Date: Wed, 20 Jul 2016 21:47:45 +0100 (BST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Smell This 21

SMELL THIS 21
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 doJaked to Nifty? Here's your chance to
correct that oversight.

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

On with the show.

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

PROLOGUE: MOMENTS

You: Don't you just love those rare, fleeting opportunities to look right
at a boy's cute ass, in his jeans, as he leans over to do something?

Perhaps he's reaching for something. Maybe he's looking in a drawer,
fiddling about with a DVD player putting on a movie. Whatever he's doing,
don't you just love those rare times that you get to be so close to his
butt?

Don't you just love being able to see the top of his underpants over his
jeans? Clocking them in your mind; the color, the brand, and working out
your opportunity to get your hands on them as soon as you can.

So you can sniff them.

And smell his ass.

His little asshole.

Knowing he's just a boy.

Don't you just love those rare, opportune moments?

Me: Oh, fuck. YES. The rare, opportune moment. SO SPECIAL. So "bonus." And
they happen out of nowhere. Mark tells a poignant story about D, the boy he
used to sniff butts with. They started sniffing each other's butts at
6. But then they got caught doing it with some other boys, and there was
big parental drama, and they stopped.

But they remained friends, just with no sniffing. And at one point they
were about 12 or 13, and D was up in Mark's room and he leaned forward,
bent over to do something. Can't remember what. Plug in a lamp, or plug in
a stereo or something, and D's jean-clad butt was RIGHT in M's face. And M
just leaned forward as close as he dared while D was distracted and sniffed
and sniffed and sniffed, hoping, praying to God to catch any faint hit of
the now-off-limits butthole he so loved and so sniffed when he was little.

I need him to repeat that story for me. I'm fuzzy on the details. But it
was a rare, opportune moment. He so missed sniffing that boy. He used to
poke berries up that little boy's 6-year-old butt. Berries from the back
yard. Tried to poke a peach pit up it too, but it wouldn't fit.

He says he can still perfectly recall the scent of D's butt when they were
six.

There was a boy at our church retreat, Javi. Pretty boy. Very
dark-skinned. African-American dad, Mexican mom. Gorgeous boy. At one
point, he was helping one of the little kids tie a shoe. And he bent over,
and I saw his undie band...Adidas...and just the tiniest, tiniest SLIVER of
his butt crack.

A rare, opportune moment. And oh God, I wanted to sniff him so badly, it
made my whole history ache.

Plus, he's so delicate. So clearly on the verge of being gay when he
figures out what his weenie is for. I just adore him. And I saw just the
faintest, faintest hint of his butt crack. Stinky, beautiful precious boy
crack. I bet it smells like Cheerios and magic. Dusty, wheat-and-flour,
whole-oat goodness of a boy crack.

I wanted to smell Javi's almost-gay boy pussy and dream about how lucky the
man or boy will be who inevitably, someday, gets to smell it for real.

"Smell this," Javi tells me gently, batting soft eyes and bending over to
tie his shoe as he presents me with a rare, opportune moment. "It's okay,
Zee. I don't mind. Smell this."

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

SNIFFCHAT: MINXCAM

Me: Just back from three days with the Hub and the MiL at the Paradise
Resort in Orlando. The minxcam was poppin' like boy cherries.

Boy ass everwhere, my friend. Sniffable, huffable boy ass around every
fucking corner.

An insane amount of boy ass. My balls never stopped aching and my dick
never stopped tingling.

You: Ohhhh damn, damn, dayyyyymnnnnnnn!

Where the fuck IS this place? What the fuck was going on? It looks like an
Annual Boylovers Convention. Fuckinghell!

EVERY ONE of them worthy of a notable mention, but some just drove me right
there in an instant! I did not pass "Go," I didn't not collect one single
fucking dollar. I went straight to Tingleville!

1, 2 and 3 boy! Red shirt, baseball cap, blue shorts. Fuck, fuck, fuck,
yesss! I love his style, his vibe, his face, his hair, everything about
him. I don't know who he is, who he belongs to, where he came from or where
he's going, but I know one thing - I'd sniff his sweaty little bottom in a
fucking heartbeat! (...and if I can't do that, I'll happily fall back onto
my hotel bed with a pair of his little underpants shoved in my face and
jack off).

Ohhhh for fuck's sake, boys everywhere! What does the sign say on the front
of the hotel, "HOTEL FOR BOYS?" Oh, man! - But stand out for me is boy
11/12, walking up the stair, blue teeshirt. I just think he's all boy and
looks like the kind of boy who gets himself nice and sweaty! So hot! How
the fuck did you make it through?

Also, 18, 19, 20. Arguably the youngest lil minx of the entire bunch and
totally sniffalicious! I want to sniff his stinky lil butt while he holds
his two teddy bears and tries to eat his ice cream at the same
time. Gawwsssh, he's just a little guy! But you took a photo of him. You
did it because you think he's a little hottie, didn't you, pervert! You
were actually turned on by him, imagining what his little bottom smelled
like, weren't you? I swear. This never gets old.

