Date: Fri, 10 Mar 2017 03:03:47 +0000 (UTC)
From: xpud@yahoo.com
Subject: Stories of an Old Boy 5

Standard disclaimer: This story depicts sexual acts between minors. There
is also some urination plot elements in it. You've been warned. Oh, and
another big ol' Feels-train comes through early on, but it gets frisky
later. Just so's ya knows.

Chapter 5

	Monday makes way for Tuesday and then Wednesday. Much to Canelito's
disappointment, we got a new seating chart in that class the very next day
(not that he'd ever say anything about it, even to me). Every once in a
while, when he walks by to sharpen his pencil, he looks down at my junk,
hoping to catch a glimpse. Man, I'm probably the only porn that boy has
ever seen. I'll let him approach me when he's ready for more, though.
	Meanwhile, Matty and I get to hang out a bit more over at his
place--my house is boring and full of irritating sisters (yes, even after a
millennium of patience, they still get on my 12-year-old nerves). That, and
he has more multiplayer games, where all I have is my cellphone and a
couple of outdated games on my outdated PC. Anyway, we're playing another
round of Black Ops (I finally frag the bastard a few times--a few) when,
right near the end, he starts squirming a little bit. Within a surprisingly
short time, he breathes, "Oh no," and nearly throws the controller as he
dashes to the bathroom. Only about seven seconds of peeing is followed by a
full minute of silence; I don't hear the flush or see the boy. Curious and
concerned, I knock on the door to see what's up; no reply. I slowly open
the door, saying, "Matty?" and knocking again just in case.
	Inside, Matty is sitting on the floor in his unzipped tan cargo
shorts, the inside of both legs soaked dark with pee, face soaked with
tears. He doesn't even look up; instead, he runs his fingers through his
short hair and grimaces in what looks like extreme frustration. This merits
investigation.
	I grab the hanging towel from near the shower and place it in the
moderate-sized puddle on the floor, wrapping it around his feet. Sitting
down across from him, I reassure him, "Hey, it's okay. We were really
into--"
	"It's NOT okay!" he practically screams. "It's not okay! It's not
fair! It's not..." He sniffles, and adds quietly, "It's not fair."
	By this time, his mom is standing in the bathroom doorway, concern
etching lines into her face upon seeing her boy sitting in a puddle of
pee. "Matty, darling, I'll get you a dry set of clothes."
	This just sets him off in a wail of anguish. I put my hand on his
knee for comfort as he lets out his frustrations in salty streams down his
cheeks. His mother comes back with a navy blue pair of shorts and more
standard white Hanes briefs. "Come on, let's get you out of these," I say,
offering a hand. He accepts, and I hoist him up as flashbacks of our first
encounter flit through my mind.
	I get the tub to a decent warmth as he steps out of his wet clothes
and in to rinse off his legs and wash his face. The whole time, his mother
stands in the doorway; I steal a glance at her face, and see a mix of
curiosity, admiration, and pain. I realize that I'm acting far older than
my age, but I don't really care that much.
	"You must think I'm the biggest baby," Matt mumbled dejectedly.
	I act like I'm thinking about it for a moment. "Mm, no, not
really." I hand him a towel.
	He takes it and buffs his face and legs with half-energy. "I cry
like a baby, I'm small like a baby, and I pee myself like a baby."
	"But you don't play Black Ops like a baby, you do better in school
than a baby, and you're still way taller than a baby."
	"That doesn't matter." He says it in a defeatist sort of way, not
petulant, but simply resigned. "I'm always going to be a baby."
	I look to his mother for more info; this seems deeper than it
looks. Sure enough, she motions her head toward the door, beckoning me out
of the bathroom. "Go ahead, dry off and get dressed, Matty," she
says. "We'll be outside."
	With the door closed, Matty's mom leads me to the living room and
looks at me carefully. "You seem pretty mature for your age."
	Without even thinking, I reply, "I am."
