Date: Tue, 19 Nov 2002 22:56:25 -0800
From: Michael Moran <MICHAELM6@attbi.com>
Subject: JOHN

The usual disclaimers apply. If you are under age or live somewhere with
laws that prohibit you from reading material of an explicit sexual nature
do not continue. The same goes for anyone who might be offended by
descriptions of sex between two men. Please go.

This piece may not be reproduced anywhere else without my consent.

As are most of my stories "John" is based, very loosely, on an actual
event. It is for the most part, a work of fiction and should be considered
as entertainment.

Constructive comments may be directed to MICHAELM6@attbi.com.

Flames will be worked, unflatteringly, into the plot line of a story
involving sheep, eunuchs, white slave traders and a sleazy little dive in a
dreary backwater town in the Midwest. Most will be ignored.

JOHN
By Michael Moran

There's a sentence that used to make me crazy. Along with "The check is in
the mail", "I won't cum in your mouth" and "Of course I'll respect you in
the morning" it was one of the great lies.

It's of fairly simple construction, and sounds innocent enough, but when
someone goes out of his way to say it, he has a certain shift to the eye
that, in 99% of the time, screams I AM LYING. DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT I AM
SAYING.

With this in mind, imagine my dismay when I heard myself actually uttering
the dread words; I'VE...NEVER...DONE...THIS...BEFORE.

The problem was that in my case it was true.

It all started, innocently enough on one of my many trips to the Central
Library. Traffic was unusually light that day and I arrived earlier than
expected. To kill some time, I did an impromptu walking tour of the old
Broadway Theatre District and discovered that I still had a half an hour
until opening time.

Faced with an unscheduled void in my normally heavily scheduled day, I
sought out an isolated spot to review my notes. It was then, as I sat on
the edge of the planter, trying to decipher pages of random scribbling,
that I saw him for the first time.

What first caught my eye was his striking resemblance to the kid I'd used
as a character in my first book. He had the same sensuous mouth, flawless
olive skin and thick buzz cut black hair that I'd found, at one insane
point in my life, irresistible. He was about Sam's height: 5'7", with a
tight, wiry body that was evident in spite of the loose fitting clothes.
Even his eyes, brown, impossibly large and bottomless even at a distance,
were like Sam's.

Ah the beauty of youth. The problem was that I figured HIS youth to be in
the 15 to 16 year old range. I vowed to forget whatever thoughts might have
crossed my mind and returned to deciphering a full page of hyroglyphics
trying to pass themselves off as notes.

Opening time came at last and I breathed a sigh of relief. The kid was
nowhere to be seen. In retrospect, it seems silly to think that I actually
glanced down the hall leading toward the children's wing, but you can't be
too careful these days. I put aside all thoughts of the strange kid with
the big eyes and began my descent to the bottom level.

The photo collection proved to be less helpful than I'd hoped it would be.
My mood had deteriorated badly by the time I put aside the last stack of
interesting but mostly useless photos. I rubbed my eyes and had just
settled back to wait for the attendant to bring back an order form when I
noticed the boy sitting two tables away. This was getting stranger by the
minute.

Right about now you're probably wondering why I didn't just go up and talk
to the kid, right? Believe me, that thought crossed my mind several times
in the minutes that followed.

What's important to understand is that the last thing a man in my position
needs is to have some kid seduce him and then run to his parents with a
concocted tale of rape. Even as I glanced across the room, and our eyes
briefly met, three words kept me from going over to him: Ten... To...
Twenty. I gathered up my notebook, hurriedly paid for the order at the
front desk and left without so much as a glance back.

To tell the truth, even as I was pulling out of the lot, I started to feel
guilty about blowing him off the way I did. With the exception of a close
friend who had heard stories about police brutality against "molesters" of
children and agreed wholeheartedly with my decision, my friends thought I
was crazy.

One of them, a graphic artist, even went so far as to put together a
videotape of young looking porno actors, designed a box entitled "McMartin
Pre-School Audition Tape" and presented it to me, with great fanfare, for
my 42nd birthday. If a lesson was learned that day, it was to never tell a
friend anything you wouldn't tell Jerry Springer on afternoon television.
It took awhile, but the incident was eventually forgotten: or so I thought.

Several months passed before I returned to the Library again. I was sitting
at the same spot, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. There he was: the
boy with the dazzling smile. This time he was dressed less like a kid who
had just ditched Study Hall, but not so much that I let my guard down.

"Hey, I thought I'd scared you off forever."

I moved over a few inches, hoping that my body language would convey my
disinterest..

"I don't scare easily," I grumbled.

"You'd never know it by the way that you ran out of here the last time. I'm
legal: really. I just don't look like it."

"Okay. You had me fooled. So what is it you want?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Haven't you ever seen someone you wanted to talk to?"

"Yeah, but I've never followed them around the library."

He looked a little embarrassed and tried to cover it by tossing a small
twig into the reflecting pool.

"I guess I do sort of get carried away sometimes. My Dad says it's going to
get me into trouble if I don't stop it."

"You do that a lot?"

"I've never actually picked someone up if that's what you mean. I usually
just watch people either until the library opens or they uh..."

"Bolt and run away in a panic? Your father's right."

"Yeah. I guess."

Seeing that his eyes were level with my crotch as I got up to leave, I
tried to cover the awkward moment with an innocent question.

"Are you going inside or just... kicking?

"I do have to look something up for a paper I'm researching. How about
you?"

"I have an appointment at the archives, but it shouldn't be long."

The words were no sooner out than I regretted them. I had just given tacit
approval and I still didn't feel comfortable with what this was starting to
look like. He flashed an ear to ear grin and jumped to his feet.

"Want me to wait around?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

We were almost to the open door when he pulled out his wallet and held it
up. I glanced at his driver's license and felt a pang of guilt.

"It's okay, John. I believe you."

"Hey, how'd you know my name was John?"

"It's on the license."

"I didn't think you'd even notice the name... Michael."

"How'd you know MY name?" I asked suspiciously.

