Date: Mon, 25 Sep 2006 17:37:51 -0400
From: Captain Swing <grubsnort@comcast.net>
Subject: Worth Every Penny
This story contains explicit scenes of sexual contact between males
of various ages, including teeenagers. It is intended for the
entertainment of adults who wish to read it and are permitted by law
to do so. It is wholly fictional. The author does not advocate or
condone the actions or the opinions contained herein.
___________________________________________________
I always got a kick out of imagining what the other customers in the
Mcdonalds thought of us. Oh, I knew that 99% of them paid us no
attention at all. But there, that black lady with the stroller. She
let her eyes linger on us for a few seconds as she idly scanned the
room. What did she think? A thirty-eight year old white guy in
casual but expensive clothes sitting with three young teenage Puerto
Rican boys. Was I their teacher? A counselor or social worker of
some kind? A minister? I was probably too well dressed to be a cop
or probation officer. What was the story? I smiled to myself as i
pictured the look on her face if I were to lean over and tell her
that at that very moment the french fries I was eating were joining
the thin tasty loads of the two younger boys in my gut and the older
boy's thicker deposit was slowly dissolving deep in my ass.
___________________________________________________
Every three or four months the itch came over me. I led a life that
was one of the more enviable versions of the American Dream. A high-
six-figure job on Wall St., often seven-figure with year end bonuses.
A multi-million-dollar house in Darien , Connecticut. A beautiful,
smart, understanding wife and two terrific kids. Hell, I even had a
great dog. But when that small undeniable urge began to form itself
in my mind, that irresistable hunger for some young brown dick, there
was nothing to do for it but to call Miguel.
I first met Miguel almost seven years ago, in a video arcade near
Penn Station. I had a little time to kill before catching my train
to Washington and popped in to see if I could find something
interesting. There was the usual assortment of streetscrapings:
menacing black thugs, hollow-eyed white druggies, desperate middle-
aged Johns. My eyes immediately zeroed in on the one exception: a
clear-eyed, clean-looking young Hispanic guy. I caught his eye and
knew instantly that he was hustling. He, just as quickly, knew I was
buying. We went into a booth and I fed a five into the machine and
let him pick the movie; I was happy to see he picked a straight
film. I groped his crotch for a few minutes but we were both in a
hurry; I started to unfasten his belt but he took over and dropped
his pants and undershorts to his ankles and pulled up his shirt. I
leaned back for a moment to admire what I was renting. He was,
amazingly, virtually perfect, to my admittedly specialized taste. He
was short, maybe five-two: I love 'em short. His smooth face was
attractive, nice-looking in a Latino-boy-next-door way, without being
remarkably handsome. His hair was black, of course, straight,
average length. His caramel colored skin was flawless, no scars, no
zits, and, God be praised, no tattoos. Hairless, too, except for a
crisp curly patch above his cock. His slim torso had the light
musculature of a healthy young man who worked hard for a living, not
one who had ever seen the inside of a gym. His cut cock was hard
already, sticking at a slight upward angle above a full, medium sized
sack. It was average in size, five inches maybe,with a well-defined
helmet-shaped head; no giant but a perfect size for sucking. His
small frame made it seem bigger than it was.
I leaned forward and took him in my mouth. (He was standing facing
the screen, I sitting on the bench that lined one side of the
booth.) He tasted and smelled clean and I sucked him vigorously,
with no time for embellishments. Before long I could tell by his
breathing and the throbbing of his dick that he was getting close.
He spoke up, softly. "Coming. You want in your mouth?" I barely
had time to murmur "UmmHmm" when he squirted four or five thick
shots. I tasted their slightly sweet tang before gulping them
down. I pulled back, swabbing the head of his dick one last time,
and he pulled some napkins out of a pocket . He offered me one and
began to clean himself up. He glanced down at my crotch. "You not
come?" I had never even opened my pants. "No. No time." I glanced
at my watch; no need to panic yet. I talked to him a bit as he
straightened his clothes; his English was limited and heavily
accented but we could understand each other fairly well. I dredged
up some highschool Spanish when necessary. He told me his name was
Miguel, he was twenty, he'd come from Puerto Rico three years earlier
and he worked running an ironing machine in the nearby Garment
District. He stopped in the arcade once or twice a week before
taking the subway home to the Bronx. I gave him the twenty we had
agreed on and a five-dollar bonus and said I hoped maybe I'd see him
again sometime. He said he was usually there on Fridays, sometimes
Wednesdays.
