Date: Thu, 4 Jun 2015 22:02:15 +0200
From: Zachyboy <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Teaching Stuff to Spencer

TEACHING STUFF TO SPENCER
By Zachyboy
M/b, mast, romantic

The following story is work of fiction. It involves sexual situations
between and adult male and an underage boy, and believe me, I know that
sounds kind of exciting and daring, but keep in mind, all the characters
are actually made up out of printer paper and toner cartridges, so
therefore nobody really did anything to anybody. Talk about a
buzzkill. Still, if reading this type of sheer fantasy is illegal where you
live or otherwise gets your goat, you should probably leave now, because
some of us are going to get down to business behind a bedroom door.

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On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

In the middle of a long and sexless summer when I was between boyfriends
and really feeling the loneliness, I was asked by my single sister Abby to
help chaperone a boys' sleepover at her house for my nephew Keenan's 11th
birthday party.

She knew I loved Kee with all my heart, and probably more pointedly, she
knew I'd never pass up the opportunity to see nine scantily-clad fifth
graders in their pajamas, so she smiled knowingly when she asked me,
because no sooner were the words were out of her mouth, she could tell by
my deep red blush it was already a done deal.

The night was as active as you can imagine, with tangles of sleeping bags
and sweet little boy limbs all over her plush basement rec room. The big
screen TV mounted on the wall was like a Roku on Ritalin, streaming 20
minutes of every action-adventure movie you can imagine before the boys
finally settled down and picked something they could live with.

Abby and I trudged dutifully downstairs, hauling buckets of popcorn and
Cool Ranch Doritos and enough grape soda to send a small infantry into
diabetic shock. Kee was on a grape soda kick that summer, and although we
had Sprite and Coke and all the other mandatory party choices, when the
boys saw Kee drinking grape out of the two-liter, well that was just
kerosene on a bonfire. I was in my car with orders to bring back six more
bottles from the store before you could say high fructose corn syrup.

The boys were absolutely glorious in their unabashed freedom and their
complete, oblivious beauty.

There was Kee, of course, my nephew at 11, now in his second year of
tweendom and taking to it like a duck to water. Gone was the little boy
whose hand I used to hold at the zoo. Now he was this much bigger boy who
liked Xbox and iPhone apps. And while he still cuddled up to me on the
couch in private family moments, he was way too cool to be anything more
than politely kind to me when 8 sets of eyes were on him.

At one point in the evening, I attempted to hug him – a fleeting
drive-by – and he blushed and said, "Uncle Da-a-a-an...the guys!"
Meaning, of course, "don't make me look like a baby." I smiled and wondered
where my baby had gone...this beautiful 11-year-old big boy now in his
place.

So there was Kee, of course...but then there were all those other beautiful
boys.

There was Hunter, 11, and the ringleader of the group. "You fuckers better
mind your manners tonight," he said with complete bravado right in front of
me, "or me and Kee's Uncle are going to kick your little asses, right Kee's
Uncle?" I looked at him unimpressed and told him to watch his
language. Then of course, I checked out his perky little rump and wondered
how dirty he'd talk with 6 inches of Kee's Uncle meat prodded up his
pooper.

There was Eli, who was 11 and red-headed. He had a spray of freckles across
the bridge of his nose I wanted to suck off one-by-one, and a little butt
in Star Wars sleep pants that defied logical explanation, because every
time it shuffled by me, my dick wanted to follow it like a magnet. "You're
so funny," Eli said to me at one point in the evening. "Every time I walk
over here, you come over here too! Ha-ha!" Busted.

There was Landon, who was the baby of the bunch at 9. He got invited
because he was Eli's younger brother, and hey, fair is fair. He was a
little rammerjammer, and admittedly, he had a tight little tushie, but I
really wish somebody would have packed a little Ritalin along with his swim
suit. I would have lusted after him more if I wasn't so busy trying to stay
the fuck away from him. "Hey, Uncle-Dude!" he yelled at me. "Kee needs a
girlfriend! Let's invite some girls over!" Yuk, yuk, yuk. Shut up
kid. Landon kinda just made my head hurt.

There was Oliver, 11. He was nondescript, but in the way that sort of made
you want to taste him anyway. Sort of in the way you know you've already
licked Welch's grape jelly off your toast and pronounced it good, so now,
what the hell, let's save sixty cents and see if the store brand tastes
okay. Usually it's not quite as good, but Oliver intrigued me
anyway. "Guys, we could be quieter," he said nervously at one point. "We're
gonna make Kee's mom mad." Poor generic kid. I don't think he understood
there are certain situations where boys are allowed to squeal as much as
they want to. Looking at Oliver's plain Jane beauty, I could certainly
think of one or two.

There was Henry at 10, and boy, was he a little cock-knocker. He had a lump
in his pants that boggled even my imagination, and believe me, my
imagination can go pretty far. He was wearing pajama pants that were way
too tight. Angry Birds pictures on them. Looked fairly well worn, like they
might have belonged to a two-years-older-brother at some point. But between
the tight pj's and his own natural resources, every eye in the room was on
Henry's package at one time or another. And Henry must have known it,
too. And he likely had a touch of the rainbow inside him, because I heard
him giggle-whisper to Landon at one point, "Hey Landon, let's go in the
other room and pretend you're Jaycee Sanders, and you get down on your
knees and suck my big bone, whaddya say?" And Landon blushed and turned
red, and I turned around and moaned a little quietly and repositioned by
cock in my sweats, but as far as I know, nothing ever came of it. But
whoof. God bless Henry and the Package that Pleased. He'd make some little
girl very happy someday.