"Remember that form you filled out last time? They left it on the counter.
I got a look at it after you left. You look like a Michael."

"That was creative of you. I'm impressed."

"Don't be," he said, lightly touching my arm. "I wasn't the only one to
look at it. I hope you're in the habit of locking your doors."

His license said he was nineteen. Assuming it was real, it still didn't
explain why I was so uncomfortable. He talked briefly about his plans for
the future and although none of them appeared to involve anything sinister,
I couldn't bring myself to let down my guard. He pulled me asiee as we got
to close to the information desk.

"Listen, I think you're a hot guy," he said, capturing my eyes with his
steady gaze. "If I make you that nervous I'll just say goodbye here. I
REALLY don't want anything, and I don't think I'd be much of a threat to
you in a dark alley, but it's obvious you..."

I stopped him with a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm acting like a paranoid asshole and I don't mean
to. I'll be in the History section when you're finished. We'll talk."

"Cool," he said as he started down the hall. "I'll see you later."

Fortunately for me, the woman in charge of the photo collection was running
a little behind that morning and my late arrival went unmentioned. Before I
could think too much about John's pretty little ass, I became absorbed in
the stack of files waiting on the table.

An hour sped by before I felt a presence at my back. John was frowning as
he looked at the old photographs spread out before me.

"Is THAT what you do here? You just look at old pictures?"

"They're not just old pictures," I said defensively. "They're history,
John. I'm a stickler for detail."

Carolyn walked by as John pulled out a chair. Knowing I wouldn't let him
get in the way, she let the infraction pass. Before long he was eagerly
asking questions as I showed him pictures of what was lost while telling
him what replaced it.

When the time was up, and I had ordered my copies, he was still going on
about all of the cool things he'd seen. It was only as we started up the
escalator that he grew serious.

"Are you going to disappear too?"

"Actually, I thought maybe you'd like to see some of these places."

"Sure! I mean if it's no trouble."

Trouble hadn't been ruled out, but by this time I was more open to it. We
started off toward Broadway. OUR education had begun.

We'd gone not more than a couple of blocks when he started telling me some
of his background. He was of Mayan descent and was born in a tiny village
in Central America. Somehow, he'd ended up in an orphanage just outside
Mexico City. He was adopted and brought to this country at the age of
ten. His adoptive parents were anthropologists, wealthy and, for some
reason or another, pushing him to enter the world of finance or something
business related.

"So what do YOU want to do?" I asked.

"I'd like to become a teacher so I can go back and help my people to get
ahead. I see no reason why they can't be educated and still keep their
identity."

The next few hours were spent impressing each other. That's an odd thing to
say, but it's true. He was impressed by the fact that I had even heard of
his people, one of the tribes that was formed when the big cities were
abandoned. I was impressed by his insight into why HIS goals were
important.

The conversation became less personal as we came across the places he'd
just seen in the photos. His mind was like a sponge, drinking up even the
most insignificant details. Time passed quickly.

Eventually the subject of sex came up and I began to get nervous again. He
was the one who brought up the subject as we were walking across Pershing
Square. The long hours on our feet began to take their toll. John slipped
off his shoes and plunged his feet in the sparkling fountain.

"God," he sighed. "The only thing I can think of that would feel better
than this is taking off all my clothes and crawling into bed with you."

I laughed nervously.

"That's direct."

"I thought you'd like that better."

I tried to think of something clever to say, but I was speechless: as if
the blood had all drained from my brain and had settled in my cock. The kid
had a point, and I'd be lying if I said that the thought wasn't an
attractive one. At the same time there's a world of difference between
thinking about it in passing and having a beautiful kid like John walk up
and put his dick in your hand.

"Are you going to take me up on the offer or would you rather sit here for
the rest of the afternoon and stare at your boner?"

"I guess when you put it like that..."

He jumped to his feet and stood with his crotch not more than twelve inches
away from my face.

"You provide the wheels and I'll provide the bed. That way you won't have
to worry about not being able to get me out of the house."

What had been an ordinary day suddenly turned magical. I caught myself
staring at him more than once as we walked silently across the square. The
afternoon sun imparted a glow to his skin and hair that spoke of Kings and
pyramids: of golden masks and brightly colored feathers that swirled in the
wind as he danced for the Gods.

We came upon an old man sitting on a bench near the corner of the park. He
was crying softly as he stared at the spilled and crushed remains of a coke
and a hot dog. John touched my hand and shook his head as I reached for my
wallet. He turned and ran over to one of the many vendors selling food
around the perimeter of the busy square. He returned carrying a box of
chicken and a coke, he dropped to one knee and handed them to the old man.

Words were exchanged softly in a language that I couldn't place. After a
couple of minutes of animated conversation, the old man broke out in a
broad toothless smile as he patted John's shoulder. More words were
exchanged until the old man nodded and got to his feet, the pain
registering on his worn face.

The sight of the two men communicating from opposite ends of life brought a
tear to my eye. He glanced at me as he began his short journey, then back
at the young man who'd been kneeling at his feet and nodded. John returned
to my side and we waited until the man had reached one of the shelters
before continuing on our way. As if sensing the questions, John turned to
me and shrugged.

"I recognized him as one of my people. I told him where he could go for
help."

Nothing was offered as to why he'd stopped me but I was pretty sure that I
already knew. Pride is everything when you have nothing.

With the exception of directions, not much was said from that time until we
reached our destination: Hancock Park.

For those not familiar with Los Angeles, Hancock Park is an enclave of old
money located at the southern end of Hollywood. It's tree lined streets and
elegant old homes belie the image of mini malls and disposable architecture
commonly associated with Los Angeles.

John pointed to an acre of neatly groomed lawn just off of Sixth Street.

"It's behind that wall. Turn in the first driveway."

I followed his instructions, stopping as an imposing metal gate slid to one
side. While waiting for the drawbridge to lower, I noticed two expensive
hoods poking out from the shade of a four-car garage.

"I see we're not alone."

