Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2016 17:32:34 +0000 (UTC)
From: xpud (at) yahoo.com
Subject: Stories of an Old Boy (Revised)

	Name's Phillip. Let's cut to the chase: I've been around the block
a few times...literally. No idea why I can, but I learned that I'm able to
revisit any moment in my life and change things up. By my recollections,
I've probably been around a few thousand years of my own time, but why does
that matter when I've got a lifetime's playground to explore?
	So anyway, right now I'm 12. You might think, why the hell would
you go to 7th grade? Sure, 7th grade sucks for a lot of people, but it's
just rife with opportunity, if you know where to look. Take this locker
room. Ah, P.E.: the time when young boys figure out what they're looking
for (or at). I've taken a few attempts at this one moment, and I think I
have it just right this time. Let's find out.
	I sit here on the bench shirtless, pulling off my khakis to dress
into my gym shorts. Matty powerwalks in with his short blond hair
practically bristling. You can see that he has to pee so bad, he has
goosebumps all over his prepubescent little body. Regardless, he sits down
on the bench to remove his pants, and quite possibly to regain some control
over his bladder. As this normally plays out, when he realizes that one of
his shoelaces is knotted, he practically rips his pants getting them over
his shoes and leaps over Timothy (who has a lower locker) to dash to the
urinal. It looks like he has just enough time to pull his little white
briefs over his short pecker before it gushes pee against the wall of the
urinal. A full minute of peeing later, he breathes a sigh of relief and a
couple of other boys laugh at him about it. He takes it in stride, though I
can see a slight blush of embarrassment.
	This time, though, it's going to be a little different. He tugs at
his pants, inverting them just to get them over his shoes. He starts to get
up to run.
	"Timothy! Check it out!" I yell. Timothy instinctively stands up
and gets a face full of t-shirt as he blocks Matty's progress. They both
tumble to the ground, each on their backs. Timothy catches himself and sits
up just in time to see the show: Matty, taken completely by surprise and
having the wind knocked out of him, has no choice but to let go. As he lay
there spread-legged, his little white undies do practically nothing to stop
the flow as his bladder erupts into them, sending a light-yellow fountain a
few inches into the air from his stubby penis, straight through the
fabric. His briefs soak up as much as they can while he lies there, feeling
the relief and the pain mingle as his shirt and underwear become saturated
with warm pee.
	The room goes silent. Everyone is staring at the growing puddle
around Matty's butt. I know what they're thinking: Oh my God, is he okay?
or What is going on?! or even Is he PEEING himself? But Matty's face gives
it all away: I'm dead. I'm peeing my underwear and I can't even breathe
yet. I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire school. I'm too old
to pee myself.
	I feign shock, dropping to my knees near Matty, disregarding the
puddle--my pants are already on the bench where I was sitting. "Are you
okay? Can you speak?"
	Matty could have spoken, if not for the fact that as soon as he
looked at me, his face scrunched up into the telltale grimace of an
incoming crying fit. The boy is 11 years old, but his brain and body are
still in the single-digits. As the stream begins to die down, the flow
switches to the other side of his body--he begins to cry wordlessly,
completely unable to maintain composure. I help him up to a sitting
position and rub his back. Some of the other boys get that look on their
face like they're about to say something smart when I shoot the Glance of
Death their way. I planned it out this time around that I have a reputation
for going a little crazy when people fuck around with what I'm
doing. (Sure, it gets me some Creepy Points, and people generally stay out
of my business, but it works out for me.)
	"Come on, Matty, let's get you to the shower. First, though, let's
keep your shoes dry." He sits and sobs as I remove his shoes and socks,
placing them on the bench before offering a hand to him. He grabs my
forearm as I grab his and hoist him up to his feet. His shirt and briefs
drip with urine, making a steady splattering sound in the puddle left on
the floor. This makes him redder, and another spasm of crying wracks his
face and body. I lead him through the crowd, which has grown
noisier. There's laughter and ridicule, concern and confusion as I guide
Matty to one of the showers. I take off my own underwear and step next to
him, completely unconcerned with what the others might think.
	The water sprays out quickly, spitting out a quick spatter of cold
water before the warm water catches up in the pipes. I turn him to face
me. "It's okay. I'm sorry I called out to Timothy. If I hadn't done that,
you probably would have made it."
	"No--no, I was the st-stupid one," he said between hiccups. "I
should've g-gone sooner."
	"It's okay. Let's just get you cleaned up." I wick the water across
his lower back to wash off the pee.
	"It's not okay!" he snapped. "I'm going to be made fun of so hard!"
	"Not if I can help it." I looked him in the eyes. "Look. You don't
have any real reason to trust me on this, but I'll make sure they don't
make fun of you."
	He frowned a moment, before a huge sniffle overtook him. "Why are
you helping me?"
	At this moment, I was really glad he hadn't looked down yet to see
my 4-incher steadily growing stiffer. "Nobody deserves to be made fun of,
okay? Now let's get those briefs off of you; they're no good to you now."
	His eyes shoot wide. "No! No. That's...that's okay. I'm clean now."
