Date: Sat, 9 May 2015 22:16:21 +0200
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Smell This 4 (Revised)

SMELL THIS 4
By Brad, Mark & Zachyboy
M/b, b/b, oral, anal, sniffing, buttplay

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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.

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HOMEWORK: SQUIGGY

I call my nephew "Squiggy" after the goofy nerd in the old American TV
show, "Laverne & Shirley."It's not really appropriate because the poor
lad's not nerdy at all. He's actually quite cheeky and sweet for a
10-year-old. But he used to sit in my lap and squiggle when he was younger,
so at first I called him "Squiggly," and somehow that eventually morphed
into "Squiggy," and, well, that's how nicknames are born, mate.

I'm gay and I'm married, but my husband works overseas in the states, so I
come to my sister's house a lot of times for dinner (open invitation, she's
a single mum), and to help Squiggy with his homework after school. Today we
were doing his Year 5 fractions, but he looked so damned cute and sweet
and stinky sitting there in his school uniform, those frustratingly tight
shorts, I had to excuse myself for a piss and a shit, because I just knew
I'd have to go upstairs and toss off, or I'd never be able to concentrate
long enough to help him figure out the difference between four-fifths and
nine-sixteenths.

I found a pair of Squiggy's sweet-stinky boy panties in the hamper in the
upstairs loo, and I was underway immediately because let me tell you, they
were riper than a trip to the zoo. I've often smelled Squiggy's underwear,
for three solid years now, and those of his little friends too when I've
been lucky enough to be over when the boys go swimming down at the
pier. Good old Uncle Will. You can always count on me to stay behind and
hang onto the clothes bag, fresh out of the changing room, as you run
carefree down the beach for a swim with your mates.

So, I've smelled Squiggy's undies and I've smelled those of his
friends. There's young Daniel, whose anus smells like strawberries and Eton
Mess, especially after a hard game of footie. One smell of David's arse
and you can even forgive the poor lad for being a Chelsea fan.

Then there's little Mick, who smells like avocado and spicy pesto. I even
felt his cock against the back of my neck once when the little bugger rode
on my shoulders in light summer shorts, the fabric hiding nothing as his
thick little nail poked me in the neck. And he knew it, the sexy little
sod. And he giggled.

And then there's Stevie. Christ God, Stevie, who smells like something wild
and Mediterranean. His stinky little wormhole smells like chickpeas or
lentils, something yeasty and earthlike, mixed with the honey-sweet vinegar
puffs of pure desire. My mouth watered just thinking of Stevie
and all the other friends of Squiggy I'd sniffed from afar.

Sometimes they'd come back from a swim an hour later to find me still in a
locked changing stall, little knowing I'd been sniffing one pair then the
next behind the locked cubby, my cock so raw from consecutive masturbation
I'd have to put it on ice when I got back to my flat.

I've said to my boylover friends often – to those who truly understand
my fetish – I need there to be an Undie-of-the-Month Club. Like the
Harry & David fruit boxes or the Gevalia coffee shipments. Once a month, I
want a different boy's stinky little undies to show up in the post, put in
a Ziplock so they stay fresh, vinegar-sweet and piping hot.

I can't imagine what I'd pay for a service like that. If someone said "100
pounds a month for a new pair of boys stinky panties every 30 days," I'd
write a cheque on the spot. If someone said "200 pounds a month," I'd have
to scramble like hell to come up with an excuse to tell my husband where
his money was going, but I think I'd pay that too. I'd find a way to fund
it somehow. Can you imagine? A different pair of boy's dirty undies every
month? With a school picture enclosed of the boy who did the dirty deed,
smiling and tucked into the soiled stripes and smudges? Oh, heavenly
days. God save the Queen.

I'm not sure where my fascination with boy stink comes from. Believe me,
I've tried to make myself understand it through the years. Other friends
who love boys dearly and who share many common fuck fantasies with me,
still stop the train dead on the tracks when I tell them, "Oh by the by,
I'd also like smell fuck-all out of his little arse before he goes home at
night." They just do an "eeek" and their faces turn white. It's a rather
firm and targeted characteristic so little-shared and barely appreciated, I
have no choice but to ponder its potential genesis. My own randy boyhood, I
suppose?

I never really smelled my little boy-sex friends directly nose-to-arse when
I was a boy. I mean, not in the active sense like, "Hey mate, bend over and
spread yer cheeks and let me smell your bum." But I do remember we played
those giggly little rounds of "butt finger" or "stink finger" as some lads
call it, where you stick your hands down your own pants, finger your own
shit hole, then rub the clear-pasty grease under some other kid's nose. Or
once in a while if the timing is right, smudge him with just a bit of
creamy tan, mate.