"Huh? Oh. you mean the Chariots Of Ire? They belong to my parents. Mine's
parked in the other garage around back."

"The other garage? Let me guess; the oil well stopped pumping and you
couldn't get gas."

"I prefer to walk when I go down to the library. Believe me, I drive like
everyone else during the week. My parents think I'm crazy."

"Speaking of which..."

"They're on a dig in Peru. They won't be back until the end of the year. We
can stay up late and make popcorn."

We left my truck sitting under an old sycamore and began the trek toward
the house. John grabbed my hand and squeezed as we crossed the vast motor
court. When I didn't return the show of affection he frowned but said
nothing.

John left me standing in the hallway while he went around turning on the
lights until the entire ground floor was glowing. He explained his peculiar
behavior as he led me into the living room.

"I don't like being alone in this house unless it's lit up like a Christmas
tree. Sorta childish, huh?"

I couldn't help but to think of the electric bills he must run up.

"That depends. Do you also sleep with a night light and a teddy bear?"

"If there's nothing else available."

We sat on opposite couches: he saying nothing while I gawked at the quirky
opulence. The room was done tastefully in what might be called
Anthropological Antique. Mixed in with some very expensive pieces was an
eclectic hodgepodge of masks and fetishes. It had a lived in, rather than
visited, look. My eyes drifted from one piece to the next, but John's
attention remained on me until he gave me that look.

"It's the age thing, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"Not all of it," I replied.

"What's the rest?"

"It's just that I've never..."

I was about to make the dreaded statement; utter the very words that I
detested. I wanted to stop and think of some other way of saying it but it
was too late.

"You've never what?" he persisted.

"I've-never-done-this-before."

There. I had said the words and survived. John sat back and laughed.

"You really expect me to believe that you've never gone home with someone
who found you attractive? Give me a fucking break."

"No. I mean I've never done it under these circumstances, and never with
someone in your age group."

"That's funny. I imagined you as being much more sure of yourself."

"That's the strange part: normally I AM. I guess I'm just used to being
more in control. I still don't know exactly what happened."

"Let me see if I can jar your memory."

John sprang to his feet and was undressing before my mind could fully grasp
the idea that he was doing it for my benefit. Once he'd kicked off his
shoes, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the arm of the
sofa. Then he loosened his belt, letting his pants fall around his
ankles. His hand caressed the healthy bulge in his jockeys before sliding
them down over his legs.

His erection was miraculous, standing tall, proud and uncut from a bush of
thick black hair. I slid a sweaty palm along his smooth thigh, wracking my
brain for something appropriately profound or wildly seductive to
say. Hell. I would have settled for something intelligent.

"God you're beautiful, John."

I wished it could have been something more memorable. It should have been
something he'd think about when he got to be an old man: something to make
him smile whenever he thought about it. Whatever their shortcomings as
words to remember, they seemed to have worked for John.

He dropped on to the sofa, wrapped his arms around my neck and drew me into
a kiss that I was powerless to resist. When we came up for air, he slipped
his tongue in my ear.

"Me estas volviendo loco. Make love to me, Michael. Please," he whispered
urgently.

I couldn't believe my ears; I was driving him wild. He was begging. I kept
thinking that I had to be out of my fucking head. There I was: a man more
than twice his age, allowing myself to be seduced by this... this what?
This boy?

Nevertheless, he wasn't a boy. He was a man with needs and desires: a man
who could manipulate the buttons on my Levis as well as any
30-year-old. Why was I fighting it right up to the point where the last
button popped open and his strong hand reached inside?

"Oh fuck," I moaned as he grasped my impossibly hard cock.

"Someone's got a woody," he teasingly whispered as he carefully pulled it
out. He examined it from all angles, then slid his tongue delicately over
the head.

John turned on to his back and rested his head on my lap with my dick
pressed tightly against his cheek, he closed his eyes and sighed.

My eyes traveled the length of the body stretched across my lap, watching
the naturally chiseled planes of his chest rise and fall. I marveled at how
good nature had been to him. His skin was silky and warm to the touch as I
traced my fingers between his smooth pectorals to where his abdomen divided
into hard ridges of muscle. The clothes he'd worn that first day covered
more than I could ever have imagined.

He trembled as I placed the palm of my hand gently on his thigh and bent
forward to kiss his upturned face. For awhile, none of my ideas of what
physically defines a man meant shit. We were equal.

He groaned in protest when I slipped out from under his head while stuffing
my propriety back into my pants.

"Listen, John, I think maybe we should..."

"Your problem. Miguel. is that you think too damned much," he declared
shaking his head.

"My problem. Juan. is someone who won't let me finish a sentence. I was
going to say that maybe we should go upstairs."

John grinned as he jumped to his feet and, pointedly, turned out the
light. I followed him out into the reception hall firm in my resolve to
leave at the first mention of video games.

People lived in apartments that were smaller than John's bedroom. It was
upstairs at the back and appeared to extend at least half the width of the
house. Seeing my surprised expression, he explained that it was constructed
to accommodate a billiard room that the original owner had purchased out of
one of the old Vanderbilt mansions.

I checked out the superb craftsmanship of the teak wall paneling and nodded
my approval.

"I didn't know there was so much money to be made in Anthropology."

John walked to a set of French doors and threw them open.

"Neither did I," he replied. "For awhile I almost had myself convinced that
they were smuggling drugs on the side to pay for it."

"That seems like a reasonable conclusion."

"Yeah. I was almost disappointed when I found out that the real money was
in book sales and lecture tours."

John stepped out on to the wide balcony and leaned over the concrete
balustrade, spreading his legs wide as he looked over the edge.

"Come over here and look at the garden. It's looks pretty cool from up
here."

The sight of his naked body gleaming in the near twilight looked pretty
damned cool from where I was standing, and I was reluctant to move. He
looked back over his shoulder and frowned.

"I know you're not afraid of heights. It's okay to be a big butch top and
still appreciate beauty when you see it."

"That's exactly what I was doing," I replied.