Me: Isn't that just beautifully filthy of me? Seriously, man. I don't care
if he can't do his times tables past 3's, or he doesn't even know his own
home phone number yet. I'm still going to creep up into his Pokémon and
teddy bear bedroom after he falls alseep and sniff his stinky little
babyhole like the Mad Nose-Rapist of Analsniff Park. Sniff it like the
filthy, pervy, dirty old man I am, and jack off and leave my cumwad on his
carpet so he wakes up and steps on it in the morning with his little bare
feet and goes, "Ewww, some Go-Gurt got spilled."

My own self-proclaimed noble AoA of 8-14 is just a passing flight of fancy
when I see a little teddy bear sniffpiece like that. Hot doesn't even begin
to describe it. IN HEAT needing to smell his babyhole is much more like
it. Craving his ass like he's a 45-year-old wizened bar whore from
Galveston, sitting on the corner bar stool with no front teeth, scratching
his/her fly-ridden cunt and sucking down a Shiner Bock.

My mouth actually waters standing in line behind him looking at his stinky
little smellybutt. I feel levels of lust no sane person should ever feel
about a boy so young, but still I can't help it. I just need my nose in his
snatch. Need it so far up his wiggly little stinkfish he'll squeal out loud
for Grandpa.

Example from the grocery store today. I rounded the produce bend to pick up
an onion, and this little skinnybutt, stinkybutt, prettybutt, plaidbutt boy
was standing right there in front of me, and wham. I literally could not
stop staring at his tight little stinkcheeks.

I didn't even give shit number one what his face looked like. I just kept
staring at his skinny little boy ass. It had me hypnotized, man. It held me
sway. The shape, the skinniness, the undoubtedly sweet vinegar boy smell of
his most private, secret place. His doo-doo hole. His stinky
button. Whatever he calls it. I wanted it in my face. I followed it around
the store.

I followed it past onions, round the corner to mushrooms, over to the left
to prepackaged salad mix, all the way past pistachios and straight up to
the fish counter where I stared and stared and stared at it some more. You
couldn't have pried me away from following his ass if you'd have told me my
car was being stolen. Fuck it. Take the keys. Leave me alone.

And I always think the same thing when I'm snapping minxcam pictures of a
boy's butt in public. "Gotta spycam it for Brad. Gotta show Brad his stinky
little butt." Certain boy butts do that to me. Well, *most* boy butts
actually. And fuck, man. I'm so focused on the shape and perfection and the
stink of his butt, I'm nearly completely uninterested in photographing his
face. His face is just a begrudging afterthought, like, "Eh, yeah, I
suppose I should take a picture from the front too, in case anybody really
needs to know what his face looks like."

But seriously, for a full five minutes at the store tonight, probably more,
I just followed this little boy around, taking picture after picture of his
beautiful, tiny, baby little stink ass, and when I got out to the car to
review the camera roll, I had 50 shots of his ass, and maybe four shots of
his face. And I'm not kidding. I could have taken my cock out right there
in the car and moaned and jacked off until the security guy in the golf
cart politely tapped on the window and asked me to move along.

I'm telling you man, the ass is all that matters. Fuck the face. I'll
follow boy ass in the grocery store forever. FOR...fucking...EVER. When
viewing a boy and mapping out my fantasies, I start at the back and work my
way forward. The back is where the honey is.

The younger the better.

Baby got back.

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

MAILBAG: JON

Dudes,

I am a dedicated fan of your Smell This series (and other posts) on Nifty
and always look forward to each installment with anticipation. I certainly
appreciate the time and effort you put into your work.

Not many other authors on Nifty or elsewhere can hit my triggers the way
you do! Until I found your stories, I thought I must be the only guy around
with a taste for sniffing boy ass (LOL).

Guess I developed my peculiar "hobby" as a teenager when I used to smell my
young cousin's ass while he was sleeping or while we were
wrestling. Sniffed a lot of boys that way and figured they were
none-the-wiser.

Love sniffing their dirty undies too and, when the opportunity has
presented itself, I have been known to "borrow" a pair of nicely stained
stinkers for my private use at home. Such an opportunity hasn't come around
for me in a while but your stories keep the memories alive.

My preferences generally don't include any kind of penetration, so I
especially love the parts of your stories that focus on the sniffing,
licking and oral fun.

My dream is to become a leader or counselor at Camp Starlander* - that
would be awesome! It would be great if I could hand pick a group of little
stinkers to spend the summer with there but, on second thought, a random
selection of wild, sweaty, little boys would be perfect for a season's
adventure. Where can I sign up?

[*Editor's Note: Jon is referring to the Nifty story "Banging the Boys of
Camp Starlander," which is heavily sniff/scent/skid-focused. URL at the end
of this posting. Scroll way down.]  Anyway, Brad, it is very nice to meet
you! I would like to personally thank you for introducing me to Jura, Joel,
Braden and Jack Allen. I think that was you; can't always remember which of
you wrote which stories but those four little stinkers really stand out to
me. I certainly do appreciate your penmanship and your taste (and nose) for
the topic.