It's supposed to be a shitty gross-out game full of giggles and horrified
revulsion, but when boys did it to me, I just lit up like a Christmas
tree. Every synapse in my brain fired off instantaneously. And I too had to
giggle and go "Ewwww, bugger off, you filthy sod!!" and all the other,
typical, "safe" "it's just a game" reactions. But oh, in my little mind,
every time, all I could think of was "Oh yes, oh yes, please, please,
please, please smear more of your stinky butt smell under my
nose....please, please, please give me more," because that smell, that
rawness, that ripeness was something I craved day after day after day after
day. I could live on it, mate. The smell of my friends' little bums.

I would often be the instigator in that game. I would do it to my mates,
not because it gave me any thrill to do it to them, but because then I
could taunt them, "Bet you can't do it back to me, ha-ha," until they HAD
to. And believe me, I didn't make it very hard at all for them to do it
back. Heavenly Christ in a room full of virgins, I still go weak-kneed and
breathless when I think of that.

So, I never got to bend my mates over when I was a kid and just stick my
nose in them, but I did have a LOT of anal sex as a kid. A LOT. And I was
usually the top. And my other mates, usually one or two years younger than
me, would always smell so good when I fucked them, I can't help but
associate the smell of strong, open boy-ass with those first exciting
sexual fumblings. We used a lot of spit back in my childhood. Vaseline was
messy, and mum's hand lotion always smelled of petunias and the ladies
club. Lube, of course, was unheard of, so we just butt-fucked with spit,
plain and proper.

And believe me, when you get two summer-randy boys in back of the flat,
door locked and butt-fucking with spit as their only lube, all you can
smell in the air when you fuck is sweet-crack, ripe-open, stinky-fine boy
ass. My mum would often walk in afterwards and turn up her nose and ask
who'd been eating beans. "Good Lord, Will," she'd say, "open a window!" It
wasn't farts, Mum! It was wide-open boy ass you were smelling all those
times! It was stinky-secret boy sex, right under your nose!

To this day the smell of boy puss is so inexorably connected to sexual
pleasure, I honestly think I would have a hard time performing without
it. Even fucking my husband, I will finger his ass (or my own) just so I
can smell it off my finger when I'm fucking him, pretending it's boy pussy
I'm smelling. It's a scent that is so inexorably connected in me as the
olfactory equivalent to sexual pleasure, I simply can't perform without it.

But enough waxing nostalgic and trying to find an answer for it. Chalk it
up to personal fetish and utter puzzlement. If you like the smell of stinky
boy undies, you just do. And there's really no way to explain it to your
mates who don't. Not that I've ever been able to come up with anyway.

So, up the stairs I scampered to release the pent-up load of semen in my
balls and to see if Squiggy left me any presents behind. Stinky little
spots from his stinky little bottom crinkle, or pissy little stains from
his tiny uncut cock, another fragrant little gift from heaven. There were
usually plenty of undies about, and they were usually ripe in both areas,
front and back.

Given the fact that Squiggy is only 10 years old, you can assume like I do
that he hates to take a bath.  That reality, coupled with the only
perfunctory swipes of his butt crack after he takes a poop, means that his
undies are normally soiled to perfection and would likely knock you and
your next door neighbor into a flat-out coma as you shared a deep sniff of
those moist, sticky, streaked little panties.

This is not the casual smell of butt, this is the deep, dark, dank, nasty
smell of ripe, raw boy tart, the smell that causes you to hesitate because
it's so powerful, strong and nasty. Yet you force those moist and dirty
briefs up to your nose anyway, because you need to smell that boy, possess
him in the only way you know you safely can.

And the piss in his undies is equally strong. Like all little boys, he's
more concerned with "fast" than "proper," and often runs off to play with
the last few drops of steaming, yellow, maple-scented boy piss still
dribbling off his pinchy little foreskin and into the crotch of his panties
below, a feast to my nose and my sucking-hungry mouth, reconstituting it
all with mouthfuls of spit and sucking them clean again.

So, that's where I was, standing there in the upstairs loo, stroking my
cock and smelling his panties. They were earthy and sweet, Squiggy's usual
french dressing smell. Canned sweat peas came to mind, as did a hint of
sharp cheddar cheese.

Add a splash of milk, just vaguely starting to sour, and call them
eye-watering and fruity, with just a tiny note of egg salad.

