Date: Mon, 20 Jun 2016 03:56:51 +0100 (BST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Smell This 18

SMELL THIS 18
By Brad, Mark & Zachyboy
M/b, b/b, oral, anal, sniffing, buttplay

Complete fantasy. Never happened and we don't encourage it. Read, sniff,
enjoy, then go home and keep your hands and your noses to yourself.

What's that you say? You've never donated to Nifty? Here's your chance to
correct that oversight.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

WOW: JOEY AND DEVIN

The Scene: Boys Summer Soccer Camp.

The Boys: Joey and Devin.

Joey: 12-years-old. Shaggy-short light brown hair with sun-streaks of
blonde. Thin, light lips, brown eyes and freckles. Always a smile,
mischievous and warm. A lean boy, but with pudgy little boy fingers. And
you already know where his fingers have been. And you already know what
they smell like when they come out. You've been smelling Joey for
two-and-a-half years now. Joey smells goooood.

Devin: 12-years-old. A buzz-cut that just grew out. A lean face, just a
tiny shade tanner. A little more sun this summer. Beautiful narrow
nose. Perfectly straight teeth. A thinner chin than Joey's. You wonder if
he's ever had his cock sucked yet. If a girl or a boy or anything in
between has ever clamped lips around that skinny little tickle missile. You
don't have any idea what Devin's special places taste or smell like yet,
but you will before the six-weekend summer soccer camp is over this
year. Yes, you will.

Joey's lying in the grass by the mini-practice net, relaxing after lunch
break. Devin's sprawled out next to him, the morning's sweat drying between
his legs. Little salty ball sack, all dried out now.

Joey's got Adidas on. Three black stripes run down a shoe of solid
yellow. Devin's shoes are Nikes. Neon yellow-green. Both boys wear black
socks. White shorts. White e-on jerseys. An e-on soccer ball resting
between them. They already played two games this morning and they're stinky
as french dressing.

"Now, when Coach comes to get you," Joey says, "Remember he'll be
excited. It's his first time sniffing your butt, so he's not gonna last
long."

"He's really gonna sniff my butt?" Devin asks. "And give me $20 for it?"

"Yep," nods Joey. "He always pays for butt sniffs. We've been doing it
forever. I've made a fortune. He pays more for other stuff, but butt sniffs
are always $20."

Devin ponders this quietly. He has no idea why a grown man would pay $20 to
sniff a boy's stinky butthole, but he really doesn't care. He wants
$20. And he's got a butthole. And Coach has $20. It seems like a
win-win. Dumb, but a win-win.

"Once you get really good at it," Joey says knowingly, "there's tricks you
can do to make him pay more."

"Really?" Devin says, unsure of himself and tiptoeing into brand new
territory. "What kind of tricks?"

"Coach likes you sweaty," Joey says. "So sometimes under my bunk, I keep a
spray bottle full of really strong salt water. And before we get going, I
spray a little on my back and balls. Coach likes super sweaty balls in case
he wants to lick them."

"Ew," says Devin incredulously. "Does he always lick your balls?" It seems
preposterous to him, a grown man wanting to lick a 12-year-old boy's salty
balls.

"Yep," says Joey. "He likes his balls salty. And he tips another $20 if you
taste good enough. So always spray your balls. And also spray your
back. And your neck. Don't forget your neck. Just spray it
everywhere. He'll lick it off in between ass-sniffs. He moans when he licks
it. If you're salty enough, he always pays you extra. Don't be scared. It's
harmless."

"Okay," Devin says. "Weird, but okay."

"And also under my bunk, I have another spray bottle," Joey says.

"What's in that one?" Devin asks.

"Maple extract," Joey says knowingly. "Maple extract and water. Fifty-fifty
mix."

"What's maple extract?" Devin asks, puzzled.

"You get it at Whole Foods," Joey answers. "You know. By the baking
stuff. By the vanilla extract for cookies. It smells like maple syrup, only
not sticky. You mix it with water and spray it on the front of your undies
and your dick top where your pubes are gonna be someday, and you make
yourself smell like maple syrup before he smells your crotch, and he pays
you another $20 when your crotch smells like maple. It makes you smell like
boy pee, really strong. It makes him moan reeeeeealllly loud. He likes
maple crotch smell. He tips you."

"Wow," Devin says. "He's weird."

"Uh-huh," says Joey. "But he's weird with lots of twenties in his wallet,
so put up with his weird. His weird is a good thing."

