Date: Sun, 19 Apr 2015 16:08:06 +0200
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Andy in the Attic

ANDY IN THE ATTIC
By Zachyboy
t/b, oral, anal

The following story is a work of fiction involving sexual situations
between a teenage boy and the younger boy he babysits. If this type of
material is offensive to you or illegal where you live, please leave.
Otherwise, spread a cheek or two with the rest of us and let us know if you
see anything you like.

Give some love back to the guys who make your weenie feel good. Please
support the Nifty Archive Alliance with a donation to keep this website
going strong.

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

On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # #

The first time I fucked Andy, he was 8-years-old, and I was 15. And it
happened because I got tipped off by a friend of his who was already doing
him, and, well, things led to things, and before you know it, my common
sense and respect for a Andy's much lesser age went right out the window,
and there I was grunting on top of him, wondering how in the world I was
going to get away with this, and hoping like hell he wouldn't rat me out.

Andy was always one of those sneaky and shy boys. He wasn't overtly
smart-ass, though he had his minor moments. Mostly it was funny stuff.
Sneak an extra candy when his mom wasn't looking. Flip me off when her
attention was elsewhere. Stick out a tongue. Bend over a little and shake
his little booty at me. I didn't think it was sexual. I thought it was
just, well, boy.

But it turns out as far as the sex stuff goes, there's this wonderful class
of boys who have already learned what they need to learn from other boys.
You think they're naοve. You think they're innocent. You think they're
totally clueless about dicks and butts and oral and anal, but it turns out
you're wrong. And while you're cruising them, they're cruising you
back. Andy was one of those boys. I just didn't know it.

I was his babysitter. And even the first time I met him, I knew I wanted to
do stuff with him, but come on, man. He was only 8. He still had his baby
teeth. Was it polite to even think of it?

At what age does a boy make the jump from "too little" to "fair game," when
you're 15 and a walking boner, and all you can think of is spreading his
sleeping cheeks apart after bedtime and giving that little starfish a lick
and a promise, then staring him right in the pink eye as you kneel shaking
and moaning and ejaculating on his carpet as your senses go wild and your
cock shoots off onto his Scotch Guard Stain-Protector.

Because that's what I wanted. Even if he was too little to fuck – (my
mistake, it turns out) – all my goals were noble and chaste. I just
wanted to spread his ass cheeks apart with a thumb and a forefinger and
stare at that anus and jack off all over his bedroom carpet. I fantasized
about that almost every night in my own bed, lights out, jacking off at
home. I couldn't fuck him (I wrongly assumed), so I just wanted to stare at
it, lick it, taste it, smell it, then send myself over the moon with a
self-inflicted rubdown. And if he slept through the whole thing – ("Hey,
Andy. Ya need some NyQuil there, champ?") – then all the better for him
and for me. Mission accomplished and no one's the wiser.

Andy was the neighbor's boy. My mom knew his mom and we lived next door, so
I was the de facto babysitter, and just about everybody suspected he was
right up my alley, or would be, if he were older.

His mom knew I liked boys, my mom knew I liked boys, I knew I liked boys.
We were all fairly knowledgable and in agreement about it. However, I think
they just assumed "liking boys" means a 15-year-old boy likes other
15-year-old boys. Moms are pretty clueless about boy cocks going into boy
butts, so I have a feeling it honestly never crossed their mind I might be
having wet dreams at night imagining banging 8-year-old Andy's anus.

"Step right up, folks!" called the carnival baker of my dreams. "Who'd like
the first crack at Andy's anus?" And in the dream, I was first in line,
cotton candy in one hand and my ticket in the other.

I liked boys all right, and they both knew it, but as far as babysitting
was concerned, I was 15 and Andy was 8, so they factored-in the age
difference and naively deemed me harmless, giving me far too much leeway
and way too much credit for the self-control and common sense I definitely
didn't possess. But it's nice to be trusted in spite of the fact that
you're the well-known neighborhood gay boy.

His mom even continued to trust me to behave myself after the time she saw
me watching him with an intensity that most teen boys don't exhibit when
they watch an 8-year-old boy walk up the stairs in his size 6,
way-too-tight Spider-Man undies.

"You okay?" she asked when I stopped in mid-sentence to stare at his
nearly-naked bubble butt.

"Yeah. Uh. Sorry." I stammered. "I used to have those same undies. Only
mine were Captain."

She looked at me quizzically.

"America, I mean. Captain America."

Fuck. I couldn't even get the words out.

But, oh well. She needed a babysitter and I was next door. And if I needed
to see her little boy walk up the stairs in his undies, shaking his
prepubescent money-maker at me, she turned the other cheek. So really,
sports fans, what more could I say?