I thought about him most of the way to Washington, neglecting the
paperwork I should have been reviewing. It had been, I decided, a
nearly perfect encounter: I had gotten exactly what i had been
looking for. I didn't want a "lover" or a ""relationship." I had a
wife for that. I had wanted to meet an attractive young man and give
him a quick, anonymous, no-strings, no-reciprocity blowjob. If I had
to pay, that was perfectly OK, in fact it was probably even
preferable. No strings. Miguel and I had both gotten what we wanted
and walked away satisfied, without looking back. The fact that he
was, physically, my ideal man, made it that much better. I don't
know how I came to be so attracted to his "type"-- short, smooth,
straight , ordinary, Latino-- but I had been for a long time. Sue
me. I also liked that fact that he was apparently only a semi-pro
hustler. He had a regular honest job and only stopped in the arcade
now and then to get his rocks off and pick up a few extra bucks. Of
course, everything he told me might be a lie; he had no reason to lie
to me, but no particular reason to tell the truth either.
Ordinarily I'd go a month or more between hook-ups with other guys;
my sex life was primarily shared only with my wife. Nevertheless,
the following Wednesday I left work early and went to the arcade. I
waited almost two hours with no sign of Miguel. I wasn't too
disappointed: we didn't have a "date." I knew there was a good
chance I'd never see Miguel again, and if I didn't I'd get over it
and find another available cock the next time. The whole beauty of
our connection was that there was no emotional component to it.
Still, he was so much my ideal I wanted to enjoy him as much as I
could until he inevitably drifted away.
Friday I tried again, and there he was. He brightened slightly when
he saw me, though he didn't quite smile, and he willingly joined me
in a booth. It was a virtual repeat of our previous encounter, with
a few differences: he watched the movie, I fondled him, he dropped
his pants, I blew him, he came, I paid. We didn't have quite the
same time pressure, so I was able to stroke his smooth chest and rub
his soft buns, him uncomplaining, while I sucked his cock. I
unzipped and pulled out my own hard cock, jerking myself off and
splattering my thick load onto the dirty floor shortly after he was
squirting his down my throat. He glanced down at my dick with mild
curiosity as I masturbated but didn't say anything. Before we left, I
made a more-or-less firm appointment to meet him again the following
Friday. We did. Lather, rinse, repeat.
A pattern was set that, amazingly, lasted for almost three years.
After a few meetings, Miguel sheepishly raised his price to thirty
dollars and then to forty. I grumbled a little, for form's sake, but
I would have, without a second thought, paid two hundred. Maybe even
five hundred. I came to realize that he was, for me, the perfect
hustler. Besides his physical perfection, he was always polite,
respectful, cooperative. It might be a stretch to call him friendly,
but he was always pleasant. If he felt a straight man's underlying
contempt for me as a cocksucker he did a good job of keeping it
hidden. My meetings with him were always completely stress-free,
with no hurt feelings or emotional complications. I could leave the
arcade and return home to my wife with no worries and no loose ends.
Our relationship was strictly a commercial one; it was almost six
months before he even asked me my name. When Christmas came around I
bought him an expensive sweater and gave it to him in the booth. He
seemed genuinely touched and thanked me sincerely, but he still
expected his forty bucks. I didn't care.
There were some changes as the months went by. Miguel's English
gradually improved and I found out he was taking night school courses
three times a week. I was very pleased he was improving himself,
even if it meant he might one day decide to give up hustling.
Occasionally he wouldn't show up for our meetings and I would always
wonder if I'd seen the last of him, but the following week he'd be
there, sometimes even with a faint apology. I bought him a
cellphone, which weren't quite as ubiquitous then as they are now; he
was thrilled, in his low-key way. I couldn't keep leaving work early
every week and suggested that instead I call him to set up a mutually
convenient time to meet. He hated the idea, and without coming right
out and saying so, indicated he didn't want me calling him for any
reason, even if I had bought the phone. We settled into a rough
routine: no longer did we meet every week, but when I could I'd go to
the arcade on a Wednesday or a Friday and more often than not he'd be
there. I often wondered if he had other customers on the days I
wasn't there, but never asked him and never found out. I never saw
him entering or exiting a booth with someone else. Since our
meetings weren't as frequent, I voluntarily upped his pay to sixty
dollars, hoping in part it would discourage him from seeking other
Johns.