A fine pair, a delicious pair for mouth and nose.

I shot my load all over the floor of the locked upstairs toilet, before
coming downstairs again and helping him with his homework.

If he knew how much I wanted to fuck him right then, he probably would have
fallen out of his chair from the psychic vibration, the sweet lad.

The thought-power alone would have knocked him off his arse.

Squiggy's a good lad, everybody.

Everybody meet Squiggy.

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BEGINNINGS: DAVID

So I asked Mark to continue his story about David.

He'd dangled it teasingly in front of my nostrils a half-dozen emails ago,
telling me that he and David, when they were both six, played sweet little
peenie games, both innocent and naughty. How they rubbed their little
penises together. How he'd smelled David's little butt.

"It was the mid 1960's," Mark told me, "and we had been living for about a
year in what would be my childhood home for the next 18 years. New
neighbors had moved in next door earlier in the year and they had a son
about my age named David. We became fast friends because that's what little
kids do. They don't need much more to strike up a friendship than living
close to one another.

David was a typical boy in many ways. He loved to play outdoors, as we all
did because there were only two channels on the TV and no electronic
devices.

We were similar in height and weight, both being on the skinny side the way
young boys often are. His short hair was much lighter than my dark brown
hair color. His was light brown with reddish overtones.

I can only imagine today that he would have a lovely set of ginger
pubes...but at the time of these tales, pubes were far in the future and
not something we were even conscious of.

He had freckles which fascinated me, as I didn't have them. They were
sprinkled across his cheeks and nose and added to the cuteness.

One day as we were playing outside and climbing trees, I had him follow me
behind a large cinderblock storage shed we had in our backyard. Once there,
I convinced him that we should take our clothes off. He was a bit hesitant
at first, but I began to take off my clothes and the peer pressure was
enough to force him to follow suit. To this day, I don't know how we didn't
get caught, out in the broad daylight stripped to our birthday suits for
all the world to see.

I certainly did not know what was going to come next as we began to strip,
but I was fascinated with his body as he took off his shirt and shorts. His
skin was so pale compared to mine....that milky white, blemish free skin
that to this day causes me to grow weak in the knees.

He was wearing tighty whities, because that is what every little boy wore
in the 60's. Old men work boxers, and boxer briefs and Underoos hadn't yet
been invented. We only had tighty whities, and those undies hugged his body
perfectly and I could see the bulge of his boyhood and the lovely curve of
his ass cheeks.

So in for a penny, in for a pound, we both peeled down those undies and
stood face-to-face in all our naked glory. We were both as naïve as two
little boys could be, and yet I remember feeling a delicious naughtiness at
being naked with David...and that feeling caused just the tiniest bit of
tingle in my little dick.

Of course, I was looking at his little penis, fascinated to see another
boy's privates. We were a conservative family and nudity was not encouraged
or tolerated and so I had not ever seen another dick besides mine.

I can still remember just how perfect it looked. His tummy swelled out just
a bit above his smooth white pubis...a look that is so sexy on a boy. His
cock was hardly larger than the end of my thumb, but I was mesmerized by
the healthy pink color and the way the skin on the shaft bunched up around
his little cock head like a wrinkly flesh collar.  Being only an inch or so
in length, there was not enough weight to cause it to hang down over his
smooth, tight little nut sack and those sweet little acorns.  And I
realized that he looked like me....it was like looking at my groin in a
mirror.

What happened next, still thrills me to this day.

I told David that we should "rub our wieners" together. God, I don't know
where I got the idea, but fuck, if he didn't agree.

We each held our little cocks between our thumb and index finger, thrust
our hips forward and let virgin boyflesh touch virgin boyflesh. It was like
an electric shock passed through my little flesh spike and shook my whole
body.

I certainly didn't understand what was happening or connect it to anything
overtly sexual at 6 years old, but I knew it felt good and my little spike
got hard instantly, growing to its full length of 1.5 inches. Not content
to just touch the end of my cock to David's, I began to rub my piss slit
against his and drag the cockhead around the circumference of his equally
hard little flesh sword.

At this point, the whole universe collapsed into that one moment and the
tingly feelings coming from my immature little rod....I could have rubbed
my dick against him forever. But boys being boys, we were easily
distracted, or at least David was and he was ready to move on.

Oh, that I could have had the impulse to drop to my knees and suck that
boyflesh into my mouth and taste his skin, his sweat and the tang of dried
piss on his cock head. I have lamented a thousand times over that lost
opportunity, but at the time it just never occurred to me.