	She smiles a bit at my bluntness, and sits slowly on the
couch. "Well, thank you for being Matty's friend. His first year at this
school hasn't been easy." My furrowed brow is clear enough to her; she
continues, "He used to go to a private school, but last year..." She
sighs. "Last year was really rough for him."
	"How so?" I prod.
	I can see the debate on her face before she lays it on me. "First,
his father and I divorced. Then, Matty was diagnosed with a rare form of
kidney cancer that...well, we're pretty sure it's cured, but the mix of
chemo and surgery left him with a few...problems. One of them, this one, is
that he can't tell when he needs to go until it's an emergency; it's also
harder for him to hold it. It has been very difficult for him to get used
to, and it frustrates him."
	Ah. That makes sense, now. "So he hasn't always had that problem,"
I say, more as a statement than a question.
	"Right. Another side effect of almost half a year of battling the
cancer is that it stunted his growth, which he's sensitive about. THEN,
after the medical bills, we couldn't really afford private school anymore,
so he has had to adjust to Akronis, which has also been pretty hard for
him." Suddenly, she gets this confused look on her face. "I don't know why
I'm telling you all this. This isn't your problem--I'm sorry."
	I shrug. "I've always been a good listener."
	She gives me another surveying look, and smiles slightly. "I guess
so." She stares down the hall at the bathroom door. "Thanks for being his
friend. He needs more people like you."
	With movie-precise timing, Matty opens the door after that
sentence. He is fully dressed and bleary-eyed, though much calmer than he
was. "Sorry," he says with a little more vigor. "I got carried away in the
game." He joins us in the living room.
	"Well, I paused the game, if you wanted to continue."
	Matty scans the floor as he shakes his head. "Nah, I don't feel
like playing anymore."
	"You wanna talk about it?"
	"Not really."
	"Will you anyway?" I ask with a hopeful smile.
	His eyes meet mine, and I see the shadow of a smile creep into his
lips. "Fine. Let's go out back."
	Outside, the air is just crisp enough to take the edge off of the
afternoon sun. We walk in silence to the swing set, and he hops on a
swing. I take the other one and we begin to sway in slow sync.
	"What did Mom say?" he finally asks. I fill him in on what I knew,
leaving out the part about his growth. He rolls his eyes hard enough that
they bring the rest of his head back with them, and he stares up at the
crossbeam with a long sigh. "Apparently, Mom doesn't like me having
friends."
	"What do you mean?" I ask, fully aware of his incoming answer.
	"You've been over twice and now she tells you how much of a freak I
am." He stares at the gravel underfoot as he slowly swings.
	"You're not a freak."
	"Yes I am."
	"Well, you're a cute freak."
	This takes him by surprise, and his head jerks toward me. Just as
quickly, he looks back down at the ground, though his cheeks are redder
than before. "Still a freak, though," he says with less conviction.
	"You're talking to the guy with time-travel powers. Who's the real
freak of nature here?"
	He sighs. "Well, can't you like, go back in time and stop me from
getting cancer?"
	I give him a sad stare. "I don't have that power. I wish I did."
Memories of multiple friends and loved ones that die of cancer in the
future careen through my thoughts before I shun them.
	He doesn't reply for a moment. "So your new friend is a big baby."
	I don't take the bait. "Do you want to be?"
	"What? No! I hate it!"
	"So..." I draw it out. "I guess that's why you don't want to try
diapers."
	The incredulous death-stare he gives me is answer enough, but he
follows it with, "Are you kidding?! I'd rather be dead!"
	Sadly, I believe him. "Well, you could try a few other things
instead."
	"I already make sure I go at the same time every day, or at least
try. I don't drink that much, either."
	"Maybe you could wear an extra pair of underwear or something, just
in case. It would help against small accidents."
	He looks at me as if I were a stranger. "That...I dunno. Maybe. Not
if I do...THAT," he says, nodding his head to the house.
	"No," I admit, "but it might help against when you laugh or things
like that. Besides, even in gym class, it won't be easy to tell that you're
wearing two pairs of underwear if you do it right. I bet you could even ask
Coach Rigby if you could change out somewhere else so they can't like, I
dunno, make fun of you or whatever."
