4 Eylül 2022



Subject: OF LUST AND LOVE – GAY – ADULT-YOUTH by Jon Kent DISCLAIMER OF LUST AND LOVE by Jon Kent Everyone should accept the laws of his country, reserving the right to strive democratically to change those he disagrees with. Therefore, if the laws where you live say that you should NOT be reading stories like these, you are legally obliged to leave now and read no further. It does not matter if these stories are fiction, made-up, only written to entertain, instruct, engage, and inform. If for any reason, the law where you live says you are NOT allowed to read them, you have to go. So off you go. Live a healthy and happy life, and come back, if you want to, when your laws say you can. And remember: these are only stories. They are made-up. They did not happen. And the writer does not believe they should happen. The first responsibility of adults is to protect children and their innocence. It doesn’t mean some adults won’t enjoy reading stories like this, but it doesn’t mean they should go out and do things like this. Who knows? maybe reading stories like this will actually stop them going out and doing these things. SUPPORT NIFTY Nothing comes free, so remember we wouldn’t have the massive treasure of Nifty if these good folk were not keeping it up and running year after year. So, dip into your wallet, find something for Nifty and send it to them. Every little bit helps. OF LUST AND LOVE The lunch bell rang. Almost as if they’d practised it, ten boys rose from their desks and shuffled towards the door. My advanced English group of twelve and thirteen-year-olds were polite but it was lunch time and hunger beat politeness every time. “Oh, Oscar,” I said casually, “stay behind for a moment. I’d like to have a word with you about your essay.” Several faces turned and gave the boy looks mingled with hard-luck smiles. Oscar sat back down at his desk as I closed the door behind the boys. I’d like to say behind his friends but Oscar was a new boy and as yet didn’t seem to have made any particular friends. He’d immediately struck me as a shy boy but given his looks it wouldn’t be long before he made a few. Even in an all-boys school, looks meant a lot – and Oscar O’Malley certainly had this. Even if he hadn’t his looks, his flame-red hair made him stand out in any crowd of boys. “So how are you settling in?” I asked. As Oscar’s form tutor, as well as his English teacher, it was a perfectly legitimate question. I settled myself on the edge of his desk so that the boy had to look up at me with those blue-grey eyes that caught my deliberate gaze a few times in class. “Fine, I guess, sir.” “Well, you arrived four weeks late, and I’m just checking you haven’t missed anything that really matters.” I smiled. “I’m speaking as your form tutor, not your English teacher. So is there anything you might need to know.” “Sir?” “Sex education, Oscar. I’m thinking about sex education. We had a sex education session during the first week. We always do it with boys who’ve just come up from junior school.” I hadn’t specified what it was we ‘always do’ with our new boys, but I knew what I wanted to do with young Oscar O’Malley. The boy’s cheeks flamed. The blush spread down his neck. I wondered how he’d react if I leaned down and kissed his hot little freckles. Slipped below the neck of his white t-shirt till my lips nibbled one of his hot little nipples. A bit early for that but I’d already permitted myself dreams. “We didn’t have that kind of education in my school,” he murmured. “I’m a Catholic.” As if that explained everything. “Ah well, you can always ask your father if there are things you need to know,” I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world – though I knew full well that Oscar had no father in his life. His mother had shared that with me, almost as if she expected me to play the role. “I don’t have a dad,” he half whispered. “Well, you can always ask your mum,” I said. I felt almost sorry as the flames burned Oscar’s cheeks. The last thing any pubescent boys ever do is mention anything to do with sex to their mothers. As far as they are concerned, their mothers live in an entirely sexless world. I sat on the edge of the desk, closer to the boy than I’d been in the two weeks he’d been with us. I looked down into this blue-grey eyes – or were they grey-blue? I looked at the curve of the eyes brows that mirrored the curve of the eyes. The curve of the nose that led down to those surprisingly pink lips. The slightly raised cheeks bones . Small ears. Longing neck where the tanned skin grew paler are it disappeared below his white shirt. I wanted to edge the shirt away from his collar bone, lean down and run kisses along it up to this ear lobe, nibble and… “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. Your mum told me about your father. In fact, your mum asked me to take care of you, take interest in you, make sure you’re happy at school. Would you like me to take care of you, Oscar. I’d like to take care of you, but only if you’d like that too.” I paused. “Would you like me to do that, Oscar? Take care of you, I mean.” Oscar looked up at me. What a small Adam’s apple he had. “Yes, sir, please, sir.” What a polite boy he was. “Well that’s what I’ll do, Oscar. I’m going to take care of you. But for now you’d better run along. You don’t want to miss the lunch break. I know just what boys want, so you’d better hurry along.” As Oscar rose, I continued. “Oh and by the way, your essay was excellent. I really enjoyed it. But you don’t want to hear about that just now. So off you go.” And off Oscar went smiling. Leaving me behind – smiling. “You dirty old man!” Now I’m laughing. I’m 28. I have a first class degree in English. I have qualified as a teacher. I teach English and PE. I’m tallish, well-built – a bit on the skinny side – my dick is 6 inches soft and 8 inches hard, I’m not circumcised, I’m good-looking rather than handsome, I’ve got thick black hair – blue-green eyes – I’m not sexually attracted to adults, either male or female, and I love boys – especially between the ages of 10 and 14 – though occasionally I’ll slip higher or lower if I’m sufficiently aroused. That’s all for now. It’s lunchtime and I’ve got two classes in the afternoon – English followed by football (soccer) out on the all-weather pitch. Then supervising the boys’ showers – ain’t life great! Oscar had another talent. He was a composed, steady football player – not brilliant – but easily one of the first names a soccer coach would put on his team list. The afternoon session was the first time we’d seen Oscar playing, and his class mates were as impressed by the way he played. A calm, authoritative figure. Those longs legs strolling around the midfield intercepting the ball and quickly passing it on where it would be most effective. Oscar rarely tackled, rarely dribbled, never showed off. He was content to take the ball and shove it on into space for a player to run onto. Oscar O’Malley was a hit. As he we trooped off the pitch, Oscar was surrounded by a group of boys and I could tell from the smiles and the back-slapping that the Under-13s were delighted they had a no addition to the squad. My only disappointment was that I was called away and had to hand over the boys to my assistant – a Sixth Form boy who take over shower supervision. Ah well, you can’t have everything – though I was even more determined to have young Oscar O’Malley. Over the next few days I more or less ignored Oscar. Ignored him except for little smiles and glances in class, especially when they other boys’ heads were down. Ignored him until he became a little anxious. Anxious for me to acknowledge him. Ignored him until he needed those little smiles and glances. Anxious till he gave them to me and I returned them. Anxious until one morning as he was leaving the classroom I touched his arm for a moment and whispered, “I can’t have favourites, but you know you’re very special to me, don’t you?” Oscar paused, nodded and smiled. I ushered him out of class and closed the door quietly behind him. I gave him two more days of the treatment until it was Oscar who paused at the door and said quite boldly, “Sir, have you got a minute to check my essay?” He turned to two friends in front of him. “Meet you in the dining room.” They nodded and took off. This time it was Oscar who closed the door, and, as he turned to me, I stepped into his private space until my face was inches from his. He didn’t step away. Only lowered his face. I cupped his chin in my hand and guided him up to look at me. His cheeks had a downy softness. It would be so easy to lower my lips to his. “Um… I don’t…” “I don’t know either,” I said. “I know that you’re the most attractive boy in my class, most attractive in the whole of fucking Year 7, but it still doesn’t explain these feelings I’ve got for you. Every time I see you, I want to…” “Feelings…?” I cut him off, finished his sentence for him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, Oscar O’Malley. I’ve got these feelings for you… and maybe…” I slid the palm of my free hand down, over the thin fabric of his school trousers. This was the critical moment. The moment when you signal to a boy that the you like him that way, sexually. The moment when he can push your hand away. The moment when he runs from the room, and your whole world begins to collapse around you. My right hand cupped his chin, forcing him to look at me. The palm of my left hand pressed gently against the fabric of his flannels, against the white cotton of his underpants, against the beauty of what made him a boy. “I don’t… I mean… I don’t…” I didn’t allow him to finish the sentence. It might not be what I wanted to hear. “It’s not sex, Oscar… well, it’s not just sex… it’s you… all of you…” The boy couldn’t have known how literal I was bring, but if things worked out, he would learn I wanted him every millimeter of him. Nothing would be out of bounds. Nothing would be taboo. “You do think about sex, don’t you?” I whispered. “Of course I do,” he protested. His manhood was being challenged. What pubescent boy doesn’t think about sex? I stepped closer, my face against the side of his head, my lips against his right ear. I could hear his breathing warm against my cheek. “And what do you think about?” I murmured. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m sure you do… I can feel that you do… You’re thinking about sex now, aren’t you?” I pressed my palm against his crotch. I could feel him stirring beneath my touch. I gently stroked my palm against him as he hardened until my fingers could grasp either side of his erection. I moved them up and down. “You do this, don’t you? “You like this, don’t you?” “Yes…” the boy breathed out. “I knew you’d like this,” I smiled, not giving him a chance to make it clear which question he was answering. I stepped back and became all teacher-like. Glanced at my watch. “Hey, we’re well into lunchtime. I’ve got to have lunch. So have you. And we haven’t even talked about your essay.” Oscar let out a sigh. Looked down. Blushed. Pulled his t-shirt down over the outline under his trousers. “I’ve got a spare half hour after school. If you’d like to do a bit more – on your essay, I mean – be here at 3.30 sharp. If you’re not here, I’ll know you’re not interested. But if you are…” “What about the bus, sir? Getting home, I mean.” “No problem. I’ll phone your mum. Tell her I’m giving you a lift home.” I paused. “If I know your mum, I bet she insists I stay for stay.” I laughed. Oscar laughed: “I bet she does.” And he was gone. I’d taken the first step. Oscar had taken it with me. If he turned up at half past three, he would be coming down the road with me… and, as yet, he had no idea where that road would lead him. I did. And he did. Turn up, I mean. At 3.31. He blushed. “Sorry, I’m a little late, sir.” Can freckles sparkle? The freckles on Oscar’s cheeks sparkled. His hair glowed, probably because he’d slicked it back with water. His lips were pink, as if he’d been sucking a pink lollipop. I imagined those lips sucking my lollipop and felt a tightening in my groin and arsehole. “Sit there, please, Oscar,” I said, motioning him towards the back row. The boy sat. I stood behind his chair and gazed at the blond trail of ginger hair that trailed down his neck. I cleared my throat. “I need to say something, Oscar, and it’s a little embarrassing, so I think it’s better if we’re not looking at each other as I say it. I don’t want to embarrass you any more than I have.” “Embarrass me, sir?” I ran a fingertip down the trail of ginger hair to the paleness below his neck. “Yes, Oscar. I’ve been wondering all afternoon if I embarrassed you at lunch time. If I did I apologies. It won’t happen again.” I paused. “No, don’t say anything, Oscar.” I’d no idea where he was going to say anything or not. “You see, Oscar, I let me my feelings show for you, Oscar, and maybe I shouldn’t have done that. You’re good-looking – very – you’re sweet and sensitive – and still all-boy – you’re talented in your writing… Oh no, I can’t go on.” I went on. “And I let my feelings run away with me. I let you see how much I care for you… how sexy I think you are. Oh no, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re only 13. My God, how can I have these feelings for a boy your age?” “Fourteen, sir, I’ll be fourteen in five months.” How considerate of Oscar to do the Maths for me. “And remember Juliet was only thirteen when Romeo… you know… when Romeo…” “How do you know that?” Oscar turned his face towards me. “We read ‘Romeo and Juliet’ during Shakespeare Week in my last school. I looked it up. Her father says to Paris ‘She has not seen the change of fourteen years’ so she must have been thirteen when Romeo…” “fucked her,” I finished for him. Oscar went bright red. “… married her.” I stepped round Oscar and sat on his desk. We faced each other. “But none of that matters, Oscar. You must think I’m old and gross.” “Oh no, sir. You’re handsome. You’re the best-looking teacher in the school.” (I’m presuming he was not including the few lady teachers we had in the school.) All the boys want to be like you.” Flattery for flattery. “And I bet most of the boys want to be like you.” Oscar smiled bashfully. I felt like eating him, or at least licking him. “But I’m not interested in the other boys. I’m interested in you. But my feelings have gone too far. I can’t let them go farther. So I’m going to transfer you to another tutor group.” I let that sink in. “And I’ll move you to another Advanced English group.” (Let it sink in.) “I don’t want you worry about what I’d like to be doing with you when we’re in this room together.” “No, sir. No, sir. You can’t. You can’t. I want to stay with you.” “But I have to, Oscar. I have to. This morning I let me feelings get the better of me. I touched you where I shouldn’t. I won’t do that again, Oscar O’Malley… if anyone found out, if you told anyone, my life would be over. I’d lose my job. I’d never be able to teach again. I might even end up in jail.” I paused then pulled the trigger. “And we’d never be with each other again.” There were tears in the boy’s eyes. Beautiful, bewildering tears. “I’d never tell, sir. No matter what. I’d never ever tell on you.” “How can I be sure, Oscar? How can I be sure?” I paused as if I were thinking things through. “Well, at least you did respond to me this morning. You did get a hard-on. You know what a hard-on is, don’t you, Oscar?” Oscar flashed me a look: “Of course I know what a hard-on is. I’m not a baby. It’s a stiffy. I get them all the time.” “Of course you do. In fact, you’re a big boy for your age. Down there,” I grinned. Oscar grinned back. “Oscar O’Malley, I think I can trust you. I know I can trust you. Stand up if you trust me.” Oscar shuffled to his feet. His crotch and my hand were at the perfect height. I traced my fingers up and down the zip of his thin flannels. I slipped my fingers under his balls and raised them in the cup of one hand while the thumb and finger of my other hand edged down his zip. From outside no-one could see the corner of the room we were in, and I’d set the door to self-lock when Oscar closed the door behind him. I squeezed his growing erection. For a thirteen-going-on-fourteen year old boy, he was big down there, not huge but big. That’s perfection, isn’t it? A pubescent boy with armpits like chalices and a pubic area as pure and as pale as silk. I slid one hand inside his boxer shorts. With the other, I pulled up his t-shirt and leaned forward to kiss his tummy. Ginger-haired boys have incredibly skin – pure ivory tinged slightly grey. Hip bones like a butterfly’s wings. A belly button demanding to be sucked – I sucked Oscar’s belly button (an innie) while my fingers ran the length of his erection. A good four inches. Uncircumcised. Balls that hung mouth-wateringly low. With the brisk efficiency of teacher to pupil, I zipped the boy up, tugged his t-shirt down, and tucked it into his trousers. “We’re here to go over your essay.” Oscar managed to look startled and disappointed. “There’ll be plenty of time for this nonsense later. But not today. Today I’m driving you home. I’m staying for tea – if invited. And asking your mum for permission.” Change topics quickly. Keep them off-guard. Spring surprises. “Permission? Permission for what, sir?” “Permission for your first driving lesson. You do want to learn to drive, don’t you?” Open-mouthed, speechless, the boy nodded his head vigorously. “Well, there’s no better car than an MG Midget to learn in.” Readers will recall the MG Midget is a small two-seater sports car produced by MG from 1961 to 1979. Based on the Sprite only in its grille design, badging, colour options and having both leather seats and more external chrome trim as standard to justify its higher purchase price, mine is an 18th birthday present from mum. Fucking in the MG Midget isn’t the most enjoyable of tasks – unless you’ve got a willing, flexible, pubescent boy. I’d demonstrated that to a couple of boys – twins – in my last school, though not simultaneously. In my mind’s eye, I could see exactly how and where Oscar O’Malley would fit. “Let’s work at my desk,” I told Oscar. More room to work… and go open that door. Fresh air will keep us alert and on task.” Don’t teachers sound incredibly stupid a lot of the time? If I were heterosexual, which I’m not, and I could lust after females, which I can’t, the mother of Oscar O’Malley would be right at the top of my seduction list. Mid-thirties, but could easily pass for mid-twenties, Zoe O’Malley had the same looks and colouring of her thirteen-year-old son – tallish, elegant, long-legged (but not coltish like Oscar), long, fiery red hair, tits rode high, nipples pressing through her white silk blouse. I wondered what it would be like getting a hard-on for her. Oddly enough, though I couldn’t imagine myself having sex with her, I could very aroused at images of Oscar fucking his mother – Zoe, naked, on her back, Oscar stretched along her, his bum rising and falling as he drove himself in and out of her. It was his satin, ivory arse that attracted me, and I had myself kneeling between his legs sucking on his rosebud as he rabbit-fucked the very place from where he had entered this world. Try the image – you’ll love it. Zoe – we were on first name terms immediately – agreed I could take Oscar out for his first driving lesson on Sunday morning once I’d assured her he would be entirely safe. “Do you know Youard Park?” I asked her. “I’ve heard of it but I’ve never been there.” “It’s a few miles outside town. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let Oscar drive on a public Road until he is 18,” I smiled. “Youard’s got a long, wide driving track at the back end of the park. It’s completely empty on a Sunday morning.” (We lived in a God-fearing Presbyterian Town. The O’Malleys were Catholics.) “And he’ll never be in the car if I’m not right by his side.” “Spoilsport,” chipped in Oscar. A great sign showing how comfortable he was with the arrangements. And that’s why Sunday morning finds us following the long and winding road through Youard that, I forgot to tell Zoe, was closed to the public in Sunday mornings, though the gates themselves were never locked. A warm Sunday morning with sunshine scattered through the dappled leaves of the happy trees and thick bushes on either side of the tarmacked road. “Oscar?” “Yes, sir?” “You can touch me, you know.” The boy keeps his eyes fixed on the road but I feel a sweaty palm on my bare knee. (Shorts were the order of the day for both of us.) He sits motionless, then his fingers begin to move, first in one direction, then in the other. “I’ve never done this before, sir,” he whispers. “Neither have I,” I lie, lifting my pelvis off the seat encouraging him to explore higher than lower until his fingers are on the fabric of my shorts. “Feel me,” I whisper. His fingers touch the hardness of my erection that’s skewed to the left. “Straighten me up.” A thirteen-year-old boy’s fingers close round the shaft of my penis, and I’m in heaven. Pupils obey teachers. Boys obey men. Oscar stretches a thumb and finger round the shaft and gently, ever so gently straightens it up through my pubic hair onto my belly. “Gosh, sir, you’re really big,” I hear him say – more to himself than to me. “I’m not nearly so big,” he says, almost apologetically. “I don’t have any hair – down there, I mean.” “That feels so good, Oscar,” I say. (Praise works wonders.) I steal a quick look at his face. His eyes are fixed on my lap. “Do what you do to yourself,” I whisper. He does his best but, as I expected, can’t help being clumsy. “Pull my zip down,” I say. “Slip your hand inside. Imagine you’re playing with yourself.” The boy edges down my zip. Slips his fingers in. Finds the opening of my boxers. Slips his fingers inside. Gets his thumb and fingers round the shaft and finds a gentle rhythm. Bravo, Oscar. Two House points! I remind myself not to scare him, not too rush him. I pull off the road down a sidetrack and motor along slowly for a few minutes until we reach a clearing deep in the woods. There’s a hut on the far side, but there will be no one there, it’s used to store equipment for the winter months, and it isn’t winter. I pull up the car and laugh: “That’s enough. You’re too good at this. I don’t want things to get messy – well, not just yet anyway.” Reassured, Oscar laughs, pulls out his hand, and, forgetting for a moment I’m there, sniffs his fingers. Don’t all boys sniff their fingers afterwards? I pretend I haven’t noticed but I silently award the boy another House point. At this rate, he’ll have won the House shield before we get back to school on Monday. We get out of the MG and lay our tartan blanket and pillows on a stretch of grass shaded by the light canopy of the drooping branches of a downy birch (Betula pubescens). We’ve brought a picnic hamper (two person, wicker) with us and I’m impressed by the way Oscar lays out the contents. Zoe O’Malley has done us proud: chopped chicken salad with pickleback dressing – strawberry pretzel yogurt salad cups – easy caprese picnic sandwiches – and a big thermos flask of chilled ginger-peach soda (“mum’s favourite”) We settle down to brunch and Oscar chats away with surprising ease, though towards the end of the ‘feast’ I can hear hints of nervousness in his voice. Oscar tells me a bit about his mum’s work – she’s a graphic designer – about the books he reads – the places they’ve lived – and why he doesn’t want to be captain of Under 14s football team. I understand his shyness and simply nod acceptance. It’s warm now and I suggest Oscar stretch out on the tartan blanket, pop a pillow under his head, close his eyes, and have a little siesta before we get down to business. He doesn’t look at me but stretches himself the length of the blanket. I sit at his sides and run