Moving on however meant that it was time for a little butt play. This is
the secret, naughty stuff that boys do when no one is looking. I had David
turn around and I got my first good look at his milky white cheeks with the
dusky crack in the middle.

The sun was shining through the trees and casting a beautiful light onto
those smooth globes of flesh. With nothing but instinct urging me forward,
I reached up and touched his ass, causing him to giggle a bit. But, God, I
wanted more, so I took both hands and spread his cheeks apart so I could
see his little boy wrinkle. Without my urging, David bent forward putting
his hands on the cinder block wall for support, having the effect of
spreading his cheeks even further.

And then I could see it. His crack was open and exposed and there in the
center was that lovely tan boy pucker.

At this point I could smell his scent -- a slightly sweaty, musky, yeasty
smell that was pure virgin boy ass.

I remember breathing in the sweet essence of another boy's ass for the
first time and I was drawn into the warm, moist valley as if I were in a
trance. The smell was much stronger between his cheeks and I pressed my
little nose up against his slightly sticky, tight little pussy and I
breathed. Oh, God, I breathed.

Whether it was sweat or shit, whatever his little poop hole was glazed-over
with, it was intoxicating to me.  My brain and body were in stasis as my
nose was assailed repeatedly by this sweet, perfect odor. There was no
"ewwwww" reaction, only the realization that this smell was something I
liked, I needed, I craved.  It was as if it had fucked all of my brain
cells into a coma and left my little dick tingling.

I didn't understand the connection at the time. I didn't connect the dots
that it was the sweet stink of David hairless boyhole that was causing my
body to react and send those shivers of good feelings through me. I only
knew that it smelled good to me....smelled like David....smelled like the
over-ripe honeysuckle blossoms we would suck the nectar out of as kids -
like the honeysuckle mixed with wet earth – and it was all boy.  It was
my first sniff and the beginning of my journey as a lifelong boy-ass and
undie sniffer.

If I'd only had the impulse to lick his hole....what would it have tasted
like to me at 6? Would there be the saltiness from his sweat, combined with
a little bit of bitterness left over from his latest? Would there be a bit
of sweetness as if he had been eating pixie sticks all morning or had slid
a spearmint candy cane up his tight little balloon knot?

Maybe it would have been all of these, mixed in with the sweaty, musky,
nutty smell of his hot little crack. I've imagined so many times over the
years what it would have been like to eat that sweet little hole. I'm not
sure David would have gone along as he was completely puzzled by my
fascination with his ass, but still, I continue to fantasize he'd let me,
and I wonder what it would taste like.

To David's credit, he let me do whatever popped into the head of a little
six-year-old. I rubbed my finger all across his tan wrinkle...feeling every
fold of flesh, as well as the tacky wetness that was smeared across it. I
poked at this hole, seeing if I could get my finger inside, but to no
avail.

But much to my delight, my finger now smelled like David's sweet ass and
long hours after we finished our naughty games, I could still smell him
every time I brought my index finger up to my nose and sniffed.

I took a stick and poked at his hole, grabbed some berries off the vines
next to the cinder block wall and tried to push them into his little
pussy. I even found a peach pit that I rubbed across his hole and tried in
vain to push through his tight little ass muscle. The crazy things that
boys do.

I only ever got to sniff his ass one more time and it was through his
jeans, and he never knew, but it was still the sweet stink of David, and I
carry the memory of that smell with me to this day. All I have to do is
close my eyes and I'm six again.

David was a good boy, everybody.

Everybody meet David.

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PRIVILEGED: COOPER

I've been in love with Cooper ever since the first time I set eyes on him.

I mean, just look at him. It's difficult for me to fathom why everybody and
their dog doesn't immediately fall head over heels in lust with him.

I first met Cooper at the new house party his mom and dad were
throwing. Along with most of the neighborhood, my sister and I had been
invited over to share in the joy of our new neighbors' home - an evening of
small talk, big smiles and over-creative food and wines that were far too
impressive to serve at a general gathering of neighbors - but that was
Cooper's parents.

Cooper was a rich kid and he fit the profile perfectly. He had suffered no
hardship in his life and had the most rad bedroom filled with the coolest
gadgets any twelve-year-old boy would be jealous of. He played tennis (at
the Country Club of course) as well as basketball and soccer and he was
also a good swimmer. All his clothes were designer brands. But I wouldn't
find most of this out until much later.

"This is Cooper," his mom said introducing him to me and my sis.

His eyes locked on mine. Oh fuck. Brace yourself, Brad. This is going to be
one of those moments.

