Date: Fri, 25 Nov 2005 19:41:29 -0600 From: Timothy Stillman <comewinter@earthlink.net> Subject: Naked Boy Bare "Naked Boy Bare" by Timothy Stillman Friday night's coming along just fine. Week's over, bullies put away on supper trays. I am 12. I am alone. It is deep November. Parent at work. Eight p.m. Feeling deliciously sexual. Hard on all day at school. Like always. The good boy. But hard ons nonetheless. For Jimmy Moore. For Mickey Graham. Boys I love. Boys I'd like to look at in the shower after gym or changing before or after, if I had the courage. Small me. Thin boned me. Blonde and somewhat effeminate if you see how my arms wind mill a bit as I play far outside left field in school baseball at gym class. Now, me, naked. Not a hair on me save for the thick blonde of my head. The living room dark, save for the flickering pot bellied stove. The flames dance on me as I stand by the heat close in the cold large living room. I hold my penis out and I stroke it stiff. I love to have a stiff penis. It makes me feel really great. It's like more of me than there was before. I stroke it and flip its tip with my fingers. I feel good naked. I have a nice body. Feminine behind. I have a curving in front and a delicate frame. I have a good butt. I would love for someone to touch it. Accidentally at first. Then on purpose. It's cold outside. I feel warm by my left side, because of the fire. the right of me is cold. I raise my head to the sky and imagine a hand holding my chin. I imagine a hand going down my chest. Touching my nipples. Like painting them with sunshine or snow. Both seem the same to me, though I can't explain why. I stand with my legs spread far apart. I push my penis named Gregg beneath my legs and then let it sprong outward again. I touch my balls. They are small. No one notices me ever at school or anywhere. I have a nice body. They just don't know it--yet. When I pinch my titties, my dick rises up further. I am pink for the most part. My face is shaped vaguely angular like a fox's. I love snow. This is my favorite season. I would love to run naked through snow. I dream a lot that I am outside at night, naked, and I have to make my way home safely without anybody seeing me or laughing at me. They would not laugh at me of course. I would take their breath away with my beauty. I touch my long thin aristocratic (I am a reader, so I know some words others my age don't, they're too busy going to parties and on dates, I am too busy being alone) and like royalty. A necklace of pure diamonds would go round that throat so beautifully. Would accommodate it so well. I have a small Adam's apple. I have one hand with a bump just off the edge of the little finger. That bump is from surgery to take off an extra finger with which I was born. It means I am different. I like being different. I hate being different. I like being mysterious. I hate being mysterious. I love being naked alone. I am terrified being naked with others, like in the changing room. It has the smell and taste and fear of danger. I do not think I could get a hard on with someone even Jimmy or Mickey if I was alone with them and they were naked too. I would be embarrassed. I dig my feet and my toes into the carpeting. I raise my hands to the sky and I stretch for all I'm worth, making my whole rib cage rise upward in celebration of me. I wonder what being dead is like. If it's noble, like I've read. I wonder what being alive is like, if it's noble, like I've read. I lower my arms. I scratch my sides. I go ukk ukk like a money in the jungles of Africa. I wish I could wear a loin cloth. All day at school, I would show off my wan thin irresistible body, except for my butt, save for the little cleft at the top, and my groin , save for the top of the V. Everyone would look and pretend they were not looking. Even the teacher. Which gets me hot for some reason. I'd like to make it with her. Which is confusing. And icky. At the same time, thinking this now, my boner grows. I search every evening for any traces of pubic hair. I do not wish for pubic hair. I guess I shall get some though. If it pleases, could it be golden and light and delicate like a wish you make late at night that says funny whispers at your ear, whispers that make me think crazy sentences like this that mean nothing at all. I stick out my front. I stick out my dick. As though I'm handing it over to someone. To Mickey who smiles a lot and is happy a lot. To Jimmy who is darker than I am sometimes and even more brooding at others than I am. I wish to be a pirate's mate. I wish to be Jim Hawkins in "Treasure Island." Or Boy in the Tarzan novels. Or Lally one in "Bless the Beasts and Children." The first for adventure and pirates and hot Caribbean islands where I would meet lots of boys like me and we would run down the beaches naked in the daylight and tumble over each other in the surf. The second because it would be great being naked in the jungles and swinging naked on a rope and having adventures. The third because Cotton would look out for me and protect me and be