my fingers escort under his t-shirt. The boy gives permission by doing nothing. I’m always thrilled by how silky the skin of a pubescent boy is. I edge his t-shirt up to his chest, lean over him and run my tongue in circles round his tummy. The faint taste of sugary sweat. Lots of little kisses. My lips fastened on his belly button. Suck, kiss, lick suck… There’s not much in the way of hips, so it’s easy for my tongue to slip down on either side – not deep, I don’t want to panic Oscar, but as he is focussed there, my fingers edge his t-shirt up till it is around his neck. Raising myself on one elbow, I’m surprised to see how delightfully prominent Oscar’s nipples are. At the risk of a clich�, his nipples are reddish brown cherries atop ivory skin rather than the flat tiny starfish usual on pubescent boys. I fasten my lips round his right nipple while my fingers work the left. They harden beneath my touch, and I feel Oscar shiver below me. Without opening his eyes, he raises his arms and tucks his hands under his head. Oscar may not know it but this is a sign of surrender – surrender to me. What he is telling me, without words, is “I know you are molesting me, but I don’t care. Do it.” I glance down his body. His penis is a stiff erection beneath his shorts. The fabric raised. I know the boy would be hopelessly embarrassed if he could see it, but he can’t, so it’s okay for me to do what I want – and what I want has to become what he wants too. And this is what I want. I raise my head. I remove my hands. “Come on, you lazy bones. We can’t lie here all day. You’ve got a driving lesson, you know. So upsy daisy.” Before Oscar can react, I’m up and away behind the nearest bush, pretending I’m taking a piss. This gives him time to understand what’s happening, go through the emotions he has to – from relief to disappointment – let his stiffy subside – and pretend that nothing untoward is happening. From behind the bush, I call out: “Hey, Oscar, take a piss if you have to… but I don’t think you’ll be able to while you’ve got that huge hard-on.” I’m gratified to hear Oscar laugh, and within ten minutes we’ve packed the hamper, rolled up the blanket, and popped them in to boot of the car. Just before we go, Oscar zooms off to take a piss behind a bush – well, I presume that’s what he’s doing. I remember a boy – Eric – who could cum in ten seconds when he got a stiffy… but that’s another story. Once in the car, I took Oscar through basic cockpit drill, essentially just setting up the car’s seat and mirrors correctly, not the most thrilling lesson for a thirteen-year-old, but a vital one. Again I was struck by the boy’s ability to focus and concentrate. I introduced him to the car’s controls, from the windscreen wipers to the heater dials, and how to safely move off and stop. And definitely about clutch control and how and when to check blind spots. “Now get behind the wheel and drive this fucking thing.” Oscar looked startled but it was more by use of forbidden language than by taking the wheel. Predictably, he stalled the car and blushed, but, after being assured it was a perfectly standard part of learning clutch control, he got the hang of it pretty quickly. Of course I took things very easily – after all, the kid was only 13 and well away from getting a provisional licence. The lesson, for Oscar, ended far too soon but when I told him we’d try to have a lesson every week, he positively glowed. The glow subsided a little when I reminded him I had promised to have him home by two o’clock but returned when I said I’d pick him up on Sunday morning for our match against Morgan Academy. He flung his arms round me and kissed me on the cheek. I disentangled myself but not until I’d held that firm, tight, hot young body against me. I probably could have fucked him then and there but when you’re playing the long game you learn to be patient. For the record, we won the match 3-1, and my ‘reward’ was an invitation from Mrs O’Malley to dinner on Wednesday evening. If Zoe O’Malley was half as good at making dinners as she was at putting together a picnic hamper, I’d be in for something special. “But I have a favour to ask?” “Ask, Mrs O’Malley.” “Ask, Zoe.” “Well, you see, I’m wondering if you could look after Oscar for an hour after school on Wednesday. I’ve a project to present and I’ll be held up for an hour or so. I know it’s asking a lot…” “No prob., Mrs… Zoe. Let’s make that two hours so you’re not rushed. We can go over to my place after school. Oscar can get his homework done. I’ll get my marking done. And I’ll have him here at six on the dot. Is that any use?” “Perfect, just perfect. In you’re an…” “Angel,” I said, putting a finger to her lips. “And I promise not to stuff him…” I let that sentence die in the air when I realised its innuendo, but Zoe simply concluded: “No don’t. I want you both to enjoy something special I have for both of you.” I presumed she meant dinner and toddled off whistling “Happiness, happiness, the greatest gift that I possess – I thank the Lord that I’ve been blessed with more than my share of…..” “Wow, sir, this place is amazing!” And Oscar’s right: my place is pretty amazing, and I’m amazingly lucky my mum and dad bought it for me as a graduation present: this two-storey block of six flats perched on the slopes above the Estuary, its three panoramic windows giving a panoramic view, only equalled by the view from the main bed room that looks onto the castle. And amazing that only one other flat is permanently occupied, the other four owned by what we call DFL’s (Down from London), those folk who are buying up all the best properties in the area, but only using them now and again. My neighbours downstairs, Derek and Ethel, a sweet, elderly, retired couple, who are so deaf they wouldn’t hear my double bed bouncing across the floor above them. Next to my bedroom is an en suite bathroom – it’s got a Jacuzzi bath tub with hydro massage therapy for two persons and autopower jets for pressure massage. No, we never bought the tub, it came with the flat, and I always feel a bit of a phony when I’m in it – on my own. As they say, two’s company, but two boys and me is heaven. Next to the bathroom is a small gym – I’m a PE teacher remember. I equipped that myself. And if you’re wondering what that silver speculum is for… be patient! Oscar’s in the salon, crouched on the four seater, leaning forward, gazing intently at the wall-mounted TV screen, fingers clicking away as he tries to save the Lemmings falling through the trapdoor at high speed. It’s taken him five minutes to work out how to use the tools and he’s already up to ‘Smile If You Love Lemmings’ on Fun levels. For the uninitiated, Lemmings is ‘is a puzzle-platformer video game originally developed for the Amiga by DMA Design and published by Psygnosis in 1991 – nowadays it’s a classic. The basic objective of the game is to guide a group of humanoid lemmings through a number of obstacles to a designated exit.’ And it remains the greatest platform game ever devised! Standing behind the sofa, I lean over and begin to massage Oscar through his school shirt. He squirms a little but it’s only to get himself comfortable. Otherwise, he ignores me. I start with trapezius pulls on his neck under that flame-red hair and push and pull my fingers along his shoulders. I kiss the freckles. He ignores me. I lean over him, undo the top buttons of his shirt and slip it over his shoulders and down his back. Press down and make circular motions with your thumbs. Then gentle shoulder presses – move your fingers along the boy’s back and press down. Oscar grunts. I slip round the couch. Kneel down between the boy’s legs. Spread his legs. Run my thumbs along the inside of his upper legs till my thumbs make contact with his balls. Up, down, up, down, press, release, press, release. I watch his penis harden under his flannels until he is erect but cramped. I reach for his zip and pull it down gently. Oscar shifts his bottom to make it easier. “Lift, baby,” I whisper. Oscar lifts and I ease his school trousers down, past his bum, over his knees, down to his ankles. I leave them there. There’s something erotic about a boy in his school uniform with his trousers at his knees, his shirt half way down his back, and a hard-on beneath his tight, white underpants. I straighten his penis, lower my face, and put my lips on the fabric covering his erection. I run my lips up and down on his very hard four inches until I can see the outline clearly through the wet cotton. My fingers reach up and pull the elastic of the underpants down just enough to let the head of his hard cock peep out. Oscar isn’t cut. Only the Jewish and Muslim boys in our school are circumcised. His cock and foreskin are pinky brown. His foreskin is already retracted enough for me to kiss the glans and tickle his urethra with my tongue. For the first time, twitches in the boy’s legs show he is being stimulated by something more than Lemmings dropping through trapdoors. “Lift, baby.” Oscar lifts and I work his underpants down to his knees. Definitely four inches. Sweet, long-hanging balls – mouth-watering. Oscar is into puberty. Not a single hair… yes, there’s one! I manage to hold it between finger and thumb, and with one deft tug…! “Ouch!” Oscar looks down at me. I hold up the ginger hair. His face goes on fire. I open my mouth. I pop in the hair and make a show of enjoying it before – with a showy gulp – I swallow it. “Fuck it. Why’d you do that?” That’s the first time I’ve heard Oscar swear. “Because it’s part of you. I’d swallow all of you if I could.” “You’re crazy,” says Oscar but he’s laughing. “I need a glass of water with this hair,” I say. “Finish the level you’re on. We’ve got work to do – homework.” “Not fucking homework,” he says. That’s twice. “That’s what we’re here for… and mind your fucking language.” I troop off to the kitchen, turn and say: “And, for God’s sake, make yourself decent.” This time we’re both laughing. I don’t suppose many of you will be interested in what Zoe served for dinner but for the record here it is. Even as I record it, my mouth is watering just as much – well not quite – as if I were about to fit my lips on Oscar’s… but I digress. We started with chilled avocado, cucumber and lime soup in small, blue Chinese bowls – only later did I learn the bowls had been produced to Zoe’s design. This was followed by a glossy red onion tarte tartin ( light golden puff pastry, soft juicy apples and delicious caramel) cut by Oscar at the table. This seemed an odd combination but they matched perfectly – I mean the soup and the and the tarte, not the tarte and Oscar. The main dish was salmon with a parmesan and fennel crust – sublime. I began to wonder when the hell Mother O’Malley had found time to prepare this little lot. Dessert was coffee panna cotta with honeyed pecans. Fuckin’ hell, this lady should be on Master Chef (the professionals). They’d hand her the trophy after her first dish. “Mrs O’Malley…” “Zoe.” “Zoe… that was incredibly good. How on earth did you find time…?” Zoe and Oscar burst into laughter. “It’s confession time, Oscar. Do you want to tell sir, or shall I?” “Well, sir, see that restaurant on the ground floor of this building?” I didn’t. I was too busy gazing at Oscar walking a little in front of me. That’s boy’s got an arse… “It’s famous. It’s got two of those stars…” He struggled to recall the name. “Michelin,” whispered Zoe. “Yeh, that’s it. Michelin stars. And the owner – he’s the chef – he does special dinners for mum now and again. When she want to impress guests, I mean… and she doesn’t even pay for them. Well, not in money.” Zoe laughed. “Hey, Oscar. Don’t give sir the wrong impression. The truth is I resigned the main dining room and… the rest, as they say, is history.” “But I thought you were a graphic designer.” “Oh, I am. But I do a bit of interior design on the side – to make ends meet, you know.” Looking around, I smiled: “Well, you’re certainly doing a good job of it.” “Oh, Oscar and I get by. Now if you boys don’t mind, I have to pop back to the office for half an hour. Have a chat and then boot that young man into bed if I’m not back in time. He knows the drill. No protests permitted. And Max…” I loved her lack of formality. “…thanks for giving Oscar a great day. A boy his age needs a man in his life – and you’re pretty well perfect.” I looked at my feet and shuffled them in my most humble manner. And she was gone. In the salon, I sat on the couch and said: “Well, Oscar, it’s just me and you now. We’ve got half an hour. Any suggestions.” It was Oscar’s turn to shuffle his feet. “C’mere, baby.” The boy took three steps and stood in front of me. “I haven’t done much,” he mumbled. “Shhh…..baby. Take your clothes off.” He removed his shirt, his shoes, his pants, and stood in front of me with a visible erection beneath his light-blue boxers. His body was slender, almost wiry, with the hint of muscles to come. “I’m too skinny.” I placed a finger against his lips: “You have a great body, ” and began stroking his chest and tummy, sliding a finger inside the elastic of his boxers to stroke the silk of his pubic area. With my thumbs on each side of his boxers I pushed the shorts down so very slowly past his non-existent hips. His four inches of tumescent flesh sprang at me. I set my lips into an O and slid them down his hard-on all the way to where shaft met body. I could hear his gasp above me and felt his involuntary push forwards. Even if Oscar wasn’t sure, his body was. I squeezed and fluttered my lips and tongue along his erection, then tasted pre-ejaculation fluid. There would be no true ejaculation, of course, and the taste was sweet rather than salty. I was aroused to feel Oscar had been gently fucking my mouth with the head of his penis, though he wouldn’t have known that’s what he was instinctively doing. I slipped my hands round his bum and pulled him deeper into me. His movements speeded up until he was all the way in, then almost all the way out. I could feel the head of his cock bounce against the back of my throat. I slid one hand into the crack of his arse, found the little rosebud and began to stroke it with a fingertip. If the boy were not fucking my mouth and throat, he would have protested, especially when I wormed half my finger inside him and started finger-fucking him. But when the body takes over, the mind fucks off. And now Oscar was unashamedly moaning, whimpering and gasping as he raced towards ejaculation. As he ‘came’, I yanked him into my mouth and held him, which makes a boy’s orgasm overwhelming. With both hands, he grabbed the back of my head and forced me even deeper – if that were possible – and shuddered, shook and trembled all over his body. Oscar was having his first body orgasm and I jammed my finger inside him past the knuckle. He held onto me as the orgasm subsided and let him fall into me and held him tightly to my chest. We’ve only just begun to live White lace and promises A kiss for luck and we’re on our way (We’ve only begun) I don’t why that stupid, slushy song from the Carpenters came into my head – let alone why I could remember the lyrics, but in a funny way they fitted permanently: “We’ll start out walkin’ and learn to run, and yes, we’ve just begun.” “Where’s the bathroom?” I whispered. “I’ve got a shower room,” came his whisper. “Through my bedroom.” I helped him there, and like boys his age made a rapid recovery. In fact, if I’d stretched him out naked on his bed and had my wicked way with me, I’m pretty sure he would have co-operated with anything I had in mind, but time was short, so into the shower he went while I, like a good boy, went to the dining room, gathered the dishes, found the kitchen, and plonked everything into the dishwasher. By the time I returned, Oscar was in his bedroom, in bed, reading ‘The Hunger Games’. He looked up. “When are we going to do it?” I was startled. “The go-cart racing. Remember?” “We’ve got a home match on Saturday, so what about Sunday afternoon. Your mum permitting.” “Great,” he smiled, then returned to his book. Who was it who said young boys are innocent and heartless? Whoever it was he got it absolutely right. That’s part of what makes them wonderfully attractive. When they find something that turns them on, there’s very little that can turn them off. I heard the door open, kissed Oscar nitey nite (on the forehead) and returned to the salon. “Like a nightcap before you go.” “I’m driving,” I said. “That’s why I didn’t offer any alcohol during dinner – just those non-alcoholic cocktails.” “I’d love another of those, if you don’t mind, ma’am.” Zoe looked at me quizzically. “That’s why you’re so good for my son, so good for Oscar. I hope you don’t mind being hero-worshipped – by Oscar, not by me” she laughed. “I know a bit more about them than he does. Right, let’s see if you can make a drinkable, non-alcoholic cocktail.” And she laughed again. Without making it hurtful for him, I steered away from Oscar during the school week. The one thing a teacher must not do is have favourites, or at least not give the impression he has favourites. And the more hungry for the weekend Oscar became, the more he would enjoy it – and need it. The match on Saturday morning ended in a creditable 2-2 against the best team in our district, and at the end of match, during the refreshments, their coach came up to. “That red-head is a real player,” he said. “Mind if I had a word with him – and you.” “‘Course not,” and I called Oscar over. “Oscar O’Malley, meet Mr. Aitken.” “Good to meet you, sir. You’re team can’t half play.” “Thanks, Oscar. Your lot put up a good performance – especially for grammar school boys.” We all laughed. “Now down to business. I manage the District side, and I’d like to offer you a trial. We’re hold the trials in a few weeks, and I’d like to know if you’re interested.” Oscar turned to me. For the uninitiated, District squads are made up from all the secondary schools in the area. Considering we have twelve schools in our district, it was quite an honour even to be asked to the trials.” “What do you think, sir?” “Well, it’s up to you, Mr. O’Malley.” He paused. “Mr. Aitken – Allan – is far more experienced than me, and he has a reputation for spotting budding talent. You can accept his invitation and if you do well in the trials and if he offers you a place in the squad, you can make your mind up then. Don’t feel you have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s not the way we run things.” “Will you take me to the trials, sir?” “If your mum says okay, it’s okay with me.” Oscar turned to Allan Aitken. “Thanks, sir. I’d like to come to the trials. When are they?” “Not for a couple of weeks, Oscar. I’ve got a lot of teams to see, and setting the squad up takes time. But I’ll let Max know…” He nodded at me. “And Max’ll make all of the arrangements. He usually does.” He turned, shook hands with Oscar and strode off in the direction of his own players. I ruffled Oscar’s hair. He shook me off and we headed for the car. “Shouldn’t I have a shower, sir? Look at the mud on me.” “Didn’t I tell you? I’m stuck with you until two this afternoon. I haven’t got time to hang around here. Allan – Mr. Aitken – is doing shower honours for me… you are going home to my little bathroom to get that mud off. Then pizza. Then home for you.” “Little,” laughed Oscar. “Your bathroom is even bigger than ours – and you can get two people in your bath.” I winked at my 12-year-old star and turned and walked to the car with Oscar skipping along behind me. Oscar comes skipping out of the guest bedroom, naked, and disappears into the bathroom. I hear him running his bath. I give him two minutes, strip and step into the bathroom. This is the first time he has seen me naked. “Sir! You’re naked,” the boy says. “Hey, I refereed the match,” I remind him. “I don’t exactly smell of roses, myself.” My semi-tumescent penis is swinging between my legs. I don’t have any body hair and I trim my pubes regularly. Young boys are more scared of hair than they are of full gown dicks – at least until they get to know them well. Thick hair reminds them of what is coming to them, and they find the idea scary. Oscar is finding it hard to keep his gaze away from my dick and balls but manages to blurt out: “Are we getting in the bath, sir?” “Yes… but not until we wash this mud off. Into the cubicle we go.” And in we go. I turn on the shower, pick up a huge sponge – Hydrea London Honeycomb Organic – pour on a dollop of Baby Bath – turn Oscar away from me and start working on him from top to bottom. I take my time and I can feel the boy relax beneath the sponge and my fingers. Hair – neck – shoulders – back – bottom – legs. Without turning him round, I start on his front – face – neck – throat – shoulders – chest – tummy – hips – pubic area… by the time I reach his genitals, his cock is at full mast – stiff and hard. I don’t pay it any special attention but continue down his legs to his knees. He leans back into me and can hardly miss eight-inches of stiff flesh pressed hard against his bum and back. “Your turn,” I say into his ear, and turn away from him. I feel the sponge and his hand copying what I’ve done to him. Tentative at first but increasingly committed and eager to please as I mutter: “Baby, baby, that’s so good.” I turn to face him, lift his face to mine and kiss him gently on the lips. The boy does my body and only hesitates for a moment when he reaches my erection. There is gentle, almost caring, almost loving, and I have to stop him before I want to, otherwise I’ll be splattering on both of us. I turn him away from me. “Let’s get you really clean,” I whisper above the sound of the spray, then sink to my knees and slide my middle finger into his crack and onto his hole. I work my finger into his hole as far as the knuckle. I feel him tense. His twelve-year-old anus is tight and hot, but the Baby Bath has softened the flesh and made the entrance easier. The whole of my middle finger slides in and I turn it in circles stretching his anus ever so gently. Oscar leans both hands against the cubicle wall and groans out loud. Is it worth trying two fingers? No, not yet. Don’t be greedy. I slide them out and suck them. Only the taste of Baby Bath but that’s fine. I stand, slap his arse quite hard and laugh: “Get into the bath, you dirty boy.” I’d set the bath timer to fill the bath at just the right temperature and, by the time I was out of the cubicle, Oscar was making a billion soapy bubbles out of the Raspberry Sorbet Bath Gel. I took a heated bath towel from the rail and started drying myself. “Aren’t you coming in?” “Wish I could. But I have appointments this afternoon… and I’ve got our pizzas to get ready.” I’d like to say Oscar looked a little crestfallen but not in the slightest. “Okay dokey,” he piped and returned to producing soap bubbles. For the record I did have an appointment that afternoon – with my dad. He buys and sells apartments and he’s training me up to take over the business one day. I never will – not enough boys in it – but I love him and I like to humour him. For the record, No, I was not molested or abused by my dad, nor by anybody else in my family. I had a very happy childhood, and, so far, I was having a very happy adulthood doing, mostly, the things I loved doing. What teacher ‘loves’ marking?! Let’s pause for a moment. Am I obsessed with Oscar? Yes. Is he my entire life? No. On Mondays I play tennis. I can play at county level but I can’t be hassled by the commitment I would have to make. Tuesdays I eat at my favourite restaurant, which is easily the best Turkish restaurant in the town, then it’s an evening of marking exercise books at home. On Wednesdays, it’s badminton at our local church. I play mixed doubles. izmit escort bayan My partner is Suzie, who does play for the county. Suzie is my ‘girlfriend’, though the