I glance down to see why he's so hesitant: apparently my hands brought him
to attention as well. If his briefs weren't soaking wet, I might've missed
it, but he was definitely standing at 3 inches of full upright
attention. When I look back, he's noticed; his face goes red as a tomato
and begins to scrunch up again. God. If this wasn't such a ridiculous
turn-on, I'd feel so bad for the boy.
	I roll my eyes, smiling ever so slightly. "We're boys. That
happens. I mean, look." I point to my own lance, set to charge
forward. "It's fine." By this point, Coach Rigby has herded the rest of the
boys out of the locker room and quelled the noise as they all marched out
to the gym. However, the coach of course has to come investigate why two
boys aren't out there and what happened to Matty, why did he pee himself,
etc. As soon as I see the coach round the corner, I immediately intercept
him before he has a chance to talk to Matty. I know damn well that'll just
set him off more.
	"What's going on?" Coach asks. "Is everything...okay?" he says
hesitantly, eying my boner surreptitiously.
	"Yeah, yeah. He just tripped and got the wind knocked out of him
when he had to pee. It was just bad luck." I look down at my tent-pole and
act like I didn't notice. "Oh, uh, that's embarrassing. I promise nothing
was going on."
	The coach just laughs and shakes his head. He calls over to Matty,
"When you're ready to come out to the court, let me know." To me he adds,
"Just have Matty dress out without his underwear on for today, and we can
throw his clothes in the wash with the shower towels."
	"Got it," I say, nodding. My erection is throbbing painfully at
this point, having no desire to go down. It doesn't help that Coach Rigby
is hot as shit with a perfect ass and good God Damn I'd hit it if I were an
adult. Or maybe just in high school. I bet I could convince him. Note to
self: sleep with Coach in 10th grade. But for now...
	I return to a slightly calmer Matty, who is soaking in the warm
water as much as in his own thoughts. He has already taken his underwear
off and is facing away from me, showing off his absolutely gorgeous little
butt--a skinny white boy like him has no business having that much ass, but
I'm not about to complain about it. I walk up to him. "Hey," I mutter
softly before putting a hand on his shoulder.
	He flinches slightly. "I'm so screwed," he mumbles.
	Putting my other hand on his shoulders, I go in for the
kill. (Having lived as long as I have, I know damn well when I'm taking
full advantage of a situation.) "I promise that if any rumors start up,
it'll be way worse for them. You won't get bullied for it. Here; let me
help you take your mind off of the whole thing." I press my thumbs slowly
but firmly into his shoulders, which elicits from Matty a quick jump but an
immediate melting into my hands. He lets out a soft moan, which I'm not
entirely sure was intentional or even noticed.
	This is going to be easy.
	I massage his shoulders for a few more squeezes before moving down
slowly, finger by finger, to his middle back. I can already see his sobbing
being replaced by slightly deeper, heavier breathing. Geez--if I'm not
careful, I might just shoot before I get touched; the fun of a tween,
hormone-fueled body. I take a deep breath and center myself; then, I grab
him firmly by the shoulders and massage the stress out of them, ever so
slowly pulling him toward me. He lets out a quick sob and a long, sensual
sigh. As our bodies press together, I know he can feel the base of my
erection pressed atop his cheeks and all 4 inches jutting up his spine. The
warm water spills between us and down his chest as I look over to see his
short spear pointing straight at his chin, scrotum scrunched up as if ready
to deploy already.
	I press my middle two fingers in at his sternum, right under the
collarbones, and begin a slow circle massage. (If you've never had anyone
do that to you, it's fucking amazing.) Not one rotation into it, though, he
makes a strangled groan and exhales completely as his dick twitches once,
twice, and begins to ooze clear semen on the third. This is entirely too
much for my level of excitement and I immediately tense up, pulling him
close as I coat his lower back (and my chest) in jet after jet of milky
cum.
	We both stand there, breathing heavily for a moment, before he
giggles. "Um, did you...did you just sperm on me?"
	I find myself surprised that he knows what that is. "What?
I--um...yes. I--I'm sorry, let me get that--"
	My stammering is interrupted by the most adorable, bubbly
laugh. "Gross! But you made me sperm, too...that massage felt really good."
He turns around to look at me while he cleans the cum off his back.
	"I guess watching you have an orgasm made me do it, too." My cheeks
are flash-fire red by this point; how the hell am I affected this
intensely? I haven't felt this way in centuries! To make it worse, he
starts washing my chest off; they're going to have to invent new shades of
red to describe me right now.
	After he finishes, we end up staring at each other wordlessly for a
moment. Without warning or preface, he lunges forward to hug me, staggering
me back a few steps. I hug him as a father would his child, as a friend
would his friend, as lovers would. I feel my dick rising again.
	"Thank you," he says, face still buried next to my Adam's apple.
	"No problem," I stammer. "Hey...the coach is going to wonder where
we are soon. We should, y'know, go."
	He breaks the hug to look at me again, a smile creeping into his
demeanor. "Yeah. Let's go get dressed. And don't worry--I won't tell anyone
if you don't."
	I blink as he bounds out of the shower area, having problems
determining who exactly was the predator here.