Date: Mon, 16 Jan 2017 06:59:01 +0000 (UTC)
From: xpud (at) yahoo.com
Subject: Stories of an Old Boy Chapter 2

Standard disclaimer: This story depicts sexual acts between minors. There
is also some minor omorashi (urination) in it. You've been warned.

Disclaimer to readers of Chapter 1: I don't typically write completely
gratuitous smut; expect story elements. If that's cool with you, read on!
If you want to skip to the sex scene, Ctrl-F and search for "Truth or Dare"
to get yourself going.



Chapter 2

	Gym goes by surprisingly quickly, up until the very end. We play
"Hot Foot," which is basically dodge ball but with bean bags slid across
the floor, for the first 30 minutes. The rest of the time is spent in
individual or small-group activities, such as Four Square or
basketball. Since Akronis Middle School is 6th through 8th grade, the
P.E. class has all three grades; the grades usually segregate
automatically, though Matty is over with a group of the smaller sixth grade
kids playing a round of Four Square, inventing rules up as they go. I can't
blame him--the 6th graders are still not full of themselves like the 7th
and 8th graders seem to get.
	Speaking of which, as I'm just walking around the gym (I've never
been a big sports fan), the 8th-grader Rodrigo "Rod" Juarez sneaks up
behind Matty and nabs the ball from him before he has a chance to catch
it. "Sorry, but I can't let pants-pissers play with the gym equipment. It's
the rules."
	Matty's face contorts in a mix of anger and embarrassment, but he
fights back. "Give me the ball, you jerk!"
	Rod smirks, "Whaddya gonna do about it? Cry? Piss yourself? Drown
me? Get out of here." He takes the ball and starts walking off.
	Long story short, I'm a patient guy, and have literally all the
time in the world, so I do a little...shall we say, research: I go back in
time to a point where I can befriend Rod, play as a jock for a while,
ingratiate myself with him, learn his secrets, and then redo it all again
exactly this way; it's a lot like saving a video game, trying something
new, and then loading the old save. It's a trick I've done a few times to
make myself look psychic, and let me tell you--it works wonders. For a
demonstration:
	"Whaddya gonna do about it? Cry? Piss yourself? Drown me? Get out
of here." Rod takes the ball and turns around to find me right in his
face. I take a step closer, causing him to take one reflexively back.
	I lean in threateningly and speak where only he can hear me above
the noise of the gym. "You wet the bed almost every night until you were
10." I walk forward, herding him toward the back wall. "Your brothers still
make fun of you for it." His face goes from angry and smug to confused and
afraid. "Your mother spanked you for it every time, too." Panicking, he
looks around for answers in the empty air. "You hated wetting your bed, and
you could have stopped bedwetting, but you didn't." His breathing signals
that he's feeling like a cornered animal. "You know why? Because you liked
it when your mother spanked you. You like being spanked. You wouldn't want
everyone else to know, would you? No? Then I suggest you give me that ball
and walk away."
	Suddenly, his brow furrows and a sneer contorts his lips; I
recognize that face and instinctively spin out of the way of him trying to
punch me. "Fuck you!" Rod yells before roaring animalistically and diving
at me. I dodge, leaving him stumbling past where I was. He lunges again,
and I simply duck and shove my shoulder up under his gut, sending him
flipping over me and onto his back. He may be 15 pounds heavier than me,
and he may work out, but I have had a lot of practice in previous life
iterations at this kind of thing.
	He tries a few more times to take me down, each time either being
dodged or flipped, before Coach Rigby finally sees the commotion and
interposes. "What do you think you two are doing?!" he shouts.
	Before I can even answer, Matty and his three friends bust in with
the entire story, how Rod was bullying Matty, how I told him to stop being
mean (wow--now they're making stuff up for me?), and how Rod tried to fight
me but I never hit him back, only stopped him from hitting me (okay, that
part's true). Rod gets immediately sent to the principal, yelling "Fuck
you! I'll kill you!" to me until he's nearly dragged out of the gym. I know
he'll ask me later how I knew all that, but I think I'll the mystery eat at
him. Coach Rigby looks me over with a suspicious air, but checks his watch
and blows the whistle for the end of class.