emphasis is on ‘friends’. Then the whole lot of us troop to a the pub. Thursdays it’s dinner with mum and dad to make mum sure I’m getting enough to eat: LOL I keep Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays free for whatever takes my fancy – and if there’s a boy in my life that’s what takes my fancy, and Oscar O’Malley was very much in my fancy. Late Sunday morning found us tooling down the tarmacked road that runs through Youard Park. It was if anything warmer than the week before and even emptier – if you can get emptier than empty. I pulled the car off the road and turned to the boy. “You know I’m crazy about you, don’t you?” Oscar blushed – and nodded. “I love you – every little bit of you – and I mean every little bit of you. You understand that, don’t you.” He nodded again. “I don’t have to, but I can prove it to you. Do you want me to prove it you?” This time he didn’t nod but he didn’t say ‘no’, which in any silent language means ‘yes’. “Take your pants off. Your boxers, too.” He kicked off his trainers, turned his head shyly away, and wriggled his way out of jeans and boxers, then sat back, eyes closed, hands across his genitals. I eased his hands away. “Beautiful.” I said. “Get up. Lean yourself over the back of the car – face down.” Silence. “You’re not going to do it, are you?” “Do what?” I asked. “You know – do it.” “Say it,” I said. “Fuck me. You’re not going to fuck me, are you?” I laughed and ruffled his hair. “No, Oscar. I’m not going to fuck you. I’m not even going to try.” A sigh of relief. It was awkward but he managed to turn, scrabble onto the back of the car and lie face down, bum in the air. Can you call an arse gorgeous? Oscar O’Malley’s arse is gorgeous. Given he is slim, his cheeks were high and rounded, the skin a pale ivory, and a crack asking to be explored. I slipped down behind him, prised open his crack, and ran my tongue along the insides of his cheeks. If an arse could blush, Oscar’s arse would have blushed, especially when my thumbs separated the lips of his anus – that little rosebud, starfish, that led to the centre of his being. Boy smells! The world’s finest aphrodisiac flooded my senses. I licked his anal lips, then pushed the hardened tip of my tongue against the tiny door. It remained stubbornly shut, but getting up Oscar’s arse wasn’t the aims of this session. I slipped a free hand around his waist, dropped it to his cock and began to work his shaft – he was already hard – very gently. I wanted to distract his attention but I definitely didn’t want to him to dry cum. I wanted him to close to the edge a few times but I didn’t want him going over. After about ten minutes, I stopped. “Let’s change places, baby.! Silence as Oscar struggled with the meaning of what I had said. “I love your body. I want you to feel just as comfortable with mine! By the time Oscar clambered off the back off the car, my pants and briefs were down and, with hardly a glance, I draped myself over the back of the MG. He was left with my backside facing him. “You showed me yours,” I said. “Have a look at mine.” When he didn’t touch me, I gave him directions. “Spread my cheeks apart. You don’t have to lick me. But open my hole with your thumbs.” Gradually the boy responded. With his little thumbs, he prised my anus open. I’ve practically no hair there to scare the boy away. I felt the warm air play over me. I reached my arms back – not easy – and pulled him forward so he was straddled behind me. With a small bend of my elbow, I reached for his penis – he was still hard – and pulled him forward so the head was between my cheeks touching my anus. I’m not sure the boy understood what was happening. Fortunately, my hole is bigger than his, and with a sudden jerk I pulled him into him. The hard cock of a twelve-year-old boy was buried inside me. At first there were a few awkward thrusts, but, as instinct kicked in, the thrusting quickened hardened and deepened. The boy even grabbed my hips for leverage as he drove in, pulled almost out, and drove hard in again. Oscar O’Malley was fucking for the first time in his life, and h was fucking me. “Faster, baby. Harder. Do it as hard as you can.” And he did, speed and control making him feel bigger inside me. He was striving towards his climax and nothing and no one was going to stop him. Almost without warning, the last few punches from his cock slammed into my rectum, he held himself against me, and dry ‘came’ as if his life depended on it. Then he fell across my back, panting in my ear while I added a few more of my own to the warm Sunday air. We didn’t speak until we lay stretched out on the picnic blanket. Then… “Did I do okay, sir?” I pulled him to me and kissed him, then laughed: “You did beautifully, Oscar. I’m proud of you.” He paused for a moment. “Does that mean I’m… gay?” I laughed again. “No, Oscar. It doesn’t mean you’re gay. In fact, you’ll probably get married and have three kids. And they’ll all have red hair like you. And you’ll all live happily ever after.” Oscar thought this over. “Sir. May I ask you something?” “Fire away.” “Well, I don’t want to be rude… but… are you gay?” “No, I’m not gay.” This time there was a long pause. “Well, are you… are you… a…” “… a paedophile?” “Yes,” he said, lowering his eyes. “And… I’m only a boy.” I struck a serious note. “You’re not only a boy. You’re a boy I’ve fallen in love with. I don’t know how it happened. It just happened. I’m sorry if you want it. I can always stop seeing you.” He raised his eyes. “Oh no, sir. I didn’t mean that. I was only asking.” There was a note of panic in his unbroken voice. I pulled him to me and hugged him. “You silly thing. Let’s have our driving lessons, then lunch. We’ll be even hungrier by then.” With a yelp, Oscar was upon his feet scampering towards the car. I strolled after him – whistling. Later that evening, lying in the bath, alone, my imagination wandered back to the first man who’d had sex with me, probably triggered by the fact that I’d be the first man Oscar had had sex with. No matter what happened, when our relationship was long in the past, no matter how old Oscar was, his thoughts would come back to me. Maybe he’d be playing Monopoly with his own son, and suddenly he’d be back kneeling behind me sucking on my arsehole. That image would never leave him, as mine would never leave me. My first man. I was ten and I was crazy about Star Wars, but the latest episode was a PG-13 and there’s was no way I could get in without a man to accompany me. I don’t give up easy so I tried my luck. It was an ABC cinema. I’d been there a few times but only for ‘baby’ movies. Star Wars was the real thing. The ABC was the newest, the biggest and the best in town. Painted in blue and cream with a huge elegant lobby where you could buy cholesterol in bag, any size and shape but sweet as sugar cane – or a young boy’s hard-on. A spiral staircase that led up to the mezzanine with carved railing that let you look down into the lobby. A whole line of urinals that sparkled even before you got inside. Five levels, the highest, way up in what we call the ‘Gods’ that in the evening was crammed with teens (heteros) making out but which was deserted in the early afternoon. I took a deep breath. “Excuse me, sir, could you let me come in with you? I’ve got my own money, but they won’t let me in without a grown-up. I won’t annoy you, I promise. The man – mid-forties, dark hair, brown eyes, jeans, donkey jacket – looked me up and down. “Sure thing, squirt, but you gotta let me pay for you. And you gotta sit beside me cos I can never work out what the fuck’s going on in these movies. ‘Scuse my French. Deal or no deal.” I grinned showing him my perfect teeth to which were fastened a silver brace. Mothers! “Deal. And I can speak a bit of French too,” I grinned. “Prove it,” he said. “Or are you chicken?” In fact, I was his chicken for the show – I just didn’t know it. “What’s your name?” “Max,” I said. “What’s yours?” “Lee,” he said. “Now go on,” he said. “Say fuck, fuck fuck.” “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered. “Good, boy. Now say ‘Fuck me – fuck me – fuck me'”, Lee said. “Fuck me – fuck me – fuck me.” He laughed. I joined in. Not quite sure what we were laughing it. He bought the tickets, a huge tub of popcorn for me and small one for himself and we climbed the stairs to the Gods – empty, except for us. We parked ourselves in the airplane seats and chatted through the trailers. Lee didn’t waste time. “I’m gonna pull your shirt up, Max, so I can see you tummy and chest,” Lee said. “Why?” I said through a mouth full of sweet popcorn. “‘Cos I bought the tickets,” he said. That seemed fair enough. The man rubbed all over my body with his hands muttering stuff like, “Beautiful – wonderful – like a baby,” while I munched and crunched. Then he was licking my belly and chest and nibbling, or try to nibble my tiny nipples. I couldn’t help giggling but that only made him nibble more. Then his hand slid into my crotch and his fingers started unzipping me. I put my hand down but he just moved it away. “This must be sex,” I thought to myself. Of course at the age of ten I was used to getting hard-ons and I was hard before he got my pants and underpants to my ankles. “Lee wants to taste you,” he said. “Lee wants to taste you all over. Is that okay?” “I guess so,” I said busy with a large lump of coagulated popcorn. “Stand up and face me,” Lee said. I stood up and faced him, making a mental note to turn and face the other way when Stars Wars came on. “May the Force be with you, Lee,” I thought. Of course I thought no such thing. It was getting more and more difficult to think. But allow me a touch of poetic licence now and again. Lee placed his hands round my bum cheeks and pulled me into him. My first blow job! Though I’d no idea what’s what it was called. In fact, when he took my ballsac into his mouth as well, I was terrified for a moment he was going to have my naughty bits for a snack! How the fuck would I explain that to mum and dad? But, as I felt the warm wet surround me, feelings I’d never felt before began to build inside me. First centred on my crotch but then spreading across the whole area until I felt my bum and belly were blushing. I loved listening to the slurping. I loved the way my erection slipped almost out of his mouth and then was sucked right back in again. I hoped the trainers would last longer for once. “Turn round,” said Lee. “Grip onto the balcony and bend over.” I carefully put the lid on my popcorn tub and laid it on my seat. I turned, gripped the rail and bent over. I felt Lee’s fingers opening my bum cheeks. At least I’d get to watch the movie this way, though I’d no idea why he wanted to inspect my bottom, unless of course he was a doctor, but he wasn’t dressed like any of the doctors at our medical centre. His tongue ran across my bum hole and I jumped! It was in surprise than shock. He’d bought the tickets. He’d bought the popcorn. What he was doing wasn’t hurting me, so… and to be honest, the more he licked my little hole the better it felt. I’d be lying if I said I’d no idea what my bumhole looked like. I’d lain on my bed a few times, lifted my legs back over my head, and inspected my anus (bumhole) using my mum’s big bathroom magnifying mirror. I’d had the weird idea of taking it onto the bathroom some time to watch a shit (otherwise known as ‘turd’) exiting from my anus and plopping into the toilet bowl. But I’d no idea why I wanted to try that so I didn’t carry it out. His thumbs were opening me up now. I was a little embarrassed. What if I farted? Popcorn makes you fart, doesn’t it? And the tip of his tongue was inside me – just the tip. When he pushed harder, it began to hurt and I winced and he pulled back. His tongue was replaced by a finger but, just as he was worming it into me, the lights went down and the curtains began to draw back for the big picture – Star Wars! Within seconds Lee had me back