Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2016 08:49:11 +0200 (CEST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Smell This 24

SMELL THIS 24
By Brad, Mark, Jon & 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.

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

Nifty author Boy Ahoy joins us in this edition of ST, with a special piece
he wrote just for us. What an honor to have him here in our crackpot little
series. His deliciously dirty "Wait: Jaden" opens up this latest round of
frank and fragrant tails.

Meanwhile, our multi-talented and shiny-new sniff brother Jon takes a
penile and nasal stab at some familiar and beloved movie characters, going
balls-deep and nose-forward in "Holes: Reimagined." Whoof, I can smell
those orange jumpsuits and sweaty undies in the air already. Deep breaths
and dig it oh-oh-oh, everybody. Happy sniffing.

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

WAIT: JADEN By special guest author Boy Ahoy

Remember that kid from Peanuts who was always dirty? The one with a
constant dust cloud around him? That's Jaden. He's the runt of the
family. They all have celebrity names, because his parents are stupid.

Jaden's not stupid, however, and he knows how to get what he wants. Right
now he wants something from me.

I'm sitting in a ratty couch, throwing back beer, listening to Jaden's
father shout inane advice to a Monday Night Football coach, watching on his
way-too-expensive giant flat screen the neighbors will soon miss, because
it'll be repossessed in a couple of months. Around us is a motley crew of
losers. His mother has fled the premises, as she always does on game
night. His older sisters are out, probably getting pregnant.

I know where Jaden is, even if I can't see him. He has a smell cloud around
him that his parents don't seem to notice, but I do. His cloud smells like
undies that haven't been changed for a week, and have soaked up his pee and
butt smears five times a day. It smells like hot, sweaty, horny boy.

The only concession he makes to ordinary hygiene is to brush his teeth
morning and night, so he doesn't wind up with dentures like his mum, or
brown stumps like his dad.  Both his parents are ugly as Trump. They vote
for him too. I can't fathom how they've produced such a beautiful child; an
exquisitely beautiful boychild like Jaden. At least I think he's beautiful,
under that layer of muck. He never stays clean more than a few minutes.

On the few occasions his parents have pressure-hosed him down for church or
school or whatever, he always manages to find the muddiest pool, the
greasiest food and the dustiest dust, and it's as attracted to him as I am.

So, I know where Jaden is. He's snuck between the couch and the wall, and
hangs on the back rest behind me, his face so close to mine that we could
easily kiss if I turned my head, his scent cloud making me dizzy and horny.

But kissing would look strange, considering we're both male, and our
considerable age difference would make it look weirder. The loud volume of
the game and the louder banter of his dad's drunken friends easily masks
his whisper in my ear.

"I wanna play."

"Okay," I whisper back and I chug back the beer. I belch loudly, he
giggles. "Naughty or nice?" I ask out of the corner of my mouth.

"You smell like beer. Naughty," he says. "Really naughty. Mrs. Butt is
hungry."

"Oh really," I say. "Hungry for what?"

"Cock," he says into my ear. "Hard cock," he says, just as the room goes
quite for once, between yells and playoff music.

"What'd you just say?" his father says drunkenly in his dying easy chair,
turning his head to us.

"I said the coach is a cock," Jaden says loudly with a grin, always knowing
what adults want to hear.

"Damn right he is," his father laughs. "See, even a kid can see it!" he
proclaims to his barely-conscious mates. Then he opens another beer, Jaden
forgotten again, as he always is.

"I'm playing with my pee-pee right now," Jaden whispers in my ear. "You
play with my pee-pee. Now!" he nags.

I stretch, and change position on the couch. My hand falls behind the back
rest. It finds his greasy penis. It's stiff. I masturbate the child in this
room full of people.

"Mmmm," he hums in my ear. He hums a little tune from a children's TV show
I can't recall. "Mmmm mmmm Mmmmm," he hums, as I rub his warm, wet stick.

"Did you pee yourself?" I ask.

"Maybe," he says. "Do my butt."

He moves to the side and turns, giving his butt to my fingers. I find his
hole. It's sticky, too. Way sticky.

"I made Mrs. Butt ready for you," he says.