"Hey, Miz Jacobs, how's the weather? And, by-the-by, is that a fresh-shod
pair of Andy's underpants I see in the laundry hamper tonight? Do you mind
if I snatch them up while you're boring me about your emergency contact
instructions and press them up to my face and inhale his maple boy musk
while you babble your ass off about where you're going to be after 10 pm,
and by the way, my cock is leaking Elmer's glue right now under your
kitchen table, so you might want to mop that up in the morning. Thanks,
you're a peach."

Believe me, some things are better left unsaid, and checking out Andy's
magnificent ass every chance I got was definitely a case of don't ask,
don't tell.

You could tell he knew it and you could tell he didn't. He knew I liked
looking at him, he could tell I flirted a little when his mom left for the
night. And sometimes I thought he was flirting back and sometimes not. And
oh sweet God, Andy was a hottie. And if you think an 8-year-old can't be a
hottie to a 15-year-old boy, then clearly my friend, you have never seen
Andy. You need to peek in his windows or something, because trust me, he's
hot.

Not only did he have the finest ass ever sculpted by the heavens, he also
had this cute little tongue, and rascally eyes, bright blue and sparkling
to beat the band. He used to do this thing where he'd extend his pinky and
forefinger, classic rock concert salute, and stick his little tongue out,
right between them. Like teasing. Like cunnilingus. Like la-la-la, I'm
gonna lick a little girl's pussy. Only for fuck's sake, he was 8. He didn't
even know what licking a pussy looked like. Neither did I, for that matter,
and hoped to never find out.

Oh, that sweet little tongue. Oh, those hot little baby teeth. Don't get me
going on baby teeth. They just made him seem even more forbidden. Even more
exciting to my 15-year-old hormones.

"How do you make a hormone, Stevie?"

"Ha-ha, Stevie, don't pay her. Get it?"

Andy used to wear this fuzzy-soft robe with a camouflage pattern. It felt
like heaven when he sat in my lap watching TV, grinding his poky butt bone
into the erection I'm sure he felt. He must have. It was aching. Did he
know he was turning me on? Did he know I wanted to fuck him when I tried to
grind my cock into his crack? I have no idea. And I was way to chicken and
scared for my life to come right out and say, "Andy, let's fuck."

So he'd do that cunnilingus thing with his rock star fingers and he's
giggle at me sweetly and he'd say, "You're funny, Stevie. Your C-O-C-K is
hard." And I'd try not to moan out loud. And I'd adjust him and move him
off me and I didn't even know if he was disappointed or not. Give me a
sign, I prayed. Because moving him off me was the hardest thing I ever had
to do. Pick him up and plop him down next to me on the couch when I'd
rather park my meat in his slot like an Oscar Mayer in a bun? The Restraint
of the Ages, I tell you.

I saw him change his undies once. He took the old ones off, threw them
toward his hamper, missed, then bent over to pick them up, giving my very
first glimpse of his asshole itself, and sweet Grandma in heaven, I thought
I might faint. Pink, puckered, perfect, with one tiny little spec of lint
on it. I wanted to eat that lint. I wanted to make lint tea that night. I
wanted to worship at the Holy Temple of Lint and take communion in his
little winking wafer.

Fuck, I wanted to tongue that boy's asshole. I wanted to lift up his goofy
camo robe, and pull down those underwear, and squeal at those baby cheeks,
and pry open the gates of heaven and stick my whole head up his ass, like
an ostrich in the sand. And I'm giving you the milder version, folks, in
case you're eating dinner.

But who was I kidding. He was too fucking little. He was 8 and I was 15,
and amused, harmless, turn-the-other-cheek aside, I knew if I stepped one
foot out of line, even if he was ambiguously flirting back, his mom would
have my ass, and not in a good way.

But every time I saw him, I just wanted to – I don't know – I don't
even have the right verb for it.

I read a recipe once, for iced tea of all things. Basil Lemon Iced Tea. I
read it in the waiting room at the doctor's office. Good Housekeeping. And
you know what it said? It said, "Muddle a handful of fresh basil leaves
into the bottom of a pitcher and cover it with lemonade."

"Muddle a handful of basil leaves," it said. Not crush, not crumble, just
"muddle."

And because Andy was 8, that's what I wanted to do to his perfect little
anus.

I didn't want to penetrate it. I didn't want to finger fuck it or cause him
discomfort.  I just wanted to muddle it a little. I just wanted to touch my
finger to his linty little rosebud and just sort of muddle it and tickle
it, then give it a sniff and lick off my finger until I was leaking in my
pants, and then I just wanted to muddle it some more.

He wore gel in his hair, if you can believe that audacity. I never babysat
Andy where I didn't see him without a significant amount of product in his
hair, even at night. Even at bedtime. Gel, mousse, or whatever makes a boy
hotter...his mom slathered it into his locks of love and combed him
swirly-upward, and I just got harder and harder looking at him, because
honestly, show me a little boy with baby teeth and sticky-stiff gel in his
hair, and I'm just going to imagine I jizzed on him and it dried. Just
gonna fantasize that that's my crusty six-hour-old semen in his mop, making
his hair so stiff.