About three years after we first met, Miguel didn't show for three
weeks straight. I figured our run was over for good; I was
disappointed but truly I was surprised it had lasted as long as it
had. I might have thought he would tell me goodbye, but, again, it
wasn't that kind of relationship. I decided to give it one last try
on the following Friday and to my happy astonishment he was there.
He explained that he had quit his sweatshop job in Manhattan and
found a better one in the Bronx, closer to his home. He'd come down
that day to pick up his final check and, he implied obliquely, to see
me. As I sucked him for all I was worth I tried to think of a new
arrangement; I didn't want to give up that beautiful dick if I didn't
have to. Plus, I genuinely, after a fashion, liked Miguel. After he
filled my mouth for what I hoped wasn't the last time I gave him a
hundred dollars and told him that if he was willing to make a special
trip downtown, I'd pay him a hundred each time, but I'd have to have
a way to contact him to set the time. He thought for a minute, then
gave me his mischievous smile. For a hundred and fifty he'd do it.
I instantly agreed. He gave me his phone number and we set up a new
arrangement that worked smoothly for the next year or so, though our
meetings were less frequent.
Three years ago, a whole new element was introduced. In our usual
post-blowjob conversation, Miguel mentioned that he'd celebrated a
birthday that week, his twenty-fourth. I gave him an extra hundred
( which was probably why he'd mentioned it) and joked that he was
getting to be an old man and that I'd have to find somebody younger.
He said maybe I'd like to start seeing his cousin instead. I knew
very little about his family and asked how old his cousin was.
"Thirteen." I realized he was joking too. We both laughed and went
our separate ways home.
Even though I knew he was joking, Miguel's suggestion stuck in my
head all the way back to Connecticut. I pictured how cute Miguel
must have been at thirteen, how small, how smooth, with his newly-
sprouted pubes and his newly-grownup dick spurting out his first
shots of thin boy sperm. I'd never had sex with a young kid, not
even when I was kid myself. I'd fucked a few girls in High school,
but had been in college the first time I had sex with another male.
I'd never even considered the possibility of fooling around with
somebody as young as thirteen. I was reminded, though, of something
that had happened a few weeks earlier when I'd taken my family to the
movies. There had been a boy in front of us in line innocently
flirting with his date, both of them no more than fourteen, perfectly
ordinary looking. They hadn't paid any attention to us, of course,
but as we waited I idly looked at them and was suddenly struck with
the vivid image of them fucking. I could envision the whole scene:
them going home to an empty house after the movie, beginning with a
few awkward kisses, gradually getting hotter and hotter, stripping
off their clothes in a frenzy, and ending with him frantically
ramming his fresh young cock into the girl's virgin cunt., his smooth
pale ass flexing and dimpling as he made his desperate thrusts. As
the line finally began to move I shook my head, amazed at the
intensity of the fantasy. I didn't see them again and had almost
forgotten the incident, until I started thinking about Miguel's
cousin. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of having a shy,
inexperienced young boy to play with, to feel him up, open his pants,
fondle his young dick, get him hard, give him his first blowjob,
swallow his sweet load. If the cousin was anything like Miguel, he
was no sweet, innocent little babe in the woods, but he might at
least look the part. I was instantly obsessed.
Like a lightning bolt, the thought struck me that maybe the reason I
was so attracted to Miguel was that his small stature and smooth
hairless body made him look younger than he really was, look like a
kid in fact. The idea of having a real kid was irresistable. I knew
there were a host of obstacles to overcome before it ever happened
though. I had no idea if Miguel would be willing to set it up. I
didn't know if the cousin would be willing. Even if they both were,
I didn't have a clue where we could do it. The employees of the
arcade didn't check ID's and couldn't care less what went on in the
booths, as long as the dollar bills kept sliding into the slots, but
they'd draw the line at a thirteen-year-old. I couldn't bring him
home; my wife was understanding, but not that understanding. I
couldn't see any Manhattan hotel being very tolerant either. I'd
just have to wait until the next time I saw Miguel, to feel him out
on the idea and see if he had any solution. I was pretty sure he'd
cooperate---if the money was right. If his cousin was anything like
him, he would too. There was only the problem of where to do it that
might be unsolvable---that and the much more important problem of how
to do it without getting caught.