in my seat, nicely zipped up, popcorn tub in hand, ready to munch my way to another dimension. Now here’s something strange that happened. As soon as Anakin Skywalker appeared – when he was a boy not a man – Lee unzipped himself, pulled out his penis and started playing with it. I’m ten and I’m not dumb – I know it’s wrong to play with your penis – they told us that often enough in school (Catholic). His cock, that’s another word for penis, was huge. I’d guess about eight inches. That’s can’t be right, can it? Can a man’s cock be eight inches long – and nearly as thick as my wrist?! I didn’t know then what I know now, and to me Lee’s cock was a monster, especially as it jutted out of a big bush of dark brown hair. “Play with it, play with my cock,” he whispered. So I reached out and wrapped my fingers round his hard-on. Well, I tried to wrap my fingers round but I couldn’t get them to touch, but when I copied his movements – up and down, up and down – he seemed well pleased. Mind you, it wasn’t easy. You try watching a Star Wars movie, eating popcorn, and jerking a grown-man off. I’m glad it only lasted ten minutes. Suddenly his bum jerked off the stretch. He stroked his cock so fast I couldn’t keep my hand on it. White stuff spurted from the head of his penis – it wasn’t pee. And he caught it in his popcorn tub – most of it. There was a glob of the stuff on his fingers. He placed them on my lips but I kept them tightly shut. He laughed, took them away, and sucked the glob off himself. He then reached down and zipped himself up. Lee leaned over me and whispered: “I’ve got to go now, Max, but thanks, thanks for everything.” I wasn’t sure why he was thinking me. Lee had bought the tickets and the popcorn and he’d made me feel good. He rose, and, as he passed me, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “Fuck. I wish you were mine,” he whispered. And was gone. That night, in bed, I worked over what had happened in my mind, and I worked out I didn’t want to be the boy. I wanted to be the man. I wouldn’t mind letting a man play with me the way Lee did – and I did until I was around fourteen. Then I lost interest in men and realised I was interested in boys, and only in boys. Don’t ask me why. I’ve no idea. But, if some mysteries are beyond us, at least let us pretend we are organising them. I fell sound asleep with the memory of the taste of Oscar O’Malley’s anus on my lips. I woke up some time during the night with the taste of anus on my lips, but the taste was not Oscar’s – it was the taste of the man: the man who had introduced me to sex when a year younger than Oscar. It was the dream that woke me up, and I lay there in the dark playing it over again, as I’ve done so many times since that week in summer camp. Let’s call him Dan. He is our coach. We are in his little white caravan set on the edge of our circle of tents. I’m lying naked on the bed. He is straddling my head, a knee on either side, lower his big arse closer and closer to my face, my mouth, my lips my little tongue. He has pulled the cheeks of his arse wide open. I can see swirls of thick black hair round his hole. I can see the serrated edges of its little mouth – he has shaved some of the hairs away. His thumbs prise open the mouth of his rectum. At first his hole was scarily big. Now I’m used to it. Now I know what to do as he lowers his lips onto mine. I haven’t got used to the smell yet. It stick my tongue into his hole. It goes straight in, all the way. He would like me to lick the flesh of his rectum but I can’t get my little tongue in that far but I swirl my tongue around, take my tongue out, fasten my lips round his hole and try to suck the juices out. He would like me to suck my own cum out but of course I can’t cum yet so he sucks his cum out of me. This is our fifth night in the camp. I’ve learned so much since that first night when Dan sneaked me out my tent into the caravan. He didn’t really have to ‘sneak’ me. All of us boys hero-worshipped him, and his word was law. And it was me he chose, probably because I was close to being pretty in those days. Auburn hair, almond-shaped eyes, lips a bit pouty, perfect skin – Dan said I had perfect skin – slightly plump tummy – “All the better to eat,” laughed Dan while he was chewing on my belly button. Dan’s taught me lots of things. He likes talking dirty stuff before we have sex. We lie naked on the bed, facing each other, with his big hard cock pressed against me. Even when he’s straddling my head, working on his cock to pump his cum into my open mouth, he likes to tell me what he’s doing, though sometimes he gets so carried away when he’s deep throating me, I have to fight him off or I’ll choke to death! I wonder what’s coming next but since he’s started with assplay – that’s what he calls it – I can guess and I’m right. He maneuvers us until he’s lying on the bed with his legs spread open, me between them. He pulls his legs up a bit then spreads his cheeks. I start with two fingers, then three… it’s not difficult, his hole really is big. “Kiss my arsehole, Max,” he says. “Kiss it, lick it, suck on it, spit in it, get me real sloppy.” And I do the best I can. Then three fingers become four locked over my thumb and I push my little fist past his sphincters until I’m deep inside his rectum. “Deeper, deeper,” the man grunts, and I keep on pushing – up to my elbow, past my elbow to the top of my arm. I’m a ten-year-old boy with his complete arm deep inside of a grown-man. “Pull your arm out and in like I showed you,” he grunts. “Speed it up like your punch my insides. Not to hard or fast at first. Speed up when I tell you.” I do as I’m told. “Hold on,” says Dan. “I want to watch.” And he shifts himself so that he can look down his body and see my fist and arm deep inside his hairy belly and even deeper. I didn’t know how far inside a person another person can go, but it looked like my hand was almost inside his hairy chest. “That’s you, baby,” he said. “That’s you right inside me. You’re part of me now. And you’ll always be part of me. Now punch-fuck me as hard as you can. Fast. Hard. Deep.” You’re wondering if he fucked me. He didn’t. Not really. He used a thing called a speculum to open me up but never so much that it really hurt. And he set me up so he could make out with my hole, spit in my hole, and cum in my hole – but all without penetrating me with his cock. Dan loved boys and he never wanted to hurt any of us. What I really learned from Dan is that I wanted a boy of my own – to love, to cherish, to teach and to train – just as I was educated those two weeks in summer camp. Four weeks flew by. Oscar was playing for the school and district, fitting in the go-cart racing, taking tennis lessons (from me), and remaining focused on his school lessons. And continuing his ‘education’ with me. Picture now. Stretched out naked along my naked body. On the double bed. Gently fucking me while he sucked on my right nipple – for which he had an odd preference. Boys are always the same. Once they break a taboo, they soon treat it as the norm. My hands are clasped round the cheeks of his arse, guiding his four inches into mine at a rhythm that suited us both. I’m still four inches taller than him so when he is fucking me, I pull my legs so that he is riding higher on me. That way we can French kiss, and spit into each other’s mouth when the mood takes us. As I said, when one taboo goes, it’s on to the next one. And, of course, the wonderful thing about boys Oscar’s ages is that they have a permanent erection – more or less. He looks up at me. “When are you going to do it to me?” he asks. “Do what?” I ask. “Fuck me,” he says as if were the most natural thing in the world. “I’d love to,” I say, “but you’re tiny back there. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll need to stretch you a bit before I do that.” “But you can get your tongue inside me,” he counters. “And a finger too. Your middle finger. Your big finger.” I slip my big finger into his crack and caress his anus. “Maybe you haven’t noticed,” I say, “but my cock’s a bit bigger than my middle finger.” He smiles. “I know that. I nearly choke on it sometimes.” He pauses. “What about that shiny thing you showed me. That spec… spec…” “Speculum.” “That’s it. That – speculum. Does it hurt?” “Not if you know what you’re doing. Not if you’re gentle and take your time.” “You’d be gentle with me.” He pauses again. “Can I try it out on you?” “It’s ‘May I…?’, not “Can I…?” “Ooops, sorry, sir. Well, may I try out that silver thingy on you?” I’ve rarely met a boy with such a curious mind – but that took me aback. It also took me back to the times when Dan had speculum sessions with me. “Well if you promise not to hurt me,” I joked, though Oscar took me seriously. “Can I… May I go and get it?” “Yes, you may,” I said, “but get your dick out of me first. You can try getting your balls inside next time.” Without ceremony, the boy slid out of me, rolled off the bed, and scampered buck-naked to the bathroom, and returned waving the silver speculum at me. He’d also brought a small tub of Vaseline – how thoughtful. For who like details, it is a Bodenhammer Rectal Speculum – obtainable at your local supermarket (not) – ideal for smaller hands. And simplicity itself to use. I took a couple minutes showing Oscar how to work the little wheel to keep the anus (mine) spread. On my knees I got and pulled my cheeks open while Oscar squatted behind me. I could hear him sloshing on the Vaseline and made a mental note to throw the bedsheet into the washing machine at the end of the session. I felt the tip of the speculum play around my anus, pinpoint the mouth, and with an unceremonious shove, he pushed it halfway inside me. “Oscar! You little fucker. Take it easy.” “Sorry, sir,” he said – at the same time working it in deeper before turning the wheel to keep it in place. Suddenly he was off the bed scampering towards a dresser. A drawer opened and closed, and he was back – with a small torch! “Wow! I can see right inside you. It’s all red and wet and sort of mushy.” He pushed a finger in, then another, removed them and worked the speculum in deeper before relocking the wheel. His digit and middle finger were inside me, feeling around the lower walls of my rectum. Suddenly an intense pleasure shook me and spurts of pre-cum spurted from me. Can pre-cum actually spurt? My prostate – that’s what the boy’s fingers were rubbing! He heard my gasps of pleasure and rubbed even more. I came! One – two- three – four – not spurts… squirts! “Enough, enough,” I moaned. “Get your fingers out, Oscar. Get them out!” Out came the fingers. “And loosen that fucking thing. Get it out of me.” In what I sensed was panic, Oscar, did as instructed, I rolled on my back – still gasping. Then I saw the tears in Oscar’s eyes – beautiful! “Hey c’mere,” I laughed. “You didn’t hurt me. It was just too much – too fucking wonderful.” I reached, grabbed him and laid along my head. My semen joined us together. “Was it that good?” whispered the boy. I nodded. “Fuckin’ fuckin’ fuck!” Which was my way of telling him how good it was. “Then I want to try it,” he said, his eyes sparkling through the tear drops. “Yes, baby, but not now. Not today.” He frowned. I laughed again. “Be a patient. It’ll take time. Your hole is still tiny. We may have to do a few sessions with the speculum first.” “Okay dokey… but can we start tomorrow… after go-carting?” “May…?” “Oh for fuck’s sake.” “Language.” “We’ve still got an hour before mum picks me up. Pleeaasse!” I gently turned him. He squirmed until he was comfortable on a pillow. I took the other pillow and slipped it under his thighs raising his bum for me as I got between his legs. I wasn’t about izmit sınırsız escort to start him on the speculum but I wasn’t going to pass up on his sweet little bumhole. The more I saw of it the more I wanted it and though I’d cum only a few minutes before, I was horny as fuck. If you ask