There was Owen, 11. He was not much to look at. He was a little bit
funny-looking, and he had braces to boot. Now, normally, braces actually
excite me on a boy, because I get an immediate, "Oooh! Careful sweetie!
Watch the teeth! Watch the teeth!" feeling, but on Owen, they weren't
well-maintained and they weren't very well-brushed, so that just added to
my general level of disinterest in him. He had a fine little hinder, that's
for sure. "Hey Kee," he giggled. "Wanna hear me fart?" And he did. A
resounding one that made all the boys laugh and strut and do fist-bumps
trying to compete, but as far as my direct involvement in Owen's little
tooter, I'm fairly sure I would have passed if offered. Pretty as it was, I
just couldn't get past the fact that the kid needed a date with a tube of
Crest and a new Waterpik Aquarius. I was half willing to put it on his
Christmas gift list myself.

There was Wyatt, 11, and I swear to God, Wyatt had a boner three times
during the evening. Once when Henry wrestled him and had him pinned on the
carpet on his back, substantial package almost inches from his face. Once
when Landon went off to pee, and I'm not kidding, Wyatt stood in the
doorway and watched, trying not to be obvious. And once again right before
lights out when he whispered, "It's kinda cold in here. Anybody want to
double-up sleeping bags?" It was a fruitless effort, since most of the boys
were already exhausted and snoring.

And then there was Spencer.

Alone and aloof and somewhat quiet, Spencer was on the fringe of the
evening's activity. He wasn't as noisy as the other boys, not by a long
shot. He was more reserved. More restrained. It wasn't quite aloofness,
exactly. He smiled and talked and laughed and joined-in, he just carried
himself with a sense of gentle dignity that went beyond boyish clowning.

He wasn't tumble-rough fart jokes like the rest of them. He smiled
patiently at their antics, but you got the sense he'd rather be upstairs
with me and Abby, curled up in a blanket and an armchair, reading a book.

And several times through the evening, he came right up to me. Just walked
right up and stood by me, or sat by me, as if he wanted to ask me something
but he wasn't quite sure how to say it. But definitely throughout the
night, I got the sense that Spencer wanted to be by me. He'd scoot a little
closer on the couch, but when another boy would walk by, he'd smile and
scoot away.

He made eye contact with me constantly. I'd catch him looking and he'd
blush and look down. It was sweet and almost coquettish. It couldn't
possibly be true, but I got the distinct feeling all night long, Spencer
was sort of sweet on me.

I'd find out in the morning how true that actually was.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

I'm a light sleeper and an early riser. Always have been. Even with a night
of busy boys under my belt, I couldn't sleep much past six, so by
quarter-to-seven, I was already up early to sit by the pool.

The boys were still asleep. They'd finally worn themselves out at two in
the morning and were now snoring solidly in a pile on the rec room floor,
pillows and sleeping bags and tortilla chips everywhere. It was a pile of
scents and sounds and breathing and boy bodies that actually made my dick
tingle in my pants when I peeked in on them, since a lot of the boys were
just sleeping in their undies, t-shirts or no shirts at all. Skin and
curves everywhere.

Abby was still asleep upstairs and the boys were a tangled mess in the
basement, so I grabbed by book and made myself an apple juice and vodka, an
early morning favorite of mine on a Saturday, and I was sitting in a lounge
chair by the pool half-heartedly reading and dozing and enjoying the warm
California sunshine as the day came up over Malibu, when movement caught my
eye.

I heard a soft cough, a clearing of the throat, looked up, and there was
Spencer, barefoot and wrapped in a wide cotton towel with cartoon frogs and
lily pads. Even his beach towel was boyish and beautiful.

He really had been cruising me the night before, I thought. Because here he
was, first one awake, just to come out and find me alone. Like he couldn't
get over last night's need to be close to me. Only here he was now, with a
chance to do it privately.

"Do you mind if I swim" he asked shyly. "They're all still asleep, but I
woke up early."

"Please do," I said, smiling and extending my hand toward the
pool. "Enjoy. Good morning."

He smiled, took his towel from his shoulders and laying it on the chaise
lounge next to mine.

I think I may have gasped a little when his full body came into view. An
involuntary intake of air. Because honestly, not only was he was
magnificent, but he was wearing a tiny tight Speedo that left absolutely
nothing to the imagination.

I'd noticed it before of course. Yesterday before pizza came, all the boys
had been out in the pool, and while seven of them had baggy board shorts on
(curse whatever Grinch of boys fashion who came up with those), only two
wore Speedos, Spencer and Kee.

"Uncle Dan, look at our cocks," Kee had giggled, his arm around Spencer and
jutting his package in my face as I played lifeguard.

Like I really would have looked at anything else?

Beautiful Spencer took off his towel, placed it in the lounge chair next to
mine, smiled at me and slipped slowly into the morning cold pool. He
shivered, smiled, waved shyly and began his swim. He knew I was watching
him and he watched back. He dove under for me and came up for me, always
catching my eye, which never left him. I knew he was displaying himself for
me, and he knew that I knew it.

He was so beautiful it made my heart ache. I watched him glide through the
water and I thought, what a lucky man, the dad who has this boy in his
world. I wondered if his own dad found him as beautiful as I did because
honestly, sometimes the urge to wrap another man's boy in my arms is almost
overwhelming.

Kee and I will be over at a play date or outdoor event with a group of
other boys, and it's always the quiet, pretty boy off in the corner like
Spencer I want to wrap in my love and arms around in comfort and in
quietness. I don't have any sexual designs on him at all. Or at least I
don't think I do at the time. He's just so stunningly beautiful, I can't
take my eyes away. That's how it was watching Spencer in the pool.