I crossed the room and stood directly behind him. He gazed down on the lush
garden and a fountain that bubbled noisily in the center of a broad swath
of green.

"Not bad, huh? I helped build that when they first brought me here."

I glanced over the edge and grunted my approval. I liked fountains just as
much as the next guy, but it paled in comparison to the work of art that
was standing not more than seven inches from my crotch.

"Fucking amazing," I mumbled as I slipped my arms around his chest.

John sighed deeply and, placing his hands on mine, guided them downward. I
buried my face in his hair as my hand closed around his dick and stroked it
gently.

"Damn that feels great, Michael. If I'd known that a little water was all
it took, I'd have pushed you in the reflection pool the first time I saw
you: by accident, of course."

We backed away from the garden view until we came to an enormous mahogany
sleigh bed. John shrugged from my embrace and slowly began removing my
clothes. As each article of clothing came off, he carefully folded it and
placed it on the chair.

While the pile grew, everything else was reduced to a lot of sensory
fragments, of assorted sizes and intensities, scattered across my
brain. There was the rasp of his tongue tracing a path down my inner thigh
and the cold sting of polished wood against my naked butt as I leaned
against the footboard. If watching my cock sliding into his mouth loomed
large, so did the silken texture of his hair as I pushed the thick mane of
glossy black hair away from his forehead. From the very beginning John was
a symphony of sensations without so much as a single discordant note.

He stopped to take a breath, coughed and in one swift movement took it all
the way to the base. I was spinning out of control, grabbing the back of
his head and forcing myself in and out of his willing mouth in quick, jerky
strokes. Thoughts of shooting my load in his mouth clouded my brain. If
John hadn't the presence of mind to periodically twist my nuts until the
threat had passed, it would have been over in minutes.

John had begun to show signs of fatigue by the time I came to my senses. He
disengaged from my cock and massaged his aching jaw.

"Damn! Slow down, Mike. It's taken you months to get THIS far. You don't
want it all over in a few minutes do you?"

I looked into his eyes and grinned. My prick, glistening with his saliva,
rested on his smooth, unblemished cheek.

"Poor John," I replied softly. "Of course I don't."

That seemed to be all that he needed to hear. He jumped to his feet and
pressed his head tightly to my chest.

"I can hear your heart pounding," he whispered.

"That's your doing."

"You're a very sexy man, Michael. I don't want this to EVER end. I want to
please you for as long as you can take it."

It wasn't a boy's arms that snaked around my waist and pulled me close in
the last light of day. By way of comparison, his kiss was surprisingly
timid and submissive: as if afraid of taking too much control. I slid my
hands under his arms, pulling him tighter: pressing my rigid cock against
his taut belly.

"I'm not going anywhere John."

Sometimes words just aren't adequate. If you're one of the lucky ones,
there'll be an experience in your life that by virtue of its magnitude
defies any attempt to record it for posterity by mere words. From the
moment that he stretched out and pulled me down on top of him, I knew that
I was about to have one of those experiences.

John whispered my name, softly, as I kissed his ear... his neck and finally
his throat. It seemed odd that such an articulate young man would have so
much trouble making complete sentences until I realized that every other
word was punctuated with a gasp or a moan of pleasure.

My tongue inched downward, leaving a moist trail on his golden brown skin,
until I reached his chest. When presented with so many desirable choices,
it was hard to decide. John decided for me. He ran his long, slender
fingers through my hair.

"Lameme los sobacos," he whispered.

I looked up questioningly. His eyes were closed and his face glistened in
the dim light.

"My pits," he repeated in English. "Lick my pits."

Pinning his arms above his head, I buried my face under the right one. His
dick jumped and quivered against mine as I nibbled at the splash of curly
black hair. He squirmed with delight as I sucked and licked my way down the
underside of one arm, across his chest and back up the other one.

"Suck on it! Suck my tit!"

The urgency in his voice was an unexpected turn on for me. Even as my mouth
locked on to an erect brown nipple, going from gentle nips to hard sucking
and back again, I was planning what I was going to do with the other
one. John released his grip on my head and grabbed the headboard. I
thought, briefly, of the cuffs I had in the left pocket of my leather
jacket but the thought faded without further consideration. This wasn't
about power or control. It was about trust. As it was, he seemed to be
doing a good job of keeping himself in bondage.

He moaned and called out my name repeatedly but he never begged me to
stop. It was like he'd gotten high from the pleasure and, like an addict,
craved more.

I traced a finger across the peaks and valleys of his chest, barely grazing
his hard nipples as I continued my journey south to his mid section. The
way his six-pack abs contracted each time my tongue came in contact with
his navel was nothing less than a marvel. Separately and in pairs, they'd
jump each time I swirled it around the edges of his outie belly button.

"Me haces cosquillas!" he laughed.

I knew the term. It meant I was tickling him. I stopped while he caught his
breath and composed himself. While I loved the sound of his laughter, I
sensed that anything I did to him would be returned in kind and I hated to
be tickled.

"Do you always slip into your native tongue when you're excited?"

"Not always. I can talk dirty in French too. Why? Does it bother you?"

"No, but I want to be ready when you call me el viejo verde."

"How could I call you that if you already know what it means? Hey, just how
much Spanish do you understand?"

"Enough to know when you're calling me a cabron asqueroso."

"Why would I call you a disgusting asshole?" he asked solemnly.

John sat up and wrapped his hand around my ramrod straight cock. He jacked
it a couple of times, then fell back on the pillow and stared at the
ceiling.

"The sun's down."

A light had come on in the garden and the shadow of a palm tree fell across
his face. He looked so serene that I felt a momentarily pang of guilt when
I took his cock in my mouth. I cupped his nuts in my hand, tugging gently
as I peeled back the foreskin and applied suction to the wide head. He
spread his legs wider to accommodate the probing finger working its way
into his butt hole.

"Chu'pame la polla," he rasped. "Eat my fat cock."