Beautiful pretty baby teeth. Stiffy hair. Stiffy in my pants. That's what
Andy gave me.

"Step right up folks. Who'd like the first crack at Andy's anus?"

That would be me, folks. Raising my shaking hand. Tickets clutched so hard
in my sweaty palm the ink has come off.

# # # # # # # # # #

Andy went to a birthday party one Sunday, and I was there to help out. A
cousin of his, Raven – how's that for a boy's name? Raven? Holy fuck.

Raven turned 11, and whoof, not only was he raw sex in size 8 shorts, but
what a bevy of beautiful boys at that party in general. An absolute
smorgasbord. And luckily, school newspaper geek that I was, Andy's mom
asked me to bring my fairly-professional digital camera along, to take real
pictures.

So there I was, right down there in the boypit of the neighborhood bowling
alley, taking officially-sanctioned pictures of the prepubescent guests in
all their megapixel glory, instead of being doomed to disappointment later
by reviewing my usual shaky off-center camera work from a $5 spycam app I
kept on my iPhone. It made my screen look like a Kindle page, but it didn't
do much to add high-quality boy-perv images to the world of j/o
photography.

But, whoof. Raven's birthday? There were just too many boys at that party
to appreciate them all at once. I was on overload.

Andy, who was usually the center of my attention, was almost overshadowed
by the beautiful bowling boys who were bouncing all around me.

One of them, Barrett, wouldn't stop following me around. He kept mugging
for the camera, saying "take another one, take another one!"

And the minute I pointed the camera in his face, God, he would make little
kissy-lips or open up his mouth and stick out his tongue, full length, and
all I could think of when I stepped aside to review the pics was,
holy-fuck, oh-holy-fuck, please let that beautiful open mouth be the
eventual landing pad for the big batch of babies swimming in my balls
looking for the nearest fire exit, 'cause mama mia, let me assure you, I
was burning up inside.

This was a kid who knew what the score was. Somehow I just knew it. Andy's
signals still confused me, but Barrett had been around the block. A boy in
heat can smell another boy in heat.

And believe me, I couldn't get enough of that sweet little whiffer. I
followed him around like a puppy, and he followed me too, mugging for the
camera generally being hot as all get-out. There are boys you want to lick,
there are boys you want to fuck, there are boys you just want to ejaculate
near, or into, or onto, and then there are boys like Barrett you just want
to BE with, no matter what that entails. Do their laundry. Do their
homework. Do their mothers. Do anything just to BE with them.

Even if it's completely non-sexual, you just want to bask in the utter,
blissful joy of their completely graceful, unfettered, self-assured,
confident playfulness. Barrett's joy made my heart ache. I wanted to go
four years back in time and be his best friend and just EXIST in that place
and space with him. He was so fun and funny and beautiful, it actually made
me ACHE to be around him.

And fuck yeah, I wanted to open his ass up. Oh FUCK yeah. This was a
bowling birthday party, so you better believe by the end of the sixth or
seventh frame, every boy that walked by me was generating body heat to beat
the band, and the hotter they got the harder I found it to say "Hey, give
me a big smile" instead of "Hey, you're going to the restroom? What a
coincidence. So am I."

"I'll meet you in the last stall. Pull your shorts down, bend over, and
don't mind the cock you're about to get up your ass. Tell your mom you'll
be a while. Because, Barrett? You'll be a while."

Fuck, I wanted to know that little monkey's butt in the most intimate
way. From top to bottom and everything in between. ESPECIALLY everything in
between. Whoof.

Ohhhhhhhhhh, that little fucker. He was just killing me, swear to God. He
opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue for the camera about five
different times. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I was aching for him. I'm
not kidding. 20 kids and 20 parents there and I didn't care. If he would
have dropped his shorts, and raised his undie-clad rump up in the air,
buns-first over the ball-return, I would have rammed my face headfirst in
his crack before you could say seven-ten split.

Better yet, I would have made him squat that little hot box of his right
over the air blower so puffs of his sweet, teasing boysnatch would have
blown straight into my airways. I would have just sat there on the floor
and sucked it into my grateful lungs like apple pie on a windowsill.

He was beautiful and fun and preposterously boyish and he was ooo-la-la, in
all the right places.

A couple of times I saw Barrett and Andy whispering to each other and
pointing at me. Whispering, pointing, wiggling and giggling. Did they know
I was checking them out? At 8 and 10, do boys already know when they're
being cruised? I had no idea, but it made my cock hurt in my pants to
imagine they did. I could almost imagine how the 1+1+1=3 would work in this
scenario: my slim 5.5'er up Barrett's behind and Andy's fat 2.5 on the tip
of my tongue. Nobody stop until the old kid grunts.

