orange, then red.  By the time uncle was
generously patting my knees and thighs I was growing to like him and the
fact that he liked me.  I didn't have any friends because of my shyness and
my clothes which were the cause of my shyness, and because my temperament
was of a quiet, thoughtful nature unlike most boys.  Some boys spied me
sitting with uncle and guffawed or sneered at my clothing, but uncle had
only to turn in their direction and they walked on.
        Uncle Ted was big and swarthy.  He had dark brown hair and a
manicured beard and moustache; he was 34, stood 6'6" and weighed 240
pounds; that day he wore a checkered green and blue shirt, khaki walking
shorts and sandals.  He had muscles, and his arms and legs were matted with
brown fur.  Uncle Ted was handsome.  I recognized his attractiveness and
was drawn to it.  His presence was palpably different than my mother's and
struck a deep chord in me.
        We left Navy Pier and its brightly lit shops, the enormous ferris
wheel with its glowing golden neon frame twirling against the starry sky,
and arrived at uncle's home in a suburb just north of the city.  It was
late, so after uncle showed me the spare bedroom that was to be mine for
the summer and helped me unpack (he made quite a fuss over my clothes,
saying how my all pants were so "little" and "cute and short"), I showered
and changed into my pajamas, then called mother while uncle showered.
        After the call I settled onto a big gray couch -- the biggest I'd
ever seen -- and watched television.  I was tired and knew sleep was not
far away.  Uncle Ted walked into the living room dressed only in blue and
white striped boxer shorts.  He carried his camera and stood before me,
wanting more photos.  Unease made me shiver, but because I knew from movies
and from seeing my mother in her panties and bra in the mornings that
adults often went about in their underwear, I relaxed.
        I drew up my feet so that my right leg lay curled on the couch, my
left knee bent and near my chin, and smiled as uncle took photographs.  My
pajamas consisted of a long sleeved paisley top with faded blue trim at the
wrists and neck, and paisley short pants with faded trim around the waist
and leg openings.  On my feet were faded blue socks.  This was my favorite
pair of pajamas -- well worn and comfortable -- much less neat and preppie
than my other clothes.  In a way, my pajamas were a childish expression of
rebellion; I would have preferred long pants and more casual clothes, but,
as I've said, there was no arguing with mother.
        Uncle Ted walked about me, the camera's bulb flashing, eventually
zooming in on my legs, but after a few minutes I grew bored by the
elaborate pains he took to find the best angles and just lounged naturally.

        "Good boy, Eric," he said, pleased.  "No one likes a false pose."
        He stopped and asked if I was cold, offering to turn down the air
conditioner.  I told him I was fine.  He asked if I was hungry.  I said no.
I leaned on my right elbow, my hands crossed at my right hip.  Uncle Ted
set the camera on an end table and sat on my right.  He draped his left arm
around my shoulders.  My cheek rest against his broad, hairy chest, my
right thigh pressed against his leg.  The hairs on his chest and leg
tickled and caught my fascination.
        "I'm very glad you came to visit," said uncle Ted.
        "Me, too," I said, mostly from politeness.  The night and the
distance from mother were beginning to register on me, and I felt a wave of
homesickness.  I thought of the lake's black waters rolling in to the pier,
the ferris wheel and the pigeons pecking at popcorn.  I sighed.
        "Feeling lonely?" he asked.  I nodded.  The fingers of Uncle Ted's
right hand began to play in my hair.   "It'll pass," he said.  "A few days
and you'll be fine.  Don't think about leaving me, OK?"
        The television flickered it's cool light around the room.  Uncle
Ted's deep voice was almost whispering, and I caught how he'd asked me not
to leave him.  Other than mother, no one had ever spoken to me in such
soothing, intimate tones.
        "I'm sorry we took so long to meet, Eric.  I'm sorry your mother
and I weren't better at keeping in touch."
        My pang of homesickness grew.  Needing comfort, I nudged my cheek
against uncle's chest, felt the warmth of his skin and the tickle of hair.
I could hear his heart beat.  "I never thought about having an uncle," I
said.
        "I never thought about having a nephew," he said,  brushing my
bangs.  "If I'd known you were such a sweet little boy...."
        There was a tone to uncle's voice which I could not place, and the
affection of his words chilled me.  Uncle said I was 'sweet'!  The press of
his body intrigued me -- a large man's body almost naked -- as well as the
proximity of my own half-naked body next to his.  Being alone with a man
that way, in his house and far from mother, affected me, though I couldn't
then say how.  The darkened room, the murmuring voices on the television
and the light flickering from the screen were hypnotic.
