Date: Sun, 14 Dec 2014 12:55:54 -1000
From: Peter de Ruthyn <peterderuthyn@gmail.com>
Subject: Blonde Adventures 4

Blonde Adventures, Part 4
The Graphic Designer

Peter de Ruthyn


There was a bulge in the front of his blue swimsuit with the white and
black stripes.  The suit went well with his white-framed sunglasses.  The
bulge went well with the rest of the boy.  A slim body, perhaps a trifle
gangly, but shaved smooth and lightly tanned.  Blonde hair coming to a
little peak above his forehead.  An attractive curve to the outside of his
soles as he strolled along the shoreline.

He moved his towel closer to mine as we lay on the grass.  "I think you're
really cute," he said.  He hesitated as he spoke, not so much from shyness,
but more from an awareness of his own boldness and the very public nature
of our flirtation.  As if to counteract that involuntary hesitation, he
leaned over and kissed me.

Gradually I slid closer to him, until we were both lying on the same towel.
Our legs intertwined and our speedos touched gently.  I let my tongue
explore his mouth and he did not object.  In fact, he returned the gesture
for a little while before we separated, with him laughing from excitement
and self-consciousness.  I smiled back, inviting him, encouraging him.

We folded up our towels and put our clothes back on.  For me, only a pair
of shorts.  For him, a shirt as well.  Leather straps came between our
naked feet and the grass.  Picking up our bags, we strolled back toward the
parking lot.

"I can help you with your bike if you like," he offered.

"Thanks."  I turned and crossed the street, where my transportation was
sitting chained to a rack outside the swim shop.  I had just finished
unlocking it when he pulled up to the curb in his sage-green convertible.
Together, we wedged my bicycle into the rear seat.  I climbed in and he
drove off up the hill.

We kept stealing glances at each other, but didn't talk much.  Eventually I
decided to tease him a bit more.  I kicked off my flip flops and untied the
drawstring on my boardshorts, then pushed them down my legs.  He had to
force himself to pay attention to the road after that, after seeing me
sitting there nearly naked in a convertible with the top down, my tan beach
body on display for all to see.

"Would you like to go somewhere?" he asked, looking over at me again with
something unmistakable in his eyes.

"Somewhere different?" I asked.  He was supposed to be taking me home.
"Did you have a place in mind?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said.

"Good, I'd like that."  He took another look in my direction, then let his
free hand drift over and rest on the front of my speedo.

The car kept climbing the hills, twisting back and forth along the hairpin
roads that led up to their summits.  The houses thinned out somewhat, but
not a lot.  Then they came to an end, along with the road, on the edge of
the forest.  He started to climb out of the car, then paused.

"Are you sure you don't want to put something on?"

"No, just these," I said, slipping my feet back into my flip flops.  "I'm
good.  Are you sure you don't want to take something off?"

He hesitated, but excitement won out in the end, and he took his shirt off
again and tossed it onto his seat.

We strolled off into the woods.  The trees weren't very thick, and there
were paths carpeted with pine needles leading off in several directions.  I
let him lead the way.  In a minute or two we came across a little covered
picnic area, a concrete slab with a couple of picnic tables and a roof over
it, the sort of thing the Forest Service puts up for hikers.

He turned to face me, and we kissed again.  He was very good at it.  While
his lips were busy on mine, and his hands were massaging my backside
through the spandex of my swimsuit, I was untying the string on his shorts
and pushing him back out of them.  Already he was long and stiff beneath
the yielding material of his own suit.  I bent and licked his bulge, then,
curious, pulled his speedo off as well and began tonguing the erection that
sprang out.  It was slender, but nicely curved, and I could feel and taste
his eagerness through it.  Not a single hair spoiled its lines, or
prevented him from experiencing the full impact of my licks and nibbles.

I stood up and rubbed my own bulge against his, letting him see the effect
he was having on me.  He spun me around, grinding his shaft into the ample
curves of my backside, concealed only by a few square inches of stretched
and distorted fabric, which he soon got rid of.  I stepped out of the
discarded suit and my sandals at the same time, leaving myself completely
naked for him to enjoy.  And he did enjoy it, from the way he was leaking
juices onto the small of my back, the way his hands caressed my body, the
way his kisses burned on my neck.

