Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2006 02:23:07 EDT
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 12

The usual disclaimers apply.  This is a work of fiction, and those folks
who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral
preference, or by law should not read any further.

All of the characters presented here are fictional representations,
including the narrator.  Some of the events and characters are inspired by
actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the
presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray
actual, historical persons and events.  It's just a story.

Any public places which may seem to correspond to actual locations have
been destroyed by the wrecking ball between the time the story is set and
the present day.  This chapter is somewhat of a tribute to that wonderful
place about which many times "I" imagined what I'd do if I ever got
"Stefan" up there.  The key was always where I described it, but Stefan,
alas, never was there on a suitable occasion.

I know some time has elapsed since the preceding chapter and this one.  I
have been drafting this chapter and the next several in my head, but
unfortunately I have not had time until now to type anything.  Please bear
with me, as I seek the time to describe the other "games."

All stunts were performed by professionals.  Do not attempt these at home.

No World Cup soccer players were harmed in the writing or reading of this
story.  I wish there were more TV close-ups of said players, as there are
frequent close-ups in baseball, American football, and basketball.  I'm not
that much of a soccer fan, but I've always had a warm spot in my heart for
soccer players, ever since my sports team ended up sharing a school locker
room with the soccer team.  But that's a story for another time. . . .

If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual
acts, please do not read any further.  Why, indeed, have you read this far?


Games With Stefan

Chapter #12-Weekend at My House (Part 5)

All too soon, the alarm rang .  I rolled over, smacked the thing off, and
then rolled back to snuggle with Stefan a few more minutes.  But I wasn't
going back to sleep: once I awake to the alarm, I don't easily fall back
asleep.  Besides, Stefan was now awake and was thrusting his ass against my
erect cock.

But I wasn't going to lie in bed all day, even if I was with the most
beautiful boy in the world.

I pushed Stefan out of bed, then guided him to the bathroom, where both of
us pissed and then showered together.  Then into the kitchen, where Stefan
ate his breakfast from the bowl on the floor, while I sat at the table, my
feet resting on his back as I watched a little of the "Sunday Morning"
program on TV.

When we were both done eating, Stefan looked up at me, a questioning look
in his eyes.  I didn't say anything, just brought him into my bedroom,
where I took out of the back of the closet a white collared shirt and a
pair of navy slacks, outfits I'd outgrown over the past year but which my
mother hadn't yet boxed to put away for my little brother, who was enough
behind me in age and body size that when he came to wear my hand-me-downs
he'd entirely despise my sense of "fashion."  But when there's nearly a
decade between brothers, and when parents are too cheap to fork over the
money for a full set of clothes for two boys so different in taste and all
that, well, then there's nothing he could do except complain.

Anyway, when Stefan put on that crisp white shirt over his naked body, I
wanted to grab him and fuck him right then, right there.  But I motioned
for him to put on the slacks, too.  "No underwear," I said, when I saw the
puzzled look in his face.  Both of us usually wore underwear whenever we
wore shorts or slacks or jeans; it was either all or nothing with us.  He
slid the slacks on carefully, and he made sure, when he zipped up, that his
dick was safely inside.  I stepped back and took a look at my boy.  He
looked incredibly good in the slacks and shirt, which fit him comfortably,
though a little tightly in the ass.  But where we were going, I'd be the
only one who cared to look.

When I'd dressed myself in a similar fashion and had each of us put on our
shoes, I led him downstairs by the hand, into the garage.  I took down two
bicycles from the wall, where they were stored-my ten-speed and my
mother's.  As I opened the garage door, Stefan and I wheeled the bikes out
into the bright sunshine.  He, of course, would be riding Mom's bike.  And
by now, he knew where we were headed: to church.  Before you say, "What the
hell-?" or some similar thing, keep in mind that for some of us faith is
still a vital part of life, regardless of or maybe because of everything
else in our lives. . . .  Anyway, Stefan had visited my church before, so
the kids in my youth group wouldn't think anything strange if he joined us
that morning.

So we biked the three miles to church, arriving just in time for the early
service.  I would have kept dozing off during the pastor's sermon, except
that every couple of minutes I would feel a warm, soft, boyish hand set
atop mine as it rested on the wooden pew.  I know Stefan was as tired as I
was, but he was simply excited with the thrill of being in public with me,
without parents, in an outfit of my clothes, without underwear, his hand
squeezing mine, his right knee pressing against my left knee.  I had all I
could do to keep from looking over at him every chance I could, or grabbing
him in my arms and kissing him full on the lips.  Every time I felt the
urge, I also felt my cock begin to swell in my slacks, and I knew I had to
relax and let it go back to normal.  When you're wearing slacks without
underpants, sitting on a hard, flat surface, it doesn't take much for your
erection to become visible to anyone within the line of sight.  That was a
discovery I made that morning, so I did my best to keep my feelings and my
cock in check.

