Date: Wed, 21 Mar 2007 10:53:08 -0500
From: Charles Hughes <the.empty.room@hotmail.com>
Subject: Tyler Becomes a Man - Chapter 11  ( A/b A/A  oral)

This story is completely fiction, and it develops the relationships
between two adults and an adult with young boys.  If it is illegal for
you to read such material, you are to leave now.

The story will conclude with the twelfth chapter.

Copyright 2007, Charles Hughes, all rights reserved.  If you wish to copy
the story, please, just ask.

I try to answer all emails, since reader response is important:
the.empty.room@hotmail.com


Tyler Becomes a Man - Chapter 11  (A/b A/A  oral anal)


The day after Tyler's mother called me to tell me Tyler had become a
father, Tyler himself called me.  Perhaps it should have been a bit
awkward, but it wasn't.  He was proud of his baby and said he would send
me a picture right away.  Then he came to the point of the call.  He
wanted to name the boy "Charles," after me.

I hardly knew what to say.  I had, in fact, wondered about just what the
adult Tyler thought of his boyhood lover.  This seemed to answer my
uncertainty.  I cried and thanked him.  He cried.  It was a wonderful
gift.

He and his new family began to move all over the country, it seemed.  As
a consulting engineer, he went where the work was, and usually he was in
one location long enough it was worth moving his family with him.  My
birthday and Christmas cards came from San Diego, Billings MT, Baton
Rouge, Columbus OH, and even a little town in Canada.

His mother would invite me over for dinner every month or so, and I took
her out to dinner now and then.  I saw all the pictures a proud
mother/grandmother could show.  She told me he was beginning to make a
name for himself, and when he got his first overseas contract, his whole
family went with him to Spain.

My own work at the library went well.  I was the assistant head librarian
now and was hoping for the promotion when the woman who was head
librarian retired soon.  When my mother died, I inherited a nice income
from my father's wise investments, so I was able to make the house more
comfortable and travel some.  I enjoyed Europe (Tyler and his family
were, unhappily, in South Africa at the time).  I went to several Asian
countries and especially loved Thailand.

And, of course, I continued to love boys and befriend them.  I was
pleased I could assist in their improvements in school and sometimes even
with personal problems.  I was especially pleased that I was responsible
for the library's new program encouraging reading among middle school
boys.  I was sincerely a friend to many of them, and to a few of them I
became a lover, introducing them to the joys too many little boys never
have the opportunity to experience.

I was very proud of what I had been able to do for one little boy in
particular.  Billy was only eight, and I had found him virtually hiding
in the alley behind my house one evening.  I coaxed him in for some hot
chocolate, then some sandwiches.  He was obviously poorly cared for.

It took a while for him to trust me, but eventually he relaxed and became
a regular visitor.  He was very unhappy at home, and in my home he found
acceptance, support, encouragement, and love.  Though only eight, he was
as adventurous as any boy could be.

His boydick was tiny, even for a boy of eight -- not more than an inch
when fully hard. He loved to have it licked and sucked, and he enjoyed
such overwhelming orgasms that I was sometimes astounded.

And he had the sweetest little boypussy I'd ever eaten.  The smooth skin
around his pink little entrance was a taste of which I never tired.
Billy had to have a rosebud that would take all the prizes in any flower
show.  I loved to coax his tiny rosebud into full blossom as it accepted
my cock.

One afternoon he was wiggling it in front of me as we were naked on the
bed -- he had become just a little demanding lately.

I kissed the little white globes in front of me, then kissed my way
into the dark crack I'd learned to love.  I inhaled deeply to catch his
fragrance.  I had washed him myself in the shower.  I had used my fingers
to clean him properly.  Of course, he had enjoyed being cleaned deeply by
my fingers, and I had taught him that he should do the same when he
washed himself in his own home.  I didn't want to smell soap. I wanted
the scent of boy.  I licked, and I tasted boy.  He was delicious.

He moaned as my tongue raked across his tender hole.  I licked around
over and over again, catching the edges of his outer ring between my
tongue and my upper lip just enough to pull a bit.  The sensation was as
pleasant for me as it was for Billy.  I tasted him again as my tongue
went deeper into his boypussy.