"Okay," Devin shrugs. "Weird, but whatever. Wow."

"Now the first couple of times, he probably won't suck you. He probably
won't lick your butthole either until he's sniffed you and jacked off five
or six times."

"Ewwww," Devin says. "He licks your butthole when he jacks off? He licks
you where the poop comes out?"

"Well, yeah," Joey shrugs. "But don't poop on him or anything. He doesn't
like poop. He just likes butthole. He says there's a huge difference."

"Wow," Devin says. "He's seriously weird."

"Poop smells one way," Joey says with a deep, faux-basso, puffing up and
imitating coach. "Poop smells like poop and butthole smells like butthole!
I – LIKE – BUTTHOLE!  HARUMPH!"

Both boys giggle.

"Wow," Devin says. "That's funny. He's seriously gross."

"He's seriously gross, but he has lots of twenties in his wallet, so always
put up with seriously gross," says Joey. "Seriously gross will get you rich
by the end of camp. Seriously gross will buy you merchandise. I got a new
X-Box last year."

"Wow," says Devin. "Close my eyes and think about the money."

"Now the first few times, he's probably only gonna sniff you," says
Joey. "He'll make you bend over his bunk with the door locked and everybody
else at activity drills, and he'll pull down your shorts really slow and
leave your undies on and he'll sniff your butthole through your undies."

"Wow," says Devin. "That's gross, but I can do that."

"Then after he does that for a while," Joey continues, "then he'll pull
your undies down really slow."

"Ewww," says Devin. "To see my butthole naked?"

"Yep," says Joey. "It's gotta be naked eventually."

"Ugh," says Devin. "But okay. Whatever."

"Then he'll look at your ass for a really long time," says Joey. "He'll
tell you it's beautiful. He'll say it's so pretty. You're pretty, so
pretty, he'll say. He'll tell you how pretty you are."

"Gross," says Devin. "Seriously gross."

"Yep," says Joey. "Then after he tells you how pretty you are, and how
pretty your pretty butt is, then he'll spread your cheeks apart, then he'll
stick his nose in your butthole really, really close, it'll even make your
butthole tickle, and then he'll just smell you and smell you and smell you
and smell you. Right up your stinky, pretty butthole. Make sure you don't
clean it first. He wants it as stinky as he can get it. Way stinky."

"Wow," says Devin. "Just wow. Gross."

"Then he'll take his cock out and he'll jack it off on the floor until it
squirts spoo."

"Seriously? Ewwwww!"

"Seriously. He'll smell your stinky asshole, jack his cock off, spoo on the
floor, kiss your butt cheeks when it's done, tell you how pretty you are
again, wipe his spoo off the floor, help you get dressed, pay you your
money, ruffle your head, tell you how pretty you are again, and then he'll
leave. Bloop. Done. $20 richer."

"Wow," says Devin. "That is so fucking weird."

"Weird with $20 at the end," says Joey. "And way more money where that came
from, when you learn all his extras."

"Wow," whispers Devin. "I just don't get it."

The two boys pause. Look up at the clouds and the sunshine. Joey scratches
his cock a little. He's got a hard-on again, talking about Coach. He really
likes Coach. He likes all the things they do.

"And you said sometimes he sucks your dick?" Devin asks quietly.

"Mmm-hmmm," Joey says. "After a few times of smelling your asshole, he'll
flip you around and start sucking your dick like a madman. No warning. Dick
and balls, he sucks it all at once. Like he's starving."

"Wow," says Devin. "I've never had my dick sucked before. I tried to get my
little sister to do it but she said she was going to tell on me, so I quit
asking. Does he suck you until you get the feeling?"

"Yep," says Joey proudly. "I got the feeling from his sucks three times in
a row once. Then I started squirting juice. Now I can only get them once
and I have to rest."

"Wow," says Devin. "I can't squirt yet. I can probably get them a bunch."

"Perfect," Joey says. "Then he'll just keep sucking and sucking and sucking
your dick. He'll go once, twice, three times, as many times as you want him
to until you tell him it's enough. It gets sore sometimes if he goes too
long."

"Wow," says Devin.

"And he licks your asshole sometimes too," Joey says. "He says he hates to
lick the smell away, but sometimes he can't help himself."

"Wow," says Devin.

"And this year, he started asking me to finger my own butthole in front of
him."

"What???" shouts Devin. "Finger your butthole???"

"Yep," giggles Joey. "He makes me finger my own butthole, stick it way in,
then he smells and sucks my finger."