I knew what I was considering was highly dangerous, and highly
illegal. If my trysts with Miguel were ever discovered I would be in
deep shit, caught in a major scandal. My job and my plush suburban
lifestyle would be threatened. But I wouldn't go to jail. Life
would go on. Being found with a thirteen boy was a different story.
I could look forward to God-knows-how-many years in Sing Sing, a stay
likely to be cut short by a cell-made knife in the hand of a convict
with an aversion to child molesters. The fact that the boy was a
willing teenager getting his dick sucked for money and not a
screaming seven-year-old getting raped in the ass wouldn't count for
much. There was no doubt that the risks were immense. But so was my
sudden need. I wasn't so gone that I'd be a complete idiot about it,
but if I felt the risks were manageable, I was willing to take a chance.
After a week of almost constantly thinking of the possibilities, I
called Miguel. He was surprised to hear from me so soon, but
willingly agreed to meet me the following day at the arcade. I
waited until I'd given him my best efforts and swallowed his usual
thick load before broaching the subject.
"Hey, Miguel. Last week when you mentioned your cousin, you were
kidding, right?"
"Yes." He looked surprised, but saw through me instantly and gave a
small sly smile. "Why? You wanna suck my cousin's dick?"
I tried to sound casual. "I don't know. Does he do that kind of
stuff?"
Miguel shrugged. "I don't know. Not that I know of. He probably
would, if you paid him enough."
My heart leapt. Not only was there a possibility I'd get to suck the
kid's dick, there was a chance I'd be the first.
"Where does he live? In the Bronx with you?"
"Not with me, but the Bronx, yeah. Not far from me."
"And he's thirteen?"
"Thirteen, yeah. You like to do it with thirteen year old kids?"
I felt a little sheepish, but there was no point in being coy. "I've
never done it before, but I'd like to, I think." A thought struck
me. "He's old enough, right? I mean he can come and everything?"
Miguel thought a moment. "I guess so. His voice is starting to
change so he can probably can." He grinned. "I never asked him.
But, yeah, I'm pretty sure he can."
Now the kicker. "The thing is, Miguel, I've got no idea where we
could do it. He sure as hell can't come here. You got any ideas?"
"No, he can't come here." Miguel thought for a few minutes while I
fed in a few more bills to buy some more time in the booth. Finally
he brightened. "You got a car?"
I'd never thought of that. It wasn't ideal, but it might work.
"Yes, I have a car. I never thought of doing it in a car."
"No, not in the car. If you got a car, there's this motel out on
Webster Avenue you could probably go. All kind of shit goes on out
there."
"They'd let me go in there with a kid? They wouldn't call the cops?
I mean, is it safe?"
He grinned again. "I wouldn't say 'safe'. You might get shot. But
they ain't gonna call the cops. They don't care what the fuck you
do, so long as you pay up front. Shit, you can probably score some
crack while you're there."
It didn't sound like the kind of place I'd want to spend a lot of
time at, but it just might be perfect for what I had in mind. The
image of a young kid sprawled out on a bed in a sleazy motel room
while I slurped away between his legs was irresistable. I probably
wouldn't really get shot, would I? Even if I did, that was still
better than being arrested. I was still nervous, but pressed
onward. I took a deep breath. "Okay, Miguel, sounds good. How do
we go about setting this up? Do you think you can do It?"
He raised his eyes questioningly. I knew what he was asking so I
asked first. "How much?"
He shrugged. "How much is it worth to you?"
I was tempted to say "How's half a million sound?", but we settled on
five hundred for Miguel and two hundred for his cousin. We set a
tentative date for the following Saturday; I'd have more free time
on the weekend and the boy would be out of school. I'd call Miguel
in a few days to firm things up, after he'd talked to his cousin. As
we left, I had a few final questions. "Miguel, what does your cousin
look like?"
He shrugged."I don't know, he looks like a kid. Nothing special."
"Does he look like you?"
Another shrug. "Not much. Maybe a little." He smiled. "He's
Puerto Rican too, if that's what you're asking."
I laughed. "No, I figured that. What's his name, by the way?"
"Carlos." Carlos. Perfect. If all went well, in a week or so I'd
be sucking thirteen year old Carlos's Puerto Rican dick.