        We sat together for several moments, man and boy, uncle and nephew,
and I knew uncle Ted felt the same funny tension that I did.  The best way
I can explain it is to say that we both seemed to want to get close, to
know each other suddenly and completely, as if this wasn't our first
meeting.
        "You have cute legs," uncle whispered as the fingers of his left
hand stretched out to brush against my left knee, his other hand softly
closing over my right thigh and sinking into my tender flesh.  "They're
rather voluptuous."
        "Volup-- what?" I asked, never having heard that word.
        "I mean they're shapely and well-formed."
        "Oh."
        I glanced down at my legs and uncle's hands on them.  The skin of
my legs was glossy and smooth, tanned peaches-and cream, and my legs were
baby-shapely, thighs and calves padded.  Grownups, mostly women, often
cooed and fussed over me when I went shopping with mother, pinching my
cheeks and saying things like "look at those little legs!" so I knew
grownups liked to see them.  But they never touched them.
        I watched uncle's large hands close over my thighs and squeeze.
Then uncle was looking into my face.  I looked back, staring into his dark
eyes.  He smiled.
        "Very shapely legs, Eric.  Do you play sports?"
        "I play piano."
        "Oh, do you?" uncle gasped.  His hands slid and closed over my
inner thighs, brushed against the hems of my pajama pants, which were
wedged in my crotch.  I was an innocent: I thought nothing of uncle's
touch, except that his hands were cool and good.  "Will you play something
for me?"
        I blushed and bashfully wagged my head.  Mother often made me
perform for her bridge club, dressing me in a white short pants tuxedo --
which always made the women coo -- and stand beside the piano to announce
each selection before playing.  Then, I stood after each piece to take my
bows while the women clapped.  Those afternoon performances were painful to
endure, the tuxedo scratchy and stiff and the air of the piano room heavy
with perfume, ending in boring talk with those women while I made the
rounds serving cookies and glasses of lemonade on a silver tray.  The women
always took it upon themselves to straighten my bow tie, smooth my jacket
or tug at my cuffed knee stockings to be sure they were even.  Mother loved
her little boy.
        I knew uncle Ted wouldn't treat me that way -- at least I thought
he wouldn't -- and I liked the idea of performing for him.
        "OK.  Now?"
        "No, silly," he laughed.  "Now would spoil the mood."
        What mood? I wondered.  Uncle Ted began to slowly knead my
baby-shapely thighs, his fingers pressing into the flesh where my legs
joined my crotch.  I gasped.  He kissed the top of my head.
        "I'm so happy you're here with me.  Are you happy to be here?" he asked.
        Suddenly I was out of breath, my homesickness disappearing as my
body began to surge with its first sexual excitation.  It was all I could
do to nod as uncle's hands flipped over so that he caressed my thighs with
the backs of his fingers.  From pajama pants to knees, uncle's large hands
wandered.
        "Your skin is so soft," he whispered huskily.  "What beautiful
young legs you have, Eric.  So beautiful for an eight year old boy."
        "Nine," I peeped, correcting him.  "I'm nine."
        "Oh, honey.  I'm sorry.  You look younger."
        It was true.  I had a compact figure, like I said, and though I was
nine and three months old, I had a very soft face.  My baby-shapely legs --
glossy and hairless and peachy pink with health -- prissily displayed in my
short pants outfits didn't help me look nine, either.  And my voice was so
high.
        Uncle scooted down to the edge of the couch, flipped his hands
again, then went on stroking and feeling my legs, palms and fingers
everywhere.  He looked into my face again; I looked back.  The television
light flickered.  He bent and kissed my right cheek.  His beard tickled.
        I sat silent and still as uncle kissed my cheek again, watching him
feel my legs for who knows how long.  My skin tingled.  My penis grew hard.
I didn't notice its hardness until uncle sighed and stared at it.
        I followed his gaze.  My penis held no special meaning for me as I
had not yet learned to masturbate, and though it had grown hard before, I
never gave it much thought.  Now, with uncle, I studied it closely.  It lay
flat against my pubes, the narrow shaft like a two inch finger in the
paisley folds of my pajama pants, the circumcised glans plainly outlined
and the size of a small cherry.  Uncle Ted slipped his hands over my inner
thighs, pushed the faded blue hems of my pajama pants up so that a V of
cloth was all that hid my pert kiddie hard on from our view.
        My chest rose and fell.  I didn't know what was happening, but I
sensed that my penis could unlock the mystery of my tension.  Judging by
uncle Ted's interest in it, I knew I'd guessed correctly.
