Date: Thu, 30 Dec 2010 21:55:36 -0500
From: wild wing <wildwing66@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Boy Downstairs - 1

Forward: This is a tale of sexual discovery involving consensual sex
between gay youth and an adult.  Unlike my previous stories this one is
based partially on some true incidents. There are graphic sexual
descriptions.  You have been warned.

I love to hear from my readers and will respond to all.

My good friend Hermes an excellent Nifty author in his own right has
consented to put some of my stories on his fine web site at
hermesauthor.wordpress.com including stories that will not appear on Nifty.

Enjoy!

			    THE BOY DOWNSTAIRS

Chapter one

The cold blustery day fit my mood perfectly.  It was that time of year
where winter had become unbearable.  Lingering black snow piles were
beginning to reveal the trash and grime from the previous few months.
People had discarded their heavy winter clothing for somewhat lighter wear.
The signs were vague harbingers of the warmer days ahead.

Used newspaper in hand I trudged up Wilmot Road and began to think of my
cozy little apartment ahead.  I turned up the sidewalk of an old Victorian
manor set back a little further from the street than its neighbours.  I
spotted young Randy, the twelve year old son of the first floor couple
seated in his usual spot on the front steps.

"Good afternoon," I said in passing.

He looked up at me seemingly surprised by my presence.  "Oh hi
Mr. Pitowski," he replied.

This was a long conversation for Randy.  He seemingly spent hours on the
front steps and I had tried on several occasions to enter into a reasonable
conversation with him.  I frankly got tired of the one word answers.  At
first I thought him to be shy.  Later I became convinced that his light
bulb was none too bright.  Not tall in stature he was stockily built.  He
wasn't what one would call overly handsome but with his short dirty blond
hair and his cherubic red cheeks he was acceptable.

His father was a common sight striding up the street with his enormous beer
belly and his ever present case of twenty-four slung on his hip.  I never
saw him carry anything else.  He always walked and I figured he had lost
his license over some ancient drunk driving charge.  I also never saw him
completely sober either.  Life for him seemed to revolve around being in
one stage of intoxication or another.  How he hung on to his construction
job was beyond me.

Randy shared the ground floor one bedroom apartment with his parents and a
younger sister.  I often wondered how they were able to maintain a modicum
of personal privacy and dignity in such cramped quarters.

Originally a single family residence, the old house like so many others on
the street had been converted to three separate apartments.  I climbed the
stairs to my own apartment occupying the entire top floor.  It was my
castle and I was proud of my domain.  The front room occupying a full half
of the apartment was my particular pride and joy.  It contained a cathedral
ceiling with bare oak beams.  Two large skylights, one on each side,
provided ample light even on a cloudy day.  Dormer style windows added more
light helping to keep my numerous plants looking healthy.  The room was my
living room slash bedroom.  A large antique poster bed dominated one wall.
Ample bookshelves that also held my video collection dominated another.
Many other antiques mostly willed to me by my late aunt Rose liberally
dotted the room.  My TV and my computer were my concessions to the modern
world.

I retreated to the kitchen and prepared a supper of pasta.  Not the best of
cooks I did enjoy my Italian dishes.  I later returned to the front sofa
supper in hand.  I prepared to settle in and watch a recently purchased new
movie.  Before I did though I made one last trip to the kitchen to retrieve
some munchies to enjoy later on.  To my chagrin the cupboard was bare.  No
matter I thought, I'll visit the local convenience store right after
supper.

Randy was still on the steps as I passed.  It was decidedly chillier now
and he was not dressed for it.  When I returned potato chips in hand he was
still there.

I paused and asked, "Aren't you going in?"

"Nah," he responded not bothering to look up.

"Why not?" I queried.

"Well if you really want to know dad's drunk again and he's fighting with
mom."

I went on, "Aren't you cold?"

"Yeah, a bit," he responded.

"When are you going in?"

He looked up at me for the first time.  His expression was one of accepted
resignation.  "I'm waiting for dad to pass out."

I didn't particularly like the boy.  To say the least i found him to be too
rough around the edges for my liking.  However on this night I felt genuine
sympathy.  Without carefully considering the repercussions I blurted, "Why
don't you come upstairs and warm up?"

He looked up with wide eyes, "Can I Mr. Pitowski?"

I instantly had second thoughts about my offer but saw no reasonable way to
retract it now.  "Sure, why not," I added, "You can leave when you think
the the coast is clear."

He followed me dutifully up the stairs, entered my abode, and promptly
claimed my favorite chair in front of the TV set.  Without asking he turned
it on and changed channels to one of his liking and sat back.  Only during
the first commercial did he bother to look around.

"You got a nice place," he commented.

"I like it," I agreed.  "By the way are you hungry?"

Keeping his focus on the screen he responded, "Well yeah, I haven't eaten
since noon."

I put together a large bowl of pasta and added two slices of buttered
bread.  Fortunately I had a coke in the fridge.  He took it all without a
thank you and promptly wolfed it all down in less than two minutes flat.

