Date: Fri, 29 Jun 2012 14:47:11 -0600
From: Rob Ioveboy <robloveboy@gmail.com>
Subject: Thinking-With-The-Wrong-Head-2

Thinking With The Wrong Head
Chapter 2

By Rob Loveboy
<robloveboy@gmail.com>


Authors note: To all my friends and fans, I didn't intentionally abandon
you, circumstances beyond my control resulted in my having to change email
address. I miss many of you terribly, Nick, DB, Dave and Albert, and many
others, I love you all and nothing would give me more pleasure than
reuniting.


James' Story

It was about twenty years ago, I was 28 or so and just relocated my family
to Toronto due to a work transfer, my wife's sister and her family came to
visit from Cleveland over the July long weekend.

My nephew, Micheal, was 10 years old at the time. You had to know him, full
of piss and vinegar, all boy to the core. He was humorous and witty, the
type of kid you can't help but like. Cute as a button with blond hair that
remains a mystery in the family gene pool, perhaps an offshoot of his
father's German lineage, or that my sister-in-law was fucking the milk man,
who knows.

They were the loudest family of four you could ever imagine. All talked in
a high pitch tone, with the usual U.S.A drawl, mostly over each other in
some kind of weird competition of supremacy of the vocal cords that never
ceased until they were fast asleep.

Dreading getting out of bed, nursing a hang-over, to go down stairs to join
in the breakfast feeding frenzy, another story, I'll just say that they
seemed to always be noshing, I laid there in the nude suffering from the
hang-over hornies, unable to resist my morning woody.

I was just getting down to the short strokes of pending bliss under the
covers when Micheal, being told to rouse me for breakfast, ran into the
room and jumped on me. His knee made excruciating, perfect contact with my
boner.

"Fuck, Mikey!" I screamed in pain, "I think ya just broke my dick."

Rolling off me, he swiped the blankets away exposing my nudity and of
course, morning glory that caused him astonishment.

"Uncle James!" he exclaimed wide eyed, giggling like a school girl "You
sure got a big one!"

I suppose most men would attempt to hide the embarrassing fact from curious
little boys, I didn't. You might not believe me, but I never had lustful
eyes for boys that young. Now having said that, his 13 year old brother
drove me fucking nuts with fantasy having seen him in the buff a year prior
when he suddenly joined me in the shower. The family doubled up as a rule
due to limited hot water issues, nudity was never an issue at their place.

To say Mark was well endowed would be an understatement. I had seen his dad
naked once after a session of racket ball, the kid put his old man to shame
in that department! That memory is etched in my mind to this day. I
digress.

Micheal had no scruples and bent my cock forward and let it slap back down
on my groin several times, getting a kick out of it. In his young mind and
reasoning, he thought that, for the most part, boners were pee related, but
he also had a fairly good understanding of the facts of life that his
parents were quite open in discussing the issue with the kids.

Clarifying the matter at hand, I told him that I was jerking off until he
rudely interrupted me, which only caused more curiosity on his part and
need for greater clarification. So I explained it to him in theory as well
as a practical demonstration that if anyone found out about, would land me
a few years for sexual interference of a minor.

Sworn to secrecy, I elaborated on the boy-joy of maturation and the end
result, sperm. I had his full attention at that point. Being a heavy
secretor, I explained the very obvious gooey leakage, smearing it over my
shaft and then licking it off my fingers, much to his disdain, and turned
down the offered sample with a grimace.

Micheal couldn't resist feeling my Brillo pad pubic hair, and with a
finger, traced the thin trail from my groin to my belly button. I seen him
eying my balls and saving him the decision process. I took the liberty of
placing his hand on them that he kneaded with a little to much pressure
that a yelp soon rectified to a gentle rolling motion that I encouraged,
telling him it felt nice.

Taking his his other hand and wrapping it around my manhood, covered by my
own, and without any reluctance by him, I used it to slowly stroke the
slick shaft. Once I was satisfied that he understood the concept, I left
him to carry on with instructions to pick up the pace and no matter what
happened, not to stop until I told him to. He was eager to see sperm that I
assured him was defiantly in the foreseeable future.

Placing my hands behind my head, I took in the erotic scene below. He
changed tiring hands occasionally, distracted, I had to remind him to play
with my balls. He was intent on fulfilling his natural boyhood curiosity,
and I was intent on enjoying my perverted hand-job.

I knew time was of the essence, surely the two of us would be missed before
too long. The bedroom door was wide open and I listened carefully for the
sound of feet plotting up the hardwood stairs. What a sight that would have
been to some unsuspecting relative. I even thought that if I got caught, as
dumb as it was, I could feign oblivious awareness to a deep sleep and put
the onus on Micheal's shoulders.

As much as I was enjoying it, holding back orgasm wasn't a viable option
under the circumstances. He was beating away like a good little trooper,
and even if I could, prolonging things were risky as well.

The look on his innocent face was priceless as I blew my load with such
force that I couldn't remember the last time it shot the distance to my
upper chest with eruptions that gradually lost momentum, trailing down my
torso, the final spurts strung over his fingers.

That's when I went into panic mode. The reality of what I just made him do
hit me like a freight train. Shame and guilt overwhelmed me. Obedient to my
prior instructions, I had to tell him to stop pumping the rapidly deflating
meat. Bringing the runny jism to his face for closer inspection and
sniffing it, resulting in a yucky face, only added to my angst.