Even from where I sat, I noticed every minuscule, microscopic detail of his
face and his neck and his chest and his body. His skinny arms. His long
fingers with the two dirty nails reaching over the side of the pool to hold
himself up. The water droplets on his perfect, painted lips, quickly
turning blue in the morning-cold water. His piercing almond eyes. His
cheekbones. His nose. The quiet arch of his eyebrows. His eyelashes, so
delicate. Even the down powder fuzz around his ears caught the sunlight. I
memorized him and I ached to hold him.

And I don't know why I ached so much for him. I have my own nephew to hold
and cuddle, curled up next to me on the couch watching The Croods or Ice
Age 3, my own beautiful laughing, giggling boy who nestles into me so
closely I can feel his heartbeat and smell his shampoo.

Still, watching Spencer was like every other time I found myself silent and
watchful, holding my breath, and aching for another man's boy.

And not just Spencer, but any man's boy, every time I see him alone and
beautiful, off in the corner of some busyboy world. That magical faraway
boy who is alluring in a way that's not sexual at all. I don't need to do
anything to him. I just want to surround him with my arms and my love, even
when he's a total stranger to me. Just a strong physical ache, needing to
hold him. Wanting ridiculously to take him in my arms and have him fall
asleep on my rising falling chest as I kiss the top of his head and feel
his pattern melt effortlessly into mine, like a warm and soothing missing
puzzle piece that clicks into place and instantly soothes all my aching
away.

I ache for beautiful boys like Spencer every time I see them, in a way that
means so much more to me than sex. I know I need them with passion, yet
physical passion is the very last thing on my mind. I need them with an
emotional intensity I barely understand. If I hugged him and held him in my
arms with it, it would overwhelm him...not my embrace, but the staggering
need behind it.

I saw Spencer like this and I needed him that much.

He climbed up the ladder, shivered, walked over and cuddled himself in his
towel.

"Cold," he said in his smiling treble boyvoice. "I've got goosebumps."

Indeed he did.

"Lay here in the sun," I said, motioning to the chair next to me.

"Please God," I thought. "Let him stay out here just ten minutes
longer. Just for me. Me and Spencer, here all alone."

"Thanks," he smiled shyly and slowly stretched out on the chair, long limbs
and beautiful chest showing in the sunlight.

"Want some orange juice?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said shyly. "That would be nice."

I went through the patio door into the kitchen and poured him a glass. By
the time I brought it back out, he'd flipped over, tummy down, leaving me
with a perfect view of his beautiful back and his exquisite ass. I couldn't
even move. I just had to stand there in the patio doorway, breathless,
heart pounding in my chest, looking at him.

The arch of his back was superb. I just stood in the doorway, not daring to
move, not wanting to scare the deer away, just appreciating the form and
the beauty of his back. It's not that I didn't somewhere harbor lust and
desire for the rest of him, but in that one sacred moment (and I think you
know what I mean), the back for a boylover, is sometimes all we ever need.

I actually found myself looking up anatomy later, just so I could recall
the parts of his back with the right words. The upper cervical spine near
the pronounced clavicle. God, the contrast. The sharpness of his clavicle
mixed and swirled into the softness of his trapezium and his deltoids.

The deep inward curve of his thoracic...staggeringly beautiful. The lumbar
further south, the sacrum and the coccyx, hidden just under his Speedo
band. Beautiful vertebrae. Beautiful verteboy. Anatomical words made
absolutely sexy by his existence. Made into honey on the tongue simply by
applying those words to Spencer.

Even his elbows were sexy. His pruned fingertips from swimming too
long. The white of his thumbnail. His blue lips. The water was cold and he
dared to swim anyway.

His beautiful boy-reckless hair in the back. Please Spencer's-mom, don't
ever trim that or even it out. Just leave it like that for one more
day. That's what a boy's hair SHOULD look like...carefree and laughing,
thumbing its nose at the perfection he could care less about. He just wants
to be a boy, in this moment. He needs no more perfection than this. Why
would you aspire to perfection when you already ARE perfection, and
completely, joyfully, boyishly unaware of it.

Before he even turned around, you'd know that Spencer is beautiful.

And you'd fall in love with his face too.

But for this morning, it was enough to stand in the patio doorway, holding
his orange juice, not daring to move and spoil the moment. It was enough
just to look at him and appreciate his beauty. You almost believe in God
again when you see a boy like Spencer.

"Is that my juice?" he asked quietly, turning around to look up at me.

"Um, yeah...sorry...I was distracted."

He smiled at me because he knew I'd been looking at him. He seemed neither
flattered nor concerned. Just aware.

I brought him his juice and sat and watched him sip it. I was lost in his
boyishness. His age. His shape. That beautiful arch of his back, his skinny
waist and his cute little round bottom. He was so blissfully unaware of its
sexiness.

I sipped my own vodka-spiked morning drink and honestly wondered which was
giving me the buzz...the Grey Goose, or the sight of Spencer, and all the
breathless thoughts of the parts that made him perfect. He really did take
my breath away.

"Kee told me you're gay," he said quietly, out of the blue. He blushed a
little, wondering if it was bad manners to come right and say it.

"Yes," I said. "I am. Does that bother you?"

"No," he said. "I'm kinda gay too. Or I think so anyway. I haven't really
done much, but I think about learning stuff sometimes."

I didn't know what to say. My heart was pounding.

"When did you know?" he asked my quizzically, with eager eyes and a
furrowed brow. I felt like a guest who'd just stumbled into a very serious
interview show.

"You know. When did you know you liked doing stuff with boys instead of
girls?"