	We all dress back into our regular clothes; Matty stares at his
pants on the bench, too embarrassed to dress out without underwear after
what happened. I tap him on the shoulder and point to the bathroom stall;
he gets the hint and scurries off to change. When he comes back out, he is
still in his gym shirt (thankfully not that sweaty) but otherwise looks
fine for school. Most of the other boys avert their eyes from him, either
embarrassed for him or unwilling to cause another stir after what happened
with Rod.
	Coach comes in to remind us to clean up the area and that we would
be doing our fitness checkups on Monday; the bell, and subsequent stampede
of kids, drowns out his last few words. I get up to leave as well, but
Matty tugs my sleeve. "Can we talk real quick?" he asks quickly,
shifty-eyed. "Outside for a second."
	"Uh, sure." He and I exit the gym and hook right, toward the exit
instead of toward our next class.
	Just outside, he looks back through the glass door to see if anyone
was watching, and then practically corners me as I did to Rod. "I don't get
you," he says with squinty eyes, half from the sun and half from suspicion.
	"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.
	"Why? Why are you protecting me?"
	I want to ask him why he's asking me this question, when it dawns
on me: nobody else came to his rescue earlier, and I don't think anyone
really ever has. I don't care how many years I've lived; seeing a bullied
kid this young already losing faith in humanity just hits me in a spot that
has never lost its sensitivity. I stare him down, and sigh. "You know I'm
not one of the cool kids, right?"
	He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? You never get bullied, though."
	"That doesn't mean I can sit and watch it happen."
	"Yeah, but--" he pauses, then bites his lower lip, obviously
frustrated with trying to get his thoughts out.
	I interrupt him with my own vulnerability. "Hey, about what
happened in the shower--I'm really sorry about that. I was just gonna show
you this one thing I learned that feels really good, and I got a little
carried away, and, um..."
	"That's okay. I know what sperm is and all that. I mean, I spermed,
too--well, I mean I orgasmed. Not much comes out yet, but I already know
about that stuff." Matty shrugs.
	"That's not what I'm getting at. I know why you, well, I mean, I'm
sure the massage felt really good and all, for you, but that's not what I'm
trying to say." Wow. I sound like a fucking idiot. Jesus Christ, hormones,
cool it down, wouldja?
	Matty puts the pieces of my mangled attempt at conversation
together rather quickly. "So, what, are you gay or something?"
	The sun decides to warm my face a whole lot more than the rest of
me at that moment. "Yeah." Do I rewind this? I'm losing control of this
situation. I should just take it back and be prepared for--
	Matty quickly blurts, "Hey, that's cool," and then stammered,
"Um...we need to get to class, but, um, do you want to come over after
school and play Black Ops? I got the new one."
	Oh, fuck it. Let's see where this goes. I haven't felt this alive
in far too long. "That sounds really cool."

* * *

	Matty and I only share one other class, Math, and it's the last
period of the day, after lunch and science, which is where I overhear one
of Rod's friends muttering to his bud about "that fucking freak fag over
there"; I know they're talking about me, but an elephant couldn't care less
about an earthworm than I care about them. I just want the day to end so I
can pick up my cellphone from my first period teacher, tell my parents I'd
be home late, and go hang out with Matty. Math class is as boring and easy
as it ever will be, and the bell finally rings. Matty always walks home, so
I grab my stuff, zoom by Mrs. Robinson's class to pick up my cellphone, and
follow Matty to his place. We discuss the math lesson on the way home; he's
not the best at numbers, it turns out, but it's a simple misunderstanding,
easily corrected.
	"Why are you so good at math?" he asks, slightly petulantly.
	"I dunno. Practice."
	"Ugh," he groans. "I'm not good at school."
	"Sure, but you're good at other things, right?"
	He gives me a skeptical, sidelong glance. "Like what?"