Now I'm finger-fucking this little boy less than three feet from his
father, who's having trouble keeping his eyes open. A case of beer will do
that to you. His other two friends are blearily watching the game, chugging
steadily and trying to keep up.

I push my finger way inside Jaden. It's warm, and moist, and dirty, and it
smells. Soon.

The game ends, and the two friends and his father stumble out the door,
heading for the only bar that will have them, and as usual, I decline the
offer to join, saying I'll head home after a visit to the bathroom. That
gives us a couple of hours.

Jaden climbs over the back of the couch as I pull down my pants.

He straddles me, sinks down on my cock, and we kiss, and we fuck, slowly
and for a long time.

I suck him, and he pees a little when he cums, and I fuck him again over
the arm rest.

The best part of any game night at his house.

I leave before his father comes home, smelling like Jaden.

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

SEAT: STEVIE

Stevie's riding his bike today, and I can just imagine what that bike seat
is doing to his little asshole.

It's stuffing itself into him. It's wadding the cotton of his underwear up
and ramming them against his sweaty-wet anus.

And oh, gawwwwwd, he's gorgeous. What a beautiful, hot boy. Those slender,
coltish legs that no doubt go RIGHT up to his ass. Maaan, he's just "so
boy, all boy" isn't he?

He's the kind of boy, when I'm out for a run and he passes me on his bike,
I turn and do a double take. I risk smashing my face into a tree at any
moment while I'm headspun in my "Ohhhhhgawwwwd" moment.

Can you image if the two of us were able to get our hands on his underpants
after he spent the day riding around on his bike?  Daaaayum, just look at
him and think about how amazing they must smell.

If I could, I'd slip-and-slide my nose up and down between his slick,
sweaty ass cheeks like a credit card in a broken card reader, I'd sniff and
moan, and moan and sniff, and sniff and sniff and sniff and sniff that hot,
young sweaty ass.

Look at the way that bike seat is practically lodged up inside his
asshole. Jesus, it's beautiful, isn't it? Imagine the sweet stink of that
undie fabric crammed up into his asshole like that.

God bless the boy's bike seat.

The boy's bike seat is the first time a boy puts something up inside the
crack of his ass that's actually bigger than his finger.

It's the first time something big, long, solid and hard touches a boy's
crack. Touches his hole. Touches his balls. It's the first time something
big and hard makes all those parts of him sore. Makes him hurt on his ass
and in his hole and all around his balls.

It's the first time a boy has something crammed oh-so-tightly and
oh-so-unmercifully into his ass, but yet he still likes it. He still wants
to do it again no matter how sore it makes him. It hurts his asshole but it
still makes him go, "Ow. Ohhhh. More. Please."

"Please, sir? May I have some more?"

The boy's bike seat is such magnificent training ground for dick.

Big, hard man dick.

And a boy's gotta learn sometime.

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

HOLES: REIMAGINED

"This is all because of my
no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather," Stanley thought
as the leering teenager watched him undress.

Mr. Sir had left him with the older boy, whose name was Travis, for the
personal inspection and assignment of property which was the last step in
Stanley's incarceration at Camp Green Lake.

"Hurry up, kid.  I don't have all day," the older boy snapped as Stanley
hurried to strip off his jeans and t-shirt.  Travis looked to be about
seventeen or eighteen and he was much bigger than Stanley who had just
turned fourteen.

He stood with his muscular arms folded and a stern look on his face and
watched until Stanley was standing bashfully in front of him wearing only
his tightie-whities.  Travis was wearing an orange jumpsuit like the other
boys Stanley had seen on the way in, but he had freed his arms from the top
part and tied the sleeves around his waist exposing his torso clad only
with a sweat stained and dusty t-shirt.

Stanley fidgeted under Travis' concentrated stare and wondered what would
happen next.  He bravely forced himself to meet the teenager's gaze.

"Alright, let's see if you are hiding anything," Travis said. He grasped
Stanley by the arm, firmly guided him to the nearby table, and bent the
younger boy over the edge of it.

"Dude, I'm not hiding anything," Stanley protested and began to raise
himself up but Travis firmly shoved him back down with one hand squeezing
his neck and the other twisting Stanley's right arm toward the upper part
of his back.  "Ow, c'mon man, seriously..."