"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "Eight? Nine? Ten? Eleven?"

He giggled. "I'm eleven," he said. "I know I like boys pretty-much for
sure."

"You mean, like some of the boys here?" I ventured...

"Yeah," he said. "It's kinda why I don't like to join in when they wrestle
and get rough and stuff. I kinda get worried I might get a boner."

I smiled. I knew the worry firsthand.

"I'm kinda getting a little one now," he said. "Just from talking about
it."

I looked down at his wet little package, and sure enough, he was.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

"If I wanted to do gay stuff with you..." he asked hesitantly, "would you
do gay stuff with me?"

I paused and considered this for a second, and believe me, took a long,
deep sip of my vodka and apple juice.

"It would depend on what you mean by gay stuff," I said. "If you mean would
I fuck you up the butt? No. That would hurt. But would I do other stuff?
Kissing and touching stuff? Yeah. I think I would. I think I would like
that a lot. As long as you could keep it private."

"Okay," he nodded, looking down and smiling shyly, then looking up
again. "So, how would we start that, then? I mean, if I wanted to learn
that stuff?"

"Come here," I smiled, holding out my arms. "Come here, Spencer. I'm going
to show you."

He came to me. I enfolded him. And he melted into my arms immediately.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

He was still cold and wet from his dip in the pool, but he felt so good in
my arms. I buried my face in his damp hair and breathed in all the soft
perfection of him. He smelled like chlorine, of course, but there was a
salty memory of his sleepy head from the previous night. He pressed his
little body against me and I could feel his little boner poking my right
thigh. I let my hands roam gently down his smooth back, caressing his skin
and causing him to moan audibly. He began to rub his hardness against me,
and I stood there, silently, amazed, letting him.

I felt my own lust rising, but I knew I wanted to give this boy more than
just quick relief for his rising passion. That was merely a destination. I
wanted to show him that the journey was as important, if not more important
than just squirting out a dribble of cum. I felt noble toward him. Gentle
and heart full. His hard little penis rubbed on my leg. He looked down. So
shy, but so curious. I wasn't even sure if he'd reached the stage of
actually having wet orgasms yet, but if this continued, I was fairly
certain I'd be finding out soon.

"This is nice," he whispered. "I like it when you hold me like this. It
makes me feel special. Like you're protecting me."

His soft words made my heart yearn. I'd never felt this way for a boy, so
soon, so suddenly.

I loved him already and despite my desire to tear his clothes off and take
him, the cascading well of tenderness rising up in my heart was even
stronger. I just needed to hold him, to make an emotional connection with
him, to satisfy the physical ache in my heart when I looked at him.

I wanted to show him how a man can love a boy. I wanted him to open himself
up and look inside at all the new emotions in his heart, and not just
rush-grab-grapple with the physical pleasures of his body. I wanted to show
him that respect was important between lovers, no matter what their age.

Most of all, I wanted this to be a time of tender exploration for him, a
time for him to learn about the way his young body could feel, and what it
could do, so he'd be prepared when that first boy caught his eye somewhere,
at school, on a playground, maybe even at another birthday party sleepover
like this one. I felt a physical need to make love to him deeply, but I
wanted this secret moment we were sharing to be all about what he needed
and wanted.

I knew we had to move somewhere more private. Spencer was not going to be a
quiet pupil, and we didn't need to get caught stripped-down to our birthday
suits out by the pool once everyone started to wake up and look for us.

"Spencer....we can do all the stuff you want to do, but we have to find
somewhere private. Maybe we can go up to Kee's room?"

He nodded. He hugged me. He didn't want to let me go. Not even to move. I
kissed his forehead. Tugged on him a little to get him moving.

"And once we get up there," I told him softy, "we still have to be quiet so
we don't wake up the rest of the house."

"K. I promise. I'll be super, super quiet," he said, looking up at me with
the most beautiful, hopeful almond eyes I've ever seen in a child.

"We'll just take it slow and see what happens, okay buddy?"

"K," he said again. And then mumbly-shy, embarrassed and looking down at
his feet, he said something so softly I couldn't even hear him.

"What, buddy? I missed what you said."

He looked up, blushing.

"I said, can I call you Uncle Dan like Kee does?"

I smiled and held him to me.

"Of course you can," I smiled.

He sighed and melted into me again. His little penis was rock hard against
me.

"Thanks," he said. "I always wanted an uncle. You know. To teach me that
way."

My dick throbbed at the implication.

"Let's go upstairs, buddy, okay?"

"K," he said, and held me even tighter.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

He was holding onto me so tight – shaking, scared, nervous, excited, I
half-led him, half-carried him up the back stairs into Kee's little boy
bedroom where I locked the door behind us.

There we were in my nephew's private boyland, with his zebra pillow and his
stuffed Scooby Doo and his Monsters U poster on the wall and his rumpled
pajamas on the floor, and what a perfectly magical place it was to lead his
friend, this beautiful little boy who'd so completely stolen my heart. This
perfect, private place where nothing less than boymagic should happen. I
wondered briefly if Kee masturbated in here yet. I did in my room when I
was 11. I had no doubt Kee was already making his little bedsprings
squeak. Boy bedrooms are Neverland, and the pixie dust is their sweet,
watery semen.

Spencer looked around the room uncertainly. His fear and his need were
playing tricks on each other. "What happens now?" I could hear his eyes
asking me.

I could tell he was nervous and unsure of what was about to unfold. I sat
down on the edge of Kee's bed and he came and stood in front of me,
achingly beautiful in his taut little speedo, his sweet little cock still
partially pushing out the material, despite his case of nerves. He knew he
wanted something. He just wasn't sure what it was.