"That was great!" he enthused, "You are a better cook than my mom."

Wow I thought to myself, if he really liked the food that much then his
mother must be one awful cook.

Randy continued to dominate the TV.  As my guest I decided not to complain
and I put my movie purchase away for another night.  An hour and a half
later he announced that it was safe to go home. Without a thank you or even
a goodbye he strode to the door and disappeared down the steps.

I shrugged my shoulders, cleaned up a little and went to bed.


Two evenings later I was startled by a rap on my door on the second floor
landing.  Who could be knocking at this time of night I thought?

Randy stood there staring up at me.  "Okay to come in?" he pleaded.

I really didn't feel like visitors.  Besides I hadn't found his first visit
to be particularly rewarding.  But how do I turn him down?  I had a marked
weakness for charity.

"A please would be nice," I stated firmly.

"Pleeeaaase," he stressed.

He followed me up the stairs once more and instantly claimed the same
chair.  Apparently it had his name on it.

I suggested, "How would you like to see a movie tonight?"

"Got any good ones?"

I selected one from my archives that I thought would be to his liking.  It
was set in England and featured a fiery dragon.

As I slipped it into the player he asked, "Watcha got to eat?"

I looked at him sternly and waited.

He stared back looking more and more perplexed as the moments ticked by.

"What?" he finally said.

"I'm waiting for the magic word," I told him.

Showing indignation he responded, "Pull-leeeaaase!"

I warmed up some roast pork in the microwave and added potato and gravy.  I
retrieved my last coke from the frig.  Without a thank you he chowed down
and the food literally vanished again.  I took a deep breath and decided
not to get upset.  Instead I settled down to enjoy the movie.

As it turned out I hadn't seen the movie for some time and I was quite
enjoying it.  Part way through I put the film on hold and told Randy to
hang on until I returned from the washroom.

The washroom was located in the centre of the apartment opposite the
stairs.  It was a long narrow room with a quaint old fashioned legged
bathtub recessed on one side.  The wash basin was solid marble that I
figured had come with the house.  The toilet was at the far end facing the
door.  The door itself was of solid oak.  In addition to the normal locking
mechanism the door contained a very large skeleton key hole.  The key had
long since vanished but the hole remained.

As I sat on my throne I felt a little concern.  I didn't entirely trust
Randy and I didn't want to leave him unattended for too long.  Thankfully
my wallet was in my pocket.

I suddenly heard footsteps.  It was impossible even with the carpets to
move around in my apartment without creaking the floor boards.  As the
steps approached the bathroom I assumed that Randy was heading for the
kitchen to help himself to more food.  Surprisingly the footsteps abruptly
stopped outside the bathroom door. What was he doing I wondered?  It took
me a moment to figure it out.

Randy was a voyeur!  He must be observing me through the keyhole! It should
have been obvious to him from the creaking boards that I knew exactly where
he was.  Apparently it hadn't registered.

I was far from being attracted to the boy and yet I found the situation
sexually stimulating.  He was waiting for a show and my organ was rising to
the occasion!  What the hell I thought, if he really wants to see what I
have why not let him.  He doesn't know I'm aware of his presence.  What
harm could it do?  I'd been called horse in high school and it wasn't
because of my strength.  At close to nine inches I knew there were a few
bigger ones around but I felt amply endowed and I was proud of it.

I stood up.  My erection was at full mast.  I turned sideways so that he
could get a profile view.  Holding it gently with a single finger and thumb
near the base I waved it slowly up and down.  Then I pumped it a few times.
Now more sexually aroused I was admittedly enjoying my own show.  However i
felt that it should have been more and more obvious to him that I was
showing off for his benefit.  I gave my cock a couple more pumps for good
measure before I raised my pants. As I flushed the toilet I heard him
scurrying back to the front room.

As I re-entered the room I commented, "Sorry I took so long."

Randy's eyes were glued to my crotch as he responded, "That's okay."

I imagined that he was trying to figure out how I was able to stuff it all
back into my pants.  Try as I might I just couldn't get back into the
movie.  My mind kept wandering back to Randy and what had just occured.
Randy for his part made no attempt at hiding the fact that he continued to
stare at my crotch.

The credits began to roll and I suggested that it was time to go home to
bed.  I then asked if his parents knew where he was at this time of night?

"It's not their business." he snarled.

"Randy, you are twelve, right?"

"Almost thirteen," he answered.

"At twelve years of age they have every right to know where you are at all
times.  I'm also worried that I could get in to trouble for having you here
at this time on a week night."

Randy slowly got up.  "Okay I'll go home but they really don't care.  Dad
will be passed out on the couch and mom will be trying to give him a blow
job or something."

I was startled by the assertion.  I stared at him open mouthed.  He just
stood there and shrugged his shoulders with a look that said 'welcome to
the real world'.

I was still searching for something appropriate to say when he spun on his
heels and was gone.  I reached for the kleenex box and retired to bed.