"Just, relax kid," Travis said with a quiet but commanding voice.  "I'm not
gonna hurt you."

"Okay, okay!  Just let go of my arm!"  Stanley relaxed as Travis slowly
released the pressure on his arm and loosened his grip on the younger boy's
neck.

"Just take it easy," Travis said with an almost soothing voice, "and don't
move. Alright?"

"Alright," Stanley replied, "but I'm really not hiding anything, dude, I
promise."

"Still have to check," Travis assured him.  Stanley didn't move as Travis
released his neck and knelt behind him.  "How long you been wearin' these
underwear?"

"Um...," Stanley stammered, unable to remember clearly.  It seemed like it
had been a week since his last shower at the juvenile detention center but
it couldn't have been that long.  "Couple of days."

"Mmm," Travis responded.  It was then that Stanley realized the teenager
was sniffing his ass right through the back of his jailhouse issued briefs.

He had no idea what to do or say so he just kept still and let it happen as
Travis pressed his nose against the seat of his undies and sniffed deeply.
Stanley knew his asshole must be sweaty and ripe.  He was sure now that it
had been at least two days since he last showered and changed his
underwear.

When Travis grasped the back of his undies and pulled them down, Stanley
felt a surge of emotions as the combined warmth of excitement and
embarrassment made his face flush and his horny young cock start to bone
up.

His heart pounded in his chest when he felt Travis grasp his ass and spread
his cheeks open with his thumbs.  He thought he could feel Travis looking
at his asshole with that same piercing stare he'd used as he watched him
undress.  Then he felt the cool rush of air against his moist hole as
Travis inhaled deeply again.

"Fuck yeah," Travis breathed quietly as he took another hit of Stanley's
ass.  Stanley heard the teenager unsnap the last few buttons on his
jumpsuit and he raised up enough to look around and see the older boy still
kneeling behind him and fishing his hard cock out of his boxers.  Travis
started slowly stroking his cock with one hand as he leaned in for another
whiff of Stanley's scent.

"Uhh," Stanley whimpered involuntarily as Travis reached between his legs
and grabbed his balls.  His cock hardened and strained against the
underside of the table and he gasped when Travis's groping hand found it.

"What do we have here?" Travis asked and stroked Stanley's cock a couple of
times as he sniffed his ass again.  Stanley only whimpered and pressed his
hips forward.  The teenager's calloused hand felt so good on his sensitive
cock.

"Oh, man," Stanley sighed and flared his nostrils.  With his senses
heightened by his arousal, he could smell the tangy scent of his own sweaty
asshole in the heavy air of the supply shed.  He figured Travis must be
getting a strong nose-full if he could smell himself from this distance.

It reminded him of the time he had sniffed Derrick Dunne's ass while the
kid was sleeping during the Boy Scout camping trip last year.  Derrick's
asshole had smelled so deliciously ripe through the back of his
boxer-briefs – like sharp cheese and balsamic vinegar.

Travis was jacking rapidly now as he sniffed Stanley's asshole, his left
hand grasping the left cheek of Stanley's ass, his other hand furiously
stroking himself.

"You ever had any cock in your tight little ass, Stanley?" Travis asked and
grabbed Stanley's ass with both hands.

"No," Stanley replied.  Butterflies of fear and excitement fluttered in his
belly at the thought.  When he fantasized about having sex with other boys,
he mainly imagined oral and sniffing fun but had been increasingly curious
about fucking.

He flinched when he suddenly felt the wet warmth of Travis' tongue.  The
teenager's tongue was like a magic elixir on his hole.  Stanley suddenly
wanted Travis to fuck him.  Waves of pleasure radiated from his virgin
pucker as the teenager's tongue teased it lustily.

Stanley kicked his right foot free of his underwear and spread his legs a
little more.  He arched his back standing on his tip-toes to give Travis
easier access.

"Yeah, that's it boy," Travis whispered and stood up behind Stanley with
his hard cock in one hand ready to ease it into him.  He quickly jammed his
hand into the pocket of his jumpsuit and retrieved a small packet of lube.