        "So beautiful, aren't you, Eric," uncle whispered.  "So beautiful."
        For the first time, I noticed my uncle's body.  A glimmer of
insight came to me.  My round, child's eyes roamed over his broad shoulders
and developed pectorals; I saw the wide nipples, the dark hair forming a
thick trail down to his six-pack abdomen; I saw the blue and white striped
boxers and the brown hunky legs that looked nothing like mine.  He was all
muscle and hair; he radiated strength.  Then my eyes caught a jumping
motion in his boxers, and I saw that my uncle's penis was hard, too.
        "You want to stay with me all summer, don't you, Eric?" he asked,
almost pleading.  I saw that he needed something from me, a promise and
something more, so I nodded.
        "Do you know that men can love boys?" he asked.
        I didn't.  But, suddenly, I wanted to know.
        "I can't be your father, but I am your uncle.  And I can love you.
I can love you if you'll let me."
        A child bursting with sexual energies, and needful of friendship, I
was calm and accepting about uncle's affections.  I reasoned that since
mother sent me to visit, she knew uncle would want to love me.
        "You can love me," I peeped, giving permission.  The magnitude of
my submission was not lost on me: mother had made all decisions concerning
my welfare up until that night, and it was the first time I'd asserted
myself, albeit passively.
        "Thank you, Eric.  Sweet Eric," said my uncle.
        I whimpered as uncle's lips met mine.
        I found myself gently eased onto my back, uncle stretching out
beside me so that I was pressed between his body and the couch.  He lay on
my right.  My knees were bent and my thighs spread in a silky expanse of
naked flesh.  Uncle's right hand found my thighs.
        His lips never left mine.  Our mouths did not move but simply
touched.  Warm breath from his nostrils washed over my face.  I closed my
eyes.
        Dreams.  I had dreams as I gave up my virginity.  Little boy dreams
of being special and beautiful and good.  My young body quivered as uncle
Ted gifted me with the magic of man-boy love.  He began to kiss me more
urgently, lips nibbling until I nibbled in response.  I heard deep rumbling
groans which I knew were uncle Ted's, and high squeaky groans that seemed
to be coming from the television.
        It was wonderful.  It was electric.  First kisses.
        Eyes yet closed, I only felt uncle shift and scoot beside me as his
mouth pecked it's way down my tiny chest.  He rucked up my shirt and kissed
my soft baby's tummy.  I heard the high squeaking groans again.  Uncle's
mouth wandered about my pajama pants, and then I opened my eyes as I felt
my legs being lifted so that my knees were draped over uncle's shoulders.
He was laying face down below me, propped up on his elbows and large hands
caressing my thighs.
        "Does it feel good, baby?"
        I stared into uncle's face framed between my legs.  For the first
time I became aware -- truly aware -- of how naked my legs were in my short
pants.  So naked and visible to anyone who cared to look.  Or touch.
Before, I had focused only on the neatness of my clothes, on how the
shortness of my pants set me apart from other boys.  Now, it struck me that
I had grown up half naked, and that the men I'd sometimes caught staring at
my legs had wanted to touch them.  Boys, too, especially teenagers who did
not tease or laugh when spying me but watched me with guarded interest.

        "Baby?"
        I nodded.  I was gasping, my exposed tummy pink and heaving.
Uncle's voice had changed; it was curious now, thick and husky, and his
calling me 'baby' the way people called each other on those soap operas
mother watched....
        "Yes!" I yelped, quivering violently, needing release from a
tension never experienced.
        Uncle face took on a soulful expression, and then he simply turned
his head, opened his mouth wide, and began to suck on my right inner thigh.

        "Ooooo!!!"
        I bucked.  I whined.  I made my hands into fists that shook like
baby rattles by either hip as uncle moaned and sucked and sucked.  His
mouth was hot and wet.  His tongue felt like a wet, probing muscle, and his
beard scratched and pricked my tender skin.  The tiny pain of it thrilled
me.  I bucked and lifted up from the couch as uncle suddenly turned his
head to suck my other thigh.
        "Eee!  Ooo ooo!  Tickles!  Ahh!" I warbled, frantically trying to
cope with the sensations.  Never having wrestled or engaged in rough play
-- mother feared for my musician's hands -- I was unprepared even for these
simple actions uncle took with me.  I watched my legs swing open and
closed, my baby-shapely thighs smack harmlessly against uncle's cheeks,
trapping his head there.  I watched my tiny feet in their faded blue socks
go up and down above uncle's back, hover and tremble in the air.  I watched
my knees straighten and bend, the skin glazed with television light as they
hooked round and secure over uncle's shoulders.