"Ewwww!" Devin giggles. "No way! No fucking way I'm doing that!"

"It pays a lot," Joey shrugs. "It pays extra twenties."

"No way, no way, no way!!!!!" says Devin. "I'm not ever sticking my finger
up my butt for him!!! Never!!! Ewww!!!!"

The boys erupt in fits of giggles.

"Whatever," says Joey. "More money for me. Besides, that's the way advanced
stuff. Just like the licking and the cock sucking. That's a long ways down
the road. For starters he's just gonna smell your butthole. He'll build you
up to the other stuff."

"And give me $20?" Devin asks.

"And give you $20," Joey nods.

"Good," says Devin.

"Good," says Joey.

"Quiet," says Devin. "Here comes Coach."

"Smile," says Joey. "Smile and look pretty."

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

STACATTO: EASTON

Here's what I think I might do with Easton.

Because I just can't stop lusting over him.

I imagine being on my knees inching toward Easton, full of lust and desire
for him, knowing he's just a little 5th grader from the local elementary
school.

When I reach him, my face level with what he's clearly showing off, I reach
up with both hands and tuck my fingers into the top of those cute little
boy shorts and gently peel them down before burying my face right into his
elementary schoolboy goodness.

While my nose docks onto his sticky little anus, I reach under him with my
tongue, and lick the length of his tiny ball sack from top to bottom,
working towards his ass. I wipe my tongue up between his cheeks before I
feel the tangy roughness of his dry little butthole sweep across my tongue
tip. His butthole contracts, then relaxes, as though it is breathing.

Hearing him draw little pockets of air excites me. His breath is
staccato-like, shortened and detached, in harmony with the twitching of his
little pulsing star snatch, as I lick it round and round again.

"Good boy, Easton," I whisper to him. "Just relax. Let it feel good."

His breathing becomes more pronounced. He tucks his head between his arms
into the back of the sofa and whimpers. He pushes his little ass back into
my face and whispers, incredulously, "that's my butt," as I suck his ass
slit into my mouth and then let it pop back into place in the middle of his
anus.

He lifts his head up and looks back over his shoulder as he settles into
the rhythm of this unfathomable sensitivity, knowing a man is sucking on
his little butthole. SUCKING on it! Why? He doesn't know, but it's
beginning to drive him wild.

"Tickles," he whimpers. "Feels good. Tickles."

His shoulders tighten onto the back of the sofa, his cute little
10-year-old bottom rising involuntarily into my face, allowing his fragrant
bumhole to practically beg for more - twitching, contracting, relaxing –
the smell of him is glorious as I grab his cheeks, spread him and eat him,
his little hairless snatch pulsing, his buttocks writhing and gyrating
against my face.

Without any instruction, I feel his body tip to the left as he responds to
a primal urge to put his right hand between his legs, intuitively rubbing
his stiffening kiddie-dick with his thumb and his forefinger, rolling his
foreskin round and around his glans as he pushes his bottom back into my
face.

I can't believe it. I've got a little 10-year-old boy's bottom in my face
while he's rubbing his little dickie at the same time.

I keep sucking and sucking and sucking on his little starfish, making him
more and more aroused; his head dipping between his shoulders and then back
up again as he utters out, "Oh! Oh!" sotto voce to seemingly no one, just
before vocally erupting into a long, drawn-out high-pitched squeal that can
only be described as primeval:

"NGGGGHH! EEEEEEEE!!! OHHHHHH!"

I realize this little 10-year-old boy is in mid-orgasm while I have his
anus in my mouth. My cock, which has remained untouched but throbbing and
oozing the whole time, erupts. Cummy stickiness fills my pants.

"Good boy, Easton," I pant, I whisper. "Good boy, baby. You made me cum."

He shivers, proud. He pants along with me.

My heavy breathing echoes between his slick, smooth ass cheeks before we
both collapse into the sofa together.

I inhale deeply, the smell of his little boy musk and his tongue-washed
asshole.

I watch it quiver, the pink, pulsing starfish.

"You licked my butthole," he whispers, amazed. "You licked my butthole and
I got my shivers."

I lick a finger and I press it softly against his rosebud. Not in it, just
on it. I press the pad softly against his anus in appreciation. Like a
tribute. Like a fingerprint.

"That feels so good," he whispers. "I like when you do stuff down there."

He sighs and closes his eyes as I do little push-circles around the rim of
his slippery anus, until slowly, slowly, my finger slides in.

He hisses, he gasps. I see a look of surprise on his face.