I saw the two figures sitting on the bench where Miguel had promised
they'd be. It was a relatively quiet street bordering the Botanical
Gardens, but not near an entrance. I had no trouble finding a place
to park and approached the pair, a knot of excitement in my belly.
The two stood up and I felt a surge of disappointment. Carlos was
nothing like the miniature Miguel I had been picturing. He was tall
for one thing, already a few inches taller than his ten-years-older
cousin, and skinny. Except for the coloring, I could see no family
resemblance at all. Carlos was far from handsome, not ugly but at
best "plain." A few small pimples dotted his chin, and he wore a
sullen, unhappy expression. But at second glance, something else
struck me: he looked his age. He was unquestionably a thirteen year
old kid, with a thirteen year old dick hiding in his baggy jeans, and
it was soon to be all mine. I felt my own cock begin to stir and an
almost giddy excitement displaced my disappointment. I tried to speak
calmly.
"Hey, Miguel." I turned to the boy. "You must be Carlos. How are
you?" I held out my hand. "I'm John." Don't laugh, it really is my
name.
Carlos glanced up at Miguel and then grasped my outstretched hand for
an instant, muttering something that might have been "Hello." His
obvious discomfort bothered me. I asked Miguel "Is everything OK?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Your cousin doesn't seem too happy."
"He's OK. He's just shy." The boy avoided my eye, then whispered
something to Miguel, who answered him so quietly I couldn't hear.
Carlos still looked uneasy. My heart sank; I wasn't going to do
this if the kid was reluctant. I turned toward the boy. "Are you
sure you want to do this, Carlos? You don't have to if you don't
want to."
He shrugged. "I guess." This wouldn't do.
"What's wrong? You don't act like you want to."
He shuffled for a moment and then apparently got up his nerve. "You
really gonna give me two hundred bucks just to suck my dick?"
I smiled. "Sure. Absolutely."
"Really? Just that? You're not gonna try nothin' else? I don't
gotta do nothin' to you?"
Miguel stepped in. "I told you a million times, dipshit. That's all
he does. Maybe he'll jerk off if he wants, but he ain't gonna try to
fuck you. Jesus! How many times I gotta tell you? You never had
two hundred bucks in your life and now you're trying to fuck it up."
Miguel's quick dissection of my sexual proclivities made me a little
uncomfortable, but it served its purpose. Carlos looked at me, still
a little wary but apparently almost convinced. After a long pause. he
spoke. "All right, I guess. We can go if you want."
I heaved an inward sigh, smiled goodbye to Miguel, and ushered the
kid to my car. Carlos fumbled a bit with his seatbelt, happily,
which gave me the opportunity to help him, grabbing a quick feel of
his skinny thigh in the process. Once settled in, he looked around
the interior of my BMW wide-eyed. "Like my car?" I asked.
"Yeah! I never been in a car like this before." His enthusiasm
encouraged me. I guess he really was up for what I had planned, once
he'd been reassured that I was only perverted, not dangerous. I
couldn't wait: I reached over, put my hand on his leg and rubbed the
inside of his thigh. He shot me a quick panicked glance, but didn't
flinch or say anything. I continued to rub, but was overwhelmed by
lust. Fuck it! What if we were hit by a bus? I didn't want to die
without at least feeling his young stuff. I moved my hand upward and
cupped the soft mound between his legs. He gave a single heavy
breath, but otherwise didn't react. I squeezed gently and felt a
very promising mass waiting for me inside his pants.
It was only about two miles to the motel. I'd stopped on the way
down to book a room, following Miguel's suggestion. The motel wasn't
quite as bad as I had expected; I didn't really feel I was likely to
be murdered there. The office was pretty grim, the fat Indian clerk
sequestered behind bulletproof glass, a condom machine prominent on
the wall. I was prepared to give a fake name but he didn't ask for
any name at all, merely sliding out a tray to collect my payment:
cash only, of course. He seemed slightly surprised that I opted for
the 24-hour rate, a 2- or 4-hour stay being more common, but
otherwise was entirely indifferent to what I wanted the room for. He
merely grunted when I asked for a room in the back, but I ended up
with a room that was at least out of view of the road. I held my
breath as we drove around back, hoping there would be no one in the
lot to notice Carlos. I was in luck; I reluctantly took my hand off
his crotch and hustled him into the room with no one spotting us.