me why I love boys’ arseholes so much, the simple answer is I don’t know. I don’t remember being fascinated by my hole or anybody else’s when I was a kid… unless it was Dan who turned me on to them. All I know is that a boy’s anus, rectum and insides are as erotic, sensual and sexual as any other part of his body – including his genitals. I parted Oscar’s warm cheeks. The stimulation I’d given it at the start of our session had left his pucker red, marked with the slightest bruise where I’d kissed, licked and sucked it. The tiny serrations of the little mouth were more prominent than usual, and as I missed them I felt a moist heat on my lips. His private smells rushed into my nostrils and brain. I liked the anal area with the flat of my tongue, licked the hole, pressed the tip of my tongue against and repeated the procedure for a few minutes. I could feel the boy squirm with pleasure. Settling into a deep rimming of his hole, my tongue slips half way inside the twelve-year-old. He groans with delight. I wonder what sounds he will make when I stretch his hole with the speculum. His arse juices mingle with my saliva, driving me to eat deeper. I wish I could eat him, so that he’d be a part of me forever. His outer sphincter relaxes and let’s my tongue slide in deeper. I wish my tongue were long enough to lick the flesh of his rectum. I feel the hot tissue of Oscar’s lower rectum wrapping round my tongue, but maybe that’s only wishful thinking. I reach behind me for the speculum. No. I’m becoming so aroused if I begin to open him with the speculum I won’t be able to stop. until… The scent of his innards are stronger. It only arouses me more. His arse pushes up into my face and grinds into my lips. His hands are balled into tiny fists clutching the pillow. I pull back a little. The last thing I want to do is hurt a boy I love. His hands leave the pillow. He clutches his tiny cheeks and pulls them wide. He pushes back into my face again. I eat him – but I’m more in control now. I work my tongue free from the grip of his sphincter and replace it with two fingers while it’s still relaxed. I begin to finger-fuck him, but gently, and turn my fingers in a widening gyre to stretch him more. I’m able to slide up alongside him and still keep my fingers inside him making their circular motions. Oscar turns his face to me. He runs his nose over my face and lips. He kisses me on the lips. I stick my tongue big tongue into his little mouth. He surprises me by wrapping his lips around it and sucking on my tongue like it was my hard cock. Is he sucking on the flavours from deep inside his own arse. I feel his bum begin to buck and I know he cumming – dry – but as he loses control of the bucking I know it is no less shattering for him. I ease my tongue from his mouth. His teeth are small but they are sharp! I whip him over and fasten my mouth over his erection in time to feel the head quiver against the back my throat. As he settles into my arms, head against my chest, I kiss that red hair of his and sigh: “Why me? Why you?” Why not? That’s the question I’m asking myself at the end of the return match against Morgan Academy – another 2-2 draw. The boys are having refreshments. I’m talking with Allan (Mr. Aitken) and he’s asking: “Why not?” “Come, Max, we’ve shared a boy before. Why not Oscar? Look at that smile. Look at those lips. Are the lips of his arsehole as sweet?” he chuckles. “Just think. You at one end, me at the other. Have you eaten out his hole yet? I remember you chewing on mine. I had to remind you to take it easy.” He chuckles again. “Remember, Louis. He was a hot, little fucker. You kneel across his face – deep-throating him. Me with a double dildo, up my ass, up his… so deep in him you could see it moving under his belly. Think what we could do to young O’Malley.” “Excuse me, sir. My mum’s here. Can I go with her?” Allan – you know him better as Dan – turned to the boy standing next to him. “Of course you can, Freddie. You played really well today. Tell your mum I said so.” Off went Freddie, beaming. “That’s Freddie,” said Allan/Dan. “Did you see the cock on him – in the showers? He’s just turned twelve for God’s sake, and he’s got five inches already – and that’s when it’s hanging. Bet you he’s got at least seven hard. I’m gonna have him. He’s coming on summer camp. Wanna share him?” He paused. “I don’t have that shitty little caravan anymore. I take my own motor caravan these days. Wanna come this summer?” “Thanks for the offer, but I’m working with dad this summer.” Allan shrugged his shoulders: “As you like it, my lad. As you like it. Now where were we.” I tried to divert the conversation. “Mmmm… No we weren’t. We were talking about Oscar O’Malley – about sharing him – sharing that sweet little bottom. I love red heads. Don’t you.” I said nothing. He didn’t seem to notice. “How far have you got with him? Have you fucked him yet?” He paused. “Have you still got the speculum I gave you – as a souvenir?” Another chuckle. “You used to love being speculated. I know ‘speculated’ isn’t a word – you made the fuckin’ word up. It took me a week ‘speculating’ you before I could even get the head of my cock in. You little tight arse,” he said with affection. I almost expected him to ruffle my hair. “You used to like using the speculum on me. Not that I needed it. Remember the shock you got when my prolapse popped out for the first time.” He laughed. “I showed you how to fuck it, but you wouldn’t kiss it. Or lick it. Or suck on it. Took you ages to figure out what it was. It’s fine by the way… and I’ve got a boy who…” “I’ve got to organise the boys,” I interrupted him. “We’re already late. Their parents will be back at school. We’d better get on the road.” “Fine,” frowned Allan before returning to his jovial self. “We’ve got a District match in two weeks’ time. It’s an away match. If you like, I’ll pick up O’Malley and take him to the match for you. Give you some free time.” “We’ll see,” I said and watched Allan/Dan Aitken trot off towards his boys. And I saw to it. By the time the District match came round, Oscar O’Malley had withdrawn from the district squad. I made up some cock ‘n bull story for Allan – he probably guessed the truth – and Oscar wasn’t bothered. In fact, he was glad. He had only agreed to play District out of politeness and was more interested in playing tennis. Oscar wasn’t a team player, though he’d happily play for the school, but he preferred tennis, badminton and swimming, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have enjoyed ‘team play’ with men, though he’d probably have gone along with Allan and me out of politeness! Back ‘home’ – Oscar now considered he had two homes – we shared a bath, and then, with a naked, dripping Oscar bending over the tub, we used the speculum for the first time – his opening soft and pliable after half an hour in the warm sudsy water. Ever so gently I worked the tip of the speculum inside his anus and opened it a fraction. “Ow!” “Sorry.” “No. It’s okay. It took me by surprise. Take it easy.” And I took it easy working in only half an inch before fastening the wheel. I couldn’t resist trying to peek in but all was dark, all was silent. I wiggled the tip of my tongue inside the boy’s anus. “That’s your tongue.” How well the boy knew me. Ten minutes was enough. We had a lunch appointment to keep. With Mrs O’Malley – mother of Oscar – at my favourite Turkish restaurant: the Tulip. And gentlemen never keep a lady waiting. I removed the speculum and slapped Oscar’s arse. “Hurry up. Have a shit and get into the shower with me.” “How do you know I need a shit?” protested Oscar. “It’s not fucking rocket science. Now hurry up and get your arse in here. And make sure it’s well wiped!” Muttering obscenities, Oscar headed for the toilet attached to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him – but his laughter told me all was well. Time ticked on with the metronomic rhythm of school life and the school year, though times together were punctuated by the trips Oscar took with his mother. These trips included Edinburgh, Paris, Barcelona, San Remo and Geneva and lasted from a long weekend to a week. Zoe O’Malley blithely happily paid the fines for taking her off-spring out of school without permission, and, as we had a Headmaster who believed experience was the best educator, all concerned were content. Even me. I had a life. Oscar was a crucial part of it but he was not all of it. Memories: Oscar had his and I had mine, and some we share. Nothing is lost to us as long as we remember it, and there is so much to remember. Do you remember your first fuck? Not who you fucked but who fucked you first? And, if you were a boy and a grown-man fucked you, you will never forget. I will always remember my first fuck and I know Oscar will. For us, the past will never be a foreign country. We lay on the bed, naked face to face. I ran my finger down his impossibly smooth skin. I leaned into him and kissed a freckle. First one, then another, and another and another. The boy giggled. “What are you doing?” “I’m kissing your freckles,” I said. “I’m going to kiss every single on them.” He blushed a little. Ginger-haired boys blush a little when their freckles are mentioned. They’re never quite sure they like having them. Freckles are different and young boys dislike being different. They need reassurance. “Mmmm… your freckles are beautiful. I’m going to try and lick all of them off.” He giggled again and snuggled comfortably into me. “Wow… you’ve got a major hard-on, sir.” “How do you know?” I asked. “Because it’s pushing into my belly.” “Don’t you like it?” “Yes, yes, I do,” he reassured me and pushed his stomach into me. I could sense my pre-cum on his skin. I’d have to be careful. I felt his little fingers try to close round the shaft. “No, don’t,” I whispered. “I’m saving it – for later.” “Mmmm…” and he snuggled closer. I shoved my lip’s against the boy’s lips. He opened his mouth to receive my tongue. I withdrew my tongue and his slipped into my mouth. Our tongues fenced. We tried sucking each other’s tongues, exchanging sweet messy saliva. I imagined my tongue deep in his arse. His tongue deep in mine. I reached to the bedside table and took a small dropper. “Open your mouth, baby. Lift up your tongue.” The boy opened his mouth. Lifted up his tongue. I squeezed four drops under his tongue – a tincture of liquid cannabis. Completely harmless and a lot healthier than smoking weed. In time, the THC would be absorbed in his blood and the boy would as high as a happy kite and receptive to wilder stimulus. My right hand explored the satin silk of the boy’s chest. My fingers tweaked his tiny nipples before my mouth slipped down to suckle on them, though it was like trying to suckle postage stamps. It was the effect of sucking on him rather than on me. My mouth slipped down to his belly and closed round his button. I could even feel the tiny twist where the knot had been tied. My left hand slid up and down inside his slim legs. The skin there is incredibly sensitive and I felt his body begin to roll sideways a little. I slid my fingers between his cheeks. He reflexively raised his bottom and I caressed his tiny starfish then pressed gently against the tiny mouth. His sphincter relaxed and I slid my finger into the knuckle. The speculum had done its work, though we hadn’t used it often or deeply and he was still as tight as a twelve-year-old virgin boy should be. I finger-fucked him gently entering him a few millimeters at time until I middle finger was into the hilt. I withdrew it, clasped two fingers and worked them in. He began to moan and his head rolled a little on the pillow. I slid my fingers out and gave him time to relax and recover. Although a pubertal boy is sexually ultra-service, I didn’t want him to cum, then later cum again. I wanted to take him close as many times as I could until my cock, buried deep inside him, pushed him over the