I wish I could tell you how hot it made me to see them whispering,
giggling, pointing at me and smiling. I had no idea what was being
discussed, so my mind worked wonders. After all, it's the sneaky little sly
boys you have to watch out for. You think they don't know much but it turns
out they do. And a little thing like age difference won't stand in their
way.

As I kept shooting pictures, I wished I could take ass shots of all these
boys. Sometimes I get to, but this was one of those times where I had a
bevy of kids and moms saying "let me see, let me see," and I had to scroll
through pictures on the camera numerous times during the day. It was hardly
possible to say, "oh yeah, ignore all those pictures of your kid's
ass...those are for me to jack off to later," so I had to settle for a lot
of safe frontals.

Still, Barrett's ass in his little shorts was exquisite. His creamy little
legs and kneecaps hung the moon. I wanted to rock him in a rocking
chair. With me naked. And him naked. And Andy naked. And all of us
naked. And no grown-ups around. And a big old jar of Vaseline at the ready.

I left Andy in the tenth frame to follow Barrett into the restroom to watch
him pee. I peed right next to him, and he talked about his dog, Draco. He
stood back, finished and said:

"You wanna see my cock?"

I whimpered and nodded.

He showed me. It was soft and beautiful.

"Let me see yours," he said. "Hurry."

Mine was half-hard.

"You should fuck Andy with that," he told me, and that time I did moan out
loud. "He wants it, you know."

"How..." I stuttered. "How do you know that?"

"I get fucked a lot," he said. "Andy he should too. He's not chicken. He'll
let you. Just ask him."

He zipped himself up, and he was off like a shot, leaving me standing
there, hard cock in hand, not knowing what hit me.

Oh fuck. I stumbled to the nearest stall, locked the door, flipped the
review screen on my camera and looked at that first picture I took of him
with his mouth open and his tongue sticking out. I toggled back and forth
between that one and another photo of him squatting on a bowling bench, and
I masturbated myself to an instant and explosive climax, grunting in a
bathroom stall, thinking of his soft little cock, his sweet, hairless pubis
and the words that were haunting me: "He's not chicken. He'll let you. Just
ask him."

When I shot my cum in the bowl and wiped off with a wad of toilet paper,
straightened up, splashed a little water on my sweaty face and headed back
out into the bowling alley, I was crushed to see Barrett was already
heading to the exit with him mom. The party was winding down.

With a wistful sigh, I headed back to Andy, who was looking puzzled and
fidgety.

"What did he say?" he stammered. "What did Barrett tell you?"

"Shhh," I said. "Your mom's coming."

"Did he tell you about the bee-eff stuff?" he whispered.

I gulped. My heart was spinning butterflies.

"Yeah," I whispered. "He said you'll let me do stuff."

His mom was just a few steps away. He crooked his finger and motioned my
ear down.

"I want you to bee-eff me in my butt," he whispered in my ear. "Tonight
when my mom leaves. I want you to bee-eff me."

# # # # # # # # # #

When we got back from the birthday party and his mom was leaving money on
the counter for pizza before she went out, she told me about Andy's new
playroom in the attic.

"It's kind of dusty up there," she said. "We're not through moving it
out. But he's got his toys and games and a mattress up there, so if he
wants to sleep up there tonight, that's fine with me."

"It's my treehouse clubhouse," Andy beamed proudly. "It's where I go to
live with the monkeys."

His mom and I exchanged a glance. Hers was more like, "okay, whatever."
Mine was an attempt NOT to look like, "God, I want to fuck him." Was he
playing little, or being little. I didn't even know anymore.

She grabbed her keys and said goodnight. She wouldn't be back until
midnight she said, so feel free to crash on the couch or crawl in with
Andy.

Oh, I'd crawl in with Andy, all right. Tonight was the night I was crawling
right up his ass.

"Good luck," she said, and out the door she went.

Luck not needed. This one was in the bag.

# # # # # # # # # #

We climbed the stairs to Andy's attic. It was one of those sets of
retractable wooden steps that swing down out of the ceiling when you pull
on the cord. He tromped up the stairs in full jungle explorer mode with me
behind him, gazing steadily at his tight, tiny ass and trying not to drool.

"Step right up folks. Who'd like the first crack at Andy's anus?"

The word "curves" did not even begin to describe the shape of Andy's
perfect ass. His itty-bitty twinmelons were like globes of meandering
marvelousness. Twin pitchers mounds you wanted to tiptoe on top of and
pitch a three-game no-hitter. I watched them jiggle up the attic steps and
believe me, the word "curves" did not do them justice. Spirals, crescents,
arches and curls perhaps. Bows, bends, and undulating buttercups maybe. But
just plain "curves" was a slap in the face. An insult.