"Have you ANY idea how fucking beautiful you are?" I said to him in my
head.

But I really said, "Hey Cooper, I'm Brad, nice to meet you."

My appropriate behavior filter served me well.

"Hi Brad, nice to meet you too," Cooper replied in the sweetest unbroken
boy voice you ever heard. "I'd love you to take me to my bedroom, pull my
shorts down, get on your knees behind me and find out what my ass smell
like."

An awkward moment lingered. "Nice to meet you too" had been the last thing
Cooper had actually said and I now stood there realizing I had floated off
on a fantasy tangent while the conversation had ground to a screeching
halt.

"Errm..." I quickly blurted out - my rescue-me filter kicking into to high
protection mode. "How old are you, Cooper?"

"He's just gone into sixth grade at Beaufort Middle School," his mom said
proudly. Tuition fees at Beaufort were comparable to the national average
salary.

"Sixth grade, huh?" I said smiling at the most precious boy face I'd set
eyes on in years. I almost lost myself in it to the exclusion of everything
happening around me. I found myself inspecting every detail of his facial
features; his steel-blue, come-fuck-me eyes, the strands of which colored
them in a kaleidoscopic display of beauty like a peacock showing off its
tail feathers. His perfectly shaped nose almost impish in its own right
with a delicate spray of soft brown freckles cascading across it and onto
his smooth cheeks. His little perky mouth and pink lips practically had
their own voice and were screaming at me, "Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me now!"
with everything topped off by his soft, surf-like, wavy hair which was a
perfect mix of dark brown, interwoven with streaks of gold.

I was getting dizzy. It was taking every ounce of my emotional strength to
prevent me from falling to my knees, curling my palms up in a display of
"oh, how I worship thee," and proclaiming for the entire house to hear, "I
FUCKING love this twelve-year-old boy and I want to sniff his smelly ass
all day every day starting right now!"

"Sixth grade, huh? Cool...so you must be what...twelve?" - my euphemism for
"you're now a middle schooler so I bet your ass smells really sweaty these
days."

"Yeah," he said smiling back at me with a delicately sweet and proud, "can
you believe it?" kinda laugh.

Oh, this boy was beautiful. I could barely stand it. I looked at my
sister. She shook Cooper's hand.

"Hi Cooper, I'm Ally," she said with her trademark smile. She had beautiful
teeth, my sister.

Wait. "Hi Cooper, I'm Ally?" That's it? That's all she's going to say? Do
her eyes not work? "Hi Cooper, I'm Ally..." and then nothing?

I waited for a, "...and I've never in my entire life seen a twelve-year old
boy as hot as you are in this moment and I want you to fuck my brains out
right now with your rock hard three-and-a-half-inch boner."

But it never came.

And as sure as night is dark and day is light, I would love to watch Cooper
fuck my twenty-eight year old sister rigid, preferably over an entire
weekend - boning her and boning her and boning her with his little preteen
pricklet and watching as she tickle-licks his sweaty tween asshole,
pleasuring him with her tongue as she should. He deserves to be pleasured
by her. She should be at his disposal.

Fuck, where was I?

I took the corner of the white leather sofa in the living room and worked
my way through a glass of Silver Oak Alexander Valley. I worried about
spilling it on the sofa and wondered what Cooper's parents would be pissed
about most - the sofa or the almost equally as expensive wine.

My hope of remaining inconspicuous so I could feast my eyes on Cooper and
hatch my grooming plan quickly faded when others joined me on the
sofa. Don't get me wrong, they were all nice enough folk - they were my
neighbors and I liked most of them, but come on - really?

I was pressured by my social conscience filter - my inner voice acting as a
guide to the rightness of my behavior.

"Yes, in this economy, you'd think he'd be more protective of his job," I
said to Frank, the IT guy from the end of the street.

"I told him the same thing," replied Frank. We'd gone from formalities to
preamble to a full on conversation. "I told him, if you don't take it
seriously," Frank continued, "you'll end up becoming unstuck and..."

I heard nothing else.

I could see Frank's mouth moving, but it went from articulate words, to
blah, blah, blah then absolutely nothing. I just fogged him out. You see,
Cooper had come into the living room and was sliding energetically across
the room, no doubt randomly to everyone else who may have been watching him
- but nobody was watching him like me.

To me, Cooper moved with boyish precision, a graceful elegance and an
innate innocent beauty. I felt my whole body begin to melt as I watched the
softness of his little white-socked sixth-grader feet skip across the
expensive hardwood floor as he tossed peanuts up into the air catching
maybe one in three in his mouth.