I look at him questioningly. He nods. It's a go-ahead.

So I do. I suck my finger, get it wet with spit, then pressing it back
against his hole, I go ahead and slide it in.

That's what I think I might do with Easton.

Not that I've given much thought to it.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

NUDGED: GAGE

Dear Jace,

I'm sending those shots from Gage's birthday party you wanted to see. Gage
and all his friends, all lined up in a row. Gorgeous 10-year-olds. Gorgeous
11-year-olds. A row full of giggle boys. Gage at 11, leading the pack. How
did I ever wind up with such a gorgeous nephew? I have no idea.

He reminds me of you, when I used to fuck you when you were that age. I was
14 and you were 11, and you were so skinny, but I'd still get my big teen
cock all the way up inside you and you'd moan and wiggle and we'd say dirty
words to each other. And it got so messy sometimes. And so smelly. I loved
the smell of fucking you.

Anyway, THANK YOU for the dirty comments on Gage in your last note.  I plan
on going over those with a fine tooth comb, believe me. It's going to be
one of those where *I* talk about his stinky little ass, which causes *you*
to talk about his stinky little ass which causes *me* to talk about his
stinky little ass, which after a while winds up like holding up a mirror to
another mirror to another mirror to another mirror. We'll be in the fun
house of Gage-stink, sniffing his crack into unending planes of sweet,
reflected, anal infinity.

In a way, it's lucky I only get to see Gage a few times a year now. I
wouldn't be able to control myself otherwise. I'd do something
inappropriate. Touch him in the bathroom or something. Show him my
cock. Who knows.

But since my douche bag brother divorced my shrew of a sister-in-law, we no
longer get to see Gagey at holiday gatherings and impromptu family
get-togethers. Now he's more of an occasional treat. My balls get that
immediate twinge when I walk into a room and he's unexpectedly with us
now. My testicles jump up and tingle and yell, "Surprise! Gagey's here!"

He is without a doubt delightful, and if there is any conceivable way I can
ever get my hands on a pair of his crack-whoofers, you may not hear from me
for a month, because I'll be locked up in the rubber room at The Old Perv's
Home for the Criminally Insane-When-it-Comes-to-Smelling-Boy-Undies. I'll
have my own fucking ward named after me. I'll be running up and down,
coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, sniffing the air, snapping at invisible flies,
drool and semen running down my face and legs, making a mess everywhere,
sniffing his Hanes. It won't be flattering, but it'll sure smell good.

Anyway, I loved your comments. And give me a week or two for work to settle
down and I'll take a crack at them. Pun definitely intended.

But enough of that.

On to the next fine lineup of boy asses in the pictures I'm sending. What
are they doing on their hands and knees crawling around down on the lawn,
you ask? Jesus McGillicuddy, man, wait until you hear about this impossible
windfall. Seriously. Your jaw will drop.

But first, before I get to that bizarre, unexpected boy ass parade, just
take a moment to stare at Gage's ass with me for a minute, will you? Look
at his ass. It's magnificently-shaped. You can see that can't you? It's
like yours when I fucked it back then. WHOOF. MAGNIFICENTLY-shaped.

Man, that kid's ass is fucking hot. Fucking, fucking, fucking HOT. (And I
know what they say. If you overuse the word "fucking" it's because you have
a limited vocabulary and you don't know any other adjectives. Uh-uh. I beg
to differ. I know lots of adjectivess, and sometimes only "fucking" will
do. It was fucking HOT. I could eat my next fucking 955 meals off that
fucking work of art. Enough said.

Anyway, as far as asses at the birthday party go, Gage's was top shelf. He
was Elite. And that ass had to have been stinky my friend. OH MAN, it had
to have been RIPE.

All the pictures you see were taken BEFORE the kids cooled off in the
pool. BEFORE they got in the pool and washed all their beautiful ass stink
away. It was 90 degrees. He was walking around in that tight pair of shorts
and undies for a solid 90 minutes before they all hit the pool.

That ass had to have been sweaty, wet, stinky and HOT with the most
incredible sweet sweat you can imagine. He had to have been wet, sweaty and
RIPE with stink. REDOLENT with stink. J.C. Himself would have wept for joy
at stink like that. J.C. Himself would have converted to something
else. Unitarian Universalist. Fucking Scientology or something.