My throat opened to accept his cock head. John uttered a cry of surprise
that turned to a lustful growl as he dug his fingers into my shoulders and
began fucking my face. The tangy aroma and vaguely rubbery taste of John's
cock sweat made my own dick twitch and swell in anticipation of what was to
come, but there was something else that I had to do first. I flipped him on
to his stomach and plunged my tongue deep into his puckered pink hole.

"Oh daddy!" he wailed, pulling his ass cheeks apart. "Eat it, man. Tongue
fuck my hole!"

I burrowed deeper, savoring all of the emotions and sensations that came
with the knowledge that he'd given himself over to me completely and
without reservation. With the barriers gone, I was free to vigorously
attack his butt until he was begging me to stop. I released my grip on his
firm young butt and he turned, laughing and breathless, on to his back.

"I thought that I'm the one who's supposed to wear you out."

I stroked the smooth perfection of his chest.

"You inspire me," I replied. "Want to see what else I can do?"

John rolled off the side of the bed and started toward the bathroom where a
night-light burned to ward of the darkness. I looked around and smiled at
the wealth of contradictory information hanging on the walls.

He obviously liked sex with men, yet the poster for Brittany Spears' first
appearance at The Cow Palace filled a prominent spot above his dresser. How
could he know the entire repertory of N-Sync and Doctor Dre and still have
a lithograph of a "Gershwin In The Park" concert on display next to the
self-professed virgin? How could he defend some, but not all, graffiti
while a limited edition poster for an exhibit of pre-Colombian art hung
next to the door?

While waiting for his return, I walked out on to the balcony to get some
air but mostly to think things over. I could no longer dismiss John as
being just a cute, sexy kid in baggy clothes: even if I'd been inclined to
do so. The young man who moved as purposefully as a cat stalking its prey
was to be taken seriously. The question that was uppermost in my mind was
of just how seriously I would take him if and when the time came to
exchange phone numbers.

Rain was eminent, and the garden seemed to be bracing for it's arrival. A
pair of birds circled the tiny basin at the far end of the yard, ignoring
the grottos and overhangs of the much larger fountain in the center of the
lawn as they searched for shelter.

An avalanche of mottled gray clouds tumbled in from the north, filling the
air with a subtle whiff of moisture. The first drop landed on my upturned
palm and I turned to go inside. John was sitting on the edge of the bed,
languidly stroking his erection, watching me. Inspired by his inexhaustible
exuberance and energy, I made a dive for the bed. He laughed as we rolled
over the tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Mom says I'm not allowed to jump on the bed."

"You've probably done a lot of things on this bed that she wouldn't approve
of."

"Uh-uh," he replied after a moment's thought. "My parents are very liberal,
as long as I wash the sheets afterwards."

If he'd said the same thing a couple of hours earlier, the deflating
effects would have been swift, possibly permanent and definitely
disastrous. How quickly John had put me at ease, turning what started out
as an awkward, uncomfortable situation and making it feel right and proper:
as it should be. I'd been freed to revel in the indescribable pleasures
that were mine for the taking. At nineteen, John knew more about many
things than a lot of men twice his age.

It started to rain, and when John got up to close the doors I swung my legs
over the edge of the bed. I watched in amazement as he moved from one to
the next: amazed at the fact that not an ounce of fat seems to have taken
hold on him. Supine, he was a wonder of nature. Standing, he was a miracle
as the lines of his body stretched and changed with each movement.

I suppose I could have watched him close doors all night, but there were
things I'd rather see him doing, like walking toward me with an insatiable
erection leading the way. He stood before me, firmly pushing me back as he
dropped to his knees. I could see the rain falling, the drops lit from
below by the garden lights. It was a perfect backdrop for the beautiful
head that was working its magic between my legs: a blowjob in a shower of
diamonds. He ran his hands along my thighs, stopping occasionally to grip
my hands.

John turned his attention to my balls, thoroughly washing them with long
sensuous tongue strokes that extended from side to side and from the base
of my cock to the back. Nothing escaped his attention. A rush of power
coursed through my body as the sensations he so expertly brought to the
surface placed me on a roller coaster without a seat belt and no brakes.

Only our heavy breathing, the pounding of the rain on the canvas awning and
a few urgent sighs of contentment broke the virtual silence that enveloped
us. There were no words. My desire to suck his cock while he sucked mine
was conveyed by a gentle tap on his upper arm.

His beautiful uncut dick grazed against my beard as he positioned
himself. The scent of sweat was stronger than ever as it passed under my
nose. I wrapped my hand around the base, squeezing gently as I drew his
balls into my mouth. His dick quivered in response.

My rod slipped deep into his throat until I could feel the muscles relaxing
and contracting around the glans. My testicles began to contract in
preparation for what promised to be an explosion of epic proportions. Once
again John seemed to read my thoughts and pulled back. He turned around and
pressed himself against my side with one arm across my chest and the other
under my head. We remained locked in a lovers embrace while the rain
pounded relentlessly against the windows.

"Follame," he whispered.

"Te follo primero, y tu a mi despues," I replied.

He wanted me to fuck him but it was my response, in poorly pronounced
Spanish, which surprised me. The number of times ANYONE had fucked me could
be counted on one hand. That was about to change.

John produced a rubber from the side table and rolled it on to my
dick. Once it was in place, he produced a bottle of lubricant and rolled on
to his back to offer his hole to use as I saw fit.

I went slowly, inserting my fingers one at a time until he was properly
lubed and ready. With his legs draped over my shoulder, he looked up at me
with huge trusting eyes.

"Estoy listo" he whispered as my cock head touched his hole. "Se' suave."

"Don't worry, John. I'll be gentle," I replied calmly as my cock was
swallowed up by his tight rectum.

People sometimes forget how significant the moment after penetration can
be. Not only can it make or break the whole experience, but also the
relationship. It's where limits are set and trust is established. With this
in mind, I allowed him to call the shots. I've got a big dick and was
prepared to call the whole thing off at the slightest sign of
discomfort. He grunted, but his face remained calm as I pushed the walls of
his hole aside.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "Keep going."