"Cooper, stop that!" his mom shouted. Cooper turned around, looked at his
mom and threw another peanut in the air. I watched as it came down in slow
motion, his little pink lips opening wide, his delicate and long eyelashes
interweaving as his eyes closed.

Pop. The peanut went right into his mouth. Cooper opened his eyes, looked
at his mom, smiled cheekily and then scampered off in a self-amazed moment.

Fuck, he was incredible. I was in Lustville and they had made me the
fucking Mayor.

There was no going back. I had known this kid for all of five minutes and
barely held a conversation with him, yet I knew given the opportunity, and
without even knowing his last name, I would press my nose right into the
stickiness of his tight little wrinkled twelve-year-old anus and just sniff
it and sniff it and sniff it and sniff it.

He was so beautiful to me, I would take him however he came, and the only
time I would be disappointed was if he was completely clean. I needed
something, or everything, or something in between, but not nothing.

I watched in awe of Cooper (and probably noticeably drooling over him in
front of Frank and his colleague story) as he continued his high-energy
display of skipping back and forth across the floor, his little preteen
bottom looking so small and round yet tactile in his cute knee-length,
khaki combat shorts.

I needed to smell Cooper's bottom so badly, I was aching in places I didn't
even know I could ache.

As Frank warbled on with his bullshit story, I lost myself in Cooper's
twelve-year-old bottom wondering what it smelled like in that moment. I
hoped for ripe and sweaty with a hint of spiciness but I would take dirty
too, just as long as he wasn't clean. I couldn't bear to be sniffing
Cooper's ass and it not smell of him at his most typical.

Boys have smelly bottoms. That's just boys. No amount of designer brand
clothing and outward appearances are going to convince me that Cooper's
bottom doesn't smell rank and stinky just because he looks like innocence
personified.

My grooming plan had started to take shape in the manner it always does. I
would contemplate my ultimate opportunity. Could there ever be a chance I
could get to sit for Cooper when his parents are out of town and creep into
his bedroom at three am and secretly sniff his ass while I jack off next to
his bed?

Unlikely, but it was always in my grooming plan no matter what. The most
likely opportunity was that I would get my hands on a pair of his dirty
underpants and when it's all said and done, I would be happy with just
that. A simple opportunity to actually find out what Cooper's bottom smells
like by sniffing a pair of his dirty underpants should be, and was, enough
for me.

"Wise words, Frank," I said as I took to my feet. "Will you excuse me for a
moment?"

I put my empty crystal-cut wine glass on the marble coffee table and
grabbed a handful of peanuts from the glass bowl. I made my way over to
where Cooper was now standing - in front of the TV pressing buttons on the
remote control, flicking through channels faster than anyone could possibly
work out what was on them, except for a bright, twelve-year-old boy.

The first peanut went into the air and made a noise as it crashed down on
the hardwood floor behind Cooper's feet.

"You gotta teach me how to do this," I said to him as he turned around to
see where the interference was coming from. Cooper looked at the peanut on
the floor and then back at me as I launched a second one into the air with
the same fate.

"No, you gotta do it like this," he said as he took a peanut right out of
my hand. Just the random act of him taking a peanut out of my hand was very
sexual to me. Almost in shock that he'd reached out his hand into mine, I
looked at him - and he smiled at me.

"Filter, filter, where art thou, my fucking filter?" I asked myself, my
frontal lobe completely mixing up the signals. This is a twelve-year-old
boy. What possible deeper meaning could a trivial moment whereby he grabs a
peanut out of my hand actually have?

But my amygdala was all skew-whiff. It had no idea how to correctly process
Cooper's smile and rendered me having to wrestle with my emotions as I
waited for my filter to replace what my amygdala was telling me to think
with something more appropriate.

Cooper had taken a peanut from my hand, smiled at me, then launched the
peanut into the air. That was the totality of it, but my amygdala took the
moment, together with his smile and presented back to me for my
consideration:

He wants you to smell his ass and then make love to him after he's rubbed
his hairless, sweaty little balls all over your face.

Could that be true? Is it? Damn. He DID look at me in a very teasing
manner. Does he know I love boys? Can he just sense it? Maybe he's been
with a guy before. Maybe he's gay and he likes me. Maybe he's desperate for
a blow job.

Filter, filter, damn you! Rescue me.