	Like turning me on. Like being fucking adorable. Like somehow
taking me by surprise. Like...
	"Like already being cool enough to invite me over when nobody else
ever does."
	He smiles at this, but tries to play it cool. "Well, y'know. I
mean, you helped me out today, I thought I could, well, y'know. Anyway, my
house is just over this way." We cut across the freshly mowed grass between
the baseball field and tennis courts, and head past an area of undeveloped
woods to a wooden fence attached to additional chain link fences. It's
pretty clear that this wasn't intended as a pathway to school. Regardless,
Matty walks up to a pair of slats on the fence, looks over his shoulder
quickly, and pushes the bottom of the boards. They swivel easily upward,
leaving plenty of room for his lithe body to slip through. I'm not exactly
heavy at this point in my life (later on, I usually end up putting on
weight), but I'm not nearly as slim as Matty; it takes a bit of sucking in
to shimmy through the gap.
	We're suddenly in the back yard of Matty's house: a modest
one-story complete with swing set, back porch full of potted plants, and a
tool shed the likes of which I think every middle-class suburban white dad
has. I don't have much time to take it all in before Matty beelines to the
back door. I hustle to keep up--small doesn't mean slow in Matty's
case--and enter into the kitchen.
	"Mom! I have a friend over!" Matty yells into the middle of the
house.
	"Who is it?" a voice replies over the blaring sounds of soap operas
on the TV.
	He introduces me to his mother, who gives just enough attention
that she'll probably call me Paul or Fred when I leave; she doesn't even
comment that Matty is wearing a completely different shirt. Matty appears
to find this utterly normal. I quickly find out that he's an only child and
gets away with damn near anything--I love it.
	We make our way to his room, which is bedecked in video game
posters and action figures posed on shelves. This I did not expect, for
some reason. Come to think of it, though, I have no idea what I would've
expected; I'm not sure if I'm just being willfully ignorant, but I'm
thrilled with the unpredictability of this whole little adventure.
	"So..." Matty stammers. "Black Ops?"
	I shrug. "Sure. I'll give you the fair warning right now, though."
	"What, you'll just win every time?"
	"If by 'win' you mean 'bleed out and give everyone else a high
score,' sure."
	He giggles; my heart soars. "Oh, come on. You can't be THAT bad."
	It turns out that I am, in fact, that bad. Half is because I've
never been into shooting games; half is because I pay way too much
attention to the scrunched-up face of determination he gets when he's
actively hunting me in hidden corners of the map.
	About the time his mom pops her head in to ask if I'm staying for
pork chops, I realize that I haven't called home. I call up quickly to hear
the voice of a less-than-pleased mother who's "quite concerned since I
normally call" and "would really appreciate it" if I "didn't just stay out
without calling," etc. Eh, not worth fixing it; I'm allowed to be
imperfect. "Sorry, Mom. Hey, I'm at a friend's house; is it cool if I have
dinner over here?"
	"You're lucky I'm making spaghetti, so I can save some for your
dinner tomorrow. Don't be surprised if Kate and Gina get more than you,
though."
	My sisters can go stuff themselves sick, for all I
care. "Okay. Sounds good."
	Suddenly, Matty yells down the hall after his mother, "Is it okay
if Phillip spends the night?"
	Wait, what?
	"Sure, honey. Dinner will be ready in about 25 minutes."
	Well, all right then: "Uh...hey, Mom? Can I, uh, spend the night
over here?"
	There is a short silence over the phone line; I've almost never
asked to sleep over at a friend's place this go-around. "Sure. Are you
going to be home in time for going to the pool with your sisters tomorrow?
It's Saturday Splatterday!" The neighborhood pool basically holds a water
gun fight in the park nearby; I'm really not feeling it. "Maybe?
Depends...I think Matty--he's my friend--might be going to the movies
tomorrow." He gives me a funny look, but I just shake my head and wave the
lie away.
	In short: "Yes, Mom. ... No, that's fine. ... Yes, okay!
... Okay. ... Good night."
