Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.gay
From: an242915@anon.penet.fi (O-twist)
Reply-To: an242915@anon.penet.fi
Date: Thu, 21 Mar 1996 02:50:09 UTC
Subject: Teaching Phillip (Mb,Love,cons)
This story was not written by me. It was submitted to me anonymously
when I made inquiries about Man/Boy Love being beneficial to all
involved. The writer assured me that it is in fact a true story,
as well as his desire for me to post it, never the less for the
purpose of vague legalities and for the protection of my rapidly
eroding rights please consider the following disclaimer.
Do NOT read any further if you are under 18 or if you are not an
adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read
this if you are easily offended by a real life situation that goes
against your particular upbringing or beliefs or if you are a
member of the radical religious right who is not open minded enough
to consider merit in any other living relationship other than those
within your specific parameters. So if you are offended by
narratives of intergenerational love, do not be a hypocrite by
continuing to read.
Teaching Phillip
My story is about the things I taught Phillip, the things I
taught him in these last four years of eleven through fourteen.
Before anything, I must say that meeting Phillip was a dream come
true. As a boy lover, I don't necessarily think being a mentor
AND a lover are mutually inclusive. I think a man can be a men-
tor without being a lover, and indeed some boys (and men) wish
for nothing more, but you can't be a boy's lover without being
his mentor. Some boys desperately require both.
I've always seen making love as the culmination of being IN
LOVE. Making love to a boy was a constant but distant dream that
I thought might possibly be unobtainable. More importantly at
the time, was my desire to teach things to a boy. Not just any
boy, but a boy that needed me. I wanted to teach things that
would make life easier, and make him happy, things that would
last a lifetime, things that I thought were important in my life.
Maybe it was the closest I thought I would ever come to being a
big brother or father, those roles that most boy lovers are
cheated out of by society. I guess I wanted to leave my mark on
the world and let one single boy know he was truly loved.
Thus came Phillip, a boy to carry on after me, and it's
great to feel so proud of another person and put their life
before yours. Before this boy I lived in melancholy regret that
I would never get the chance to teach the boy of my dreams, never-
mind make love to him. I was wrong on both counts. You never
know what roads life will take you down, and I'll never know why
I was so lucky to find a boy like him.
When I first met him, he wasn't used to being noticed by an
adult. In fact he was a camouflage expert that seemed to blend
with his environment. I taught him he was special, because he
surely was. I taught him to stop apoligizing... "it was fine the
way you threw the ball,.. You're not too skinny,.. I don't think
you're weird"
He didn't think much of himself. I on the other hand
thought he was wonderful. He had a certain sparkle in his eyes,
and he seemed to be in constant vigil, listening to every word
around him. He seemed very reserved for one so young. At eleven
years old, I couldn't help but get the impression that he seemed
to be waiting to make his mark on the world.
I couldn't help but get excited about his lean body, perfect
skin, and those beautiful eyes, but as I got to know Phillip that
first year, I resolved that our relationship would never be
sexual. He seemed too insecure to handle something so complex,
or so I thought. Time would prove me wrong. I have observed
first hand the complexity of emotions boys must deal with to love
a man, and I bitterly resent society for making it so. It's such
a waste of love.
I taught him to preserver, even if he didn't get it right
the first time, or the fiftieth time. He developed a truly ac-
curate fast-ball for a twelve year old. He lost much of his shy-
ness with other adults and older kids as time progressed. I en-
couraged his interactions. He also learned how wonderful a real
shoulder rub was, how just the right pressure after a long hard
day could just about make you melt. Some might think me a cun-
ning opportunist, but I'm not a stone. How I could I be so close
to such a beautiful boy without being physical in some way, be-
sides, after the first, he asked for those shoulder rubs daily.