	He sneers. "But I'll still be 'the weird kid' if I do that."
	I raise an eyebrow. "It's middle school. We're all weird."
	"You know what I mean!"
	"Of course I do. I also know that I kinda want to see you in just
your underwear."
	That does the trick; he giggles unwillingly. "Why? I'm just a kid."
	"What? So am I!" I say with faux-innocence.
	"Yeah, a 1000-year-old kid."
	"Give or take, sure."
	"So," he says, changing the subject, "have you ever told anyone
else about your power?"
	"Nope. Just you."
	"Are you ever going to?"
	"I dunno. Maybe."
	A short silence settles on the two of us. "You wanna go back inside
now?"
	As his reply, he flings himself off of the swing and starts
walking.
	By the time we go back inside, his mom is already blaring more soap
operas in the living room, so we go to his room. We resume our paused game;
after a few more rounds, I ask him to try putting on another pair of
underwear to see how it fits. He takes off his shirt and shorts, and puts
on another pair; it's practically impossible to see that he's wearing an
extra. Well, other than the one waistband piece sticking out, which I squat
down and help him fix.
	"Et voila!" I say. "More protection, less noticeable! Do a little
turn for the audience." He sticks a hip out "seductively" and does a goofy
little turn; he's so ridiculously adorable it hurts. Though the underwear
itself isn't noticeable, I do notice the scar from his surgery running
straight down the center of his abs; how did I miss that before? Okay, it
is a pretty precise cut with relatively little scarring, so there's that,
but still.
	He keeps doing the catwalk thing until he turns and practically
wiggles his butt in my face. There's no other course of action at this
point but to clap it with both hands. He literally jumps and yelps from
surprise--it wasn't that hard of a hit, especially with the extra
padding. "Hey!" he says, for some reason surprised.
	"What? There was a beautiful wiggling butt in my face! That's what
I thought I was supposed to do!"
	This sets us both giggling and he practically flops on top of
me. Suddenly, there's a pair of fingers jabbing into my sides! I yelp and
squirm, but to no avail; he has his legs around mine and I can't get away
from the tickling. I admit that I probably would have come close to peeing
if it didn't make me almost instantly hard having a hot boy like Matty
straddling me.
	There's only one recourse: return fire. I start rapidly poking him
in the belly to get him to retract his hands, and immediately torque the
both of us over so he lands on his back. Then it's Merciless Mode: poke
after poke all over his body so he can't defend any one place. The squeals
and giggles he gives are just music to my ears. Suddenly, he squeals a
different sound, the one I was looking for, and a small wet splotch
blossoms on his underwear. He crosses his legs quickly, and stays for a
moment; he slowly uncrosses them to check, and no more comes out. He looks
at me angrily.
	"See?" I say. "That normally would have soaked through a whole lot
more, but with two pair, you can have a squirt get past you and almost
nothing happens."
	He looks at it and feels it. "I mean, I guess it isn't that
bad. But still!"
	I place my hand on the wet spot and push inward and upward
slightly. "Still what? Are you mad at me for making you pee a little?"
	He tries to keep an angry face, but a smile keeps creeping
in. "Yes! ...maybe."
	"Can I make it up to you?" I move my hand in a little circle,
feeling his dick already beginning to grow from its little button.
	"How?" he asks, playing along.
	"Well, see," I explain, "I was thinking that we could get you out
of those wet underwear and maybe into my mouth." By this point, he's
already pointing straight to his waistband. I slowly strip off the pairs of
underwear, slipping them over his butt, enjoying the softness of his
skin. My dick throbs painfully in my pants as I handle the damp underwear
and look down at Matty's perfectly shaped privates. Seriously--a tight
little oval sack, nice-sized balls, three inches of perfectly straight up
cock...they're perfect.
	Matty looks over at the door. "What if Mom comes in?"
	"If she does, I can go back in time and warn you."