	"Yay!" Matty cheers. "A whole night of killing you in Black Ops!"
	"Oh, come on, it can't be THAT exciting. Why not just kill practice
dummies? They put up more of a fight, am I right?"
	We give it a few more rounds before dinner is served. The
conversation is mostly small talk, discussing how school is going, what
classes do we share, Uncle Jim is coming to town on a business trip and
Matty's cousin James will be in next weekend, and other business. I tune
most of it out, just watching the dynamics between Matty and his mom; I
haven't seen a father around, nor do I find it worth asking about at the
dinner table.
	We clean up and head back into his room. "So I've played enough
video games for now," he says suddenly and a bit forcefully.
	"Okay..." I say slowly. "What did you want to do now? I mean, we
have all night."
	"Yes! Um, so there's this fun game called "Truth or Dare."
	Oh, shit. This is about to happen, isn't it? "Oh, I've played it
before. It IS fun!"
	"Oh, cool, so you already know! Want to play?" His eyes are
practically shining with anticipation.
	"Sure, but only if I get to ask first. So...truth or dare?"
	"Truth!"
	"Okay. Hm. What's your favorite subject?"
	"What? That's a dumb question," he scoffs.
	"Hey, I hardly know you! I think it's perfectly fair."
	"Okay, fine. I really like science. I can't wait until next year
when we get to dissect a frog."
	Fair enough. "Oh, cool, cool. Your turn."
	He asks me; I'm feeling impulsive. "Dare."
	"I dare you...to wear your shirt inside-out over your head. With
your arms still in it!"
	"What? I--how do I even do that?" Eventually I manage, with my arms
sticking out like dead branches. He starts giggling at the ridiculousness,
so I play it up, flinging my arms around, complaining that I can't get
free, knocking things around in the room. In a moment or two, we're both
laughing like fools.
	I fix my shirt, and ask him. "Truth or dare?"
	He hesitates. "Truth."
	"Have you ever messed around with anyone?" Matty goes silent. I
push the advantage: "Either you answer or you have to take off a piece of
clothes."
	"What??" he yelps.
	"That's how you play, right? We've always said that if you don't
want to do a truth or a dare, you have to take off a piece of clothing."
This is patently untrue, although I'm totally going to make it true
tonight.
	He sighs, and takes off his shirt. Surprisingly, either due to good
genes or a lack of body fat, he has the faint outline of a six-pack. It's
fucking sexy. Then he throws the question back to me. I respond, "Truth."
	"How long have you known you were gay?"
	Well, that escalated quickly. "Hard to say," I reply utterly
truthfully. "I mean, I guess I've known all my life, kinda."
	"But how did you know?"
	"Uh-uh-uh," I chide. "Only one question. It's my turn to ask. Truth
or dare?"
	He gets a mischievous look in his eye. "Dare."
	A few minutes later, we both run down the hallway and into the
living room, right in front of the TV. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" I cry out,
"The wonderful Whitney Houston!"
	Matty, wearing a dry mop head and holding a carrot, immediately
busts out, "AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII..." and can't even get to "will always
love you" before he breaks entirely and collapses in laughter. I can't even
help but crack up at the scene. His mother even tried her best to look
annoyed that we interrupted her crime drama shows, but she couldn't stop
the smile from creeping up onto her face.
	Matty's eyes suddenly go wide. "Oh sh-" he yelps while scrambling
toward the bathroom, holding his crotch. I follow quickly, to hear the
familiar sound of extinguishing a forest fire in the toilet; damn, that boy
can pee.
	He comes out of the bathroom, red-faced. "Sorry."
	I try my very best not to laugh, and manage to stop all but a quick
snort. "It's cool, it's cool. That was hilarious." I notice that there is a
somewhat sizable wet spot on the front of his khakis, but say nothing.
	We head back into the room, closing the door, and he points the
carrot at me. "Truth or dare?!"
	"Truth, your honor."
	He looks to the side, and puts the carrot down. "So, um. When you,
y'know, spermed, was it just because you're gay? Or..."