Jumping out of bed and hauling him to the en-suite bathroom sink, I removed
the evidence of sexual child abuse from both our bodies, stressing again
the importance of secrecy that I spent the rest of the day in fear of some
sort of inadvertent slip of his tongue.

That should have been my lesson well learned, but a cock hast no
conscience. When he climbed aboard the bed the following morning asking if
he could see my sperm again, I should have shunned the request, explained
that I was wrong, the event to be forgotten and never spoke of again.

Not a chance in hell. I should have been content with another hand-job, but
instead, up graded the severity by telling him that he would have to get me
erect by means of his mouth. He checked for any evidence of slimy
emissions, looked at me quizzically, and took the head in his mouth. I was
hard in an instant, literally begging him to follow my instructions on the
fine art of sucking cock, a hand firmly planted upon his head to establish
control and prevent any contestable reaction to my expectations.

He was clearly perplexed, his eyes wide, staring up at me, rosy cheeks
bulging with his mouth full of pedophile meat, falsely reassuring him that
boys did such kindly things for men. I think the final physiological
inspiration was when I released his head and took on an exasperated
demeanor saying that he probably wasn't yet old enough to be doing big boy
stuff. That was the qualifying statement in his endeavor to prove himself
worthy and me wrong.

For security reasons, I pulled the covers over his head and to my chest. If
anyone should happen to wander by, or worse, into the bedroom, I could make
like we were simply horsing around, wresting, with the despicable truth
well concealed.

Settling him between my legs, with only minor corrections, namely his sharp
teeth, the placement of a hand on my balls, the other masturbating me, he
was quick to catch on. I relaxed and watched the duvet rise and fall, and
his crouched ass in the air tenting the bed clothes.

I thought about, but rescinded the idea of cumming in his mouth. He wanted
to see my ejaculate and had earned the right. Kicking down the blankets, I
told him to jerk me off hard. He failed to pull his face far enough to miss
the first two volleys that hit him square in the nasals and upper lip that
appeared like he had a snotty nose.

After the final dribbles expelled, that he somehow knew to extract by
squeezing my shaft and forcing it it upward to the surface, I began
chastising myself again. I had really crossed the line that time. Ten to
twenty years crossed my mind as I hauled him up by his armpits and face to
face, close enough to smell my own cum splattered on his upper lip, as I
sternly re-instilled confidentiality.

I couldn't even look him in the eye that day, his usual comical antics
apparently weren't swayed, nor was his attention to me. I was still his
favorite uncle, although I certainly didn't deserve the notoriety.

Fucking my wife that night, all I could think about was Micheal blowing me
and I came in record time in the grand canyon that barley clasped my
member. She wasn't keen on oral sex, birthdays, anniversaries or perhaps
plied with liquor and becoming slutty might have initiated a few bobs on
the knob if I returned the favor and held my breath from the obnoxious
stench that lingered in my sinus passages well afterward.

Micheal had kept his mouth shut thus far, giving me a sense of
invincibility. As I waited in anticipation, he made an appearance the third
morning. I stripped off his PJ's rather abruptly, snapping a button from
his shirt in my haste to see him naked. Like his brother Mark, Micheal
showed a promising future ahead. I thought about his father again, the
smallish pink head nestled like a turtle in his foreskin, wondering how or
where his two boys acquired their manliness.

Cut, about the length and width of my thumb, once I stimulated him to
erection with my tongue and hand, I savored his offering. Micheal laid
there and let me explore his body from his armpits to his toes, leaving him
gleaming in my saliva. His tiny pug hole was a challenge to get my index
finger in, giving up any previous notions of fucking him for fear of
detectable injury. I really struggled with my emotions over that, wanting
desperately to plant my cock in his cherry. No doubt he would scream bloody
murder at the intrusion that would attract unwanted attention from
downstairs.

I settled on climbing atop him, with his face buried in my chest hair, and
fucked his tender loins. His dill-pickle dick was felt pressed against my
groin as I ravaged him. My cock gliding between his obvious, maturing
satiny testicles that earlier, tasted like nothing ever experienced before
in the finest of restaurants. Perhaps oysters, I equated from the smooth,
fluid texture easily draping my tongue as I excavated his rectum.

The urge was overwhelming, I climbed up the short distance and forced my
cock between his lips and then his surprisingly receptive mouth. No
coercion, prompting or begging necessary, I gave the boy his first, and
maybe last taste of cum that he momentarily tried to block the flow with
the tip of his tongue pressed inside my slit, but to no avail, succumbing
to the harsh reality, crunching his face in displeasure, and reluctantly
accepting the vile taste and texture, at least, in his interpretation.

The family left that afternoon, I never saw them again because I came to
terms with my sexuality, meeting a wonderful 18 year old man who swept me
off my feet, divorcing the old lady and set up house with him to this very
day.

I'm still wracked with guilt about young Micheal, surely a boy doesn't
forget such things. I can only pray that I didn't fuck him up mentally. He
would be thirty years old now. I heard through the grapevine that he's
married with two kids, a sports physiotherapist, and still residing in
Cleveland, Ohio.

My source's final condition of biography:

If you're reading this, Mikey, all I can say is I'm sorry. My penance has
been a lifetime of guilt and shame, probably not enough for you to forgive,
and I don't expect that you will. But thank you for never exposing me.
Without a doubt, the result would have ended my life at my own hand.