The room was shabby and tacky, of course, but I'd stayed in worse on
my post-college, $10-a-day trip around Europe. Carlos looked around
in wonder; to him the cheap motel might as well have been the
Pierre. I watched him until he sensed my stare and turned to look at
me. I smiled and he answered with a small shy grin. I realized that
with the anxiety gone from his face he was actually kind of cute. He
looked sweet, and guileless, and above all young. I wanted him so
badly I couldn't wait another second. I guided him to the bed and
gently sat him down on the edge. I knelt down and untied his ragged
sneakers., then lifted each foot to remove them and the clean white
socks. I've never been into feet, but I briefly rubbed his,
marveling at their soft smallness and how pink they looked compared
to the skin on his upper body.
I stood up and motioned for him to slide back on the bed. I laid
down next to him and placed my hand on his stomach, rubbing slowly to
try and put him at ease. I couldn't go too slowly, though, or I'd
shoot in my pants before I even got him undressed, His teeeshirt was
already untucked, so I pushed it up to bare his midsection. It was
as caramel-smooth and flawless as Miguel's, but less developed; he
had yet to begin his adolescent muscle growth. I had him take the
shirt off and noticed that his underarms were as hairless as a
baby's. He laid back down and I caressed his bare skin, leaning in
to rub my cheek against his chest. He giggled nervously. Like a
child. I couldn't wait; I reached down and cupped his crotch,
massaging him gently. Within moments, i felt an unmistakable
stiffening under the cloth. With shaking hands I unfastened his belt
and undid the button. Ever-so-slowly I eased down the zipper. I
glanced up at his face; he looked a little uneasy, but not frightened
or unhappy. I opened the jeans completely and raised up to slide
them off. He lifted up his butt without my asking. I pulled the
pants completely off, leaving Carlos wearing only his small, new-
looking white briefs.
I went back to fondling him, feeling his warmth through the thin
cotton. He was definitely hardening, and it felt that he was packing
a more-than-respectable-sized weapon. I stuck my fingers down under
the waistband and quickly felt what I was seeking: a thin fringe of
hair. Enough. And enough was enough. I pulled the undershorts down
and threw them on the floor. Carlos was naked, stretched out,
waiting. All mine. His penis, a near-twin of Miguel"s though
slightly smaller, lurched upwards with a series of throbs and then
flopped backwards onto his abdomen, pointing straight toward his
face, pulsating. I took it between my fingertips and pulled it
upright again, feeling the tension of his strong erection. I stroked
him a few times and watched a small bead of fluid pop out of the
slit. I licked it off with the tip of my tongue. I gripped the
burning rod with my fist and masturbated him firmly, watching the
pink head become covered with a glistening slime. I wasn't sure how
long it would take him to come, but I figured it wouldn't be long.
I leaned over and kissed the very tip of Carlos's dick, tickling it
with my tongue. Slowly I let it slide through my lips until I had
its full length filling my mouth. It wasn't long enough to reach my
throat, but I might have gagged if I weren't such a pro. I let it
rest quietly for a moment while I worked up a quantity of saliva,
then slowly drew back until just the head was left in my mouth. I
swirled my tongue around the rim, then teased the sweetspot on the
bottom of the knob where the sensations are the most intense. With
one quick motion I plunged to the base again, my wet lips keeping
firm pressure on his rigid shaft. I bobbed up and down at a moderate
pace, twisting my head from side to side to add some sideways motion
to the vertical. A single small noise escaped from Carlos's throat
as I resumed my tongue action on the head. I glanced up at his
face: he'd thrown his forearm across his eyes and his mouth was
slightly open. I reached up to gently feel his scrotum; its skin
was as soft and delicate as a newborn's, though it had definitely
begun its pubescent growth.
When I increased the speed of my stroke, while continuing my tongue
action and my soft fondling of his balls, I could tell by Carlos's
ragged breathing that he was very close. He gave another single
sharp cry as his dick pulsed and spurted out three quick jets of
watery sperm. I maneuvered my tongue around to get as good a taste
as possible, while my lips kept a tight grip on the shaft, to prevent
any of his emission from dripping out. His cum was thin and rather
bland in taste, with little tang but a slight hint of sweetness to
give it some flavor. As his dick slowly deflated in my mouth I
lapped up the small amount of goo that continued to ooze out. His
dick became too sensitive, apparently, because in a small but urgent
voice he said "Stop. Please." I pulled off of his now limp penis
and swallowed the rest of his cum remaining in my mouth.