Andy was wearing boxer briefs, little grey ones, and it was a humid night,
so as anticipated, they were hugging his crack all the way up the stairs. I
knew tonight I was going to find out what it would be like to stick my
tongue in that crack.  To lick him like a salt block. To taste his sweet
potassium like a deer at a salt lick. To spread the glutes and taste the
fruits. To go into absolute sodium overload as I lapped the tart bitterness
from his skinny-tight baby-ass and that one drop of sweat that was
sparkling in the dimple until my cock was ready to turn into a javelin pole
and jump over civility. Jump over common sense. Jump his bones, to say the
least. Tonight was the night.

I was so excited. Tonight I'd know what it would feel like to stick my
finger in that ass. To slide it wet and leave a trail of saliva, to run my
fingertip in the sticky slip-and-slide of his sweet little hot pocket. And
then when I heard him sigh and felt his cheeks unclench, knowing his
inhibitions were relaxed and his pocket protector was giving way, stick my
finger, first one knuckle, then two, then all the way to the third up that
easy-bake oven just to watch him wince and whimper.

And then when he was loosened up with one, maybe two of my fingers to the
point where they were sliding in and out easily enough, just slide my
aching boner into the hole in his back porch and just rock the night
away. To cum inside the sweet, hot sucking mouth of his ass and watch it
ooze back out again when I pulled my cock out and wiped it on the cream of
his thighs.

This was the night. Andy had said so.

The attic was a perfect summer clubhouse for a boy. A secret retreat with
toys and bookshelves, dusty boxes pushed to the corner, but a big wide area
rug to mark off Andy's jungle perimeter. There were stuffed monkeys
everywhere, apparently a collection I didn't know he owned. And a little
white desk. And a pitcher of water. And a package of Oreos. And a place to
lay down. I couldn't take my eyes from it.

"My mom won't let me have my regular bed up here, but she lets me have a
mattress on the floor," he said, jerking me out of my mattress-induced
reverie with a "huh?" and a "what?"

"I can only have a mattress on the floor," he repeated. "But it's fun. It's
like a clubhouse. Wanna lay on it with me?"

Oh, please Andy, yes. Let me lay on it with you. I didn't know if I said
that out loud or not.

"Okay," he said, so I guess I did.

I flopped down on my back and he flopped down next to me. I could feel his
heat. Smell his Andy scent. Just having him near me was driving me
insane. I felt like fireflies were buzzing under my skin. There were two
dozen joy buzzers wired to my spine. We both laid still and looked up at
the ceiling.

"Barrett wants you to fuck him too. You were checking him out, weren't
you?"

I think I choked on my spit a little. I coughed involuntarily.

"Checking him out?" I feel like Andy had caught me cheating on him.

"You know. Looking at his butt. Looking at his C-O-C-K."

Oh fuck that was hot. Spell it out for me, baby. Be a little boy.

"What makes Barrett think I was checking out his C-O-C-K?"

"Everybody knows you're gay, Stevie," he said like it was the most obvious
thing in the world, and perhaps it was. "I mean, we all know what gay
people act like. Duh. My friend Gary down the street has a mom that's a
lebzian."

"Huh," I said. "You don't say."

"Yep. So we're used to gay. And gay guys like butts and C-O-C-K's."

We looked at the ceiling and I pondered this for a moment.

"Are we gonna bee-eff or not?" he asked.

"Jesus, Andy. This all just happened so fast. I mean, of course I want to,
but do you think we should..."

He shushed me with a hand over my mouth. He was having none of this, my coy
routine.

"Wanna see mine?" he asked simply.

"See your what?" I asked him, through my covered mouth, my heart pounding.

"My C-O-C-K," he answered simply.

I gulped. I swallowed.

"Yes," I said quietly.

Without hesitation he tugged down his pants and undies. Slid them right
down his little legs, and there it was. And oh fuck, was it
gorgeous. Perfectly formed. Cut and cute. He flexed it and it wiggled,
fully erect, one, two, three twitches.

"Oh God, Andy. It's hard."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I take it out and there it goes."

"It's...wow..." I struggled for words. "It's beautiful, Andy. You've got a
beautiful cock."

"Thanks," he said.

And then there was silence for a minute. He pinched it between his fingers
and sort of wiggled it at me. Looked me right in the eyes, then looked down
at it, and then wiggled it with me. I thought I was going to faint.

"Will you show me what gay guys do with it?" he asked. "In case I ever have
a sleepover with one?"

"Oh fuck, Andy."

"Hey," he said. "You can't swear up here. House rules."

"Fuck. Shit. Sorry. My bad."

I thought he was joking. But he was serious. Such a little boy.

