Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2006 05:56:53 -0800
From: secret pal <secretpal1@fastmail.fm>
Subject: Valentine's Day Pal (adult/ youth, mast)

I sit naked on the floor, a blank Valentine's Day card before me.  I write
in a notebook besides me, practicing.  The pen writes in blue ink with
silver glitter: "To Kris, the cutest boy I've ever known, (then a picture
of little heart) your Secret Pal."

I've known this boy for three years now.  He was ten when I first met him.
Even then he seemed to have all the seriousness and reserve of an adult,
though with the innocence and simplicity only a boy could possess.  He told
me only two words on our first meeting: his name.  Every attempt to draw
him out into conversation was met with a blankness which spoke of
embarrassment and bewilderment.  "Why would anyone want to talk to me," he
seemed to be thinking.

My cock is rock hard as I flip over the card to check the front again.
It's quite typical for a Valentine's card.  Just three hearts in gold and
red, with the words, "For my Secret Valentine," in the top corner.  I know
I should start preparing the card, but I hesitate.  I want to be sure I set
the words down just right.  I go to the notebook again, practicing.  I
painstakingly form each letter, making sure they are readable, yet festive.
This is all the harder because I've chosen to disguise my handwriting with
an unfamiliar grip on the pen.

Nothing about my friendship with Kris has developed they way I would have
liked.  He is a perpetual and consummate loner.  Most boys are drawn to me,
to my interest in them, to my little jokes, to my warmth.  With a little
effort I can have any boy I want.

Almost.

I have been wading through a virtual buffet of boys since I met Kris, and
yet all I can think of is him.  His sweet, sweet face, with its delicate
nose and wet pink lips.  His hair is always business-like neat, never
touching his little ears.  But it is his eyes I think of most.  There is a
depth there I long to explore.  I have never seen him with a playmate.  He
carries himself as if that is his choice, but in his gaze is aching
loneliness.

Procrastinating, I decide to work on the red envelope that came with the
card.  In my careful writing, I place his name on the outside and his
address just under that.  Then the stamp.  It seems only natural to slip it
under my leaking cockhead, getting it wet with my pre-cum and then
carefully setting it into the corner.

I still cannot get over the reality of what I propose to do.  In my mind
there is the half- baked hope that this card will brighten his face, let it
smile a little smile, something I've never seen.  So what if he thinks it
probably some girl who sent it to him?  There is no greater confidence
booster than knowing that someone finds you sexy.

I open the card and, with a breath to steel me against mistakes in
penmanship, begin to write.

Another part of me is horny as hell, thinking of the intimate way I am
reaching out to touch this hot young boy.  After years of nothing but muted
hellos and passing acquaintance, I will hold his heart.

I picture him, at the other end of this process, holding the card and
jacking off, as I am now doing, while he reads what I have written on the
clean white surface: "To Kris, the cutest boy I have ever known, (then a
picture of a heart) your Secret Pal."

Without thinking I slip my throbbing cock between the sides of the card,
carefully enfolding my shaft in them.

"Oooohhhhaaah."

I grip my cock again in my right hand, reading the card as I stroke myself
faster and faster.  In my head I picture Kris as he could be, my lonely
prince giving himself up to me.  He is slim and smooth.  The idea of his
body under my fingers drives me wild.  The idea of my lips on his drives me
wilder.

To stroke his firm back, to hold him to my chest and run my fingertips
through his silky, oh-so-neat hair.  My imagination runs free.  I see the
two of us alone in a garden with streams and blossoms of red and gold,
sharing ourselves with each other.
 His boy parts are sweet and fragrant, his ass cheeks soft and firm.

I stare into his eyes as I enter him like a conquering hero.  There is a
momentary panic in his expression as I penetrate, then a sigh of surrender
as he lets himself be possessed for the first time in his life, his
vulnerability exposed.  He has opened himself up at last, ending his long
isolation.  In his deep eyes the waters settle into peace for the first
time.

The fantasies run through and through my mind, till I am cumming, semen
shooting and spurting then pooling above my thumb.  As my mind clears I
look the card over one last time.  I smear some of the pearly white cum in
a lower corner and then close the card, catching sight of the last thing I
made sure to write at the bottom:

"secretpal1@fastmail.fm".

--

  secret pal
  secretpal1@fastmail.fm

--