my big brother. And I'd get to go round in underwear alot. And watch the other boys for real in their underwear too. I thrum my dick like a banjo. Or like I guess a banjo is like being thrummed. I feel the blood in it thicken. I feel my tiny nuts get close to my body. I feel my legs beginning to get unsteady. I close my eyes. I clench my butt cheeks. I grip my little hard on with both hands. I push the opening open and closed that looks like the opening and closing of a guppy's mouth, though where that simile came from I've no idea, I've no idea where a lot of what I think comes from; is that a bad or good thing? I don't know. I do know it scares me. Makes things lots less secure in my head than they might be in others'. I tingle all over. I feel my heart racing. I feel my legs trembling. I feel my crotch getting hot. I feel my egg nuts hot. I feel my penis hopping up and down now without me touching it. I can make it go a bit side to side too without touching it. I wish someone were here to touch it. The boys I love. My teacher. I wish they were all three here with me. We would have a great deal of fun. If I didn't blush and stammer and not get hard and make a fool of myself. I kneel down to the floor. My body is hot and cold. One side goosepimpled. One side not. I lie on my back. I look at the flames of orange the stove casts on me. I wish I could suck my dick. I lie back and enjoy the feel. I do not cum yet. I figure this is a good thing. No mess. No getting caught. I turn my head to the side. I close my eyes. I pretend I see love. I pretend I see my teacher and Mickey and Jimmy and I pretend I see me with them. My penis hops. I'm ready to shoot now. I have all of summer inside me. I am so vulnerable now. I am like the most innocent doe now. I am a bear cub. A kitten. A puppy. I am happy in summer snow fields of sun. I am happy in a world that I almost feel exist. As my friends and my teacher watch me from close by and marvel at me, at how I seduce myself, at how I make love to myself, at the splendor that is me. And my body is fireworks and I gasp and cry out senseless words and noises. I close my eyes tight. I feel my toes crunch. I feel my legs tight and strong and my dick is the center of the universe and with it some day some how I shall create life and get this world straight and as it should have been, all along; you just see. I feel the head of my little cannon with my hands. I massage it like a sentient mushroom. I feel it glowing and growing and all the rush and all the hush and all the life that ever was is to be ignited in the coming now and closer now and now and now-- EXPLOSION and EXPLOSION---and on and on six maybe seven more times. My penis thrusting in my hands, like trying to climb out of me, like screaming silently, like something even more alien than me. Pouring and pouring out my sex, great gulping gouts of it, my sex my sex-- not a good boy now not here would no one ever know? My body bucking like its in life throes, death throes. Lights go off and on behind my closed lids. Lights go on and off inside my suddenly opened body, and I am the ultimate and I am the pulsating muscles and blood pounding nerves and imagination that tears haywires into me like bales of sharp broken glass shards and barbed wire, and I buck more and more, and my arms come up, and my torso, and my butt raises off the floor as my body, on extended loan to me and part of me and somehow in this act not part of me, rises on tip toes and shoulder blades, like I'm a bow from which the arrow of my dick is shot in coming cum and coming cum imagines itself and dry still some day and maybe that is a day to look forward to after all, and my heart sings and my head cries and I turn to the side as my body falls as if from a massive height through the winter gray cold sky, and I am spent. My teeth have been clinched hard. I have bitten my tongue so hard it hurts. I am exhausted. I am perspiring. The all of me is hot now. My penis is still jiggling a bit, though finally going soft for a few minutes, while it decides if it wants to decode another sexual symphony in me and ride the music once again tonight. But now is rest. Now is Friday night. School over. Alone to read comic books. Go to the movies by myself. Look forward to Saturday morning cartoons and long Saturday afternoons with TV and comic books and, a little home work which on Saturday doesn't seem as daunting or as scary. But for now I lie naked boy bare on the living room rug. My pores pouring sweat. My hand soothing my itchy itching almost pained balls I came so hard and so tight. My penis though becoming sleepy and friendly and washing me in calming waves. Hours till the parent gets home. I'll maybe jack again, then put on my clothes, sleep a little, then watch some TV. Right now I lie there. Sated. Most happy. You should see me. I can show you a good time. You never know what you're missing. Some kids play baseball really well. I don't. I play sex really well. And if you will pardon me for saying so, that's a helluva lot more fun than baseball.