"Look, Andy. I'm not sure you're supposed to ask me this stuff. And I'm
sure I'm not supposed to be in bed with you with your penis hanging out.

He giggled suddenly.

"You said penis."

I looked down at his again and it was perfect. No bigger than a man's
thumb. Plump and stocky. Not at all long, but a mushroom tip that tapered
into perfect slimness. It was peachy-pink, not angry red. Just perfect,
with a darker line around the middle. "Count the rings in a tree and see
how old it is," I thought ridiculously as I stared at his delicious,
mouth-watering baby stick. I really did begin to salivate. My butt really
did begin to tingle wondering what it might feel like if he stuck that
perfect shorty up my ass.

I took a deep breath. I weighed my future safety against my immediate need.

"If we do stuff, you can't ever tell anybody, Andy. Not a soul,
Andy. Except for Barrett. You know that, right?"

"Duh," he said. "I'm not dumb."

"Okay," I nodded, talking myself into it. "Okay then."

# # # # # # # # # #

"Teach me what to do," Andy said simply. "The touches first and then the
sucks and then the butt stuff."

"Oh fuck, Andy. Oh fuck."

"And quit saying swears."

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. I'm nervous."

"Why?" he asked. "I'm the one with the little butt. I should be nervous,
not you. Barrett says it hurts going in."

I couldn't even answer, I was so scared and happy at the same time.

"I can't wait to tell Barrett we did this stuff," he said to me. "He thinks
he's so hot, he's the only one who does it."

"Maybe I should take my pants off too. Maybe we should take all our clothes
off."

We did.

My cock sprang into view and his eyes bugged out.

"Wow," he said. "This is going to hurt. All I've ever had in me is
Barrett's."

"Is it a lot bigger than his?" I knew I wasn't huge, but I was bigger than
a 10-year-old.

"Kind of a little," he said, measuring it up with his eyes. "Well, kind of
a lot."

"It works the same as the smaller ones," I shrugged hopefully. "A little
bit juicier at the end, but same theory."

He shrugged. "Let's give it a try. What do I do first?"

"How about just touch it. Rub it up and down?"

"You mean mackserbate it."

"Yeah, Andy," I whimpered as his hand wrapped around it. "Mackserbate it,
baby. Mackserbate it as much as you want."

His little hand wrapped around the shaft. It felt warm and sticky, like
he'd held onto candy recently, and knowing Andy, he probably had. He
started to rub it up and down awkwardly. I covered his hand with mine
momentarily and helped him find a better rhythm, then let go again.

"Like this?" he asked.

"Perfect," I sighed. "Just like that."

He stopped for a second and smelled his hand. He made a face.

"Ewww. It smells grown-up."

"It is," I said.

"Mine doesn't smell like that."

"Mine has more pheromones," I told him.

"Is that what makes the juice come out?"

"Shhh," I told him. "Don't talk, just jack."

He was content to pipe down and work my shaft, but not for long.

"Can I do the suck thing now?" he asked me. "When me and Barrett get our
dicks hard, we flip around and suck each other's C-O-C-K's for a while
before we bee-eff. You wanna?"

Oh fuck, did I wanna.

"Sure," I said, and he hurriedly flipped into classic 69. He'd done this
before, the little scamp. I had no idea who'd been training Barrett, but he
had my appreciation, because this shit runs downhill.

His little mouth was wrapped around my glans before I knew what hit me. And
holy fuck, he knew what he was doing. I'm not sure how big Barrett's dick
was when the urge came calling, but mine was about 5-and-a-half inches
slender, and Andy wasn't missing a slurp.

"Unggh," he gagged briefly. "It's thick. And too big."

"Keep trying," I whispered. "As much as you can."

I took his little spike in my mouth and was rewarded with heaven.

If heaven had a taste, if heaven had a flavor, it would be the taste of a
little boy's dick. It's not like anything you've ever tasted
before. Certainly not like teen dick. Certainly not like grown-up
dick. Little boy's dick is something else. Salty and creamy. Vaguely
pee-scented. And the pubis just smells like Teddy Grahams. Little boy's
dicks are salty and hard. Pissy and sweet. Like sugary
graham-crackers. Like little red Twizzlers.

"Andy?"

"Huh?" he mumbled through my cockhead.

"Stick your finger up my butt."

"Ewww," he mumbled, talking with his mouth full.

"Come on, please? It's clean. I promise. Stick your finger up my butt."

I felt him move his mouth long enough to coat his finger with spit, and
before I could instruct him in the finer points of delicate entry, up it
went, without a pause.

"Oh!" I gasped. "Oooh, that's good."

"You like my finger in your butt, you perv," he giggled through a mouthful.

"I like it a lot. Push it in and out."

We laid there for several minutes, sixty-nining, while he finger-fucked
me. My dream come true. My cock in the mouth of an 8-year-old boy, with his
slender little digit probing in and out of my ass. I wet my finger and did
the same to him.