It felt like it took ten minutes for that peanut to come down. I watched in
comparable amounts of awe and lust as Cooper extended his neck upward
causing his skin to stretch tight around his windpipe and his chin to
protrude outward. I could see up his little nostrils. As gravity kicked in
and the peanut made its way back down, Cooper opened his mouth and he
opened it wide, his eyes closing at the same time.

Here was Cooper, twelve years old, standing in front of me, his head tipped
back, his eyes closed and his mouth wide open. As I looked down on him, my
five-feet-eleven towering over his all-of-four-feet-ten, it was almost too
much for me to handle.

"Like that," he said to me, tipping his head back down and chewing on his
prize before finishing with a cute, boyish smugness and a smile with his
pearly white, preteen teeth.

"There's no question about it...I have to sniff your dirty underpants and
find out what your bottom smells like," I said to myself as I looked deep
into his steel blue eyes.

Whichever way this might pan out, there was no way I wouldn't get to at
least sniff his ass from his underpants at least once during his last
preteen year.

Cooper's a good boy, everybody.

Everybody meet Cooper.

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EVOLVING: COOPER, CONTINUED

What the man with the peanuts didn't know is that Cooper could tell he was
flirting and interested.

Cooper was 12, and rich and sweet and privileged, but he wasn't dumb.

Cooper had been doing sex stuff with boys for as long as he could remember.

He hadn't tried a man yet, but he knew boy sex very, very well.

When he was 6, his babysitter who was 15, used to give Cooper baths at
night, and what started out as tickling and giggling soon progressed into
hugging and rubbing and massaging and then kissing. The babysitter would
carry little Cooper to bed naked, and lay him down in his bed, and slowly
rub just little bits of baby oil on Cooper's baby soft skin. Not enough to
make him greasy or uncomfortable. Just enough to make him soft and smell
nice.

This went on for quite some time, until one night after bathing him, the
babysitter, Jason, flipped Cooper over on his tummy and put a fingerful of
baby oil right up Cooper's stinky little butthole. It felt really warm and
squishy and soft and Cooper liked it and make little giggle-noises while
Jason fingered his butthole, in and out, in and out, getting slipperier and
poopier by the minute.

Then Jason did something Cooper really didn't expect. He took out his big
boy penis and rubbed it up and down in his hand really fast and made it
squirt some white stuff out. He got really shaky and called Cooper swear
words when his white stuff shot out, and he smelled his finger, which
smelled like Cooper's poop. Cooper got lots of poop on Jason's finger that
night, but Jason seemed to like it. He rubbed it on Cooper's undies and
stole them. He kept them.

As soon as Jasson's white stuff shot out, he caught it in the cup of his
hand and started poking it into Cooper's bottom, one stinky fingerful at a
time. And he didn't stop until every bit of it was up inside of Cooper's
butt. Poop mixed with butt mixed with stink mixed with baby oil. And all
mixed with the white stuff that came out Jason's sticky big-boy cock.

When Cooper was 7, Jason, who was then 16, taught him how to suck his penis
and swallow his sperm. Cooper liked that part. The sperm tasted salty and
gooey and nutty and good. But his mom and dad came home early one night and
found them asleep without their pants on and Jason's finger up Cooper's
butt and that was the end of Jason babysitting. He got in trouble and his
parents moved away.

Then Cooper and his mom and dad moved "back east" as his mom called it, to
be near her family. And from 8-11, Cooper did just about everything you
could think of with all of his neighborhood boys. Some of them already knew
how to suck and finger buttholes. The ones that didn't, Cooper taught
them. Some of them were stinky and some of them were clean, but Cooper
didn't care. He sucked and fingered them, and then he learned to butt fuck,
and after that, he learned how to take another boy's dick inside his own
butt without it hurting (you had to push out like you had to poop, and
sometimes you actually did a little), but no matter what, that part was
really good. That part where you butt-fucked a boy or a boy butt-fucked
you, that made the sucking and the fingering seem like little sips of
Kool-Aid before the big bowl of ice cream comes out.

And now Cooper was 12. And now his parents had found a new neighborhood. A
really nice one with lots of cool kids where they lived. They had a dinner
party and invited a bunch of nice but boring people over, including that
guy that kept throwing peanuts up in the air and following Cooper around
like a dog in heat.

Cooper was 12, but he wasn't dumb. He could tell when a boy was hot for
him. And a man was just an older boy. Cooper could tell what Peanut Man
wanted to do to him.

And it was fun to flirt back a little, because Coooper didn't know for
sure. So far he'd only done stuff with boys. But who knows? A man might be
fun too. If they go slow, anyway. And if they don't mind poop on their
dick.