	Matty's mouth slowly opens with, "Oh yeaaahhhhh." Then he slips his
shirt off post-haste.
	I slowly move my hands up Matty's smooth legs, feeling the faint
bristle of peach fuzz not yet filled out into full body hair. He breathes
in sharply as I do so, only squirming slightly as my hands run up the
insides of his thighs and across his pelvis. I grab his dick in one hand,
wrapping three fingers around it. "How do I get this joystick to work?" I
ask, wiggling it left and right. "This game isn't working, Matty!"
	Matty starts giggling and writhing underneath me. "That's not a
joystick!"
	"Are you sure?" I ask. "I think maybe I was doing it wrong. What if
I do this?" I rub my index finger along the top of his glans, sending jolts
through his midsection with every stroke.
	"Phillip! No!" he says, and I find out quickly why: he immediately
starts squirting pee onto his belly.
	I aim it up and down, acting like it's an uncontrolled firehose for
a moment. "Whoa! This thing is out of--" Suddenly, I pinch it
shut. "Okay. I think I got it. But just to be sure..." and I clamp my mouth
down on his dick. A few quick flicks of my tongue across the same spot and
he starts peeing full-stream again, tickling my throat with the power
behind it.
	A few things happen at once: I grab his undies and wipe off his
belly, I continue drinking at full speed like I was chugging a water
bottle, and Matty's eyes just about pop right out of his skull as he
watches me. His pee is only lightly salty, not bitter in the least; all
told, he gives me about a quarter of a glass of refreshment before he
sputters out.
	"What the crap, man!?" Matty says, astonished.
	"What?" I reply, finally taking his dick out of my mouth. "I didn't
want to make a mess. Besides, your pee tastes good."
	"Yeah, but--" he says, and stops. "It tastes good?"
	"To me, yeah." As he begins to respond, I take my thumb and first
two fingers and begin to run them along Matty's slick penis. The words
dissolve into shuddering sighs as pleasure washes over him.
	"See?" I point out. "Pee doesn't have to be all bad. Sometimes it's
fun." I run my fingers up and down a few more times. "Do you ever do this
on your own?"
	"Yeah," Matty says breathlessly, "but it feels so much better when
you do it."
	Sadly, I know I can't go any farther, because I find out in four
minutes (yeah, I had to rewind this one) that Matty's mom busts in to ask a
question. I never find out the question, because she's too flabbergasted by
seeing me licking her son's balls. Back to the present, though: "Well,
we'll have to do more later. My Mom sense is tingling. Let's get dressed."
	He gasps, scrambling to put something on. I toss the now-quite-wet
undies into the hamper and hand him his T-shirt and Xbox controller.
	"3, 2, 1," I say as we're playing a round of Black Ops, and his
mother barges in to find two innocent, fully-clothed boys playing console
games.
	"Matty," she begins, and he whirls around. As soon as he's
distracted, I pop around a corner on the game and head-shot him. Yes!
	"What?!" he yelps. "No fair!"
	At this, his mother just smiles. "Nevermind. You boys have
fun. Dinner will be in an hour." She closes the door softly. Mission
accomplished.
	"So," I say, not giving Matty any time to complain. "I have a
question. Or five."
	"Five?" he says with a raised eyebrow and a tone of skepticism.
	"Maybe. One: you said you liked me. Like, LIKE liked me." I
stop. "Wow, that was a lot of 'likes.'"
	Matty snorts and giggles. "Yeah it was."
	"So...do you?"
	He hesitates. "Yeah, I think so."
	"But why? I'm old enough to be your great great great great great
great great great--"
	"I know!" he interrupts. "I get it. But like, I dunno. You're not
like some 1,000-year old guy with a beard that goes to the floor and a cane
and all that. You're just like...a boy."
	"And you're okay liking a boy?"
	Matty shrugs. "Mom always said that people like what they like. I
mean, that's what she said about my uncle."
	"Is your uncle gay?"
	"Yes. I mean, I guess so." He shrugs again. "But anyway, yeah, I do
like you. LIKE like you."