Gage would get all sweaty and worked up, then he'd calm down a little. Then
he'd get all sweaty again. Then he'd take a break again. Jesus, Jace. HIS
ASS HAD TO HAVE BEEN RE-SWEATY, and RE-STINKY nine or ten times that
day. He'd cool it off, then he'd tear off like a shot and he'd get it all
stinked up again! Stinked? Stanked? Stunked? I feel like the fucking Grinch
here. I'm perplexed by the tense. Anyway, what I'm saying is, GAGE'S ASS
MUST HAVE SMELLED DIVINE! And I am NOT talking about the fat chick from
Hairspray.

I still shake like a leaf on a tree looking at that MAGNFICENT FUCKING
ASS. I want to settle down and raise a family with that ass. Find a little
piece of land in Utah and stake a claim. I want that ass to mend my socks
and churn my butter. I want to make that ass my motherfucking Mormon sister
wife. I want his sweet, sweaty little dick to be my other sister wife, and
I want to take both of them to church on Sundays. I'll even wear the
special underwear. And what I can't finish for lunch, I'll have for fucking
dinner.

Jace, I wanted my nose between that kid's buns something FIERCE. I wanted
my pinky sandwiched between his crack so I could take home leftovers. Gage,
Gage, beautiful Gage. He's the kind of boy where you literally have to walk
away for a few minutes and collect yourself, for fear of doing something
stupidly inappropriate. Or saying something stupidly inappropriate to any
adult you're talking to, like, "JESUS! WOULD YOU FUCKING LOOK AT GAGE'S
PERFECT ASS?? FOR FUCK'S SAKE, LOOK AT IT!!!"

It was literally on my lips for 2.5 hours, no matter who I was talking
to. LOOK AT THAT MOTHERFUCKING STINKBOY'S PERFECT STINKY LITTLE
NOSETRAP!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! It was absolutely painful euphoria
to even look at him. I could not avert my eyes. The tendons in my neck
followed him like a magnet. Not the wimply-magnets in the kiddy-beginners
science kit. I'm talking about the large hadron collider down in the tunnel
in Switzerland. Seriously man, I was pre-cumming Higgs Boson particles.

Anyway. WHOOF. Gage. Please enjoy the picture of his shorts-covered boy
ass. I know I did. First live. Then at home with a big bottle of lotion and
some curse words. FUCK!

Now, on to the other boys in the picture and what they're doing crawling
around on the lawn like that and the WONDERFUL game they played! OH FUCK,
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLY HOT! It was absolutely NOT POSSIBLE that they played this
nasty game, Jace. I swear to God. It is NOT fucking possible that they
played it, IN FRONT OF ME, of all people! ME!! But they did!! I'm not
kidding!!

"Are you shitting me?" I can hear you asking.

One of the boys, Jackson, came up with this game called "Doggie Sniffers."
Can you believe that shit? I couldn't make that shit up if I tried. "Doggie
Sniffers."

"It's a pretty sick and stinky game," he says to all the other boys at the
party. "So if anybody's chicken you're more than welcome to stay in the
house. It's pretty gross, so it's not for everybody."

Well, fuck. A boy dared is a boy IN. Tell him it's too gross for him and
that just makes every boy at the party want to play it even more.

Turns out the object of the game is for the boys to partner up and line up
in the lawn on their hands and knees, then one boy sticks his nose in the
other boy's ass crack, like a dog sniffing another dog, and he has to nudge
him up the length of the lawn, one nodding nose-nudge at a time, pushing
him toward the finish line. Fucking Doggie Sniffers, can you believe it???
Then the two boys flip partners and the sniff-ee becomes the sniff-er, and
they go back down the lawn the other way. SNIFFING NON-STOP!! Radical!
Amazing! I wish I'd thought of it myself!! LOL.

Anyway, the boys at the party think this is the sickest, grossest, most
brilliant game they've ever heard of, and they're off like a shot, noses in
each other's cracks and giggling up a storm while I'm standing back by the
house pretending to check out my phone screen, while meanwhile I'm trying
to snap a few decent pictures for you while I'm trying not to cum
hands-free in my pants.

"Try to hold your breath!" Jackson shouts, "or you're all gonna smell some
great big stink!" But I notice Jackson has his nose so far up Gage's
shorts-clad ass it's a wonder he isn't inhaling my nephew's colon into his
right lung and breathing it back out his left one. He's not even nudging
Gage he's sniffing so hard. This little fucker likes smelling boy ass. And
Gage just giggles.

I watch the boys with stunned, speechless lust. My hands are shaking as I
take these pictures for you. Eight boys in the grass, smelling each other's
assholes. Jesus, I was hyperventilating. Gage and Jackson and six other
boys. And I try to imagine what they all smell like.