One of his neighbors was a kid named Matthew. Matthew was one of the most
stinky-ass-undie kids Cooper had ever met. The first time Coooper saw
Matthew's underwear, holy cow, his eyes bugged out. Luckily he didn't have
to fuck Matthew's ass, because Matthew was more interested in fucking
Cooper's ass.

Matthew invited him to his house and the first thing he said was, "I kind
of have a boyfriend named Jacob, so don't tell him we did this, okay?"

And Cooper nodded yes. He knew Jacob already. Jacob could bend in the
middle and suck his own cock. He'd seen him do it. It was neat.

So, Matthew got down on his knees and unzipped Cooper's pants and pulled
down his undies and sucked Cooper's four-inch cock until it got really
hard, then turned him around, and licked and sucked on his asshole for a
while, then bent him over the bed and stuck his cock in Cooper's ass.

And it felt really, really good.

But Cooper was kind of dirty inside because he hadn't pooped yet that day.

And when Matthew started fucking him, Matthew's cock got kind of dirty, but
Matthew didn't care.

He just said, "Oh fuck yeah. Look at that shitty cock going in and out of
your ass. Gonna shoot my jizz up that shitty, stinky ass, baby," and a
whole bunch of other stuff and swear words that made Cooper blush, but it
made him feel really good and sexy, too.

"I'm gonna cum in your shithole, Cooper, you want that, huh? You want my
jizz up your stinky shit hole?"

Cooper whimpered yes, because he did.

"Cooper Pooper," Matthew grunted, and a nickname was born.  "Gonna cum in
your shitty fuck-guts, sweet little Cooper Pooper. Oh yeah, baby. I'm gonna
stick this stinky cock up your hole and come in you good."

And the shitty tan boylube from his own greasy stink-ass helped Matthew
stick his cock all the way inside him, as far up inside him as any boy had
ever fucked him, and he grunted and twitched and pushed in hard and filled
Cooper's shit-ass with a grunt full of cum.

And Matthew whispered, "Oh yeah, Cooper Shit Boy. Fuck your stinky ass,
man. I'm gonna fuck your stinky ass a lot. A LOT."

And he did. He did fuck Cooper's stinky ass a lot.

And the other new neighbors that Cooper messed around with were Riker and
Riley, the twins from down the street. They were a little younger than
Cooper, but when Matthew told them about "Cooper Pooper," the first thing
they wanted to do was come over and see if it was true.

They were in the middle of this big experiment they said, and wanted to
know if they could stick some little ice cubes up Cooper's ass. It might
help clean him out a little.

"No way," Cooper said, shaking his head. "You guys are weird."

But then they showed them how they did it, and Cooper was intrigued to say
the least.

They locked Cooper's door, and put some little grape-flavored ice chips up
each other's asses from a Baggie they were carrying with them, and then
they invited Cooper to lick them out -- straight out of their buttholes! --
which he did. And after that, Cooper got so horny licking their stinky
asses, which tasted like grape but also like butt stink, he couldn't help
himself -- he fucked one of them, Riley, right on the spot, while his twin
brother Riker watched and stroked his cock.

And after that, Riker was horny too, and he shoved it into Cooper, and
fucked the bigger boy with his smaller dick. And once again, Cooper, who
hadn't pooped yet after school, got just a little creamy tan on Riker's
little fuck stick, once again earning his nickname.

"Aw, man," Riker giggled. "Matthew was right. You really are Cooper
Pooper. That's gross!"

Cooper just shrugged.

"No big deal," he said. "Poop washes off."

So, that man with the peanuts just didn't know – Cooper not only
understood he was flirting with him – Cooper could acutally tell by the
way the man stared at his ass and got all flushed and red in the face and
hard in the pants, exactly what the man was thinking about.

He was thinking he wanted to put his cock in Cooper's ass. Or touch him
down there. Or lick him down there. Or do something to him down there.

Cooper closed his eyes in bed that night and slid his finger in and out of
his ass. He pretended it was the man's hard cock, going in and out, in and
out of him. He pulled his stinky finger out and smelled the sweet shitty
smell of his own ass with one hand to his nose while the other jacked off
his hard little boycock.

He smelled is own stink finger, jacking and sniffing and cumming in sweet
little babygrunts, 12-years-old and thinking of man-fuck for the very first
time.

Cooper's a good boy, everybody. And he's getting even better.

He's getting even better and he's getting even braver.

Everybody meet Cooper.

We haven't heard the last of Cooper, folks.

Not by a long shot.

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