        My legs!  What was it about my legs?!  Why was uncle sucking them?!
Why did it feel so good?!  Had I been wearing the long pants I'd craved, I
knew, uncle wouldn't be able to suck my legs and I wouldn't be feeling the
awesome pleasure he was giving them, and at that moment -- strange as it
sounds -- I vowed never to wear long pants.  The vow was redundant because
uncle -- and mother -- had every intention of keeping me in short pants for
years.
        I bucked and struggled, whining with childish ecstasy, scaling a
peak of excitement that had no summit.  Or so I thought.  Uncle sensed what
I could not: I was building to first orgasm.
        Uncle took hold of my hips in a gentle but unbreakable grip, used
his thumbs to catch at the fabric of my paisley, favorite pair of pajama
pants and underwear, then stretched and pulled both items of clothing so
that they lay on the right side of my suddenly exposed genitals.
        Uncle lay breathing over my crotch.  My balls looked like peeled
grapes in their silky pink sack, and my penis was thinner and shorter than
all of uncle's fingers, the tiny cherry glans swollen and deep crimson atop
the veinless shaft.  Oh, what would happen next?!  My mind whirled with
frantic questions.
        To my amazement, uncle's tongue flicked out and swiped at the tip
of my glans.
Briefly.  I did not move.  He did not look up.  And when I lay anxious and
thrilled, he licked me again, from the base of the shaft to the glans,
making my kiddie erection flop and my eyes spin.
        "OH!" I gasped with genuine passion.  My hands clamped suddenly
onto uncle's head and I fisted his hair, sitting up to get closer and watch
what he was doing.
        "Yes, Eric," he whispered, his lips moist and twitching.  "Yes.
Just relax.  Relax."
        Tongue on my balls.  Tongue on my dick.  Tongue on the tip of my
glans and poking at the tiny slit.  Three licks, and I was consumed in
bliss.  Brown eyes wide and sparkling, gazing in awe and wonderment, I
watched my uncle Ted work his oral ministrations on my virgin nine year old
boy's genitals.
        He took me in his mouth.  I cried out and curled into a tight ball
over his head, my shoulders and hips wrenching left to right as every
muscle in my body strained.  Uncle's jaw massaged my balls, and his tongue
curled itself around my erection even as his lips formed an air-tight seal
around my genitals.  The couch was cool and soft under me, but my crotch
and a place deep in my belly were growing hot and moist.
        I felt pleasure everywhere.  My scalp tingled -- even my anus --
and, yes, the tips of my little curled toes.
        We made much noise.  Groaning, moaning man and whimpering,
squealing little boy.  My face was almost in uncle's hair, my fists and
knees on either side of my cheeks.  I felt his muscled strength and sensed
his delight.  I felt a surge of empowerment to realize that letting uncle
suck on my legs and my dick could make him so happy.
        And everything he did gave me pleasure.
        Then the pressure building inside me was too much to hold back.  In
the moment I felt as if I was going to pee, I cried out high and loud,
tears springing to my eyes -- and those tears were the only fluids I gave
up that night.
        Dry orgasm ravished me.
        A honeyed cocoon formed about me as the most exquisite, delicious
warmth cascaded throughout my straining body.  My penis jumped and throbbed
in uncle's mouth, swelling and jerking, brushing the ridged roof and the
back of his throat.  Great convulsions wracked me and I cried out again,
sobbing in fear and awe at the ferocity of my first childish orgasm.
        The next moments go unremembered.  But when my senses returned, I
found myself laid out in uncle's bed.  He lay beside me, left hand stroking
and caressing my thighs which were wet and coated with a thick, gel-like
goo.  Feebly, I lifted my head from the pillow and gazed down at myself.
My genitals were safely tucked away in my underwear and pajama pants once
more, and in the wash of moonlight coming from the window, I saw uncle's
large hand smearing that opaque, jelly-like substance over my thighs.
Lotion?  Baby oil?  I didn't know.  Like many other things, uncle would
explain what it was over the next several months.
        "Shh, Eric.  Go to bed now.  You're a tired boy."
        I lay back.  Uncle pulled the covers over us.  He snuggled up to me
and gathered me in his embrace.  He kissed me tenderly on the cheek, and I
fell asleep almost instantly, uncle's hand on my thighs and my genitals
tingling.

--  to be continued?