I was thirteen and my cousin, Richie, was eight when I discovered how good
he smelled. To the dismay of his mom (and mine, when he slept over), Richie
did not like taking a bath and was known for going days without one, and he
was a VERY active boy - maybe a bit hyperactive. There was never a dull
moment when he was around because he was always running, jumping and
tumbling. He was a "live-wire", as the adults would say at the time. Cute,
energetic, and mischievous, Richie was all boy and he was always dirty and
sweaty.

Anyway, after three or four days of his high octane boy hijinks and no
shower, I could catch an occasional whiff of his tangy little asshole just
by sitting near him. I guess I didn't really understand the effect his
scent had on me at the time and I probably couldn't have explained it, but
I started to become obsessed with smelling his butt.

I started looking for his dirty underwear when I was at his house. His room
was always a disaster and there were clothes and toys and cheesy smelling
socks everywhere, but I hit the jackpot when I checked the bathroom hamper.

I was trembling with excitement when I found the undies he had been wearing
when he played baseball with his Little League team the day before. I
remembered seeing the waistline of the faded yellow underwear above the
back of his baseball pants when he was running around the house after the
game with his shirt and shoes off, but still wearing his pants and baseball
cap. A pair of well-worn Joe Boxer boxer briefs that he had probably been
wearing for three or four days.

With my prize in hand, I checked to make sure the bathroom door was locked
and that no mischievous boy was peeking in the window as I had encountered
more than once before during more innocent trips to the bathroom. Only when
I was sure it was safe did I take a look at the treasure I had found.

I immediately looked for the signature of his sweaty little ass and I was
not disappointed by what I found. My heart was pounding in my chest as I
turned his undies inside out to examine the perfect set of racing stripes
in the seat.

"Mmm, Richie," I said aloud and immediately panicked, wondering if I had
said it too loud.

I was in awe of the triple set of skid marks my little cousin had left for
me. One long, darker mark in the middle with two shorter and lighter ones
on either side and fading to a diffuse tan on either end. I could smell his
scent before I brought his turned-out undies to my nose.

I was so nervous I barely had the breath to inhale and all of my blood had
rushed to my horny thirteen-year-old cock. Time stood still as I
experienced the deliciously tangy, earthy, sweaty, boyishly delicious smell
of his dirty little ass. It was like inhaling some kind of drug.

Some part of my brain that had already been reacting to his scent imprinted
on the concentrated, spicy aroma in his undies that day and a permanent
craving to seek more of it was switched on. Nothing I had experienced up
until that time had been more erotic.

"Mmmm," I moaned quietly as I huffed his scent as fantasy images of
sniffing and licking his funky asshole flooded my mind. I sniffed different
spots to find the best smell before taking a break to exhale.

I sniffed the front of his undies and the pouch of cloth in the crotch that
had held his sweaty, hairless little nuts, and the corresponding area of my
brain lit up again, imprinting once more but this time on the unique,
sweetly sour tang and delightfully yeasty scent of boy cock.

It was then and there that I realized for sure that I wanted to suck his
little dick until I brought him to a squealing, squirming boygasm.

"So fuckin' hot, Richie," I whispered as if he was there with his hard
little bone in my mouth.

Rubbing my hard dick through my jeans, I imagined kneeling in front of him,
his baseball shirt open, cap backwards, pants and underwear balled up
around one ankle as he held my head and fed me his rock hard cocklet. Then,
with another whiff of his ass from the seat of his boystained undies, I
suddenly came in my pants. I gasped and huffed his ass scent as I shot off.

After my ordinary senses returned, I quickly shoved his undies back in the
hamper and flushed the toilet. I turned on the water in the sink and washed
my hands a long time so I could recover my composure.

>From then on, when Richie was around, I couldn't think about anything
else. That's why I loved wrestling with him so much. To him it was a
rambunctious battle between Transformers or Army soldiers but to me it was
an opportunity to get my face near his stinky little crack.

I'll tell you more about that another time.

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

BUCKETS: DENNY

Some time earlier, Denny and I had been giggling together, saying "naughty
words."

I'd say, "Errrrrr... (like I was thinking hard)... PUSSY!" and he'd just
crack up on the spot. He thought it was so funny to hear me say it with an
exponential rise in volume in my voice until I blurted it out.

"errrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMM ASS!" he shouted back.

I cracked up too. Not just because it was the right thing to do, but
because it was funny as fuck to me.

I was in awe of him. He was simply playing games with me. It was the start
of a fun and intimate grooming of him.

After the word "penis" inevitably popped up (no pun), I continued the game
by offering a namesake, such as "dick," to which he would reply, "Cock!"

We were hysterical.

"All this talk about penises has made mine a little agitated," I told him,
making sure he could see me re-arranging myself.

"Me too," he quickly added, wanting so much to say and do whatever it was
Uncle Brad was saying or doing.

After some progressive gameplay, during which time things got increasingly
"naughty," and, at times, quite perverse before I pulled it back (again, no
pun), we spoke about showing each other our "Peeneye" - That's the word I
had come up with to talk about Denny's penis and mine at the same time and
he thought it was so funny, that all I had to do to make him laugh was
blurt out the word, "Peeneye!"