I close my eyes. My dick is hard. I feel my head spinning. I look at their
precious asses with tears in my eyes, wishing like hell I could get down on
my knees and play Doggie Sniffers too. Wishing I could smell their anuses,
each and every one.

I dream. I fantasize. I feel pre-cum leaking in my pants.

What do each of their asses smell like? I imagine, through shaking
euphoria:

Andy Hayes, 11. Honey-mustard pretzels. Snyder's or Rold Gold, or whatever
brand that is.

Martin Ford, 10. He kind of freshly-pooped. I saw him come out of the
bathroom after a long time in there. We're going to pass on him.

Brody Palmer, 11. Oh man, an early bloomer. Tall and stocky. Pre-pubescent
musky. On the verge of sex needs. Like he's going to need to be mounted
soon.

Harrison Stone, 10. Adorably-scented. Light and sugary. Like cream cheese
frosting on a cupcake.

Kaiden Patel, 11. Like clotted cream that's been left out on the table too
long. But in a good way.

Taylor Duncan, 10. The smart-ass of the bunch. Really strong vinegar. And
he wants to piss on your face.

Jackson Sims, 11. Magnificent. Brie and Cabernet, with a hint of whole
grain bread. Ripe, ready, dirty little Jackson. The instigator of the party
and the inventor of the game.

And Gage Harper, 11, my nephew. Pure, magnificent boy ass. Stinky, squirmy,
delicious little boy ass. I want to huff my fill, then marry him. I want to
marry my nephew and make ass babies in his hiney.

After the game, they all break up, laughing and giggling with choruses of
"You stink!" and "Your asshole's the worst in the world," and they all tear
off into the back yard for swimming and hot dogs and way too much
sugar. I'm up by the door, pretending to be engrossed in my phone, but I
can hear every word.

Jackson says to Gage as they walk off quietly and alone together, "I told
you they'd play it. I told you they'd like it."

Gage says softly, "Come up to my room later, when everybody's
swimming. We'll have to be fast, but let's play it the other way."

Jackson smiles and raises and eyebrow. "Really? Today? You'll let me play
it the good way?"

"Yeah,' Gage says. "But really, really super fast. The way where you sniff
my butt with your wiener. Where you're wiener's the dog and it sniffs the
inside of me."

Jackson rubs his baby bulge and he looks at my nephews ass.

"Woof!" he grins. "I'll smell it really far up inside this time."

My nephew blushes and they walk off together. "But we have to be fast," I
hear him say again.

And what happened next, I have no idea. The boys were a madhouse, I got
stuck with the adults, and I have no idea if Jackson banged Gage up his
11-year-old birthday butt or not. It was out of my line of obsevation from
that point on.

But honest to God, that's how it happened, Jace. I couldn't make this stuff
up if I tried.

Beautiful Gage. Magnificent ass.

Just like your ass when I was 14 and you were 11, and I used to fuck you in
the butthole, all summer long.

Beautiful memories, man.

Boys and the asses they fuck.

Boys and the magic they smell.

All sweet summer long.

Love, Ben

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

WEEKEND: DANNY

Damn it, after a long week, I drew the short straw. I have to work the
weekend again, supervising the changing room at the boys summer soccer camp
where I'm one of the four coach-counselors on staff. I've been doing it for
six years now.

Only I lied about the size of the straw.

The straw is, in fact, not very short at all in my eyes, because I love
this type of weekend work.

Especially when 12-year-old Danny Rios is on the team.

I've got three favorite boys on the team. Joey Forrester, who I've known
and enjoyed for three years now. And Devin McMillan, who's a brand new
treasure to me this summer and just learning the ropes. And now Danny Rios,
who doesn't have a clue, but he just might be the most interesting of them
all. A rare boy. An unknowing boy.

Whoof. It's an amazing lineup of boys this year. It does my heart
wonders. My heart spins, my nose rejoices, and my dick does somersaults.

Like most boys, Danny Rios has his own unique personality, as well as a few
quirks.

"He's a very heavy sleeper," his mom told me when I first met her at camp
orientation, four days before soccer camp was about to begin. "You'll have
a difficult time waking him. He sleeps through any movement or any alarm."

"That's not a problem, Mrs. Rios," I reassured her, "I'm sure Danny's not
the only one I'll have trouble waking up. And besides, when the other boys
wake up, there's usually enough noise to wake a sleeping city. I'm sure
we'll get Danny out of his bunk one way or another."