I taught him to be honest. He asked me about his friends,
(he was making more every day with his emerging self esteem) why
some of them bragged so much and told obvious lies. I told him,
If they were happy with themselves, they wouldn't need to impress
people. I also taught him that he was responsible for the words
he said to other people, and I reminded him about the hurtful
things his parents often said. We talked about things said, that
could leave scars for much longer than say, a black eye. I
taught him to say what he means, and mean what he says, to be a
man of his word.
I taught him that the greatest gift he could give himself,
was "Integrity", that is, Doing what's right despite temptation,
to follow the dictates of his conscience, what he REALLY believed
despite what others thought of him. He learned for himself that
it wasn't always easy. There was the time he became a one-time
shop lifting look-out, but despite an occasional back slide, he
was a very good boy with a keen sense of right and wrong. He
yearned for praise and wanted to be good, and that's the best
thing for any eleven year old. I was fiercly proud of him.
We talked about people with integrity who fought for what
they believed was right, people like Martin Lather King, Mahatma
Gandi, even Ryan White.
I taught him that it was all right to show his emotions to
someone he trusted. He learned he could cry on my shoulder, he
did, (five times in four years). He hugged me freely and told me
I was his best friend, and.. the best thing that ever happened to
him. I followed his honest example and told him the truth about
me, (that I was attracted to boys, and that I had special feel-
ings for him). His love and trust made it was easier to say than
I thought.
He told me he suspected, but that it didn't matter. He sug-
gested that maybe that's why I understood him so well,..because I
love boys. First I clarified his statement; I am Attracted to
boys, but only love ONE. He gave me the most loving look in
response. I told him that I believed in the way I felt and that
real honest love shouldn't be condemned. If I thought it was
wrong I would never have revealed the way I felt to him, but he
already knew that because he already knew me.
He eventually learned he could discuss sex openly with me.
He admitted to me that he had just started masturbating. He
said they talked about it in health class so he thought he'd try
it (he was 12 at the time). He made a point to tell me that he
didn't think of girls or boys, only "that tickling rush when it's
like at the best"...a description I would never forget.
Over the weeks he started asking openly pointed questions,
about how I felt and what I liked. "what do you think looks the
sexiest?, my bulge, or my butt?" I couldn't escape the humor in
his directness. I told him the truth as I always did, that I
found his eyes the most attractive and that I loved the compas-
sion he showed toward others. I told him matter of factly, that
he was indeed sexy. He took a slow breath and asked with a
slight hesitation,
"If you could do anything with me, what would ya do?"
My heart raced. I had always been straight forward with him. I
mustered the strength to finally say, "I'd like to suck your dick
to give you that 'tickling rush' you were talking about".
I saw him blush slightly as he smiled. It took him three whole
seconds before he laughed it off and mumbled, "maybe someday". I
would secretly hold that word "maybe" to my heart. He actually
said "Maybe someday!"
I taught him to pity people less fortunate than himself. We
talked about street people, retarded kids, and people with aids,
and the sadness of it all. He learned to love the truly unlov-
able and despicable-ME (that is, by society's standards, and
those of his middle school peers). Of course HE knew and loved
the real me. He knew I was incapable of molesting anyone. He
knew I had never pressed him beyond what was comfortable, in con-
versation or deed.
I taught him that school was his key to being anything he
wanted to be. I praised him to no end for his good grades. He
was six months from his thirteenth birthday when at his idea, he
arranged to spend weekends with me. I was excited at the
prospect, but made arrangements for him in the spare bedroom as
my prudence dictated. He spent the first two weekends sleeping
in the spare bedroom. The sight of him in just his underwear
walking to and from the bathroom burned in my memory those
weekends as I broke masturbation records. He was gorgeous. I
longed to kiss him full on the lips.
A million things around my apartment indicated a boy spent
the weekends with me. There was toothpaste in the sink, soap in
the tub drain, fruit-loops and Apple-Jacks in the cupboards, and
scattered comic books. I even loved doing dirty boy-laundry. He
lit up the room he was in as well as my whole weekend. I found
myself working just for the weekends when we could be together.