I began with a few short, slow thrusts and withdrawals. He nodded and I
pulled out a little more: thrusting a little deeper, working up gradually
until I'd pulled all but the head out. I paused to look in his eyes and was
taken aback at the unbridled lust that I saw in them.

"Ve hasta el fondo" he said in a harsh whisper.

He wanted me to go in deep. I hesitated but for only a second. I pulled my
knees up closer to readjust my aim. His eyes closed and he groaned loudly
as I pushed the rest of the way in and began my assault in earnest.

The rain was coming down hard and rain makes me an animal: a horny beast
with nothing on its mind except a hard cock and a hot ass. Anything else is
forgotten. Even John had lapsed into a string of obscenities that were
beyond my meager understanding of the language. Now and then, a word would
race by that indicated he was having a pretty good time. It was a good
thing he was because it was doubtful that I would have heard him if he'd
asked me to stop.

Eventually his legs began to tire and we changed positions: first on his
side, then doggie-style, then on his stomach and finally with him on top
riding it like a cowboy on an eight plus inch horse. His black hair was wet
and plastered to his head as he bounced up and down, taking it as far as
human limitations would allow.

I didn't dare close my eyes because I didn't want to miss a single
expression. His head lolled back as I pressed my palms to his sweaty chest,
his nipples hardening as I gently pinched them. John was making strange
noises at the back of his throat: noises that came from a place much deeper
inside.

"Harder, Miguel. Pinch my nipples harder," he commanded.

I complied, but the sight of his dripping cock bobbing over my stomach was
making it difficult to follow orders as I was repeatedly nudged toward the
edge. Each time he would sense what was happening. He'd slow down but
refused to let me pull out.

"God, John. I feel like I'm going to cum."

He brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and shook his head.

"Uh-uh. Not until I say so."

He bent at the waist and kissed me passionately. Sweat poured from every
part of his body, falling on my face in a steady rain like the one outside,
blending with mine until he licked it clean. I swung my legs over the side
of the bed and sat up with John still impaled on my dick. His legs
tightened around my waist as I buried my face in the crook of his neck and
resumed my upward thrusts.

I realized, as he tightened his sphincter around my cock, how wrong I'd
been in my first assessment of his butt. At that moment it was, like the
rest of him, absolutely perfect. My thrusts grew stronger.

"Que' bien encajamos" he sighed in response.

I wasn't sure what it meant, but whatever I was doing met with his
approval. Reaching between our bellies, I grasped the major meat that would
soon be invading me. I stroked it in time to my upward thrusts and felt it
twitch and jump as my cock head hammered his prostate.

A clap of thunder rattled the city. A bolt of lightening blew out a
transformer and the room was plunged into total darkness. John's arms
tightened around my neck. I remembered how much he disliked the dark and
pulled him closer; still rocking on the edge of the bed like a father
comforting his son.

Fortunately, he was not my son, nor was he old enough to be comforted like
a child. What I was doing to him was anything but paternal. I wondered, as
I moved in and out of his tight hole, what could possibly have happened in
his childhood that would make him so terrified of the dark. I promised
myself that some day I would ask and hope it wasn't anything terrible. I
couldn't imagine anyone doing something horrible to John.

We disengaged with a soft, wet plop.

"That was quite a suction we worked up," John declared. "Still want me to
fuck you? I mean, we don't have to if you don't think..."

I cuffed him gently on the side of his head.

"Shut up and grab the lube. We're going down stairs."

I grabbed the flashlight from his dresser and, while John groped around for
supplies, shined it on his backside. John glanced over his shoulder with a
quizzical expression, unaware of the way his butt hole, slick with Elbow
Grease Gel, glittered in the darkness.

We started down the thickly carpeted hallway with me in the lead. John, now
a little unsure of what I could possibly be up to, hung back a few paces as
I raced down the gently curving staircase.

"Where are we going?"

"Outside to the garden," I replied.

"The gar... But... but it's raining!"

"Yeah I know. It's great isn't it?"

"Yeah I guess so," he responded unenthusiastically.

We came to the breakfast room and I threw open the double French doors
leading out on the covered patio. Beyond the columns stretched the
garden. It didn't take John long to catch on to what I had in mind once I
inserted a generous glob of lube up my butt hole. He stopped my hand and
moved up behind me.

"Let me do it."

I nodded and spread my legs. It'd been a long time since I'd been fucked,
and never with a man so much younger. I winced as he inserted his finger
but the pain passed quickly. Fortunately, he was too caught up in the
moment to notice. Soon he was up to two, but it was going to take more than
two slender fingers to match that whopper pressed against the back of my
thigh.

When, at last, I was fully lubed up, I eased into the warm rain and walked
to the fountain that he'd helped to build. I spread my legs, planting my
feet in the thick grass as I bent over and stared into the dark water.

My grip on the moss covered concrete tightened as he guided the monster
between his legs home. He was very calm which, considering he was trembling
with barely contained excitement not more than fifteen minutes earlier, was
quite an accomplishment.

Even more of one was the fact that I didn't seem to have any trouble taking
it. There were a couple of rough spots but I trusted John: just as he'd
trusted me. The discomfort passed quickly and in less time than I would
ever have thought possible, he was all the way in with his crotch grinding
into my almost virgin ass.

"God, your ass is so tight. You should have told me you were a virgin."

"I'm not. It's just been a long time.. and... Damn. Your cock is so big."

"Just say the word and I'll pull out."

"Ram it home, baby. Fuck my ass."

"No problem. Just tell me when you've had enough."

His concern in his voice was so earnest and reassuring that it didn't
matter that our position wasn't appropriate for long term fucking. I didn't
want it to end, and would have gladly kept his cock inside of me until the
sun came up. Unfortunately, reality took precedence over human frailties
and my legs began to tire.

"Stay in there. don't pull out," I whispered as I tightened my grip.

John gamely held on while I guided us to the ground and, in a slow, careful
and awkward process, turned over on my back. The grass was cold against my
skin but John's body heat warmed me. I threw my legs over his shoulders in
anticipation of the next assault.