"But Danny actually has a diagnosed sleep disorder," she said
nervously. "His REM cycle is abnormally deep. He has very inhibited sensory
activity. He sleeps so deeply you can't wake him even if you shake him or
blow an air horn in his ear. It's almost like hibernation, it's that deep."

"Wow," I said. "That's impressive."

"Yeah," she shrugged, and she gave a soft, nervous, laugh. "I didn't want
you to think he died the first time you tried to wake him up in the
morning. It really is nerve-wracking if you've never seen it before."

"Don't worry," I assured her. "He'll be fine. I'll have four or five of the
boys jump on him until we get him up and moving."

"That's the other thing," she added with a little wince, worried she was
putting me out or trying my patience. "Danny's great with other boys, but
he's not good at sleeping in a room with other kids. He wakes up confused
and foggy. It's called confusional arousal disorder. It's a form of
extended sleep inertia. It lasts several minutes. Until he fully wakes up
and understands where he is, it's almost like watching a drunk person. It's
harmless, and it's over in a few minutes so it's nothing to worry about,
but it's a little scary and odd if you've never seen it before."

"Thank you for telling me," I nodded. "I'll be ready for it."

"And I truly hate to ask," she said, "But Danny's so embarrassed about all
of his sleep disorders, it's been giving him terrible anxiety to even think
of bunking with other boys. He's been crying about it for a week, scared
and nervous. He doesn't want to miss soccer camp, he's so excited, but he's
terrified of the group sleeping arrangement with all of the other
boys. He's barely eaten for a week, he's so scared. Is there anything you
can do to accommodate?"

I looked at her, the desperation evident across her face.

"Oh my goodness!" I smiled. "Not a problem at all. Please tell him he
doesn't have to worry. That poor boy, making himself sick over this. Oh my
goodness, so easily fixed! We have a couple of private bunk rooms
here. Small private bedrooms. For kids with special needs and special
medical conditions. And this one certainly qualifies! We'll just set Danny
up in one of those private rooms. No problem at all. He can sleep there and
wake up alone, at his own speed. None of the other boys will see a
thing. He'll be very private."

"Oh, that's such a relief," she sighed loudly. You could actually hear her
expelling the breath she'd been holding. "That takes the weight of the
world away. I can pay for whatever extra it costs."

"Oh no," I said. "We don't charge anything extra for that. Wouldn't think
of it. We're more than happy to accommodate him!"

"Oh, thank you," she sighed again. "Thank you, thank you."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Rios," I smiled. "I'll take good care of Danny for
you. He'll be fine...really!"

Four days later, I was on weekend changing room duty with Danny, and he was
just about to pull his soccer shorts off.

I love watching Danny in the process of removing his shorts. He does it
very slowly. I love how his little thimble-cock, when it reaches the
waistband, causes the pull-down process to stop momentarily and then SNAPS
over it. Boing. Another Danny quirk. Thimble snappy cock.

Danny is one of two boys who won't shower after games. His parents think
it's more appropriate for him to shower in private, so on regular Saturday
meets, he skips the shower, changes back into his clothes, and heads back
home.

Weekend camps are different. There's no one here to take him home until
Sunday afternoon pickup, but he still doesn't shower, perhaps out of habit
or instruction from his parents, but then again, maybe not.

I think the real reason Danny doesn't want to take a shower with the other
boys is because his dick is so fucking small.

I mean, there's small and then there's Danny.

I've seen 6-year-old boys with bigger dicks. Bless him, even if it tripled
in size when he sprang a boner, it would still be hard-put (no pun
intended) to reach the 3-inch mark on a ruler.

So Danny stays out of the shower all weekend and he doesn't change his
underwear.

I can't believe he'll do soccer camp all day Friday, not shower, not change
undies, then do it again all day Saturday, not shower, not change undies,
then do it again all day Sunday, until he goes home at five in the
afternoon. I can't believe he'll go all weekend long without changing out
of those ripe, sweaty little boy undies, but that's Danny.

And of course, I don't mind one bit because after dinner, when all the
other boys are showered, clean and fed, Danny is the one you can smell
walking past you even if your eyes are closed.

That waft of 12-year-old boy sweat lingers in the air, and even without
effort, I lock onto that dank, ripe aroma as he walks past me, and I smile
deeply to myself, knowing Danny has his own private bunk room at night
because of his sleep disorder.