I led him a few steps over to the picnic table and had him sit down on it,
legs spread and propped up on the seat, so I could have better access to
his boyhood.  It slid into my mouth so easily.  I loved taking a clean,
smooth boy in my mouth, and I showed him my appreciation, making him murmur
with delight as I treated him alternately like a lollipop and a candy cane.

I stepped back for a moment to catch my breath and admire the effects of my
work on his shiny, slightly pinker shaft.  I took advantage of the
opportunity to pull his sandals off as well, so he would be just as naked
as I was.  And it would make it easier for him to try the next thing I had
in mind.

This involved my lying down next to him on top of the table and sucking him
back into me.  He was in a position to return the favor now, and he did
without waiting for a cue.  Side by side, we worked each other over.  The
wood was a trifle uncomfortable, and I suspected that I would be picking
flakes of green paint off myself later, but the feel of his stalk in me and
mine in him, and the intense naughtiness, the unashamedness of what we were
doing and where we were doing it, more than counteracted that.  I felt
myself reaching a pleasant plateau of arousal, which a little more oral
attention on his part would turn into a powerful orgasm.  Our positions
shifted slowly as I gradually rolled over onto my back and he maneuvered
himself to kneel above me, but we never lost contact with each other's
shafts.

"Oh, shit," he suddenly said, releasing my erection and trying to slide off
me.  I looked up, past his shaft.  A pair of hikers had just come around
the corner and caught sight of us.  They hurried on past the picnic area,
not looking in our direction again, and disappeared in the trees.

I giggled.  Maybe I blushed a little, and he did, too.  But he took it more
seriously than I did.  They might come back, after all.  With a regretful
look on his face, he began pulling his speedo back on.  I had no choice but
to follow suit.

We chatted idly as he drove me back home, but as I climbed out of the car,
he turned to me and said, "We're going to have to finish that sometime."

* * * * *

Nine months later, I was lying across the hood of his car, naked except for
the thin nylon mesh of the blue athletic shorts I was wearing.

The elevator opened a few yards away and he stepped out into the parking
garage.  His mouth dropped open.  He gasped.  I couldn't suppress a grin at
the sight.  He lusted after me, I knew, but I hadn't quite appreciated just
how much the shorts added to his excitement.  Granted, this fetish of his
was an uncommon one.  I wasn't going to complain, though, not as the
lightweight nylon fabric rubbed back and forth against my shaved genitals
and made them swell, and certainly not as I watched the same process take
place under the mesh of his black shorts.

His apartment was on the eleventh floor, a single large room with glass
walls on two sides and a bed where half a dozen naked boys would have room
to frolic.  It was only empty for a brief moment before he laid me down on
it.

We made out very gently as we lay there facing each other.  He squeezed me
through the fabric of my shorts, eliciting a drop of moisture from me that
soaked through the mesh and left a tiny glistening spot which he rubbed
with his thumb.  I breathed heavily into his mouth - his lips were as soft
and seductive as I remembered - and returned the favor, groping his length
with alternate roughness and delicacy.  My bare chest rubbed against the
tight spandex of his running shirt.  My toes pulled off the tiny ankle
socks he had been wearing and threw them away.

He withdrew from me slowly and looked into my eyes.  I knew what he wanted.

I stood up and pulled a disc from the small bag I had brought with me.  The
television on the wall flickered to life.  I slid the disc into it and lay
back down again, propping myself up on the pillows he had arranged.  He
wrapped his arm around my shoulders, but when I reached for the firm shaft
clearly visible in his shorts, he moved my hand away.  He made me wait.

And so we waited for nearly an hour with hardly more than an occasional
touch, while he watched the film that only one other boy had ever seen.
The film that I had made with a friend, that captured his showing off for
me, my kneeling to take his erection in my mouth, and my final submission
to him, legs spread, on my back, as he entered me.