	I think I know where his question is going. "If you're asking if it
made you gay to have an orgasm, it doesn't work that way. It's what or who
you're attracted to that makes the difference."
	"Yeah, but...how do you know? Like, really know if you're gay or
not."
	"Do you like looking at girls?"
	"Yes?"
	"Naked girls?"
	"I don't know! I don't really think so?"
	"Well, tell you what. Why don't you worry about what to call
yourself later, and just forget about the whole thing for now?"
	Matty's lips purse as he chews his cheek thoughtfully. "I think I
might like looking at you, though."
	Ah. So it begins. "Like I said, maybe you should just not worry
about a label just yet. But I mean, if you like looking at me..." I trail
off as I remove my shirt. "So. Truth or dare?"
	Matty stares at my chest for a moment before meeting me
eye-to-eye. "Dare."
	"I dare you to take off your pants."
	He hesitates, and looks down, eyeing the wet spot. His face turns
crimson again.
	I see his emotions working up, and offer, "Hey. That happens to me
sometimes when I get tickled. It's no big deal." It's also a HUGE fucking
turn-on, but I'm just going to conveniently leave that out for now. "But a
dare's a dare. Come on."
	After another slight hesitation, he abruptly stands up and drops
his khakis straight off; I had already forgotten that he had not put back
on his underwear after the previous incident, so there was suddenly a
button and balls staring me in the face. He must be a grower.
	Speaking of growing, it didn't take any more than that to stiffen
me up. "Well, hi there," I say to the new conversation partner.
	"Hello!" Matty replies, swinging it back and forth in a "wave,"
which really consists more of the tiny little bit of wiggle that his tight
sack and Little Limpy have. He laughs at his silliness, and sits down,
asking me, "Okay. Truth or dare?"
	"Hoo boy. Um...Truth."
	"Aw, come on," he cajoles me, "do a Dare."
	"You just want me to do this." I mirror his previous actions: I
spring up, shove my khakis and briefs off of my legs, and wag my erect
pecker in his face. In almost no time, I see his button growing into its
full three inches, bracing against his abs. "Oh, I see that you have come
out to play, as well."
	Matty looks down and laughs nervously. "Yup." He stares back at
mine, dangling half an entrancing foot from his face. It actually makes him
cross his eyes a bit, and I struggle not to laugh.
	"Hey. Eyes up here," I say, pointing to my own with a huge trollish
smile. I plop down in front of him, breaking his concentration. "I said
'Truth,' you know."
	He looks around the room, either as if he were breaking out of a
reverie, or possibly just to find a lost or hidden thought. Without meeting
eyes, he asks, "Have you ever...had sex?" After an uncomfortable moment of
silence, he looks up at me.
	I pause to think of a response. "A few times."
	His eyes light up as he jolts up to his knees. "Really?! Was it
with a boy or a girl?"
	"Both." Yeah, I tried women more than a few times, but it never
really did it for me. Older, younger, big, thin...meh.
	"Which one was bet--" he begins, and then catches his obvious
mistake. "Oh. I guess boys, 'cuz you're...y'know."
	"Truth or dare?" I ask him quickly.
	"Truth," he answers after he reels slightly from the change of
subject.
	"Who taught you about what sperm is?"
	He looks at me with a guarded expression and a terrible poker
face. "What...do you mean? I learned it at school."
	"We haven't had that stupid sex-ed class, "Our Growing Bodies" or
whatever, yet, and I have a feeling you found out first-hand. So who taught
you?"
	Matty spaces out for a moment. "I learned it at school," he repeats
hollowly.
	"All right, I believe you." Not one bit, but I'm not about to push
the issue. "Your turn."
	Matty seems to shake off whatever was occupying him. "Okay, Truth
o--"
	"DARE," I shout.
	He jumps, and reaches behind him to throw the pillow from his bed
at me. "You scared me!"
	I take the pillow smack in the face like a stone pillow-fight
training dummy. "Yes, but it's still your turn to give me a Dare."