After moving my tongue in circles, I pointed it again and pushed.  The
tip of my tongue felt the velvet deeper inside him and absorbed the boy's
taste, his sweetness and tartness.  The sides of my tongue circled
against his ring and widened the entrance at which my cock would soon be
making its demands.

"Uhhhhhhhh...." Billy sighed.  "Do more do more more do more..."

He loved to be rimmed and eaten.  But he also loved to be fucked.

The first time I fucked him I had planned to spend a great deal of time
preparing his little ass for my cock.  I was amazed that he opened so
readily, so easily.  I turned him around and asked him about it.  He
began to cry then, and I held him.

"Did someone hurt you, honey?  I promise I won't do it if it
hurts.  Don't worry, sweetheart, we don't have to do that."

"No, Chuck," he sobbed, "I like it ...I think.  I mean... Well, I love
you, Chuck, and I want you to fuck me, but..."

I finally got the story out of him.  It seems his brother, two years
older, had been fucking him since he was six!  Somehow his brother had
gotten the idea that he wanted to stick his eight-year-old dick into his
little brother's bottom.  I suppose I could understand the eagerness of
boys to play together.  But there had been a serious problem.

Billy's brother never knew just how to do it.  No one had ever taught
him, and he was not at all concerned that there was a right way and a
wrong way to fuck a boy.  He simply forced his little brother to take his
dick.  He usually used some lube, Billy told me, but that was merely for
his own comfort.  His little brother's lovely pucker was nothing more to
him that one more way to experience a dry cum.  He was simply using his
brother's pussy as another way to jack off!  He fucked just for the
purpose of his own pleasure, giving little thought to the experience of
his little brother.

I held the precious child close and assured him he was okay.  He said his
brother had found a girl to play with and didn't bother him any more.  He
avoided his brother as much as possible.

"But, I want you to do it, Chuck," he said.  "I know you won't hurt me.
You love me, don't you?"

He was stating it more as  fact than as question, and I assured him he
was very loved, that he would never be hurt in my home, that I respected
him as the beatiful boy that he was, a boy who should know only pleasure,
a boy who deserved only the best, a fine boy who would grow up to become
a wonderful man.  Eventually, he calmed, but he also eager for our first
fuck.

And so I arranged him in front of me again for that first time.  I used a
liberal dose of lube on both his hole and my cock, and I was surprised
just how readily his hole opened for my finger.  Then another one.  My
third finger had to loosen his tightness, but his moans were of pleasure,
not pain.  I worked him a long time, and we both enjoyed every moment of
it.

Finally, I lay my cockhead at his hole and slowly slid completely in, all
the way in!  He was tight against my cock the entire distance, but he was
open enough that there was no pain.  It felt like slowly slipping a
velvet glove over my cock.

He moved back into me.  He didn't want to wait. He wanted to fuck.  And I
fucked his sweet ass as he moaned and wiggled.  The more he bucked back
into me, the faster I fucked him.  This little eight-year-old pussy
needed a real cock!  I thrust into him harder than I would have
otherwise, because I knew he wanted it, from his own shoves back at me.

"Fuck me yes good feels yes ooooooo...fuck my pussy...o yessss..."  His
high little voice was pleading for my engorged mancock to fuck deep and
fuck fast and fuck hard...

When I came I filled him.  The force of my cum was so great than it began
to leak from his hole around my cock immediately.  I shot more cum into
his little bottom, and I could feel my warm jizz and his juices slide
past my invading cock and down his thighs.  By the time my cock had
emptied itself in him, we were both panting hard.

As soon as I finished, I picked him up and carried him to the shower.  I
washed him gently, using my fingers and a cloth, while I held him in my
other arm.  He put his arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.

When he was clean, I lowered him gently to the tip of my hard cock, and
he slid his legs around my waist.  I lowered him onto my waiting cock
until he was seated against me.  I fucked him so very gently and
slowly as I held him in front of me.  And he looked into my eyes the
entire time, smiling.  He finally tensed and whimpered as his dry cum
overtook him, and the sensation of his pussyring tightening around my
cock made me cum again.