Holding the packet in his mouth so his hands were free he grasped Stanley's
right hip and maneuvered the boy into position with his right knee up on
the table.  Stanley looked around at him, eager and nervous.  Travis tore
open the packet of lube with his teeth and squeezed the clear gel into his
hand.  He applied it liberally to Stanley's asshole and to his own cock.

"Oh shit!" Stanley moaned when he got a good look at the size of Travis'
cock.  It didn't look abnormally large or anything but it was definitely
bigger than he had expected.

"Hey, relax," Travis coaxed.  "I'll take it slow and easy."

"Yeah, right," Stanley responded and both boys snickered.  Travis grasped
Stanley's right hip with one hand used the other hand to guide his cock
toward the younger boy's hole.  Stanley winced and tightened his muscles,
anticipating some sort of excruciating pain when he felt Travis rub the
head of his thick teen cock against his tight asshole.

"Relax, little man," Travis soothed him. "I said I won't hurt you."
Stanley tried to relax as Travis pushed gently forward, letting just the
head ease into him.

"Ow, ow, ow," Stanley protested.

"Okay, easy, easy," Travis said.  He slowly withdrew but immediately eased
forward again, further this time.  Stanley clenched his teeth as Travis
patiently allowed his tight hole to become accustomed to the invasion of
his hard cock.

More gently than Stanley had expected, Travis withdrew and eased forward
repeatedly until Stanley became more comfortable and receptive.  Stanley
moaned and began to instinctively push back to receive the older boy's
cock.

"That's it.  Good job, Stan.  Stan the Man, getting his first cock."

Soon Travis was fucking Stanley at a firm and steady pace, driving his cock
into the younger boy.  His longish blond hair was damp with sweat and the
dark patches of sweat on his t-shirt began to spread under his arms and
down his back.  Sweat dripped off the end of his nose – it was really
too hot in the supply shed for fucking.

"Ah, yeah!" Stanley panted, his nostrils flaring.  Now he thought he could
smell the musky scent of Travis's pits. Or maybe it was his own.  Sweat
dripped off the end of his nose too.

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Travis grunted as he came, shooting his copious teen load
up the new boy's tight little ass.  Stanley whimpered and moaned quietly as
Travis pounded his ass and then ground to a stop.

"Whew!" Stanley exhaled and stood up after Travis pulled out.

"That's a hot little ass you got there, Stanley.  Can't believe a cute
little dude like you ain't been fucked before," Travis said and ruffled
Stanley's hair.  Stanley chuckled bashfully and reached down to pull on his
briefs.

Suddenly there were noises outside and both boys were startled.  The whole
hot little episode between them had taken no more than about twenty minutes
but Travis knew that Mr. Sir might be back any minute, especially if he
took too long to finish his task.

"Here, get dressed," Travis said and handed Stanley a long sleeve orange
jumpsuit and laughed as the flustered boy stumbled and fell while hurriedly
putting it on.  Once Stanley was dressed, Travis gathered the rest of the
items to be issued to the new boy from the supply.

"I think you'll fit in just fine here, kid," Travis said and grinned.
Moments later, Mr. Sir returned to escort Stanley to his tent and introduce
him to the rest of the staff.

Despite Travis' encouraging words, Stanley had a lot of trouble fitting in
with the boys in D Group and the other boys at Camp Green Lake.  His first
several weeks there were lonely and miserable as he adjusted to the heat,
the grueling work digging holes all day and the stress of trying to defend
himself from the bullies.  He tried seeking out Travis but he was in
another group and always seemed to be busy with tasks for the Warden.

More and more he found himself thinking about the cute little dude in his
group that everyone called Zero.  The kid never said a word, even in group
therapy sessions.  Zero was the smallest and youngest boy in D Group and
the one with the least status.  Stanley guessed he was about eleven or
twelve years old.  Zero was a good-looking, mixed-race kid with a mop of
frizzy hair, sad brown eyes and pouty, kissable lips.

Almost from the day he saw him, Stanley wondered what Zero's sweet little
ass smelled like. He figured it would be exceptionally and boyishly funky,
especially since Zero only took a shower every two or three days so he
could avoid the bullies at shower time.