The thing is, after Danny settles in and all the camp counselors head to
their rooms, including me, I don't hit the pillow for my well-earned
rest. I wait exactly two hours, and I can tell you, it's the longest two
hours of my life.

The first hour is a cacophony of high pitched boy voices, screams, giggles,
laughter and shouts of "you farted," followed by uncontrollable boy
laughter. But by the last quarter of the second hour, you can hear a pin
drop. Exhausted soccer boys, fast asleep.

At the two-hour mark, I creep out of my room like I'm a high schooler at
camp myself, and I head to Danny's room.

I carry my Ozarka water bottle filled fifty-fifty with Grey Goose and Pear
Tree Tonic as I put the key in the lock and carefully open it.

Once inside, I lock it again and check my watch. It's midnight. It was
Lights-Out at 10 before the hour of madness in the main bunkhouse. Most of
the boys have been asleep since 11 or 11:30. Danny was probably an hour
ahead of them and he's sleeping like a baby. Like a deep,
sensory-inhibited, REM-fucked beautiful little hibernating baby bear. Come
to Papa.

And it's only midnight.

And he's only twelve.

And he hasn't showered today.  .  And he fucking stinks.

And I fucking love it.  .  And I don't have to be up until seven.

And it's only midnight.

"He's a very heavy sleeper," his mom told me. "You'll have a difficult time
waking him. He sleeps through any movement or any alarm."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Rios," I whispered in the dark, smiling at her sleeping
Danny and stroking his soft, sweaty head. "He'll be just fine."

I leaned down to smell his head. Pure, fragrant, crusty-dry boy sweat,
crisp around his ear line.

"His REM cycle is excessively deep," his mother's voice echoed in my
mind. "He sleeps so deeply you can't wake him even if you shake him or blow
an air horn in his ear. It's almost like hibernation, it's that deep."

I slowly pulled the covers back and was rewarded with a different kind of
boy stink, rich and sour and earthy-sweet, coming from lower. Danny didn't
stir.

"Don't worry," I whispered to Mrs. Rio in the boy-stinky darkness. "I'll
take very good care of him."

I pulled Danny's pajama bottoms down and admired the moonlit shape of his
undie-covered ass. I could smell his scent in every rich molecule of
air. The room was ripe with his dirty perfection.

"Beautiful, Danny." I whispered to him. "You smell so beautiful for
me. Just lay there. Just lay there and sleep."

I uncapped my bottle and took a long slow sip. I closed my eyes and
smiled. Sighed deeply in the night.

If Mrs. Rios only knew I was about to spend the next six hours perving over
her precious son's cute, stinky, oily little bottom. peeling his sweaty
underpants off and sitting there sniffing them for a while as I stare at
his bum, quietly sipping my Grey Goose and Pear Tree Tonic.

I'm in awe of his innate sexual beauty, stroking my cock over it, parting
his cheeks so I can inspect his moist, sweaty prepubescent boycrack, and
sniffing it directly, my nose making contact with his anus, taking deep,
deep sniffs of the sweaty, stinky, empowering little anus of her son. It
makes my cock so hard to smell his anus like that. I'd lick it, but I don't
want the smell to go away.

If Mrs. Rios only knew I was about to lubricate the little finger of my
left hand with some petroleum jelly and spend the next eight to ten minutes
gently rotating it around Danny's stinky little anus before ever-so-slowly
letting it slip into his anal slit, watching as Danny's anal tube encases
my little finger, first knuckle, then second, until I sink slowly, deeply,
fully into his rectum.

Using my right hand to slowly stroke my uber-throbbing, boy-triggered
man-boner, I gently utter, "Ohhh, Danny. Ohhh gaaawddd, Danny. I'm
fingering your sweaty little bum, Danny, and you don't even know it. I'm
finger fucking your rectum Danny. I'm finger fucking your stinky little boy
hole while I drink my Grey Goose and Pear Tree Tonic and I cum on your
floor."

"I'm deep-fucking your bum, Danny, and I'm going to cum on your floor. And
you don't even know it."

And I do.

And I do it again.

And I do it again and he never even stirs.

So, anyway, I have to work the weekend again.

Bummer.

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Author's Note:

A younger Jackson from "Nudged: Gage" also appears in:

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/doggie-sniffers
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/pwince-is-pwegnant
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/casey-in-the-clubhouse
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/best-little-handjobs-in-texas

An older Jackson will be back soon making a really sticky mess in "Jackson
in the Jelly Jar."

Y'all come back now, ya' hear?

Love,
Zach

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