Inevitably, I soon plucked up the courage to tell him that I would show him
mine if he showed me his. He cracked up at the suggestion, telling me, "Me
and my best friend Jake did the same thing at camp."

"Did you, did you?" I asked, as though I was as surprised as I was excited
to hear him confess that to me. Denny thought it was cool that he could
tell me and I was okay with it.

"Tell you what, dude," I began to explain to him. I'll go into the garage
and wait for you there. If you've got the balls to take off all your
clothes and come into the garage and show it to me naked, I'll pull my
jeans down and show you mine.

Hs smiles yielded to contemplation. Straight faced and pensive, I wondered
if I'd gone too far. Then, suddenly, as though we were playing the game
again, he blurted out: "PEEENEYE!" and we both fell apart.

"Okay, okay, dude," I said, trying to calm him down. "Stop laughing before
you pee yourself," and with that, I got up and went into the garage and
waited.

And waited.

And waited.

This was nuts. What the fuck was I doing? What had I just done? He's
probably on the phone to his dad right now telling him about this, "cool
game that me and Uncle Brad are playing." I had burdened him with
that. Ohhgawwdd, what had I done?

I saw the handle turn on the door into the garage.

I gulped and struggled to swallow my cotton mouth.

"Ready?" I heard from the sweetest little angelic voice you've ever heard.

I gulped again. Would he really be naked when he opened that door?

Well, he was, and he came in pretty confident, jumping around making silly
noises, perhaps a little embarrassed that he was naked, but trying to laugh
it all off as one, big joke.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was so young and beautiful. And little.

"Now you!" he shouted at me, a smile beaming across his tender young face.

I'll never forget the day in the garage with Denny.

Chapter 87

As Denny got older, we'd regularly play "naughty games" as we'd labelled
them.

"Wanna come to my room with me and play naughty games?" he'd ask. When he
was 10, it was just something fun and interesting for him. A little
exciting. It wasn't sexual in any way and I never made it so. I was just
always happy to see him naked and save those images in my mind for later.

But, when he reached the ripe old age of 12, he had become fully sexual of
his own accord. No help need. Nothing I could've done or not done would
change the natural and primal desires of a boy who has just found out how
amazing it feels to jerk off.

Later I would find out, during one of our "naughty games," that he had a
"thing." He liked wetting his finger and circling it around his sticky
little asshole when he jerked off.

"Makes me cum buckets!" he confessed when I asked him why, and we both
cracked up in a now predictable fashion.

How lucky did I get that that this was his thing? It allowed me to talk to
him about the fact that he shouldn't be shy about enjoying the sensitivity
of his butthole. Of course, he'd crack up every time I said "butthole," but
once we were past that, he was very engaging and curious.

"One of the things I love the most is being licked there," I told him. When
he was 10, cracking up would've been the ensuing response. Not now he's
12. Not now he's jerked off countless times rotating his wet middle
fingerpad around his little tight cunt. Now it makes perfect sense to him.

With a proven track record in being able to keep secrets, it wasn't long
before he asked me.

"Uncle Brad?"

"Sup, bud?"

"There's no way on Earth you would... er... lick mine for me... is there?"

"You telling me or asking me, dude?" I played with him.

He thought for a moment and then said, "I guess I'm asking you."

Less than a minute later, his bedroom door was looked and all he was
wearing was his skinny blue vest. He was always very comfortable about
being naked around me. This time, he was a little apprehensive.

"You really gonna do this?" he inquired, as he rolled back onto his bed,
picking up his feet and holding his right leg back with his hand under his
upper thigh.

"Yeah, if you want me to."

He just looked at me. Disbelief across his smooth, preteen face.

"Come on, dude," I reassured him. "You know how I feel about you now. It's
hardly a secret, right? I'd love to lick your butthole for you."

"Stop saying butthole!" he said, cracking up.

That's all it took to burn off those few stray strands of
inhibition. Before the clock registered another minute, we were right down
to business, with my tongue flesh-to-flesh in his stinky starfish. Tasting
the sharp, bitter-tang of his 12yo, raw, sticky anushole, I was in love
with him more than ever before.

And he loved me a little bit more too.

Talk about "cum buckets."

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

SCHOOLBOY: NICKY

How can you resist the ass on this beautiful blonde boy?

This boy's name is Nicky. And Nicky is in my Sunday school class at
church. And he's always there every Sunday. His mom and dad bring him
faithfully to church.

But I've noticed something about Nicky. And it's not that unusual because
most boys do it to some degree.

I will catch him from time to time with his finger and his hand quickly
down the back of his pants like he's scratching an itch in his crack, then
when he brings his hand out, I see him sniff his fingers, smelling his butt
smell.

Well, you know, that's not abnormal. Lots and lots of boys do that. It's
just sort of a thing that boys do, it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Except with Nicky, there's an intensity to the sniffing that I've never
observed with other boys before, so I really start watching him. And when
he brings those fingers up to his nose, you can see his eyes close. And he
really gets off on the smell of his butt.

And so I decide I'm going to explore this a little bit with Nicky. And so
one Sunday, I keep him after Sunday school class for a few minutes and I
ask him, just point blank, "So, Nicky, do you ever scratch your butt and
sniff it?"