A few weeks after his arrival Stanley had enough awareness of the camp
routine that he managed to slip away from the Wreck Room unnoticed and make
his way back to D Tent alone.  Once he was sure the tent was completely
deserted, he quickly grabbed the laundry bag from under Zero's bed.

In seconds he was sniffing the boyish stains in Zero's tightie-whities.
Zero hadn't showered before dinner that day but the cute little boy had
left plenty of enduringly aromatic little stains in the last pair of undies
he had stripped off a few days earlier.

"Mmm," Stanley hummed to himself as he inhaled the unique, tangy scent of
Zero's ass.  The faint tan skids in the seat of Zero's undies were as
unassuming in appearance as Zero was in demeanor, but boy did they smell
good!  Stanley's nostrils flared wide as he inhaled the delicious fragrance
of Zero's asshole – the only type of hole at Camp Green Lake that held
any interest for Stanley.

As he sniffed, he imagined bending Zero over the table in the supply shed
the way Travis had done to him on his first day, sniffing the younger boy's
perfect little pucker, licking it thoroughly, devouring the yummy scent
before fucking him.  Stanley promised himself, if he ever got the chance,
he would do it just as gently and patiently as Travis had done.

"What about Zero's little cock?" Stanley wondered aloud but he heard the
raucous laughter and voices from the Wreck Room getting louder.  Peeking
through the tent flap opening, Stanley saw a group of boys heading toward D
Tent across the dimly lit yard.

He quickly crammed the fragrant undies back into Zero's laundry bag and
stuffed it back under the boy's bed before reclining on his nearby bunk as
though he had been napping. Moments later, his bunkmates entered
rambunctiously and flipped on the light.

"What's up, Stanley?" Squid jeered and snatched Stanley's cap off, "Getting
your beauty rest?"

"Just tired man," Stanley snapped and stood up to face the bully.  Zero sat
on his own bunk nearby and watched.  "Gimme my hat."

Squid laughed and shoved Stanley back onto his bunk.  Zero tensed as if for
a fight but Stanley didn't challenge Squid again.  The bully paused to see
if Stanley would stand again but, when he didn't, he tossed Stanley's cap
onto the floor.

"Pussy," Squid said and grinned arrogantly as he walked away.

Later that night, Stanley lay awake tossing and turning long after the
other boys were probably sleeping soundly.  He thought about how ironic it
was that he was here at Camp Green Lake for stealing a pair of famous shoes
when the only thing he had ever actually stolen was a pair of Derrick
Dunne's dirty underwear.

In fact, it had been the stinky little boxer briefs the fifth grader had
worn all weekend at the Boy Scout camp out.  Stanley had jerked off three
times a day for a week while sniffing those undies after he brought them
home.  Derrick probably never missed them; never gave those deliciously
skid marked and piss stained underwear a second thought after he stripped
them off and tossed them into his duffle.

Stanley rolled over again and peered into the darkness toward the nearby
bunk where Zero slept.  In the dim light that shone in from the halogen
lamps outside, he could see the little boy sleeping on his side, one knee
up, and facing the tent wall.

He was almost completely uncovered and his white underwear seemed to glow
like a beacon in the soft light.  Stanley hadn't jerked off in a few days
but there was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight unless he rubbed
one off first.

He reached into his sweat dampened briefs and stroked his hard cock.
Stanley strained to see Zero more clearly as he stroked himself and thought
about sniffing and licking Zero's funky asshole and sucking his hard little
spike.  His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply and imagined that he was
sniffing Zero's asshole through the back of his undies just as he had
sniffed Derrick's.

"Why not?" Stanley thought as he visualized it happening.  Suddenly he
shoved the sheet and blanket aside and sat up on the edge of his bunk.

Zero's ripe little asshole was only a few feet away and just waiting to be
sniffed.  He took a few more seconds to gather his courage as he listened
to the sleeping sounds of the other boys.  He couldn't be certain they were
all asleep but he thought the odds were in his favor.

Stanley quietly stood up and paused, watching and listening for signs of
wakefulness before stepping toward Zero's bunk.  He was sweating and
nervous and his heart was racing but he didn't want to miss this chance to
find out what Zero's cute little ass really smelled like.