We were often together after that; sometimes it seemed that he almost
lived at my house.  His parents were so uncaring they seldom knew where
he was, anyway.  I helped him with his homework; I fed him proper meals;
we played games and watched TV and talked.  With his horrible
introduction to sex with his brother, you would think he would back away
from anal sex, or any sex at all.  But, as he showed me on that first
day, he loved it.

But he was a growing boy who had all kinds of needs, not just sex.
I worked hard on a plan to get him away from his terrible family and into
the home of some fine people.  Billy would always be safe; I made sure of
it.  I had been in the community long enough that I knew people who could
help, and soon Billy was in a home with two loving parents and a boy his
own age to be his brother.  And I knew the two boys would be a loving
pair of brothers.

It was Tomas who was in my bed that afternoon when I received a phone
call from Tyler's mother about the tragedy in his family.

Tomas, the little Mexican boy, was back from college on winter break, and
he came to visit.  He was a senior, graduating that spring in computer
science.  He would go straight into graduate school.  He thanked me for
the help I had provided with his schoolwork but, he said, most of all,
for the love and motivation to get ahead.  He said he had learned
self-confidence in my home, and I was pleased at how well he was doing.

He asked if we could make love.  In the bedroom he stripped slowly.  What
a fine young man he'd become!  He was tall, taller than many of his
background, sturdy and strong.  He was proud of his body, and he had
every right to be.  He turned and posed for me, intentionally giving me
the opportunity to see how the little boy I had tutored had become a fine
young man.  He was toned, and the stripes of light from my window blinds
played across a beautifully sculpted body.

I was amazed at his pride and joy, however.  I knew his dick was large
for his age when he was a little boy, but I had no idea he had grown so
well.  He slowly stroked his cock for me so I could see it fully erect.
He said it was nine and a half inches long.  His cockhead was bulbous at
the end of his long, thick shaft.  It was absolutely beautiful, seated in
a bush of thick black hair and rising above a pair of the largest balls
I'd seen in a long time.  And to think, this was the boydick I had sucked
and loved years before!

He spread his precum back onto it, and his cock almost glowed.  He was
uncut -- such a pleasure to play with when he was a child -- but his
cockhead was straining away from his body, leaking so much precum there
was now a string of it slowly falling to the floor.

Tomas had become an expert lover.  He had known he was gay from a very
early age, and he said that I had taught him how to become a man proud of
his sexuality and proficient in lovemaking.  It was a thrill to place
myself at the mercy of his hands.

I finally found myself writhing in sexual agony as he brought me to
orgasm.  He knew I loved my balls sucked, and I thought I would cum just
from that.  He had two fingers in my ass, massaging my prostate gently,
and his beautiful full lips surrounded my cock and sucked.  He teased me,
seemingly, forever.  I was aching for him to speed up the pace, but
he kept going so slowly.  My prostate was aching for release; my cock was
fiercely red and swollen.

"Oh, fuck, Tomas.  I just...can't take it...anymore.  God, I have to
cum...Tomas."

At that the fingers on my prostate began to circle more rapidly, and his
lips began to move faster up and down my cock.  He was so expert at this
-- or he remembered so well -- that he knew just when I was at the
edge.  I felt that wondrously great swelling inside me and took a huge
breath to tell him I would cum, and then I couldn't speak at all.

At just the right moment, he pressed on my prostate and sucked back hard
on my cock.  He went down one more time, and as he pulled his mouth up to
my cockhead the dam burst.  I came with loud sighs and moans as I fed him
my cream.  I was almost delirious in the extasy of the cum he had given
me.

It took me a while to recover from that, and we lay together, just as we
had when he was a boy, petting each other and sharing little kisses.  I
stroked his chest, his underarm, his abs.

But I was in need of him.  I sat up for a minute and played with his
nipples.  I remembered how much he had loved that as a child.  His
nipples were very dark, beautifully taut, and I played with the point of
his little tit for a while.

Then I sucked him there.  He drew in his breath as my tongue brushed back
and forth across that little nub of flesh inside my mouth.  I sucked
both nipples until he groaned so much I realized they were becoming very
tender.  I think he loved his nipples so much he would have let me
continue.  But I was in need of that huge, that unexpectedly long, cock.