And his cheeks just turn this most beautiful color pink, and kind of looks
down and he grins and giggles, so he's a little bit embarrassed, but he's
not horrified that I know this about him.

And I say, "So, tell me. Do you like the smell?"

And he doesn't look up, he just sort of rolls his eyes up toward me and
nods his head and says, "Uh-huh. I like it." He almost whispers it to
me. "I like the way my butt smells."

Well, you can imagine I just about came in my pants when he said that he
likes the way that his butt smells. And then almost without missing a beat
he says, "But I like the way it smells in the morning best before I take my
bath."

And I thought, oh Lord, we've got a boy here who knows what he likes. Not
only does he like sniffing his own ass, but he likes to sniff it in the
morning after he's been asleep all night.

He says, "I sniff it sometimes in the morning before I get up."

Oh, Lord. And so I said to him, "Well, Nicky, the next time you feel like
you need to scratch your butt and sniff your finger, would it be okay if I
sniff it with you?"

And he really giggles this time and he says, "Uh-huh, that would be okay."

And so the next Sunday morning, sure enough, he lingered after class until
the other kids are gone and then he looked over at me and he grinned and he
put his hand in his pants and ran it down inside and I could just imagine
how he was running those little fingers down into his crack and across that
sticky pucker, and he pulled them back out and he just kind of held the
fingers out and he looked up at me and grinned.

And I just walked over and I leaned down and as he brought those fingers to
his nose, I began to sniff this boy's stink as well, and oh God, it was the
most beautiful sour cheesy smell of boy ass. Not dirty, or shitty, just the
smell, the natural smell of the boy who's had 10 or 12 hours since his last
shower.

He probably bathed sometime yesterday afternoon, Saturday afternoon, so he
had all evening and all night for that little crack to cook, and oh, I
smelled him and I literally couldn't help myself. I groaned out loud.

And he giggled and he said, "So, Mr. Michael, do you like it?"

And I said, "Oh, Nicky. I love it."

And I said, "Can I ask you something really important?"

And he said, "Sure."

And I said, "I'd like to smell it right from the source."

He kind of furrowed his brow and looked at me like he didn't understand and
I said, "I'd like to just smell your butt. Not your butt on your fingers."

And he giggled and said, "That's nasty, isn't it?"

And I said "No, Nicky. It's not nasty at all. I would love to smell your
butt. I'd love to put my nose right down in your crack and just smell what
your butt smells like. And I'll tell you something else, Nicky. If you'll
keep this a secret between the two of us, I'll give you ten dollars every
time you let me sniff your hiney."

And so that's how it began.

Because I was friends with Nicky's parents, I would come over to his house
in the afternoon when he would get home from school and before they would
get home from work and he would lay down on the floor right in front of the
TV, because sometimes he would watch TV and sometimes he would play his
video games, and he would lay down and look over his shoulder and just look
at me and grin and giggle and then I would lay down and crawl up between
his spread little legs and just sniff his ass.

And the beauty of it was, after one or two visits, he got brave enough that
he let me pull those little pants down, and pull his little panties down
and put my nose right in his crack flesh. I got to smell him, flesh on
flesh. And smell it at its source.

Ohhhh, the musky, earthy, sour, vinegar smell of this little boy's hole. Oh
my goodness, sometimes he would let me peel the cheeks apart and push my
nose down in so that it almost touched his sticky little pucker and he
would just giggle when I would do that.

And I'd just sniff and literally jack myself off while I was sniffing
little Nicky's schoolboy butt.

Accommodating. Patient. Stinky as a Sunday School angel.

Nicky's a good boy everybody.

Everybody meet Nicky.

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

OBSESSION: OPIE

Brad and Mark will tell you, one of my most embarrassing and guilty
pleasures is my absolute obsession with Opie Taylor's ass and asshole on
the old "Andy Griffith Show."

And let me be specific here please.

I'm talking about Opie Taylor's ass and asshole. Not Ronny Howard's ass and
asshole. Those are two ENTIRELY different boys. And I'm fixated on the
character, not the boy actor.

"Oh my goodness," Mark wrote to me when I told him I was writing this
essay, "You really do love Opie's ass!!"

"And I learned something new," he laughed. "You distinguish between Ronny
Howard's butt and Opie Taylor's butt!"

"Oh, Jesus yes," I wrote back. "Opie Taylor's ass and Ronny Howard's ass
are two entirely different entities. Entirely. Apples and oranges."

Also, I differentiate greatly between Opie's ass and Opie's assHOLE. Those
are two wildly different things as well. Both exciting. Both arousing as
all get-out. But totally different animals.

There. With those distinctions aside, now we can begin.

First of all, Opie's magnificent boyass. I literally never get tired of
looking at it. I absolutely STUDY it.

I mean, I liked it just fine when it only showed up in syndicated
reruns. I've been staring at it since I was a 10-year-old, sexually-aware
kid, after school. But now thanks to Netflix streaming, I can stare at
Opie's little Mayberry bluejeaned boyass for hours at a time and pause and
take notes. I can now fucking BINGE watch Opie's ass. And I DO. How scary
is that? (I wish there was a switch to turn off this wiring of mine
sometimes, but there's not. Vodka helps, but it's short-lived).