We worked long hours on extra credit projects for science
and social studies. They were models of Atoms, Volcanoes that
erupted, a greek building from styrofoam, and the mask of King
Tut. When we weren't working on school projects, we were making
rabbit snares and tree forts. I loved his ambition and taught
him to feel proud of his finished accomplishments.
I longed to make love to him. I put much effort into hiding
my passion not wanting to risk him being uncomfortable. Oc-
casionally he teased me with a comment, being only curious about
my reaction. "I had to pee so bad, you should have seen the boner
I woke up with" I'd smile and say something like, "Yeah, I
should have", or "You don't still have it do you?",..and we'd a
laugh it off together.
After the third weekend in the spare bedroom he asked if he
could sleep in my bed with me. He said, "Just so we can talk as
long as we want.., so I don't fall asleep in the living room
again..(he never actually did),.. so I'll get up when you get
up"..,cause your mattress is thicker". He said a million good
reasons in a row why he should, and finally ended with "Don't
worry I know you won't get touchy with me unless I ask ya"
My brain clung to the last words. Did he really say that?.
There goes my heart rate again. We prepared for bed. I wore
shorts, and he his underwear. He made a joke about me finally
getting to see him in his underwear, (I was sure he deliberately
took his time going to and from the bathroom those other
weekends). I couldn't believe that the boy I loved was half naked
and in my bed!. As we lay there we talked about the depth of our
friendship, how we were luckier than most friends, about all the
projects we did together, and finally re-telling every great joke
we could remember in the past just to laugh again.
Our laughter lulled and eventually conversation took a
serious turn and the subject changed to sex, ".. and how do you
know if you like girls, or you like boys?". I taught him what I
believed, that sex without love was shallow and cheated both
people involved. I told him that sometimes gay people made love
to the opposite sex, and that didn't mean they were straight, (I
have) and on the other hand, I told him that sometimes straight
people had homosexual experiences. I wanted him to decide for
He asked if I thought we would always be friends. I told
him nothing could ever erase the wonderful times we've spent
together, as well as all the talks we've had, and that I was sure
we'd always be friends. I told him he'd always be a part of my
life, even if I never saw him again from this moment on. Then,
as we lay side by side, I looked him in the eye and told him I
loved him. He responded with a big hug and said he loved me too
me. That first night together was the best. Despite doing noth-
ing sexual, we certainly touched each other's souls and affirmed
our love.
The next morning I woke up with him snuggled up against me.
His face was by my shoulder off the pillows, his hand was on my
chest, and his leg draped mine although his torso wasn't actually
touching my side. At the time, I wished it did, for he surely
must have had a morning erection, don't all twelve year olds?
When he finally did wake, he yawned lazily, said "Morning" and
gave me a hug before he rolled over to his side. Did I feel his
erection?, I wasn't sure.
I would never have allowed him to sleep in the same bed with
me if I wasn't sure he wanted to. I had done my best to teach
him to be assertive with me about what made him uncomfortable.
He usually held no reservations about telling me what was wrong,
yet the next night as we lay side by side, he didn't converse as
much as the night before and I sensed something was on his mind.
He loved me and he knew he could trust me, that was the main
thing. I knew whatever it was, that it was just a matter of time
before he'd share it with me. After a few token comments about
the fun of the day, between my big yawns, (he always outlasted me
at the end of the day) he said,
" Are you sure if someone does something it doesn't mean
that's what they are?"
I hoped he was trying to say what I thought he was trying to
say. I told him to forget about what people are, and are not. I
told him to just do what felt right in his heart. The subject
matter was still unspecified when he said, "I just keep thinking
what the kids at school would say if they found out"
Damn "Middle School" I thought to myself. Why did middle
school have to be such a proving ground for young boys. Despite
my love and support, Phillip still struggled in this school.