	Despite my many years, seeing such an adorable face say that to me
just sends thrills down through me. I try to stay composed, though. "Well,
why?"
	"Well," he drawls, "you're really nice, and helpful, and funny,
and..." he looks me up and down. "You're...y'know."
	"Hideous?"
	"No!" he says, slapping my arm.
	"Stupid?"
	He just grabs a nearby crumpled shirt on the floor and socks my
face with it. "Stop it! Geez!" he says. "You're good-looking, okay? Gawd."
	I beam foolishly. "Well, you're really cute, too."
	"Yeah, but," he begins, and hesitates with a knowing smile on his
face. "Doesn't that, like, make you a pedophile?"
	I sigh. "Well, sure, but a) at my real age, I'd be a pedophile even
if I dated a 90-year-old, and b) imagine how that would look if I were
still 12. I don't think those rules count. Besides, I'm not like sexually
harassing or molesting you, am I?" He responds with silence before I
realize my mistake. Not rewinding, though--my bed, I lay in it. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up."
	"It's okay." He brightens up quickly. "Hey, thanks for helping me
out, and for not, y'know, making fun of me."
	"Anything for the person I LIKE like." I smile before he catches
what I said.
	"Wh--you-you like me?" he sputters. "LIKE like me?"
	"Yes!" I exclaim. "You're cute, you're awesome, you're a great
person...what's not to like?" Also, admittedly, I really like having
someone to protect, but that seems out of line to mention.
	"But WHY?" He honestly seems completely stumped.
	"Because I know a good person when I see one. Trust me--I've seen a
LOT of them. So what if you have some bladder problems? You have a good
reason to. Not everyone survives cancer, and sometimes things just don't go
immediately back to normal. You're fine, man." And, let's be honest here,
total fetish food.
	He sighs, the happiness at my admission fighting the frustration of
his condition. "I guess. Still sucks."
	Unfortunately, my phone alarm goes off at that moment, reminding me
that I have to go for dinner at my own place. I say as much.
	"Aw, can't you stay over again?" he laments.
	I shrug. "I don't exactly live here. My parents like to see me once
in a while. But hey, maybe we can hang out again on the weekend."
	We say our goodbyes and I get my stuff together. Before I leave the
room, though, he taps my shoulder. "Um, I know we're not going out or
anything, but...can I hug you?"
	If that isn't the most adorable damn thing I've ever seen. "Of
course! I love hugs from cute boys!" This is totally true, and pretty much
always has been, admittedly.
	He giggles, and nuzzles his face in my shoulder in a full-bodied
hug. "Thanks," he says quietly. Again, I can't help but feel like I'm
hugging a friend, a lover, and a son, all in the same moment. Maybe I am,
in a way. Regardless, I know Thursday and Friday are going to be the better
for it.
	After I wave goodbye, I kick the stand out from my bike and head
home, just in time for dinner to hit the table; Mom is so predictable that
I don't even need time-travel. We eat, small-talk, and the like before I
head to my room, lie on my bed, and jack off furiously while thinking about
how fucking hot the day was. Without Matty around, I can plateau for a
little while longer, but just thinking about his dick in my mouth again
made the euphoria rise in my pelvis. You know how sometimes you can find a
GIF file online that shows someone cumming, just the first huge blast, over
and over again? Yeah, I totally indulged in the feeling of that first blast
of cum ripping through my 4 inches over and over again. Afterward, spent
bodily and mentally, I finally remembered that I had science homework due.
Dammit.


End of Chapter 5


So! Phillip and Matty have said they LIKE like each other. I totally ship
it. Will this change how Phillip lives his infinite life? Will Matty
realize that his weakness can be overcome--or at least enjoyed? Will any
other boys be subject to Phillip's "evil" machinations? Find out next time!
Until then, though, I love getting emails from all y'all, new or returning
readers: xpud at yahoo dot com -- tell me how you're liking it, what you
like, what you'd like to see, or maybe just to commiserate with a fellow
"old boy." Until next time!