I had never taken the time to undress, but while blowing Carlos I had
let my poor throbber out of its confinement, lest it break in two.
Quickly I moved up on the bed and pointed my cock at Carlos's belly.
With four or five strokes, I let one of the biggest loads of my life
splatter out onto the groggy boy. I knew he wouldn't like it, but I
didn't give him a chance to complain. The warm splashes made him
open his eyes in alarm and he looked down to see what I had done.
"EWWWW" He was outraged. "What did you do that for? That's nasty!
" I moved in close to him and gently pushed him back down with an
arm across his chest.
"Relax. Don't worry, I'll clean it up." I smiled but he didn't.
"Why'd you do that?"
"I wanted to. Forget that. It won't hurt you. How'd you like your
blowjob? "
He did relax a little and almost smiled. "Good, I guess."
I pretended to be outraged. "You guess? What do you mean you guess? "
He could tell I was kidding and did smile. "It was good."
"Was that the first time somebody sucked your cock? " I asked it
casually, but I was holding my breath. I wanted to hear a "Yes" so
badly i was willing to risk the disappointment of a "No."
He looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah."
I was ecstatic. Carlos had turned out to be everything I had wanted,
and the afternoon had just begun. I wanted to know anything I could
persuade him to tell me about the sex life of a thirteen year old
Hispanic kid. I adopted a gently teasing tone. "What? You mean
your girlfriend won't suck it for you? Why? Is it too big for her?"
He was still embarrassed, but obviously pleased with my flattery. "No."
"No what? No she won't or no, it's not too big for her."
He shrugged. "I don't really have a girlfriend."
I wasn't really surprised. He was still awfully young and I could
see he might not have a lot to instantly appeal to a thirteen year
old girl. The shyness, the awkwardness, the overall "ordinariness"
that were so appealing to me might not be big selling points in
Junior High. I pretended to be surprised, for his benefit.
"Really? A good-looking kid like you, with this big thing between
your legs ( I cupped his damp genitals) I'd think you'd have girls
crawling all over you."
"Sheesh." He turned his head. He knew I was laying it on too thick,
but I think he nevertheless liked hearing it.
I put my arm around his shoulders and held him tight, a little
surprised he didn't resist. "Never mind. I'm sure you will in a
year or two. You've got plenty of time.. You"ll be fucking lots of
girls before you know it."
He turned toward me and smiled mischievously. For the first time i
saw a resemblance to Miguel. He genuinely surprised me with what he
came out with. "I fucked a girl before."
"You're kidding! "
"No, really. I never had a blowjob but there's this girl that lives
in my building that let me fuck her."
"When was this?" I had wanted to be the first to blow Carlos, and I
was. I never expected him to be an absolute virgin. The idea that
he'd fucked a girl, that I'd blown a little barely-teenage stud who
went around fucking girls was a terrific turn-on, in the same way I'd
loved it that Miguel was straight. I wanted to hear all the details.
"About a month ago."
"How old is she?"
"She's older than me. I don't know. Fifteen, I think."
"Wow. Tell me about it."
His embarrassment suddenly returned, but having told me this much he
couldn't stop. "Me and her and some other kids were messing around
down in the basement, back behind where the washers are, and we all
just kind of started talking shit, you know, like sex stuff, and the
other kids left and it was just me and her, and she kept talking sex
stuff and she asked me if I wanted to see her tits, and I said yeah,
and she said she'd show me if I showed her my dick, and I didn't
really want to but I did, and she showed me her tits, and she asked
if I wanted to touch 'em and I did and she started touching my dick
and I got all hard and everything and then she let me see her pussy
and then I touched that and then...I don't know. I just fucked her."
Jesus! Carlos's artless account was the hottest thing I'd ever
heard, and turned me on more than any porn I'd ever seen. It
reminded me of my fantasy about the kid at the movies. And best of
all, the clueless little kid who'd wound up blindly fucking some
neighborhood slut on his basement floor, the skinny thirteen-year-old
stud, was naked, sprawled out on the bed beside me, his newly-broken-
in cock rapidly jerking itself back to full erection.
To be continued.....
Comments, please. grubsnort@comcast.net
{Captain Swing)