This age-group institution made boys struggle with who could beat
up who, and made kids choose between being trouble makers, or stu-
dents. It forced kids to test everything good they ever learned,
and yes, it made Phillip conform to some degree and worry about
what other kids thought of him, even for doing things he felt was
right.
But then again, no matter how much I loved him and taught
him, this "trying" of sorts was something all boys went through.
He told me he felt bad when kids at school talked about "fags",
because he thought about me, and that I didn't deserve to be
treated like that. Most of all I wanted Phillip to feel good
about himself and really be happy. All I could do was trust him
to do the right thing for himself.
I finally said, "You just have to do what feels right to
you, besides it might not be something your middle school friends
would EVER understand" and then I added, "besides, if you and I
ever did anything together, they would never need to know"
He did this nervous wiggle thing that he had done many times
before, but overall he spoke very deliberately, "Would you do
that thing you wanted to do" Of course I knew what he asked, but
I had to play it out, I had to be sure. I loved Phillip way too
much to have any doubt.
"Do what Buddy?"
"You know, give me a 'tickle-rush'", and then barely
audible, "you know, with your mouth"
I was already in that edgy state of sexual tension, but I
thought I would explode with joy hearing this sincere request
from the love of my life. I gently began caressing his entire
body. I spoke to him softly as he shuddered to my touch. I
taught him about the subtle ecstasy of foreplay with the finger-
tips, how erotic chills down his spine can feel. I told him not
to hold his breath, to breath however it felt naturally. I
suckled his little hard nipples as I traced the contours of his
warm body. His hard cock leapt up as I lightly rubbed past the
fabric of his underwear. I rubbed my palm firmly over his whole
cock and balls. He gasped with pleasure while his feet and hands
fidgeted.
He asked, "Can I touch you?"
"I would love that", I said, "But do what ever feels comfort-
able to you" I slipped off my shorts to just my underwear as he
grabbed my straining cock. He said it was really big. I coached
him through a few more minutes of foreplay until I thought the
tension was getting too teasing, (for the both of us) then I
lowered his underwear freeing his boyhood and swiped the length
of it with my tongue. He gasped again, and I told him to relax
and just let the "tickle-rush" come all by itself.
I began to pick up the pace with my mouth as his tensing and
fidgeting turned into bucking and thrusting. I was bringing him
close, but paused long enough to say, "Don't hold back buddy,
just go for it", then I sucked fast and furious. In less than a
minute he let go with a cry that could only come from a young boy
in orgasm. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed his puls-
ing cock as far as he could. His naked body spasmed with each
throb. It was over quickly, he could barely speak. He was
spent, and in a sound sleep within seven minutes. There would be
plenty of time to talk about what happened in the morning. I
placed my hand over his chest and felt his heart beat and watched
his sleeping face for half an hour.
Over the course of the remaining school year and the next
summer I taught him how to let go and surrender completely. He
learned he could thrash about and make as much noise as he
wanted. We tried all positions and variations. I taught him
where all the erogenous spots of the body were, (boy spots, I
call them). He learned there was no pressure or shame in saying
"No" if he didn't feel like it (which was rare). We learned the
intimacy of "bed talk", the meaning of a single look, the desire
of a single touch. The wonderful abandon of release.
I taught him that loving was much more important than making
love. I shared his time with his friends and gave him space.
When he needed true advice and consolation with honesty and mini-
mal risk, he returned to me. I must admit, he taught me how to
kiss. He loved the oral sensation of sucking tongues, licking
lips, and deep prolonged kissing. I taught him that that was the
quickest way to get me hard.
I taught this once shy boy to be assertive and stand up for
himself,..when he was short-changed by a clerk, when a classmate
tried to strong-arm him for his lunch money, when a teacher chal-
lenged his facts in a report. I taught him to speak up for what
he believed was right. I know the irony tugged at him, that the
one exception was me, that he could not speak up for me, that I
was indefendable to others. No matter how right it felt when we
were together, he knew all to well that I could go to prison
simply because of my age.