The funny part about writing this homage to Opie's ass, is I already know
some hardcore BL Opie fuckfan is going to go into the Nifty search engine
at some point in the near future, hoping to pull up some new celebrity hits
or comparative name-drops on Opie in general. (There are already 22 Nifty
stories that mention Opie as of this writing).

And this total-Opie-fuckguy will be dearly hoping some new and dedicated
Opie perv will be writing about Floyd the Barber sucking Opie's little
cocklet or Barney putting his wiener up Opie's Hey-Paw itchy little
butthole, but nope.

The new story hit is just going to be me, right here, talking about
sniffing Opie's asshole and staring at his boyass in episode after episode
after long-admiring episode. What a disappointment I'm going to be to that
Opiefuck search engine guy. Jesus, man. I'm so sorry in advance. This
essay's going to be a total letdown for you. I'm only going to admire
Opie's ass and sniff his little asshole. I might lick it a little at the
end if I get super horned up, but otherwise I'm sorry to stop at plain old
anus-sniffing, but that's the Opie wiring I got stuck with. Born this
way. Too late to change it.

And I should be totally clear here, folks. I'm not some fly-by-night, mild,
lackluster fan of Opie's ass. I don't write this tribute lightly or
flippantly. Opie's ass hangs the moon and stars for me. I'm obsessed with
it. I'm an Opie's Ass Retro Stalker. I'm an in-depth SCHOLAR. I keep notes
on where his ass appears in each episode, what it looks like, and what it's
actually doing for the camera. For ME.

Season 4, Episode 12. "Opie and His Merry Men." While Sheriff Andy tricks
the hobo into leaving town by offering him a job, we're treated to a lovely
profile shot of Opie's perky bubble-ass at time index 22:29. Opie puts his
thumb in his back pocket, then in the next cutaway, he puts four fingers in
his back pocket, touching his own magnificent ass cheek, followed by a
lovely sequence ending at 22:59 where he actually squats his ass DOWN on
the heels of his sneakers to help the hobo pack his bedroll, and when he
does, his ass is pointed STRAIGHT at the camera. Twice. Marvelous ass
shots.

Season 4, Episode 26. "A Deal is a Deal." Right off the bat to open the
episode from 00:26 to 00:51, the camera lingers on Opie's perfect ass as
Opie and little friend Johnny Paul try to sell Miracle Salve door to
door. They stand on a porch, ring the doorbell, and that ass is in full
bloom for 35 beautiful seconds. What else, I wonder lustily, could Miracle
Salve be used to lubricate and make way for, Ope? Feeling accommodating
today, little shaver? Whoof. The shot ends with a bonus turnaround as a
disappointed Opie walks away from the rejecting homeowner and we get a
two-second glance at his tiny little cocklet bump before the scene
cross-fades to the courthouse.

Season 5, Episode 9. "Opie's Fortune." Opie finds $50 in the road, and from
time index 08:44 to 08:54, we're treated to a marvelous side-view, then
back-view, of his magnificent ass as Opie not only admires the shiny new
bike he dreams of buying if Paw lets him keep the lost money after a week
of waiting for the owner to claim it, but then Opie he actually SITS on the
bike seat and grinds the fabric of his undies into his stinky little
Opie-of-Mayberry Anus-berry boy-sweaty, buttersweet hinder-hot
stink-spot. I've never wanted to lick a stinky pair of undies so badly in
my life.

Season 6, Episode 1. "Opie's Job" is a masterpiece. First of all, it's the
first time we see Opie's ass in full color. The opening title sequence is
reshot in color for the first time with an older Opie scampering along to
the fishing hole with Andy, skipping stones. His ass is older now, and more
inherently fuckable, and quite frankly, a revelation. At 00:44, Opie's
trying to impress a girl, Sharon, and rides his bike into a tree,
scratching his ass and showing how his undies have ripped through his jeans
at time index 00:44. Later, at 07:49, we see a magnificent Opie-ass
exit-shot as he leaves Wally's garage after talking to Goober about how to
find a job. And for Opiecock fans (I know you're out there), there's a
delicious segment from 11:51 to 11:56 where his fly is bunched open and the
tip of his shiny copper zipper shows. Attention to detail. Watch, and you
shall be rewarded.

Season 8, Episode 1. "Opie's Girlfriend." We get some amazing 13-year-old
bubbled-ass lawn scenes and a flash of white cotton undie band at 06:07
when Opie does a cartwheel in the front yard to impress a girl, and later,
from 07:06 to 07:11, Opie and his friend Arnold walk away down Mayberry
Main Street and Opie's ass is so sexy by this age, his cheeks actually
jiggle up and down as the camera tracks his exit. His butt cheeks actually
jiggle. I think I spontaneously came in my pants the first time I watched
this walkaway shot 40 years ago as a horny teenager myself.