"I don't know how to do this," he said. "I'm embarrassed. I don't know what
to do."

He lowered his eyes and his cheeks bloomed a lovely pink with his soft,
scared shame.

"It's okay, Spencer," I assured him. "There's no one way to do this. We'll
just hold each other and be close. And then we can just see what happens."

"Okay," he said. "I just don't want you to think I'm a baby."

"You are sort of a baby at this," I reminded him with a smile. "And that
kind of makes it more exciting for me. You do know that, don't you? That
I'm excited because you're this young?"

"Oh," he said blushing even more deeply, as if he suddenly got this. That I
wasn't a gay man who loved other gay men. I was a gay man who loved little
boys. Like this. Like him. He blushed, understanding his own inexperience
was a treasure to me. Like finding gold. Like serendipity stubled-upon.

"Okay," he said softly, biting his bottom lip in a way that made him even
more innocent and desirable to me.

Slowly, shyly, he came over to the bed and stood between my legs. I gently
pulled him toward me, and I looked into his hazel eyes, eyes so full of
trust and need and apprehension. I could feel the warm orange juice breath
on my face, sweet, soft, moist and acidic. Like sugar and need. Like
pheromones. Like a calling. It was all I could do to suppress my shiver.

Instead I whispered, "It's gonna be okay Spence." And I kissed him.

It was the barest touch of my lips against his, warm flesh against warm
flesh, letting him feel the sensation and the intimacy of such a simple
act. He was 11 years old and no one had ever kissed him like this. No man
at all had kissed him on the lips since he was 3 years old, and certainly
not a man he shared these kind of new desires with.

He reacted almost spontaneously, his lips parting slightly as he nervously
pulled in a bit of air. I let my lips part as well so that he could feel
the hot soft steam of breath passing between us. I could feel the sparks of
need, and the crackle of raw sexual electricity passing between us, just
from the mere touch of our lips together.

He leaned into me, nestling himself in-between my spread legs, his body
telegraphing its need for more, even though Spencer wasn't even sure what
"more" was at this point.

As a means of encouraging him, I let my arm encircle him completely, one
hand gently caressing the back of his head. Not knowing what to do with his
own arms, he did the same to me. A little hand came up and circled the back
of my neck, pulling me my closely into him.

"Nice," he whispered. "This is nice."

I pressed my lips more firmly against his, and let the tip of my tongue
trace the outline of his mouth, not penetrating his oral cavity, but just
teasing the outer rim. He whimpered when I did it, and I felt his shoulders
release their tension and his upper body went slack. Like a
knee-buckle. Like a swoon.

I tasted his lips, as butterfly soft as I could. I wanted him to know that
a kiss was more than just a peck on the cheek or a poke of a tongue in his
mouth. He needed to experience the slow, sensual sizzle of mouth mating. Of
passion.

I held his head continued to make love to his little lips with my tongue,
and he didn't pull away, a good sign that he was more than okay with what
we were doing.

I completed one more lap with my tongue and let it slide slowly in between
his parted lips. And just inside the hot, wetness of his mouth, I found the
tip of his tongue. I let my tongue touch his and the reaction was
immediately. He shivered and whimpered into my mouth, a soft, quiet keening
noise that both melted my heart and caused my cock to throb painfully in my
shorts. He needed to be loved like this. I could feel it in every soft
shiver, every tight squeeze of his body.

My tongue slid into the hot unknown of his wet little mouth. I let it
tickle his roof and slide over the smoothness of his teeth before exploring
underneath, letting him feel the sensation of my tongue on his from every
possible angle.

I pressed my advantage and began to thrust my tongue deeper into his
receptive mouth, tasting the remnants of his orange juice, mixed with
something sweeter. Minty. Toothpaste.

Spencer whimpered even louder, a whine, a needful cry, and he began to push
back against my tongue, needing to feel that intimate contact. I let him
explore me, battling it out between his need and his shyness, tentatively
touching the edges of my mouth before pushing himself inside, demanding,
much like a bigger boy. I gently sucked on his tongue, as if it were a
small cock.

This caused him to forcefully exhale through his nose and clench up like a
jolt of electricity had hit him. I wondered if his brain registered the
pleasure of having his tongue sucked with a leap of logic or a vague
connection to soon having his baby bone sucked in a similar
manner. Something I hoped to do, if not today, then soon.

I pulled back just a bit and kissed the outside of his mouth again, letting
him feel my hot breath on his cheek and his chin. I captured his pouty
lower lip between my teeth and lip and tenderly sucked and nibbled on
it. Spencer trying to articulate at this point – whispers and whimpers –
getting lost in the amazing new sensation flowing through his young body,
but trying to speak in spite of it.

"Uncle...Dan," he panted. "My boner. This makes...my boner hurt."

"It's okay, Spence. That just means your cock likes what's happening. Do
you like what's happening?"

"Uh-huh," he whispered. "It feels like when I play with myself. Only so
much better. It's stronger."

Suddenly Spencer tensed up, got really quiet and lowered his eyes. In his
excitement he'd revealed more about his private world than he thought he
should.

"Hey, it's okay," I told him, lifting his chin. "All boys play with
themselves. All men too. It's perfectly normal."

"You don't think I'm weird or something?"

"I think you're adorable," I said, kissing his nose, which earned me a
sweet sigh. "I'd be more worried if you weren't jacking off at your
age. Now that would be really weird."

He gave me his sweetest, winning smile. I saw relief in his eyes and he
visibly relaxed a bit.

"Thanks for saying that. I want you to like me."

"Oh, Spence. I more than like you. Can I show you?"