Zero appeared to be fast asleep.  He was breathing deeply and evenly but
hardly making a sound at all.  Stanley took a deep breath and quietly
exhaled to calm himself as he knelt beside the bunk.

"Ooo, yeah," Stanley whispered to himself and flushed with excitement when
he realized he could already detect the hot boyish scent of Zero's unwashed
little asshole.  Even at a distance of two or three feet he inhaled the
rich, spicy smell - like a freshly opened bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

He leaned in and brought his face within inches of the sleeping boy's
perfect little ass and sniffed, flaring his nostrils and inhaling with his
nose only a couple of inches from the source of the aroma.  Zero's scent
set off fireworks in Stanley's brain.

His sweaty little ass smelled like sharp cheese with the sweet tang of
honey mustard.  The smell was better than Stanley had imagined and far more
powerful and intoxicating from the source than the mere hint Zero had left
in his undies.

Stanley visualized Zero's hairless pucker moist with days of sweat and
boybutter distilled between the smooth cheeks of the boy's rounded little
ass.

"Mmm, what a hot smell!" Stanley thought as he sniffed, moving his nose
along the seat of Zero's undies toward the boy's crotch as far as he could.
Near the back of the pouch that held Zero's sweaty balls, the scent of boy
ass was mingled with an earthy, yeasty smell like warm sourdough bread.

There was practically a banquet feast hidden by Zero's dirty undies and,
more than anything else in the world, Stanley wanted to taste it – to
eat his fill and suck the cute young dude's horny, uncut cock while using
his finger to get the boy's tight hole ready for fucking.

Stanley withdrew with a start when Zero stirred and whimpered in his
sleep. He was back in his own bunk in a flash, sheet pulled up and eyes
closed as though he was sleeping and it had all been a dream.  It hadn't
been a dream though.  Stanley didn't know it at the time but it had only
been the beginning.

Several days later, Stanley finally gained the status in the D Tent group
that had eluded him for weeks.  He didn't plan it that way but he stood up
to one of the bullies in the Wreck Room and didn't back down.  After that,
he earned the nickname Caveman and became one of the gang.

The bully had been one of the older boys from the B Tent group who was
always picking on the younger kids and Stanley was in no mood for it,
especially when the dude started pushing Zero around.  There was yelling
and some punches were thrown before Mr. Sir came in a broke up the fight.

Travis showed up too and helped get everything under control.  Once
everything had calmed down and Mr. Sir had stormed out, Travis came and sat
down beside Stanley.

"Hey bro, you alright?" said Travis.

"Yeah I'll live," Stanley replied but he figured he might have a black eye
by morning.

"You were right to protect your little dude," Travis assured him and looked
at Zero. He winked at Stanley and then discreetly slipped something into
the pocket of his jump suit.  "Take it easy bro.  And do it right."

Stanley only nodded in response as Travis stood up and slapped him
good-naturedly on the back before walking away.  Zero and Stanley looked at
each other and shrugged. Neither of them knew what Travis meant.

Stanley found out later when he stopped at the latrine on the way back to D
Tent after dinner.  Travis and left two packets of lube in Stanley's
pocket.  He chuckled to himself as he stood there taking a piss.

"I'll do it right," he thought to himself.

"That's one hole I can't wait to get into."

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

DRAGON: PEARSON

Pearson's sitting on the playground equipment today humming "Puff the Magic
Dragon" in his head.

Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff. And Pearson's thinking of
Jackie and humming in his head as he takes his shoes and socks off.

Pearson likes to take his shoes off and smell his own shoes. He's only 11
(well, he's almost 12), so his shoes definitely smell like big boy shoes,
but they don't smell like the yucky toxic stink bombs his brother Bergen
has.

Bergen is 16 and his shoes smell like the gates of hell. Little Jackie
Paper would not love that rascal Bergen. Little Jackie Paper would throw
up.

Even from way down the hall, the whole family can smell them.

"Bergen! Outside with those colossal disasters! Now!" his mom yells.