The screen went dark and the boy beside me finally reached over to seize my
concealed erection again.  He silenced my gasp of mingled shock and relief
with his mouth, plunging his wet tongue into me even as he worked to
increase the dampness in the front of my shorts.  I felt my juices flow out
of me, felt his hand grow slick with them.  He must have noticed it, too,
but it wasn't enough for him.  I was barely conscious of the fact that his
tongue had withdrawn from between my lips before I realized that his hot
breath was now blowing on me much lower down.

He sucked me through the lightweight cloth, squeezing with his lips and
gently scraping the ridged head of my stalk with his teeth.  I squirmed,
but he held me firmly by the hips and I had no choice but to endure the
stimulation, so arousing and so nearly painful at the same time.  The nylon
seemed to grow more abrasive when wet, which worked to his advantage.  I
gave a particularly violent lurch as he took the tip all the way into his
mouth, and his hands shifted on my hips.  My shorts went with them.  Now my
smooth torso was exposed almost all the way to the base of my boyhood, and
my boyhood itself was trapped against the elastic waistband, unable to move
freely under the soaked cloth.  He didn't hesitate.  He tugged again, and
the shorts came off me, giving me relief from their tortures - and from
his.

But with my nakedness now completely exposed, his priorities had shifted.
He rose from his crouch and straddled me.  His nylon-coated erection
pressed against my lips, and I swallowed as much of it as I could.  It was
narrower than mine; it was just as wet.  My upper lip caught on the edge of
his corona and I held it there, while I used my tongue on that vulnerable
delta which points the way along the underside of a boy's shaft to its tip.
I probed him, the mesh offering no obstacle to my explorations.  It
deadened sensation ever so slightly, and in doing so actually heightened
the body's response by making it anticipate those sensations it could still
feel.  The effect was obvious, apart from the additional arousal I could
see he was deriving from this opportunity to act out his fetish.  His hands
were running over his lycra top as he rode my mouth, extracting the maximum
pleasure from its touch as well as mine.

Then his eagerness must have passed some invisible line.  In one motion, he
whipped his shirt off and tossed it aside, pulled away from my oral
ministrations and stood up, and unhooked his shorts from his erection.
They dropped to his ankles, and he dropped down again between my legs.  He
raised them until my knees were tight against my chest, my soles facing the
ceiling, and I felt his tongue lap up and down the hairless expanse between
my buttocks.  There was a faint squelching sound.  I knew he was running an
oiled hand over his shaft.  His slippery fingers moved on to my cleft,
where their frictionless touch made me quiver, and up to encircle my own
stalk.

With each full stroke up and down my length he came a little closer to me.
With each stroke he entered me a little further, until his absolute
nakedness was pressed against mine.  He kissed me, and our joining was
complete.

We were in no hurry.  He eased himself in and out of me slowly while our
tongues fenced with one another.  He looked into my eyes and smiled.  His
hips moved, and my body moved to accommodate him.  My erection lay rigid
across my stomach, never diminishing as he took me, only quivering with
pleasure.  Sometimes he stroked it lightly.  Later he let a few drops of
oil fall into my hand and I toyed with it myself.  There was no need for
pressure or haste; what he was doing to me kept it swollen and dripping.
We moved languorously in our lust, prolonging the passion.  And kissing
each other, always kissing.

After a longer time that I would have thought possible, his hips rotated
away from me for the final time.  Our double coupling became a single one
as he lay down beside me, still linked to me by his lips.  Our slick bodies
moved against one another.  My hand was still moist with oil; so was his.
Even as we clung to each other tightly, our tongues still seeking to
penetrate as deeply as possible, we were busy stroking each other with
feather-light touches.  Oiled skin moves over oiled skin with almost
impossible ease.  He cupped his palm and rotated it around the head of my
boyhood as if polishing a crystal ball.  I responded with the same
technique.  His legs tensed, stiffened, pressed close against mine; his
toes pointed up; he let his seed cover his stomach and chest.  I groaned
into him at the sight and gave way, coating his fingers.  He kept stroking,
rubbing me remorselessly back into myself as our bodies relaxed again and
melded together.

After all, they deserved a rest.  We had just enjoyed a climax nearly a
year in the making.



Comments and feedback welcomed at peterderuthyn@gmail.com!  Also look out
for my upcoming collection "Toyboys and Other Stories".