He looked up at me, nervous. Nodded. It was all so unknown to him. Unsure
and uncertain. But still he trusted me to see where I'd take him.

I leaned back in and kissed him deeply, gently nudging him along, letting
him explore my mouth as much as I was exploring his. I kissed his slender,
perfect neck, tasting chlorine from the pool, and salt from his
excitement. He almost hissed at this new sensation against the skin of his
neck and tilted his head back, exposing this throat to my advances.

I licked and nibbled my way up and down, stopping to suck on the little
hollow where his Adam's apple would bob to the surface in the near future.

The sounds he made were musical. Magic. He'd giggle when I hit a
particularly ticklish spot and he'd suddenly go whimpering and quiet,
making high-pitched mewling sounds when I hit an sensitive erogenous zone.

I nibbled on his ear lobe and let him feel my hot breath in his ear,
knowing that most boys had no idea they could be so profoundly pleasured,
lip-loved into shivers, from someone kissing such a safe and simple part of
their anatomy. I spent some time here. I wanted Spencer to know that
everything could be a new and special nerve ending. That pleasure could
come from not just his balls, not just his cock, not just his asshole, but
everywhere. Even the parts he could see every day. Touch in public. See on
his friends. I wanted him to experience and understand that his body could
do this for him. Make him feel like this, always.

"I love you, Spence. I just want to make you feel so good, so safe," I
whispered in his ear as I let my hand drift down to the front of his
speedo, lightly touching his engorged little boner through the material.

He immediately pressed his hardness against my hand, desperate for some
quick relief.

Relief I was going to postpone for as long as I could.

I cupped his hot and hard, bumpy little boystick, and I squeezed it just a
bit, eliciting a loud grunt and a grind of desire. He pushed his cock
against me, whimpering for more, but I tried to hold back. I wanted him to
know the sweet agony of foreplay. It was a maddening study in patience for
Spencer – boys are not eager to wait as a rule – and an exercise in
aching self-control for myself as well. I had to contend with my own
inflamed desires for this beautiful, precious boy.

"Come on, Spence...let's lay down on the bed and get comfortable, okay?"

"K," He said shyly. Nodding and eager. The nervousness was gone. The
sacredness had vanished. At a certain point, a boy is simply yours,
compliant and willing as moldable clay. That's when his true education can
begin. And in Spencer's case, he nodded and laid down next to me eagerly,
his eyes a little fogged over as he processed all these new, sexual
sensations. He was a loved boy on a new and needed overload.

We lay side by side, his crotch aligned with my stomach and I kissed him
again as I squeezed his tight little butt cheeks. I didn't have to pull him
toward me as he immediately pushed himself into my midsection as my hands
kneaded his sweet globes and I deeply kissed him on the mouth.

I brought one hand around between us, lightly rubbing the little bulge in
his speedo, but the material was so frustratingly dense and tight compared
to simple cotton undies, I couldn't get my hand inside the swimsuit and I
really couldn't manipulate his hardened peener the way I wanted to and
needed to.

"I'm just going to take this swimsuit off of you now, Spencer. Is that
okay? So I can see you and touch you better."

"I'm kinda scared," he sheepishly admitted. "Don't laugh. I'm little. My
cock's really little compared to yours."

I kissed his forehead and tenderly as I could and looked him straight in
the eyes.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," I said. "That you're smaller
than me."

"You like that?" he asked softly, wondering if I was teasing him.

"Ohhh, Spencer," I assured him. "I like that a lot."

My hands were trembling with anticipation as I rolled him onto his back and
looked at his incredibly beautiful body. He was riding that perfect edge
between skinny and athletic...just a lean, tight body, not overly-muscled,
not underdeveloped, but just right.

"This bowl of porridge is too hot," I thought to myself as I caressed his
nipples.

"And this bowl of porridge is too cold," I thought, as my fingertips
stroked his baby-smooth belly and the sweet hairless tint of his pubis.

"And oh, little baby bear," I said out loud, completing my thought as my
palm brushed across the fiery fierceness of his rock-hard erection, "this
bowl of porridge is just right."

He didn't even giggle. It didn't even confuse him. He just lay there
panting, letting me touch him everywhere. His face was still flushed and
his lips moist from our prolonged kissing. His little nipples were erect
from rubbing against my shirt...perfect little pencil point sticking up,
begging to be known.

His smooth little tummy, the lovely vee that vanished into his swimsuit,
was now obscenely tented to the left by his desperately-hard throbber.

I slid the tips of my fingers into the waistband of his suit and began to
ease it off of his body. I could barely contain my own groans as his
smooth, hairless pubis came into view. I had to pull the suit away from his
body a bit to keep from trapping his boner in the fabric and pulling it
downward at an awkward angle.

In doing so, his rigid little tube of flesh popped loose from the fold of
his speedo and slapped back against his groin with an audible pop.

Spencer immediately covered himself with his hands, shielding his nakedness
from my eyes. I could tell he was embarrassed...that he felt totally
exposed and unsure of my reaction, fearing that he really was too small
"down there."  And I knew that no one had likely seen him there for quite
some time. At least not like this. At least not erect.

I pulled his speedo completely off and gently tried to move his hands out
of the way.

"No...don't...you might laugh.  It's too small. I'm not..."

Words spoken in fear, but tinged with a desperate desire to know that he
was normal.

"Spencer," I promised him, "You're a beautiful boy and I love you just the
way you are. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. From the little peek
I got, I'd say you're way bigger than I was at 11. Bigger than me. Bigger
than Kee."

"Really?" he said happily. "For real? You don't think my dick is too
small?"

His voice was still searching for reassurance.