Everybody in the family thinks Bergen's shoes smell like colossal
disasters. Like the Hindenburg. Like the Titanic when it broke in half and
sink, sank, sunk.

Stink, stank, stunk.

But Pearson's not quite 12 yet, so his shoes still smell like normalboy
shoes. Spicy and sweet and a little bit dangerous, but still soft and
good. They're scary, but exciting. Like goodness and boythings. Like they
frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honnalee.

Pearson hums softly to himself as he takes his shoes and socks off.

Pearson's shoes smell like tacos to him. Spicy, mild-but-good soft tacos
from Del Taco or Taco Bell. More like Del Taco. Or like the beef burrito
with just a little less onion he gets when they go to Casa de Maria,
because his dad says Del Taco is NOT real tacos. Pearson looks more white
than he looks Spanish, so he likes Del Taco. But he loves his dad. So he
never complains.

Pearson could smell his own shoes forever. Sometimes he smells them in his
room at night with the door locked tight, and he pulls down his pants and
he rubs his own dink. The smell of his shoes makes his dink get hard
sometimes. Not 100% of the time. But at least 50% of the time. 60% of the
time maybe.

Pearson likes to take his socks off and smell his own socks. It smells more
Del Taco in his socks too, but still soft and spicy in a way. There's
something sweet in it too. Like churros. That's it. Churros. His shoes and
socks smell like taco meat and cinnamon churros.

He wishes his socks were longer so he could tie them around his face and
smell them tied-on. All around his face and nose and mouth like a doctor
doing surgery. Like foot stink surgery. Then his hands would be free to
jack off his dink and put his finger up his butt and to shove it up his
stink patch. His culo.

Pearson likes to stick his finger between his bare, sweaty toes and hold
his finger up to his nose and smell his in-between toe smell. The best
smell stays between his big toe and his second toe. It's wet in there
sometimes and it smells more sour than taco meat. The wetness smells like
pickles and firecrackers. He smells it and he sucks it sometimes, and if he
bends his leg up real far, he can get his whole big toe in his mouth. Like
a blowjob, only a toejob. And his dink gets hard when he sucks his own
toes.

Pearson likes to smell his armpits. There's no hair in his armpits yet like
Bergen's colossal disasters. He takes his shirt off and smells his pits and
licks them.

He turns his head to the side and licks and smells his pits and French
kisses them and he makes out with them. "Oh baby," he whispers. "Wanna suck
my dink for me, baby? Wanna let me lick your clit?" and he pretends it's a
clit and pussy slit he's licking, and he makes out with his own armpits and
wonders what pussy lips smell like and taste like.

His armpits smell like garlic salt and baby powder. Like his mom's Lady
Speed Stick which he uses because it makes him feel soft and sexy. Like he
could be a boy's girlfriend. He's Powder Fresh and he likes it and he's
confused about that sometimes.

Pearson likes to rub his finger in the outside sticky stink-paste on his
butt crack and smell that too. That's his favorite part to smell. That part
makes his dink get hard, always, forever and 100% of the time. That part
smells like creamy French dressing and Miracle Whip and the gingerbread men
his Grandma used to bake before she went to Heaven to live with his
Grandpa.

"Not gingerbread men," she used to correct smiling. "Gingerbread boys,
mijo. Boys like you, Peersi."

When Pearson jacks off smelling his asshole finger, he sometimes thinks of
gingerbread boys. Only they're life-sized boys like the boys in his
class. He thinks of licking one's asshole or sucking one's dink. He thinks
of spreading his butt cheeks apart and letting one of the boys in his class
put their dink inside him as far as it can go. Only the boys in his class
all smell and taste like Grandma's kitchen. He smells Abuela's gingerbread
when he dink-sucks the boys he thinks of, or when they dink-hump him in his
culo.

Pearson likes to suck his finger and get it wet and push it as far up
inside his stinky spot as he can push it. He pushes it really deep until it
makes him squeal inside. Until it makes his balls have butterflies. Then he
sticks it in and out and then he takes it out and smells it.

It smells different now. Not like French dressing anymore. Now it smells
like butthole smell. Like clay and mud and beef in the crock pot. Like meat
in there. It smells like hotness. Like his mom cooking meat.