	"I dare you..." he begins, and trails off, scheming, "...to close
your eyes and lay on the bed."
	"Okay," I say innocently. This is so about to happen.
	I lie down and close my eyes. I feel him climb up on my legs and
sit, where his beautiful butt is just above my knees. Then, I feel two
sharp jabs as he plants his fingers into my armpits. My voice cracks like
shattered glass as I screech in surprise. I open my eyes to see a
thoroughly sadistic expression on his face as he wiggles his fingers in
farther.
	Over, around, and other prepositions fly as we tumble about on the
bed, when suddenly one of my legs goes over the side. I yelp and pull him
off the bed with me, landing on my back with him sitting smack on my
sternum, pert little dick in my face. He has this triumphant expression on
his face like he's won. So he thinks he has the best of me? I'll show him!
	My tongue darts out and flicks a few times across the bottom of his
balls. This sends a jolt so fast through his little body that squeals he
and falls sideways off of me, just long enough for me to pin him to the
ground underneath me. He struggles for a moment, but I lean in and plant my
lips on his for a full two seconds. When I pull away, he is staring at me
in complete shock and awe. "You...just kissed me!"
	"Yeah, I did. What are you going to do about it?"
	He struggles a bit more, and then looks down at our dicks, so close
to touching. He bucks up his pelvis and brushes his right across the
underside of mine; the feeling is electric, making me shudder. I stare deep
into his eyes as I grind back. "Truth or dare."
	He breathes in quickly and closes his eyes as I rub across his
shaft. After he opens his eyes, he stares me down with
determination. "Dare,"
	"I want you to kiss my dick." I release my hold on his arms and
lean back, placing my butt just between his knees.
	He sits up, looks at me with a riled passion, and leans forward to
kiss my head. "It's salty!" he says, a string of precum still connected to
his bottom lip.
	"That means he's happy to see you." I flex my dick a few times,
wiggling the string until it snaps, trailing across my scrotum. "Do you
want me to greet yours, too?"
	"Yes! Kiss my dick!" he says, sounding a little silly in the
process. He leans back to give me access; I slowly approach the target,
pucker my lips, and shove the whole thing in my mouth. His lungs fully
inflate with the gasp he takes, but I don't stop--I swirl my tongue around
the head, suck off all of the dripping precum, and rasp my tongue alongside
the bottom of his shaft.
	He takes ragged breath after ragged breath, almost hyperventilating
at the stimulation. It takes less than a minute, though, when suddenly he
tenses up and lets out a strangled, shuddering sigh as his dick begins to
pump in my mouth. I hold still, counting the throbs; he twitches in a
mostly dry orgasm for a good eight throbs before collapsing to the floor,
popping his dick out of my mouth. "Holy shit," he says breathlessly.
	This, of course, sends the message straight through my body,
turning me on to 11. I whip upright, grab my dick, and pump furiously as I
almost immediately begin spewing ropes of cum across his chest, the last
ones draping themselves over his still-hard dick and tight sack. When I can
see clearly again, I realize that I accidentally missed a bit. "Um, Matty?
I think I came on your dresser."
	He looks back over his head and sees the gooey string hanging on
his bottom drawer. "Dude! You spermed over my head!"
	"Yeah," I say sheepishly. "I do that, sometimes. So...I think we're
done with Truth or Dare for the night, right?"
	He giggles. God DAMN, he's cute. "Yeah, I think so. Wanna go take a
shower with me?"
	Thinking about the showers doesn't even give me a chance to go
soft. "Of course I do."
	But first, I definitely rewind about three times to feel the
throbbing of his dick in my mouth, and blasting cum across my new little
infatuation.


End of Chapter 2

So! This is still my first piece of erotica, so I'm always interested in
constructive feedback. I mean, if you need to send me hate mail, you may
consider other, more fulfilling uses of your time, just sayin'. If there's
a path you'd be interested in seeing this go, or if there's anything else
you'd like to say, I'm all ears: xpud (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Until next time!