"I promise, Spence. Your dick is absolutely perfect.  And I wouldn't care
how big it is anyway. I care about you, Spencer, not your dick."

I could see him processing what I was saying, so I just smiled at him and
winked. I could see him visibly relax.

"Now let's see that horse cock you're hiding," I growled with a grin on my
face.

That time he did giggle, and he let his hands slide away from his prized
possession, an expression of hope on his face, searching my eyes, awaiting
my reaction, wanting to make sure I was being truthful with him.

And there it was, the perfect 11-year-old penis, like a 3.5 inch piece f
Georgia marble; smooth, hard and a beautiful shade of powder blush pink. I
could see it beating ever so slightly with the rhythm of his heart. The
mushroom head was a slightly darker flush, like a strawberry cedar, just
waiting to be tasted. It was healthy and beautiful, and it flared
beautifully above his faint circumcision scar.

"Spencer," I told him in hushed tones. "That's the most perfect boy cock
I've ever seen. I mean it, Spence. You should be proud."

His face flushed again, this time with more than a bit of renewed
self-esteem as my praise and admiration for his boyhood boosted his
confidence while he lay naked and vulnerable beneath me.

"Really?" he asked. "It's really okay?"

"You little stud," I smiled. "It's more than okay. It's the one I've always
dreamed of." And that much was true.

"Can you teach me stuff now?" he asked shyly. "You know. Like what I asked
at the pool?"

It took my breath away to realize that this sweet, precious boy would be so
willing to follow my lead and trust me to show him what "gay boys do." I
couldn't have loved him more in that moment, nor lusted any more deeply for
him.

I quickly shed my own clothes, hoping my nakedness would make him feel more
comfortable now that he had a fully-naked co-conspirator to share Kee's bed
with him. When I shucked my undies and my six inches popped up hard and
fully-ready, I heard him whisper a long, respectful "whoa" under his
breath.

I have a normal, average-sized cock, not too thick and straight as an
arrow, but I suppose to an 11-year-old with not much experience around
naked adult males, it must have loomed large. I let him look at my body,
giving him whatever time he needed to process what he was seeing.

"Uncle Dan," he whispered. "It's really big. Wow. I mean really big."

"Thanks, kiddo, but it's really just average for a grown up. I bet yours
will be bigger than mine by the time you're halfway through high school."

He was listening to me, but he didn't react. His eyes and attention were
fully on my cock now.

"I like looking at it," he said simply. "It makes me get that funny feeling
in my tummy. You ever get that feeling? You know what I mean?

"You mean that feeling that you get when you're playing with yourself? You
know, choking the chicken?"

I swear when he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle, there was
just a little bit of a naughty twinkle in his eye. I was glad. I wanted him
at ease with me and enjoy what we were doing. It shouldn't be difficult, a
man and a boy. It shouldn't be scary. It should just be easy and funny and
fun.

"Spence, is alright if I play with your cock? I really want to show you how
good it can feel to have someone else touch you down there."

"Please," he whimpered. "I've been wanting you to touch me there all
morning, but I was too shy to ask you. And I was kinda worried about being
too little."

"Well, I'm going to do my best to make this the best playtime your cock has
ever seen."

I laid down beside him and let my hand roam all over his chest, brushing
his nipples back and forth, tweaking them a little. A small pinch. A
tease. There was a surprised "oh!" from Spencer so I let my hand linger
there for a moment, gently rolling the tips between my fingers, letting him
feel the sensitivity of his nipples and the direct connection they had to
his cock.

I wanted him to know his body and all of its pleasure centers, but it was
sheer torture on my aching dick. I wanted this boy so badly, but at this
moment, it needed to be entirely about Spencer and not my primal urges,
which believe me, were rising to the forefront like water cresting over a
dam.

"You like having me play with your nips, Spence," I asked him in a quiet,
husky voice.

"Uh-huh," he moaned back, in an equally-husky tone. This boy was in
lust. "Every time you pinch them, it makes my cock feel like sparks in it."

"Good. You're learning what feels good, buddy."

"Yeah, but can you hurry? It feels like my cock is gonna bust."

I laughed at the sweet impatience of this boy. And knowing that time was
not on our side, I didn't want to leave him with a massive case of blue
balls this morning.

"Okay Spence, let see how you like getting wanked," I grinned, and I leaned
over again and kissed him deeply once more, rolled him over on his back and
let my hand trail down to his pubic mound.

I could feel the heat radiating off the head of his cock. I slowly dragged
my index fingernail down the underside of his shaft and gently cupped his
smooth sac, squeezing his grape-sized nuggets just enough.

"Fuck" slipped out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. That
was confirmation enough that he liked the feeling I was giving him.

I let my finger explore further down, across his swollen taint and between
his moist cheeks, barely grazing his pucker. The sensation was obviously
new to him, but not unwelcome. He thrust his hips up and clamped his legs
together, as if to trap my finger against his wrinkling anus.

"You...you touched my you-know-what-hole," he whispered, amazed.

"I'm still touching your you-know-what-hole. You like that?"

There was a long pause where I could see the shy boy struggling to come to
terms with this, still afraid to admit what felt good to him. All this
unchartered territory. And this was certainly a new place to bring him
pleasure. Very new.

"I just never thought of doing that," he said. "You know. Touch my butthole
like that. I mean, I know gay guys do it in their butts, but I didn't know
it could feel good like that. I mean, just from a touch."

"You might be surprised, Spence," I smiled. "All sorts of good things can
happen down there."