Then Pearson sticks it in again. He pushes it even more this time. Then he
takes it out and smells it again. And he tastes it. And he sucks it. And he
puts it in and out. Then he jacks off. Then he cums like crazy without
making juice yet.

Pearson smelled his cousin's butt once, and his cousin smelled good. They
were wrestling in underwear and his cousin was younger, and his cousin went
"BAWWWWKKKK!" when Pearson smelled his butthole. He laughed and said,
"EWWWWW! You just smelled my culo, asshole!"

And Pearson said, "Yeah, I like how your culo smells. It smells like you're
dirty."

"Smell it again," his cousin laughed and ground it in his face.

Pearson moaned. He smelled it and smelled it. It made him want to cry
because it smelled so good. It made him want to cry because his cousin was
letting him.

His cousin let him smell it for a long, long time. And they both had
hard-ons.

It smelled like Sour Patch Kids and sweet pickles from the jar on the
bottom shelf of the fridge, and like too much mustard on a McDonald's
cheeseburger.

"Do you want to smell mine too?" Pearson asked him.

"No," his cousin said. "That's okay."

Pearson touched his own sticky asshole and brought the smell up to his own
nose.

"I like to smell myself," he shrugged as he smelled it. "All over."

Then he did a jack-off with his cousin and they each came, but only Pearson
smelled Pearson's butt finger.

They both got their feelings at the same time, watching each other jack
their dinks. Pearson's was bigger, but only by a little.

Pearson smelled his brother's big balls once. Big stinky balls from his
brother's stinky underwear.

Bergen mowed the lawn one day and came back in to change and shower and
threw his stinky underwear on the floor in his bedroom, and Pearson grabbed
them and took them in his room and locked his door and took out his dink
and jacked off smelling his brother's wet ball sweat. He sucked some of it
too and it tasted like salt.

He also smelled his brother's stinky pube sweat, which smelled like real
strong onions. He also smelled his brother's asshole smell. And he groaned
out loud when he smelled the asshole part because it was stronger than
anything, like vinegar right out of the jug. Crazy strong vinegar ass.

But it make him feel more excited than ever. "Colossal disaster," he
whispered as he moaned. And he crammed it to his nose and he sniffed it
like a hunger and he groaned out loud and he jacked real fast and he froze
up and shuddered and clenched and he came, thinking of his brother sticking
a long finger up his ass.

Pearson would never admit it, but he wanted one of his brother's big, long,
stupidbrother fingerfat fuckfingers up his fuckwet stinkwet need-dink
fuckbutt. Or maybe his brother's big fat fuckhard fuckcock fuckme in the
fuckass. It made Pearson think of too many swear words in his head,
thinking of his brother doing the F-Word in him, so he had to stop thinking
about it.

Pearson gets excited, but he's trying to be a good boy.

"Good boy, Mijo," his Abuela used to say. "Good boy, Peersi," as she handed
him a gingerbread.

Pearson's mostly a solitary boy, and because he hasn't learned the rest
yet, he's perfectly content to hum his simple playground songs and sit in
silence, smelling himself.

He'll move up to all that advanced stuff with butts and dinks and fuckhard
fuckcocks eventually, but right now he's just happy, quiet and content
where he is, introspective and
self-exploratory. Self-scented. Self-explored. Self-pleasured and humming,
a baby boy stinkdragon, just waiting to be born.

Find him today, in the park, on the playground
equipment. 11-years-old. Taking his shoes off. Smelling his shoes. Peeling
off socks. Smelling his sock stink. It has to start somewhere, and socks
and shoes are a safe place to start.

You can't finger your asshole on the playground equipment, or stick your
own finger way up inside yourself and squeal and jack off, but you can
smell your own shoes. And you can smell your own socks. And most times if
grown-ups see you do it, they'll just shake their heads and laugh.

So that's what Pearson does.

He sits and smells his brand new foot smell. A starter smell. A promising
smell. Of shoes and socks and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.

Pearson likes how his cousin smells, and Pearson likes how his brother
smells.

But mostly, Pearson just likes how Pearson smells.

Like a little bit of danger just waiting to be born.

Like Huff, the Magic Dragon.

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