He loved it when I took his monstrous cock into my mouth.  I could
deep-throat many, but not that one.  I used my tongue to pleasure him.
We played, kissed, stroked, sucked.  When he came, he kneeled over me,
his knees on either side, and he shot for my chest.

It was so very erotic to see the small hole in his cockhead pulse open,
pause, then shoot forth a wondrous and generous portion of his cum.  He
shot a rope that could have landed several feet away had he not been
aiming just for my me.  He didn't make a sound and kept his eyes on my
face.  I'm sure he saw the delight I felt at this flood of his manhood.

His cum seemed to appear from his huge cock endlessly.  As the force of
his shots -- I have no idea how many -- lessened, his cum just continued
to flow for a while, as though he were taking a piss.  It was one of the
most astounding things I'd ever seen.

He left a huge pool of his cum on my chest, running down onto my belly,
much of it now sliding down my sides.  I used both hands to push it back
up and to keep it there.  I don't think I'd ever seen as much cum at one
time in my life.  I kept my hands cupped so it would all remain there on
my belly as Tomas used his fingers to feed some first to me, then to
himself.  We slowly consumed every drop he had given me.

He lowered himself so we could kiss deeply.  Our tongues searched for any
cum remaining, and we sucked on each other's breath.  He finally fell to
my side.  It was an experience I'll never forget.

Perhaps we had dosed off.  I jumped when the phone rang.  It was Tyler's
mother.

Tyler and his family had been in Poland on a construction project.  Tyler
and the boy, Charlie, had remained in Warsaw when his wife returned to
the states for her mother's surgery.  She was coming back from New
England when her plane crashed at Heathrow in London.  They said she had
probably been killed instantly.

I was stunned at the news.  Tomas realized something was wrong.  He
barely remembered Tyler as a high school student he himself had met at my
house, but he realized the importance of the relationship we had.  He
expressed his sorrow, gave me a light kiss on the cheek, and left.

Billy came over early that evening; I had forgotten that he was to
visit.  He was telling me about how much he liked his new brother when he
realized something was not right.  I couldn't tell him what had happened,
of course, but he could tell something was wrong.  I lay on the couch for
a long time, with my head in his lap.  He stroked my forhead and my
hair.  He began to sing little snatches of songs he could remember.

And he cried with me.  The tender touch of his little hands was sometimes
so bitter-sweet.  He would wipe away my tears, and then they would flow
again.  All I could think of was Tyler, his terrible ordeal, his
uncertain future, his pain.  I had visions of that beautiful child to
whom a 15-year-old teenager had made passionate love.  My little Tyler
had become a wonderful man only to suffer so much.

Billy never once asked me any questions.  He was content to let me mourn
the past without understanding a thing about what was happening.  Or
maybe he did.  Maybe boys, at least some boys, could sense the more
intense feelings of the people they love.  All I know is that we didn't
make love that night.  We just remained there on the couch until it was
time for him to return home.

I felt helpless to assist Tyler.  His wife was to be buried in her
hometown, but there was no way I could attend.  I wrote him a very long
letter, hoping there might be something in it that would comfort him
somehow.  It was his loss, not mine.  I couldn't understand why, after
all these years, I should be so terribly affected by such an event.

I went to see Tyler's mother a couple of times and heard of Tyler's
return to New England for a while.  She was generous in keeping me up to
date.  I had to wonder, in retrospect, if she somehow understood that
there had been such a special relationship between Tyler and myself.

I heard, through her, that Tyler had scaled back his consulting business
to spend more time with Charlie, then that he had moved to a suburb of
Boston to establish an office there.  I began to understand from her that
neither Tyler nor his business were doing well.

Just after Christmas, she called me, excited about Tyler's upcoming
visit.  He would bring Charlie with him, of course, and they planned to
stay for a least a week.  He promised news that she would be happy to
hear.  She planned a dinner for them the evening of their arrival and was
kind enough to invite me.

That was just a couple of weeks away, and I spent a lot of that time
anticipating the reunion.