But that was a lesson for a different day. I removed my finger from the
tackiness of his pucker and heard him say "wow," as my fingerpad slid
against the sweatiness of his opening on the way out. I smiled at his
honesty and his innocence. Talk about the gods smiling down upon me. So
innocent. So trusting. So badly needing tutoring. As badly as I wanted to
flip him over and ram 6 inches up his "you-know-what-hole," I couldn't'
violate his trust in me.

So I took a deep breath and wrapped my hand around his impossibly hard
penis and began to massage that sensitive spot right under his cock head.
Spencer immediately began to whimper in need, begging me to let him finish
his journey.

Refusing to rush through this beautiful moment, I kept up the slow massage
of his cock shaft and covered his mouth with my own, making love to his
sweet lips and tongue while my hand made love to his pulsing tween penis.

We were in perfect rhythm in that moment. He was kissing me hard and
moaning into my mouth and I was savoring every second of my hand on his
throbbing little cock, ready to help him experience his first full orgasm
at the hands of another.

Time seemed to stand still as we were locked together...mouth to mouth and
hand to cock. But Spencer was 11 and on the edge from all the previous
stimulation and it doesn't take long for a boy to become a man. I could
tell by his tensing, he was ready to blow.

Spencer pushed his hip up hard against my hand and I felt his stalk swell
ever-so-slightly and before I knew it, he was jerking in my grasp. He threw
his head back against the pillow and clapped his hand over his mouth,
stifling his outburst with his own cupped palm.

"Oh fuck...I'm getting my feels...you're making me get my feels! Ungggh!
Ungggggh!!! Angggghhh!!!! So good! So good!"

And he did get his feels. His entire body went rigid, except for the 3.5
inches of stone hard flesh vibrating in my hand. I watched with joy and
amazement as the pleasure coursed through him and his nuts spit out their
immature juice. It was just one small spurt and a few dribbles, but it was
beautiful.

I held his cock in my hand and let him slowly come down from his orgasmic
high, kissing him tenderly on the forehead.

"I think you liked that, Spence."

He breathed heavily. Didn't answer for a second. He was catching his
breath. Trying to find the speech center in his brain again.

"It never felt that good when I did it myself," he said in innocent
amazement, and I laughed softly at his honesty and directness.

I used two fingers to scoop up a bit of his watery load and brought it up
to my mouth and sucked my fingers clean. I savored the faint, sweet
nuttiness of his dick spew. Eating boy cum is a religious experience,
especially his first non-solo load. I savored the taste on my fingertips. I
smelled the hand I'd had wrapped around his cock. It smelled like chlorine
and boypiss and nutmeg and cinnamon. It was a heavenly scent, rich and
cozy, like a warm comforter. Like a balm to my soul.

He watched in amazement, his eyes widening. It was obvious he had never
tasted his own cum and certainly hadn't expected me to taste it. I scooped
up a bit more and brought it to his lips and waited to see if he would
follow my lead. He tentatively stuck out his tongue, not at all sure if he
wanted to eat his own feels, but finding the taste almost safely benign, he
eagerly sucked my fingers into his mouth.

Now that I'd taken the edge off Spencer's libido, it was time for the next
lesson, and I hoped, an opportunity to get a bit of relief for my
balls. They'd passed the blue ball stage about fifteen minutes ago, and
were now threatening to run up a purple flag and call for reinforcements.

I leaned down for one more deep kiss, letting him taste his own cum on my
tongue. Then adjusting myself on the bed, straddling his chest and bringing
my hard cockhead toward his mouth, I watched the "oh" of his eyes and the
"O" of his mouth as he understood I wanted him to suck me now. His mouth
opened wide and my cock made the tiniest feather contact with his tiny red
lips, and...

DAMN!

Damned if I didn't hear laughter and noise somewhere outside the
door. Obviously the other boys were awake now, and my playtime with Spencer
was over for the moment. Blue balls notwithstanding, we had to make
ourselves presentable quickly. With a dissapointed groan from both of us, I
quicky removed by cock from his mouth, and hopped off the bed, searching
for our clothes.

Before we could get fully dressed, there was a knock at the door.

"Hey, Spence? Uncle Dan? Are you guys in there?"

It was Kee.

"What are you doing in my room? Is everything okay? You were making noises
in there."

I heard more giggles from the boys outside the door.

I reached for my clothes. I tossed Spencer his speedo.

We needed a good cover story and we needed it quickly.

"Uh, just a minute," I yelled through the closed door. "Just taking a
pee. Spencer wanted to shower off the chlorine. He went for a swim."

I heard more giggling. Busted by the boys. Would they believe us?

I opened up the door and there they stood, grinning at us, all in a line.

"Kinda noisy for a shower," Kee giggled at me. "What were you guys really
doing in there?"

I stayed silent. Spencer smiled.

"Learning something," he said with a defiant shrug.

"Learning what?" asked Kee, and his eyes said he already knew.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Spencer smiled as he passed him and marched
proudly toward the stairway. I cleared my throat with a little cough. I
could still smell Spencer's cock on my hand.

"Breakfast time, guys," I said with a smile.

And I left them all standing there, wondering what the hell just happened.

"Plausible deniability," I muttered to myself through clenched, whistling
teeth as I headed down the stairs, staring at Spencer's tight ass about six
steps in front of me. I watched him shake it at me and felt a fresh
stirring in my pants.

"Class isn't over yet, Spencer," I thought to myself. "Not by a longshot,
kiddo."

And the morning began with pancakes for nine, and more grape soda for
everyone.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

TO BE CONTINUED...

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Meanwhile, open the bedroom door and quietly look in on some other private,
romantic moments from me and my boys:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/i-finally-danced
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/james-at-nine
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/please-mike-just-try

Drop me a line.

Lots of love,
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com