edge. I started kissing freckles again, then let my tongue kiss the length of his body until I reach his balls. I couldn’t resist taking the little sac into my mouth to feel the tiny testes rolling around inside them. The boy pulled up his legs. I breathed on the boy’s bumhole, flicked at it with my tongue, kissed it, licked it, sucked it, and worked my tongue past his sphincter. Was that a moan or a sigh or both I heard from the boy? Reaching out again to the bedside table, I fumbled and found my trusty Lidocaine and sprayed my already acute erection. Well, how long do you think you’d last with a twelve-year-old virgin beneath you unless you had a little help from a friend? I eased my tongue from his anus and contented myself playing with what is commonly called a bubble-butt. The softness of the pliable flesh, the warmth as my thumbs massaged the inside of his cheeks, the hot little centre where the serrations seemed more pronounced. I raised myself to lick the sweat sheen from the boy’s body and chew of his rounded tummy. I wondered if he actually knew what was happening to him. Another reach to the table. My fingers grasped the little bottle of Rush Black Label poppers – nothing but the best for my boy – and held under his freckled nose. His eyes opened wider than I’d ever seen them. His moaning reached a new pitch. His head rolled on the pillow. The head of my cock found his starfish. The speculum had done its work. The boy was tight but the sphincter relaxed and gave way. The head of my cock pushed inside his rectum. I pushed four inches inside him. I could hear him making guttural sounds. They might have been words. Whatever they were, they were sounds of pure pleasure and abandonment. Fucking him with half my shaft, I wanted him to feel the mouth of his anus and the walls of his rectum grip me. My fucking was gentle, rhythmic, sliding in a couple of millimeters with every thrust. His legs were so far back that a foot was on either side of this head. He was so far into pleasure that there was no space for pain. My arms round him, I manoeuvered us from the bed, the boy’s legs instinctively wrapped round me, his head on my shoulder. He was wonderfully light. I raised him up then let him slide down onto my cock, all the way until I felt the entire shaft was inside him. I raised him, let him slide down, raised him, let him… I heard his babbling in my ear: “It hurts. It hurts. Fuck me. It hurts. Don’t stop. Fuck me.” The last two words were close to a scream. I eased him back onto the bed. I eased myself out of him. I stood by the side of the bed, turned his head to me and worked my hugely swollen cock into his mouth. It was incredibly to see his small body stretched out below me, to watch my cock – two, three, four, inches into him until I was deep-throating him. Could he taste the juices of his rectum? Again I manoeuvered him till his back was on the bed, his legs up and spread, my head between them as I ate him out ferociously taking care not to hurt him. I got him into the position we started out with: the boy his back, legs raised high, me between them, fucking him. I look into his eyes. They are open. His eyes are looking at me. There is such trust. I fuck him with love. I feel myself cumming. No point trying to hold it back. I squirt into him, my whole body shuddering and shaking, my gaze still holding his. And millions of me spurt into his rectum to join his juices there. As my erection subsides, I gently withdraw, lie down and face him, pull towards me, until his breath mingles with mine. We will rest awhile, fall asleep, and when we are awake he can play with my body – he loves doing that – and then he can fuck me in any positions he wants to try out. We are still man and boy – and we are lovers now. I let the hidden camera roll on. In sleep, Oscar O’Malley is beautiful. Time goes by. I’m sitting watching movies on the wall-mounted screen – ProofVision 55″. The definition is amazing. Perfect for this movie. This is the movie taken when Oscar came inside me for the first time. We are on the bed. The camera is focused on our naked bodies. He is lying along me. My hands are round the cheeks of his bottom. Pulling him inside me. Pushing him back. Pulling him in again. Not that I have to. Instinct has taken over. Oscar is fucking me. He has raised his bum a bit so he can drive in an out of my anus, my rectum – he had grown to a hard five inches – and though he still hasn’t a single pubic hair, his hard cock is what any adolescent boy would be proud of. There’s something very beautiful about watching a young boy’s bum cheeks as he is fucking a grown man. His body still seems so small against mine. I can get my hands round his cheeks, watch the indentations of my fingers into the fragile flesh. Can you remember your first boy? The first boy you fucked while holding onto his cheeks while he breathed against your neck and you heard the moans and whimpers of such a grown-up lust. Oscar has cum in my mouth before now. First only pre-cum. Then tiny little squirts. As the months passed, they grew to spurts I felt hitting the back of my throat. Semen and sperm so sweet. Little if any saltiness, simply pure boy. I slide my middle finger into the boy’s slick hole and run the tip round the wall of his rectum in search of his elusive prostate gland, still so tiny I usually miss it but as his bum begins to jerk, his strokes become shorter and frantic, I know he is going to cum. I sit back and watch the screen. It’s wonderful to have a record of these wonderful times, especially something as intimate as this: the first time this twelve-year-old boy has ejaculated inside a grown-man’s arse – and it happens to be my arse! What privilege. What a memory. Can you remember the first boy who fucked you – or the first boy you fucked? They’ll never be able to take that away from you – or from him. The boy is shuddering and shaking now. He is gripping my shoulders. He is raising his hips, then driving into me. Again and again. Until… The final shudders, trembles twitches and the collapse onto my body. I give him a few moments, then slip out from under him. I wriggle to the bottom of the bed. Get between his legs, stretches them wide… and open him up with two, then three fingers. Remove them and eat him out. The speculum has worked its magic. My thumbs can keep him quite open and I can get my tongue in so deep that it feels like I’m licking the walls of his rectum. Is there anything more innocent than the inner walls of a boy’s rectum moments after he has truly lost his virginity? My camera has secured so many memories – not only the sex – but the tennis, the go-carting, the driving lessons, our visit to Paris when his mum asked if it would be okay if I shared a room with her son. Oh, the wonderful trust – and naivety of it all – as Oscar and I fucked like rabbits in our bedroom while Chloe and her French boyfriend, Pierre, along the corridor in their bedroom. But it couldn’t last – nothing ever does – but at least we had two years together before… I smile when I think of it. Oscar is 14. He is no longer cute – he is fucking handsome. Tall and elegant like his mother. Gifted in so many ways – not least in bed – but still modest to the point of shyness. And it happens in Oscar’s home – not mine. It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m scheduled to have a tennis lesson with Oscar. In the morning, I phone Chloe and explain I can’t make it. Dad wants me to do a showing for him – an expensive property. I can’t refuse. Chloe laughs: “Don’t worry. Max isn’t a baby any more. But can I tell him you’ll be here for dinner?” Fine. It’s around half past one. Dad phones. Appointment rescheduled for following week. I jump in the MG. No time to phone. I can get round, pick up Oscar, and get to the courts on time. I’ve got my own key. I’ll give him a surprise. I reach their block. Take the lift up. Open the door of the apartment. Step inside. Quietly. Surprise, surprise. But place seems empty. I’m about to call. Then I hear it. And I know the sounds of fucking when I hear them. Chloe and a boy friend. It isn’t. I recognise Oscar’s voice, especially when he’s fucking or being fucked. His voice still jumps an octave or two – from pubescent child to stroppy teenager. The moans I here are from a female… or a very young boy. Chloe! Oscar’s fucking Chloe. Oscar’s fucking his mother! I freeze. I should turn quietly and walk out the door. Close it quietly behind me. I don’t. I step to Oscar’s bedroom and stand at the door. What I hear confirms what’s going on. Oscar is fucking his mother. Turn, leave, go away, it isn’t happening, it never happened. I push at the door until it opens just enough for me to see what’s going on. Oscar has her on the bed. They are both naked. Oscar has her doggy style, on all fours. They are facing away from me. I watch Oscar driving himself in and out of her… arse or cunt? Can’t make that out. My beloved Oscar in whom I am so well-pleased is fucking his mother. But wait. Since when did Chloe O’Malley have long blond hair. And the female on the bed is far too small to be Chloe – she’s a grown-woman. The girl on the bed most certainly is not. I step back and close the door. Fuck it. I close a finger in the door and yelp: “Fuck it!” Oscar turns to me. Startled. But doesn’t break his rhythm. And the girl on the bed is so far gone she wouldn’t hear a starter pistol going off. Oscar removes one hand from her hips and puts a finger to his lips: “Shhhh…” I ‘shhh…” turn and leave. Oscar phones me about an hour later. I pick him up. We head for Youard Park and sit in the MG, rooftop open, letting the sunshine in. The conversation goes something like this: “Who is that girl?” “That’s Celeste. She goes to Bruce…” (That’s Bruce Academy for Girls.) “She is the same year as me.” (That’s a relief. At least my boy is not a pervert.) “How long have you been…?” “…fucking her?” “Yes.” “About two months. We’re not stupid. I always use a condom – ‘cept when it’s up her arse, of course.” “Of course,” I say. “You don’t mind, do you?” What can I say? “Of course I don’t mind. But why didn’t you tell me?” As soon as I ask it, I know it’s a stupid question. “I thought it might hurt your feelings.” So the question was stupid but I couldn’t have asked for a more lovely answer. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I have to ask another question. “Do you still want to have sex with me?” The long pause before he answers gives me my answer. “If you want me to.” He looks at me and I hold his look. “Oscar O’Malley… do you like girls or boys?” He looks at me and says: “I like girls… but I’ll always have sex with you when you want it.” And I ask another question, though I’m terrified what the answer might be. “And why would you do that.” There is no pause from Oscar. “Because I love you – and I know you love me.” And that’s that. Oscar is fourteen-years-old and he’s got it absolutely right. The sex has gone but something far more important remains – what remains is love – and that love will guarantee our friendship far far into the future. I look at Oscar and say something that has to be said: “You still haven’t got a hill start right. You have to start with the handbrake ON.” A smile takes over Oscar’s face. His grey-blue eyes shine. “Can we have a go? Can we have a go? On Youard Hill. Now. Please, sir Please.” “Yes. But shut the fuck up.” We are both laughing as we head off… while Oscar pulls his airforce-blue beanie down over his ears. ———————————————— Thanks for your kind comments on some of my stories. Some of you have asked if I’ve written any others. I have indeed. Here are those I have been able to locate. The rest are somewhere in the Nifty archives. Only God knows where and He has yet to divulge their whereabouts to me. Just pop jonkent into ‘search” By the way, only the email addy atop this story is fty//gay/adult-youth/little-miners

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