At the age of thirteen he had learned from me by instruction
and example to make love with precision and complete abandon. We
knew each other's physical reaction to our touch like a book.
With youth came impatience, and he couldn't endure foreplay for
long and demanded to release. His stamina and recovery time well
made up for all the quickies. Three orgasms in a row were better
than all the foreplay in the world.
I learned (after he learned) that 90% of his class had
divorced parents. We talked about this at length, including his
parents and mine, all of which were divorced. We recounted how
lucky we were to love each other so intensely holding nothing
back in conversation, and love. I observed him with his younger
brother and my nephews and nieces, showing the same patience,
love and understanding I showed him when he was younger and
needed someone so desperately. I knew this boy would grow up
with a special sense of caring and understanding. I knew already
from our relationship that he was a tender compassionate soul.
At twelve he learned the movement of my finger in his bottom
while I sucked him, could elicit an almost immediate breathless
orgasm. He thought it was the ultimate until I suggested he lay
his back on me, resting his head in my crotch with my nose be-
tween his buns. I ate his clean tight hole out as I masturbated
him vigorously. He had one of the most intense orgasms I ever
witnessed. He requested this often, and usually turned his head
to tongue my hard cock at the moment of orgasm.
When Phillip was thirteen and fourteen we made love anally.
It began when he one day blurted out, "How come we don't do it up
the butt?" I told him that I didn't want to be the one to sug-
gest it because it might hurt a little, and that there was a big
difference between the size of a finger and a dick. He insisted
we try it that night.
I taught him to relax and go at his pace, that he would push
and I wouldn't. I penetrated easier than I expected. This he
accomplished by pretending it was my tongue. (or so he said, we
also used KY). I started moving slow and was fully in him in no
time. I was careful to pump very slow for the first ten minutes,
using all the staying power I could muster not to go over the
edge.
He told me it felt pretty good and to go a little faster.
He slowly got to his knees and started masturbating a very hard
cock. Then to my surprise he began to get as impatient here as
he sometimes did with prolonged foreplay. He began to huff and
puff and between breaths came an urgent plea, "Go fast, Go
faster!" I was determined to release when he did. but I
couldn't, and came before him. Seconds later he gasped and
moaned loudly. I could tell the moment of his orgasm because his
rectum throbbed around my cock as he cried out. Two days later
(because he was a little sore), doing the same thing, he ejacu-
lated for the first time. A week later he made love to me from
behind, need I say I loved it.
He was almost fourteen when we had a serious discussion
about him becoming a man. I told him his love making was top-
notch and that I wouldn't be the only one he'd make love to in
his lifetime, so I taught him about safe sex. I taught him every-
thing they didn't teach him in middle school health class,(which
was a lot)
I taught him about two kinds of trust, the trust we had for
each other and what I called "LUST-trust", the kind of trust you
wouldn't want to stake your life on. We talked about the deadly
Aids virus and honesty in love making. We made love with condoms
to practice, although he insisted he would always love ONLY me.
I hoped that what I was teaching him would keep him safe.
From twelve to fourteen, making love to Phillip was
heavenly, but it didn't compare to his laugh, or that mischievous
twinkle in his eye just before he came out with an amazing fact.
The physical release of orgasm didn't compare to the satisfaction
of watching him do or say something that made me proud.
I taught Phillip everything I could about as much of life as
I could, but then, I don't know everything, and I certainly can't
take all the credit. Phillip was a bright fantastic boy from the
beginning, he just needed someone to make him believe it. He
needed someone to believe in HIM. So, what did Phillip teach
me?,.. He taught me to believe in myself enough to love him uncon-
ditionally. He's a strong confident fifteen year old now and,...
we're still in-love.
It's too bad the world can't be taught the truth about the love a
man and boy can feel for each other, but then again, Life is
short and Phillip and I still have so much more to teach each
other.