His little tunnel was tight, but not unyielding. I felt it pop through the
first sphincter effortlessly. I held it firmly against the second until it
started to give-way, and then with a rush of air out of Andy's lungs it
found its way in, and I let it rest there, pointed and deep, pressing up
firmly against the pebble of his love nut.

"Nnngh," he groaned. "That feels weird. Weird, but good."

"That's your prostate, Andy. It's a bump inside that feels really good."

"Barrett never did this," he said suspiciously.

"Barrett's finger's smaller," I said. "So is his dickie."

"Do it again," Andy grunted, and I fucked my finger in and out of him,
making sure to press it on every in-stroke. He began to breathe very
heavily and push back against me, gyrating his ass a little, digging it
into himself.

"Good," he grunted. "Really good. I gotta tell Barrett to do this to me. He
needs longer fingers."

He stopped abruptly. My finger popped out of him like a cork. His mouth
left my cock and my mouth left his. He stood up next to the mattress, naked
and erect.

"Ready to bee-eff me now?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm ready really bad."

"There's stuff in the drawer," he said, and he pointed to the bedside
table. I opened it up to see a small jar of Vaseline with fingerprint
smears on the lid. I popped it over and slathered my cock.

Andy walked over to the desk at the perimeter of the room and bent over,
spread his cheeks and assumed the position.

Fucking hot, man. Standing. Like he knew what was expected.

"Is this how you and Barrett do it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Other ways too. But this is how Barrett's babysitter does
him. His babysitter's a grown-up. He's got a huge one."

"Wow," I said, not so much at the revelation but more at the sight of
Andy's spread butt cheeks and his incomparably beautiful little asshole
winking and pursing inside them.

I stepped forward and lined myself up with my target.

"Go really slow at first," he warned me. "If it hurts, you have to stop."

I pushed forward and pressed my cock into him a half inch at a time.

"Good, good," he grunted. "Not bad. Ow. Slower. Oh wow."

He directed me into him, slowly and steadily. Before long, I was balls-deep
up his clencher.

"Yeah," he sighed. "That's it. That's good. Oh, man. That's WAY bigger than
Barrett's. WAY bigger."

"You like it, Andy?"

"It feels like a great big poop's coming out."

"I hope not," I said seriously.

"Me too," he giggled.

"Should I leave it where it is for a minute?"

"No. Go in and out. Bee-eff me with it."

Slowly, I started sliding in and out of his boy-perfect ass-chute. He was
hot as an oven in there. 98-point-6 never felt so good. I stopped at one
point and told him I needed more Vaseline. He nodded okay.

"Let's go to the mattress," I told him.

He held his little hand out. Actually held his hand out and let me hold
it. Let me lead him back to the bed like a little boy. Hell, he was a
little boy. He just happened to be taking my dick up his ass.

I dipped into the jar of Vaseline again and re-lubed my cock. Andy laid on
the bed, belly down, and once again spread his butt cheeks for me. Fuck, it
was beautiful. His little hole was open now. Stretched from my cock. I
kneeled with my knees on either side of him. Lined up. Pushed forward. Sunk
in.

"Nnnngh," he grunted again. "That's really big. Go slow."

"Can I go in and out again?"

"Yeah. Go. Bee-eff me. Shoot it in me."

I could hear him grunting. Bearing up under this. Being brave so he could
talk about it later with his best friend. Brag about it. I felt sort of
used, but hey. Any port in a storm.

He clenched his ass muscles tight around my dick which made me all kinds of
crazy.

"Oh fuck, that's good," I whispered.

"No swears," he said.

"Fuck you," I said, beyond even caring.

He giggled. "Fuck you back."

"What do you want up your butt?" I whispered in his ear.

"Your juice," he said.

"Say cum," I told him. "Tell me to cum in your ass."

"Cum in my ass."

"Say it again."

"Cum in my ass."

I pushed forward. Ground it into him. I could smell us.

I started pumping him harder. Really hard for a little boy. I never guessed
he could have taken it like this, but he did. Barrett apparently broke him
in well.

"Hurry," he whispered. "I'm getting kinda sore."

"Sorry," I told him, and I started to pump faster.

The beauty of fucking a kid on a mattress on the floor is no bed
springs. No squeaking. No banging as his head hits the headboard. Just a
hard steady fuck, faster and faster and faster until...

I grabbed his hips, pulled him up on me, impaled his hole on the length of
my cockshaft and BAM! Right up his ass.

"Oh FUCK!" I yelled.

"NNNNNGH," he grunted.

"Oh fuck," I panted as the cum jetted out of the end of my cock, bubbling
and boiling all the way up his tight, hot rectum. It actually hurt coming
out, he was clenching me so tight with the muscles inside.

"You done?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Give me a second."