He looked deeply into my eyes, dazzling me with his rain-drenched smile and
for a precious few minutes, we were just two buddies fucking in the
rain. The garden was alive with the sound of rain drops falling on exotic
foliage, of wet skin slapping against wet skin and urgently whispered words
of encouragement.

We'd settled back into a mutually satisfying rhythm when John abruptly
withdrew from my no longer virginal hole and got to his feet. He dashed
across the broad expanse of lawn to the patio and was back on top of me
before I could sit up. He rolled a condom on to my cock and eased himself
down.

"This is so fucking cool," he said as he bounced. "You are a very strange
man, Miguel."

It seemed like such a natural thing to be doing: fucking in the rain. What
could be more natural and pure? I grasped his narrow hips and forced him
down hard, pushing upward into the warm confines of his anus. His hand flew
to his engorged cock, wrapping his fingers around it tightly as he jerked
himself off.

"That's it, John. Cum for me."

It took all of the self control I could muster to keep from shooting my
load deep into his bowels. In the old days, back before things got weird, I
might have done it anyway but John deserved better. He wanted so much to
come while my dick was still inside of him that I held back and waited.

His sphincter tightened as he pushed down, grinding his ass into my
crotch. I knew from the way that his head rolled from side to side that it
was time and on an upward thrust, the first load of his jizz erupted from
his piss hole. It was followed by what seemed to be an endless supply of
the creamy white liquid that washed down my sides and on to the wet grass
as he milked it dry.

He pulled off and I removed the rubber. John scooped up some of what
remained of his cum and rubbed it on my ready to blow cock. Slowly, with
attention paid particularly to the head, he masturbated me with long even
strokes that built in intensity as I got closer. I thrashed and bucked
beneath him.

"I want to do it. Give me your load, Miguel," he crooned. "Cum for your
Juanito."

That did it. The moment I'd been putting off had arrived and there wasn't a
damned thing that I could do to stop it. A soulful kiss that was nearly as
draining as the ministrations of his hand stifled my cries as I shot into
his hand. I wanted it to go on forever.

Oddly enough, we were still hard when he helped me to my feet and we
started back toward the house, covered with grass, mud and cum. It wasn't
over, not by a long shot.

I was led to the downstairs bathroom and left standing at the door while he
turned on the shower. Switching off his flashlight, John's hand found my
erection and I was pulled into the enclosure. The room may have been
utterly dark, but I didn't need to see what I felt so acutely.

I didn't need my eyes to know that his thick black hair was plastered to
his angelic face. I didn't need to see in order to know that there were
tiny drops of water falling from thick lashes on to smooth, unlined cheeks
when he blinked his eyes. Standing the warm spray, I knew they were closed,
just as they were a few minutes earlier while he was in the middle of his
orgasm.

Strong hands, slick with soap, caressed my arms, gradually working up to my
chest and shoulders. His erection pressed against my butt as he turned me
around to wash my back. Hands made strong with work slid to my waist,
around to my stomach and downward to crotch. My hard-on wanted more of what
John could do, and reacted accordingly at the pleasure at his touch.

"I could come right now," I whispered.

John sank to his knees and took me in his mouth again. My cock, still
sensitive from the workout it just received, teetered on the edge as it
bumped against the back of his throat. Gently, albeit reluctantly, I pushed
him away before there was no turning back. God, but I hated safe sex.

His strong young body slid along mine as I pulled him to his feet. I could
feel every inch of his cock as it traveled up my leg and over my thigh to
where it flattened against my stomach. I held him tightly as I committed
the moment to memory, just as I would the sensation of guiding my own hands
over his willing body. We kissed under the shower spray and our tongues did
battle. Once again, it wasn't for control or dominance but for equality.

"Let's dry off and go upstairs," he breathed in my ear. "I want to get
fucked... feel this monster up my ass again."

The mantle clock struck ten and we were walking toward the stairs when John
came to a sudden stop, turned and darted into a nearby room. For a few
tense moments, I was left alone to wonder what I'd say if his parents had
chosen that particular time to open the front door. What would be the
proper thing to say to the parents of a guy whose brains you've just fucked
out? How does one address the owner of the house while standing naked in
the foyer?

The prospect of having to do either one made me queasy.

"Hey John?" I called out. "You need some help in there, buddy?"

He reappeared with a circle of light leading the way.

"Nope. I was just making sure that the power to Dad's computer was off."

There is no other explanation offered as we bounded up the stairs to the
relative safety of John's room. Once inside, I stretched out brought myself
back to hardness while watching John open the doors to the stormy night.

"Sit on my chest," I commanded as he climbed back into bed.

"Cool," he responded, barely containing the excitement in his voice.

He was anything but cool. He was hot. His crotch was still warm from the
shower and smelled of Ivory soap when I buried my nose in his balls. It got
me hot to see him squirm when I flicked at them with the tip of my
tongue. Then I got to work, starting just behind his nuts and sliding my
tongue along the underside of his cock to his foreskin, the temperature
went to triple digits.

"Lameme el prepucio, Miguel. Comeme la polla," he groaned as I shoved my
tongue inside.

John's hands were everywhere but never in one place for very long as his
long, slender fingers slid through my hair. They traced the angles of my
face, rubbed my shoulders and even found a way to jerk me off, all without
his ever once uttering a single word. John was patient and attentive, but
what he really wanted was my cock up his ass. I was more than happy to
oblige.

He wanted it on his knees, and was offering me his tight hole before I had
a chance to raise an objection: as if. This time my finger slid in easily;
he was still relaxed and lubed from the last assault. I grabbed his hips,
guiding my rod in as he pushed back. He wanted it bad.

"Ram it in me, Miguel. Ram it deep and hard. Push it all the way in. God, I
love the feel of your big fucking cock in me... Way up there... Sliding in
and out of my hot hole... Fuck me like that. Pull it all the way out and
then ram it in... Fuck. yeah... like that, Papi.  Ohfuckohfuckohfuck that
feels so good."