After the service was over, we went into the other end of the church
building for Sunday School with the youth group.  Stefan and I ended up not
sitting together because the only seats available when we arrived were
single seats scattered around the full circle that went around the room.
(Most of the other teens went to the late service, so they had already
seated themselves for Sunday School.  Our pastor was never known for ending
a service on time.)  Youth leaders in those days thought it would be cool
to have everyone sit in a circle, and that way they could keep everyone's
attention better.  It also allowed guys to stare more obviously at the
person they were interested in-obvious, that is, to the subject of the
attention, though not always to everyone else.  So I had a full hour of
being able to observe Stefan, who sat in a spot where I could see the
profile of his face, the quick movements of his graceful hands, the
occasional adjustments of his shoed but sockless feet, little glimpses of
his bare ankles being revealed now and again.

No one noticed that the two of us we wearing identical homemade rings, but
then again, no one was particularly paying much attention to us.  It was a
good-sized group, around 40 to 50, so neither of us would have been given
the once-over.

I stayed around for a few minutes, chatting with a couple of friends, while
Stefan hung around, listening.  Once we were alone, he asked me, "Now
what?"

I smiled.  The kid was perceptive, that's for sure.  I hadn't just brought
him to church for the service and the Sunday School.  I put my finger to my
lips and whispered, "Follow me."  I led him back down past the church
sanctuary, where everyone was engaged in singing the opening hymn.  I led
him down a side hall, past the pastor's office, and then up a flight of
stairs to the second floor of the Mansion.  It was the original building on
the property, which had been donated to the church congregation by one of
the original founding members, a rich widow without close heirs.  The
Mansion was built sometime in the early 1800s, and it had four floors, only
two of which were in use at the time Stefan visited.  The ground floor had
the church nursery, the second floor had some administrative offices and
Sunday School for the first-, second-, and third-graders.  Unfortunately,
the church has since demolished the Mansion in order to build a huge, gaudy
new auditorium (the new church sanctuary), so current members of the church
are unable to enjoy the beauty of this great old building.  And fewer yet,
I'm sure, would have imagined the use Stefan and I would put it to that
late morning.

We stopped by the locked door leading upstairs to the third and fourth
floors.  "We used to use the upper floors for Sunday School," I whispered
to Stefan, "but the town fire marshal said we can't anymore because the
fire escapes can't carry enough people.  It's just not safe, or so they
say."

"But we're going up there?" he asked.  I could see the sense of adventure
light up in his eyes.

"You got it."

He tried the knob.  It turned, but the deadbolt was locked.  "Do you have
the key?"

"I will in a minute.  Keep an eye out."  I went into an adjacent office,
where the Sunday School Superintendent had her office.  Like most church
offices, it was kept open during the services on Sunday mornings, even
though no one was around at the moment.  The key was where I'd last seen
it, in the large flat drawer of the desk, in among the paperclips.

I unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open.  "Take off your shoes," I
whispered.  As he did, so did I.  Carrying our shoes, we went upstairs, I
making sure to secure the deadbolt behind us.  Since I carried the only key
on the premises, there was now no chance of anyone surprising us upstairs.
Of course, I had Stefan walk ahead of me, just so I could stare more at his
ass. . . .

On the third floor, I gave him a tour of the former classrooms, and we had
some fun writing cryptic things and making weird drawings on the
chalkboards.  I could imagine what someone later on would say if they saw
all the graffiti we left that day.  I kissed him every now and then, and a
couple of times I ran my hands inside his shirt, and he felt my cock
through my slacks.  I wasn't restraining my feelings now; the slacks tented
the right amount every time he touched me.

Before we headed up to the fourth floor, I stopped him.  "Take off your
pants," I ordered.  In a flash, they were down around his ankles, and he
stepped out of them.  "Now, upstairs with you," I said, as I scooped up the
slacks and brought them with me.  Now I had a full view of his bare ass,
and my slacks tented out even more than before.  There was something about
hiding out up here, with the slight fear of being found out, all the while
knowing I was with the most awesome boy, a boy wearing nothing but a white
shirt that framed his ass so nicely.  I scampered up the stairs after him
and, at the top, after setting down the slacks and shoes, I put my arms
around him, kissing the back of his neck, running my fingers down the front
of the shirt, unbuttoning all the way down, at the end grasping his dick in
my right hand and pulling it to full attention.  He closed his eyes and
melted back into me, and if I hadn't been leaning against the railing, we
might have fallen down the stairs.