He laid there obediently while I tapered off inside him. I shivered
once. Like cold. Like finish.

"Good," I told him. "That was really, really good, Andy."

"My turn," he told me, sliding out from under me. There was a wet spot on
the bed where he'd been laying. The force of my fuck made him pee the
bed. I guess I did do it hard.

He grabbed the Vaseline and lubed up his little boner.

"Lay down," he ordered me. "Spread your butt cheeks."

No wasting time on romance with this one.

I did what he said, laid face down and spread for him.

"Oh yeah," he whispered, spitting on his finger and rubbing it on my
asshole. "I'm gonna bee-eff you HARD. You think it's fun to get bee-effed?
Yeah, well watch this."

And that was all the warning he gave me. He lined up his pelvis, bore down
on me with his full weight, and that little spike of his shot up my ass so
fast I thought I saw butterflies. I winced. He was little, but rock
hard. And not gentle.

"Ow, Andy" I said. "A little slower."

It slipped out a few times. That's the problem with something that
small. The angle was wrong. Finally he scooted down and found some good
purchase and began to fuck me in earnest.

"Yeah," he grunted. "That feels good on my balls. It makes my balls
tickle. Does it feel good to you?"

"Yeah," I admitted, because honestly it did. And knowing it was an
8-year-old boy fucking me made it even hotter. My dick was starting to get
hard again knowing he was about to get his little nut inside me.

"I'm gonna do it really hard," he announced. "When I get my feeling, it's
gonna be really hard in your butt. I'm sorry, but I like it that way."

"Go for it," I told him. "As hard as you want."

With one hand, he pushed on my tailbone, pinning me on the bed, while his
little hips pounded me and his hard little spike rammed in and out of my
boycunt like a jackhammer.

"Here it comes, here it comes," he whispered. "I'm gonna bee-eff you so
fucking hard!!!"

And then he just rammed me.

"AHHHHNNNNNGGGGHHHHH!" he cried out.

He jammed himself forward like a boy two times older, and held himself
there, shivering and jerking. Two more quick jabs and that was it. He was
spent. A dry-cum straight up my ass. My cock was leaking on the mattress
beneath us.

"Put it in my mouth," I told him urgently. "Sit on my face and put your
cock in my mouth."

He did. I flipped over on my back and he scooted up and squatted on my
face. I licked his ass, then his balls, then he stuck his hard dick in my
mouth and he face-fucked me, still hard, still steel, like a rocket. I
could taste Vaseline on his cock and the scent of my own ass as I sucked
him and moaned, and jacked my own cock at lightning speed. A minute later,
I was ready to cum again.

"Eat it," I told him. "Hurry up. Eat it."

He scooted down and opened wide and I finished jacking right in his
mouth. I heard him gag. Saw him wince and make a nasty face as I globbed
his tongue with a couple hard jets of what I had left.

"Aw yeah, Andy. Good boy. Swallow it down."

He did, and he grimaced.

"That stuff tastes gross," he said.

"Thanks," I told him. "Want to fuck my ass again?"

He did, and he fucked it even harder the second time. And that's how we
spent the night. Taking turns fucking each other until his mom got home. We
opened the attic window before she did because the whole room smelled like
ass and balls and the bleach of my cum.

"Was he good for you?" his mom asked as I was taking my $40 and heading out
the door.

"He was very good," I told her. From the top of the stairway, Andy gave me
a wink and grabbed his crotch.

"Great," she said. "See you next Friday?"

"Sounds good," I told her, rubbing my cock the minute she closed the door
behind me.

I got into bed that night and jacked off two more times thinking of
Andy. My cock was raw and I could smell his ass on my hand when I
masturbated.

That was just the beginning of my adventures with that boy.

"Step right up, folks. Who'd like the first crack at Andy's anus?"

I may not have taken the first crack at it, but so far, I cracked him open
the farthest.

That would change, but not that summer. That wouldn't come until Andy
turned 9, with Barrett and HIS babysitter making a wish and helping me blow
out his boner, and a couple of kids named Dommie and Jackson and his big
brother Casey adding some frosting to the cake. And I DO mean his BIG
brother, and I DO mean some frosting.

It's the sneaky little sly boys you have to watch out for. You think they
don't know much but it turns out they do. And a little thing like age
difference won't stand in their way.

Step right up, folks. Who'd like the first crack at Andy's anus?

It turns out his crack's wide open and ready for business.

# # # # # # # # # #

THE END

# # # # # # # # # #

Author's Note:

In proper A-B-C order, "Andy in the Attic" is followed immediately by
"Barrett in the Bathtub."

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/barrett-in-the-bathtub

And for those of you who like your frosting all at once, "Casey in the
Clubhouse" is still to cum.

Love,
Zach

z.blake@mail.com
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#zachyboy