His stream of consciousness narrative inspires me to new heights of
creativity. I stirred my cock around and it lunged forward with a mind of
its own. I couldn't remember ever having fucked a hole that was as tight as
John's was that night. Nor could I remember my cock staying that hard for
that long. It seemed as if John brought out the things I never knew, or had
forgotten, existed.

"Don't stop," he gasped. "Keep plowing my ass. God, I love how that
feels... Your big fat dick fucking my butt hole... My big, hot man fucking
his Juanito's tight little hole."

Having established both a rhythm and position that were comfortable for
both of us, I began tweaking and teasing his hard brown nipples while
caressing his nuts and dripping cock. A shudder raced through his lithe
body as the walls of his anus clamped tightly around my furiously pumping
shaft.

"How many words are there for the penis?" I wondered in passing as I
groaned and tightened my grip on his cock.

"You like it when I do that, huh Papi?" he panted. "I like to make you feel
good. You're such a hot fucking man... Your cock is just too fucking
wonderful."

Unfortunately, even the best of intentions must be confronted in the cold
light of reality. Too soon, he was showing signs of fatigue, as was
I. John, sensing it too, got himself into a squatting position as I plowed
his ass hard: my cock going in and out like an out of control piston
engine.

I pulled him down hard one last time as I beat him off. As I forcibly
shoved my cock into his hypersensitive prostate, he uttered a single cry of
unbridled joy and released his load into my hand, on to my shoulder and
even on my forehead. The rest, I assumed, ended up in all sorts of
interesting places. His body continued to tremble long after his grip on
the sheets had loosened.

I'd hoped to wait until he'd stopped shaking but holding back was fast
becoming a near impossibility. I'd already pulled out, perhaps too
abruptly, and was struggling with the condom when John flipped over on his
back and took matters in hand. Grasping my dick firmly around the base, he
finished removing the rubber and dropped it over the side of the bed.

"I want to do it," he whispered. Shoot it all over my chest."

Ordinarily, when going a second round within such a short span of time, I
preferred doing the honors myself. The orgasm was more satisfying when I
was in control. For some unexplainable reason, I was incapable of raising
an objection. Maybe it was the finger lodged up my ass.

"Oh fuck! Here it comes," I yelled as I spewed my load across his chest.

It would be a long time until I could think of that strand of my semen
clinging to his nipple before falling to the sheet and not get hard.

We were lying, covered in cum and sweat, intertwined among the sheets. John
sighed with contentment.

"How big are you?" he asked softly.

"You're the last guy who should be asking a question like that. Weren't you
paying attention?"

"No," he laughed. "I mean I was. How tall are you? You're really big."

"You're just now noticing that? I top out at six feet, four inches. Why?"

"There's no reason except they'd really get off on a guy like you where I
come from. They love big blonde men with blue eyes."

I laughed and pulled him closer. The aroma of sex and the rain made my head
swim.

"If the men all look like you, I'm on the first plane out. You got anyone
you want me to call while I'm down there?"

"I suppose you're going to just take off now, right?"

I kissed his forehead. A strand of half-dried cum clung to his hair. I
didn't know whose it was but it didn't matter. I licked it off anyway.

"I hadn't planned to," I whispered.

"Good."

"John?" I asked after a few seconds. "Why'd you choose me?"

He was quite, and for a second I thought he'd dozed off and hadn't heard
the question.

"You know, I was asking myself the same thing that first day."

"You mean when you followed me around the library?"

"Uh-huh."

"What was your conclusion?"

"That I didn't choose you. We chose each other."

"Clarify, please."

"I think some people are just meant to find each other."

"Like preordination?"

"Uh-huh. I got to thinking about it after you took off. It was, like, I had
your address and I could have shown up at your front door but that would
have just freaked you out. So I waited."

"What if I never went back?"

"It wouldn't have changed anything. Just because two people are meant to
touch each other's lives doesn't mean that they'll end up in bed. Maybe
they're meant to exchange a glance that will put them on the path they're
meant to follow. Maybe it's bullshit, but I remember seeing you and knowing
that you were special. Then I thought..."

"Thought what?"

"You're going to get pissed."

"It's probably nothing I didn't think of at some point."

"Yeah, like all day. I remember thinking that you were probably old enough
to be my father. It didn't matter, though. I couldn't stop thinking about
you."

"But I am old enough to be your father."

"And I still don't care. When I saw you today, I was so happy that I could
hardly stand it. I almost did something that would have for
sure... uh... I'm glad I waited."

"So am I, John."

"Good," he replied softly.

He turned on his side. The touch of his smooth butt as it pressed against
my cock made it stir. It was unlikely that he'd make it through the night
un-fucked.

That was five years ago and things are still going along great. Sure, there
have been a few disagreements but they've always been over dumb things, and
our rule about never sleeping with unresolved conflicts has, I'm sure,
helped. That, by the way, was John's idea. He's as devoted to me today as
ever, and there's no sign of that changing.

The part I had dreaded the most, meeting his parents, turned out not to be
the ordeal that I'd expected. Not only were they thrilled that John had
found himself a nice guy, but also that he'd picked up the fact that
chronological age doesn't mean shit. I should mention that his adoptive
mother is my age: twenty years older than his adoptive father.

Once we got past the good-natured shit from our friends, our age difference
became a total non-issue. As a matter of fact, I can name three
inter-generation couples who have us to thank for introducing them.

I continue to write. John is going for his teaching credential. He's
changed his mind about returning home,but it turns out that there's a large
number of Mayans in Los Angeles. John has been active in setting up a
special school to get them up to speed before they enter the public school
system. I think it's a pretty good idea.

After that first night in the rain, John NEVER again referred to me as
"Daddy". I've never referred to him as my "boy: or my "cub" or any of that
roll playing shit. He's a man, and that's fine with me.

Best of all, I'll never have to worry about saying, "I've never done this
before." After five years with a hot, sexy little fucker like John, there's
not much we haven't done at one time or another...

  MICHAELM6@attbi.com