I could go on and on, but it goes without saying, when I talk about
"liking" Opie's ass, I don't just give it lip service. It's not a passing
fancy. I actually log, time-index and screen-shot the magnificent
motherfucker for later reference. I'm talking about "liking" it to THAT
level. To the point where common sense goes out the window and medication
and therapy should probably be required.

Anyhoo.

Back to Opie's ass versus Opie's assHOLE. Because while I mother-of-God
APPRECIATE Opie's ASS to an astounding degree and I all-but stand up and
cheer when he bends over in scenes and you can see the spectacular bubble
and shape of his little Mayberry hinder, let's now move on and talk about
Opie's assHOLE, and the state it might be kept in at any particular time,
or in any particular episode, or in any particular day in the life of Opie
Taylor, the character. Opie Taylor, the boy.

First of all, Opie wears very clean clothing. If you'll notice, in every
single show, it looks like he's wearing a brand new pair of jeans fresh off
the store shelf. And honestly, they probably were. Probably the wardrobe
people for the show made sure to dress Ronny Howard in a steady supply of
very clean, new jeans to illustrate the fact that Aunt Bee would have done
everything in her power to not let this child go out in public in dirty
clothes, or old clothes, EVER.

Aunt Bee did not fuck around when it came to the laundry. That woman did a
damn good load of laundry. Opie Taylor was NOT going to school in ratty
jeans or in old jeans, so help her God. Aunt Bee would sooner cut off a tit
than let Opie wander the streets of Mayberry in shoddy jeans. Maybe other
caregivers would. But not Aunt Fucking Beatrice "Aunt Bee" Taylor. No
fucking sir.

And you have to assume the same was true of Opie's underwear. Because Aunt
Bee did the laundry, Opie's underwear were no doubt beyond spotless,
perhaps bordering on stunningly clean.

There's no doubt in my mind that Opie Taylor wore white, bleached,
scrubbed, fresh underwear, every single day of his life. I don't think Aunt
Bee would allow a skid mark in Opie's underwear. She would have chased
skids away with the power of her spectacular housekeeping, and if she
couldn't, she would have burned those fuckers in the fireplace or buried
them out in the woods far away from the neighbors prying eyes.

I don't know what the hell ladies used back then to get out skid marks, but
Aunt Bee probably used double. Triple. Quadruple.

Remember, Aunt Bee sort of raised Andy too, when he was a boy, so Aunt Bee
was no stranger to a boy's skid marks.

Wikipedia: "Aunt Bee returns to Mayberry after a five-year sojourn in
Morgantown, West Virginia, when Andy's housekeeper Rose marries and leaves
his house. Aunt Bee thereafter manages Andy's household and becomes Opie's
surrogate mother and grandmother. Andy explains to Opie that he was raised
by Aunt Bee, and Bee later mentions, without elaboration, having raised
other Taylors."

Well, fuck. That's a shit load of skid marks. This was not Aunt Bee's first
time at the racing stripe rodeo. She was a well-versed woman.

Aunt Bee would not have allowed Opie's underwear to be crusty or brown or
sullied AT ALL. She wouldn't even allow a light tan puff mark. She would
not have tolerated discoloration even for a minute. We all know that.

So, here's the Catch-22. The quandary. The delicious juxtaposition and the
maddening butt-sniffer's disconnect for me.

While Aunt Bee would not have allowed Opie's underwear to be anything but
fresh, clean and pristine when he headed out in the morning, by the time he
came home for supper at night, those underwear would have been STINKING!
Because Opie Taylor was an all-American boy!!!

Opie played! He played hard! He rode his bike and he played football and he
squatted down and he shot marbles. He ran down the street and he played in
the lawn and he wrestled with other boys, and HOLY MOLY! He got that ass
just sweaty and stinking up one side of his crack and down the other!!

Always in The Andy Griffith Show, there are scenes of Opie bending down on
the ground with other boys, or peering through windows to spy in on the
silliness of Barney. Lord, those are marvelous shots, Opie and his little
black and white 1960's friends, asses all lined up like ducks in a shooting
gallery with loving, lingering camera shots. (Season 5, Episode 2,
"Barney's Physical," time-index 16:05 through 16:35). It makes you want to
pull out your cock and slather it up and down on the whole row of them, hot
dog in a bun, like Tom Sawyer's friends whitewashing the picket fence. Only
the fence smells like boy crack and the paintbrush is your dick.

Opie was always bending over in his jeans. His butt was always poking
out. He was always on a bike seat. That undie fabric was getting wet with
anus-hole sweet-and-sour-sauce, hour after hour after hour after
all-active, stinky boyhole hour. Magnificent.

So, in that respect, if you would have caught Opie's underwear when they
came off of him at night, they were probably fabulously stinky. Without
question. They HAD to have been!

And plus, this was an era when boys didn't take baths every day. Good Lord,
there was practically no such thing as a shower unless you joined the
Army. Boys weren't regular bathers. Not even with Aunt Bee ruling in-house
hygiene with an iron fist. It just wasn't part of the culture yet, to bathe
nightly. Boys took a Saturday night bath so they were freshly scrubbed for
Sunday School, and that was about it! Lord, I wish I'd been born a dozen
years earlier.