I guided him to the classroom to our left, which overlooked the main
entrance to the church, and closed the door behind us.  It was kind of a
back entrance, but since most people parked in the large upper back lots,
that was the doorway most people came in to the church.  The classroom,
once a child's bedroom, had large windowsills which contained cabinets.
When I'd had a fourth-grade Sunday School class there, we had never sat on
chairs, as we found we could easily sit two or three side-by-side in the
windows, leaning back against the glass and feeling somewhat by ourselves
in the recessed window frames.

I sat Stefan on the windowsill directly over the church entrance.  I kissed
him on the lips, them began kissing, licking, and sucking my way down his
chin, his neck, his chest, his nipples, his navel, all the way down to his
cock.  His eyes were closed, and he was purring and gasping.  I could tell
he was trying to be quiet as possible, but up here, no one would hear us,
since the nearest folks were the adult taking care of the nursery, three
floors below us.  And I seriously doubt they'd have been able to hear
anything, even if we had shouted and screaming while fucking. . . .

I licked the head of his dick, then down the shaft, before turning my
attention to his balls.  Then along the shaved skin around and beside his
cock and balls.  Stefan was squirming, bracing himself against the wooden
frame, trying to keep from falling backwards into the window.  Then next
moment, his back slapped against the old glass as I lifted his feet.  His
ass, which I'd been thinking about for most of the morning, was exposed,
waiting.  I held his feet up with one hand, while the other undid my slacks
and dropped them to my ankles.  My cock was fully engorged.  It wouldn't
take much to blow my load.  So I went straight for Stefan's hole, thrusting
inside in one motion-

"Owwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Stefan cried out.  Now that might have
been heard downstairs, I thought.  But I could hear down below the
screaming and wailing of at least two infants, so we were still safe.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Pull it out, please!  Pull it out!"

"Why?"

"It hurts!  It so fucking hurts!"

I reluctantly withdrew from his ass, and squatted down to take a closer
look.  Sure enough, his hole was red and swollen, clearly sore.  How the
hell had that happened?  I thought about slapping Stefan for having done
something to keep me from being able to fuck him today-for there was no
question he was way too sore to have any cock in that hole for at least a
few days-but then I remembered the night before, in the woods, Sandro
plowing Stefan's ass against that tree.  Of course!  With a cock like
Sandro's in his ass not once but twice in the same day, there was good
reason for him to be sore.  I felt my own hole, and it wasn't exactly in
the happiest mood, and I'd only had Sandro's cock in there once.

"I'm sorry," Stefan said, almost on the verge of tears.  "If you want to,
I'll just bear it-"

"No, no, it's OK," I replied as I cradled my boy in my arms.  "We'll just
do something else, that's all."

"I can suck you," he offered.

"Nah," I replied.  "We can do that anywhere, any time."  I was thinking.
"OK, I know what we'll do."  I lifted him off the windowsill and climbed up
there, myself.  I unbuttoned my shirt and leaned back against the window.
"Come here," I said, and I pulled Stefan against me, so that our cocks
touched.  He got the idea.  He leaned forward, kissing me on the lips, and
began to grind himself against me.  Before we had discovered penetration,
this was our sex, cock against cock, belly against belly, lips against
lips.  I pulled him closer to me, as if he could melt into me.  I cupped
his asscheeks with my hands, guiding his movements that way.  He thrust
against me, and I thrust back against him.  He grunted and gasped, and now
I was the one purring.  I closed my eyes as I heard the church door open
and the first people leaving after the service, their voices gradually
floating upwards to where Stefan was grinding his cock against mine.

As excited as I had been, I had been deflated for the moment when I
discovered Stefan's injured hole.  So it took a few minutes for me to get
back into the swing of things.  Stefan started humping more quickly as he
exploded into a dry orgasm, and that put me over the top as I shot rope
after rope of cum between our stomachs.

There were still voices outside, though they were fewer, by the time I
unpeeled my sweaty back off of the window.  Stefan was licking my stomach,
eating up all my cum, and I had already rubbed the cum on his stomach into
his skin.  We spent a few minutes kissing, my tongue tasting the cum on
his.

Then we dressed and went downstairs, relocking the deadbolt behind us and
replacing the key without anyone noticing.  All the way home, Stefan and I
kept laughing every time we glanced at each other.  It was a bright and
sunny noontime, and I was riding bikes with my best friend, my lover, going
home for a full afternoon of further pleasure.

I already knew what new games Stefan and I would play once we'd had
lunch. . . .