And even figuring in the Aunt Bee factor, because she was more demanding
than most, well fuck, maybe Opie got TWO baths a week, okay? We'll give her
that benefit of the doubt, God bless her.

But typically, by the end of a Mayberry day? I think Opie's asshole
probably stunk to high boy heaven and smelled absolutely DIVINE. No matter
HOW thoroughly Aunt Bee tried to pad it and pack it in fresh, pristine
undies when he left the house each morning, by the time he came back for
supper, that thing had to have been high and mighty STINKING.

Also, in that era, when parents told you to clean up or take a bath or wash
really well, what language did they use? Certainly not, "Remember to wash
your asshole." Oh God, no. Aunt Bee would have fainted dead away before
she'd tell Opie to scrub his anus. The words simply would not be possible,
coming out of her mouth. She would have been stricken mute trying to utter
them. At best, she would have reminded him briskly to wash behind his ears.

Now granted, perhaps she left the asshole conversation to Andy. Maybe at
the supper table she'd catch a whiff in the air and realize Opie's asshole
had gone a little gamey from a hard day's play, but certainly without
vocalizing it, perhaps just a stern raised eyebrow in Andy's direction,
she'd send the completely unspoken signal to him: "Andy, Opie's asshole is
starting to stink again. Correct this."

And Andy, awkwardly, as soon as Aunt Bee most CERTAINLY left the room to
fetch the pecan pie, would quickly, and quietly remind Opie to take a bath
that night, "and be sure `n wash all the stinky parts, Ope." And Opie, of
course, good boy that he was, would do as he was told.

But Christ, Aunt Bee would sooner show her own vadge on Main Street during
a Fourth of July parade than tell Opie out loud at the stinky supper table
to wash his gamey boyhole. So chances are, unless Andy stepped in, only
cursory attention was paid to his boyhole in the bathtub. Aunt Bee would
have been far more conversant in making sure he scrubbed behind his ears
and making sure his hair wasn't sticking up in a cowlick, than any vague
MENTIONING of his butthole. That was NOT her department. No sir. Not
nearly.

Anyway, what a marvelous quandary. Opie was likely provided each morning
with super clean jeans and super clean underwear, but by the end of the
day, his asshole was just as marvelously stinky between baths as any other
boy we've ever lusted after in this well-meaning but misguided series.

As Brad and Mark and I so often repeat – (our acronymic mantra) –
ABC-SAT – All Boys Cracks are Stinky ALL the Time. It's so true, my
friends. It's so very true. All boy's cracks stink beautifully. Even the
boy you obsess over. Even Opie's.

And please, readers. Let me be clear again. I'm not talking about Ronny
Howard's butthole when he was filming the series. That's a whole different
can of worms. If we want to talk about Ronny Howard's butthole that's a
whole different essay, because then we have to get into the mechanics of
acting, and what it might have smelled like sitting in a trailer, or after
he had lunch at the studio commissary, or what it smelled like, bored,
waiting between scenes, or what it smelled like being tutored on set in
costume all day, or working under those hot studio lights, or a hundred
different new variables -- and that's a whole different, VASTLY different
ass-sweat category. Ronny Howard's asshole and Opie Taylor's asshole would
have been two ENTIRELY different things. They were two ENTIRELY different
boys.

I'm talking about Opie Taylor's butthole here as if he were a real boy,
with a real life, who really existed, in a real Mayberry, and really played
all day, and really rode his bike all day, and really played football, and
really played hard in the woods with his friends, and I'm so in love with
his ass and his asshole that it makes me want to cry and fall to my knees
in humility and gratitude that so much of it was captured on film, for all
of us, forever.

Anyway, that's all I've got. I need to close this out so I can masturbate
and go to bed.

If you haven't caught the main theme of this essay yet, let me review and
summarize. I am motherfucking HOOKED on Opie's ass. And then, additionally,
second category, I am motherfucking HOOKED on Opie's asshole.

Is it sick? Yeah. Is it strange. Yeah. But I don't even care.

I have paused the playback when Opie's ass is in a scene. I have memorized
time indexes in my favorite episodes. I can quote them chapter and verse.

I have screen-shotted the skinny little puffpiece and sent the pics to Brad
and Mark for their puzzled, friendly and good-natured enjoyment. They put
up with me sometimes with the loving patience of a couple of basically-nice
guys who got stuck with a retarded cousin.

I goad them on, trying to get them to like Opie's boy bubbles and
honeymaker as much as I do, and they're very polite, God love `em, but I
know I'm alone in this.

I simply cannot and will not, get enough of Opie Taylor's ass and
asshole. I've been studying both for more than 40 years now. And I'm not
nearly done appreciating them yet.

Meetcha at the fishin' hole, Ope.

I'll bring the worms.

You bring that spectacular boyhole.

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Love, Zach.

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And on a side note:

"Mailbag: Jon" mentions the following skid-and-sniff, heavily-scented story
we did two years ago:
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/banging-the-boys-of-camp-starlander

It's amazing what people remember. We're flattered!

See you next time as "Smell This" continues!

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