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“Hi!”, he whispers sleepily as he presses forward against me
again. I grin as I look back at him and put my note-pad down beside
the bed.
“Hi beautiful,” I smile, “You were having a real dirty dream
again.” I tease.
Rafael smirks and glances downward, along his slender body,
seeing his little penis sticking out straight and parallel to his
lower belly, “Huh huh! I guess he is pretty stiff, huh?”, he
acknowledges. and then adds with a sleepy smile, “So why didn’t you
wake me up?”
I shrug. “I like watching you. So what happened? It looked
like you were really enjoying it”, I tease again.
The boy giggles, somewhere between innocence and obscenity,
then changing to the later he whispers, “Let’s fuck, okay? I’ll
tell you later.”
I smile at the boy’s vulgar desire expressed so shamelessly,
so openly. He is only eleven and he is physically immature but he
is also easily and often aroused. His crude and uninhibited lust
seems playfully innocent. It is still a game to him. He sits up
grinning cheekily, ready and eager to play. “Come on,” he teases,
as he reaches his small warm hand down and grasps my penis tightly,
“Lemme get him real hard first, okay?”
But although he is playful, Rafael is anything but innocent.
Others before me have seen to that. I know very little about the
boy before he was ten years old. What Rafael remembers he prefers
to try to forget. From what he has told me I know that his first
sexual experience occurred before he was eight years old. There
have been many more in the three years that followed.
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We live in my condominium on an island on the East Coast. There
is a spectacular view of the marshes and the InterCoastal Waterway.
Our boat is moored outside, less than twenty five feet from the
terrace. There are two bedrooms. The bedroom that Rafael and I
share is on the second floor, it opens via a cathedral ceiling to
the living room below. There is a sunny but very private deck next
to the bedroom and I had a jacuzzi installed there shortly after
Rafael came to live with me. We often use it before we go to bed.
His dream has intensified
and he whimpered slightly, his naked body tensing slightly and then
relaxing as his breathing quickened. I felt the moist heat of his
groin, the small rigid cock squeezing alive and strong between us.
I kissed him gently on the forehead, smoothing his hair back as I
kissed his cheek, hoping that the guy was dreaming of me, wanting
desperately to wake him, to hold him tightly and whisper my love
to him. Then the boy pulled away slightly, moaning quietly, his
breathing quickened and then strained as his buttocks
clenched, tensing, then suddenly writhing in unconscious ecstasy.
His body arched, his slender legs kicking back the sheet, then his
buttocks pressed back again. I grinned, looking along his
slender body, the sheet now bunched at his knees
and revealing most of his naked body and I see his aroused cock
poking rudely out from his mounded pubis. The tiny blue-
purple veins were swollen in the guy’s wedge-shaped cock. His
penis, even when it is fully erect, is short, a bit less than
four inches long. The rounded delicate tip is hidden by foreskin. It is tight and it is drawn to a wrinkled little orifice.
When retracted, I know that the head of his penis is like a tiny
bell, its sensitivity enhanced by the protection of his foreskin.
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I know that sooner or later I must write this all down. He is
growing up, my first memories of the boy are less certain now, the
details grow hazy every passing day. This morning, as I lay back
in the pillows I decided to begin. The story that follows is based
upon what I have discovered myself, from what Rafael has told me,
and from what can be reasonably supposed about his life before I
came to know him. The story is a long one, it’s a story that is sad
but one which needs to be told. Too many people don’t understand,
or don’t want to understand. This morning I picked up a writing pad
and began to write. This is the story of another way to live, of a
boy who discovered that he could play in the major leagues. Most
of the names of people, the clinic, and the institution where
Rafael lived have been changed, though the protection I have given
them is undeserved in all but one case.
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I decided, as I looked at him, that he is incredibly beautiful
and I gently brush the smooth satin skin with my hand. I have
watched people’s heads turn and look at him when we are out
together. I have seen men and women stare at the beautiful boy and
I sense that they are attracted, enamored of the boy with the lithe
graceful body. I know they wonder whether I am his father or merely
a friend. The boy feels deliciously warm and his body seems to glow
with energy and life. His skin is perfectly smooth with the silky
oiliness of a child, a dry warmth emanating from a lustrous brown
body.
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This morning I awoke slowly, becoming gradually aware of the
boy lying beside me, his arm draped casually over my chest, his leg
over my legs, his face pressed against my shoulder, his cheek hot
against my skin. His breath was moist against my skin as his chest
moved rhythmically though barely visible unless I looked closely.
He stirred, his body pressing closer, a slight tremble passing
through him like a little quiver and then he settled down again,
back to sleep, his body unmoving.
For a long while I looked at the boy lovingly, his dark hair
glistening in the early morning light as it filtered though the
trees outside the window, steadily getting lighter as morning came.
The boy’s hair is the color of dark mahogany, not black, but a rich
dark brown. His hair is long and slightly curly and it lay tousled
on the white pillow and over my shoulder. It is soft like silk but
it has a surprising amount of body in it. His eyes were closed, his
eyelids almost translucent, his eyebrows long and thin, almost
feminine. The boy’s lips are pale and full and they are open
slightly, revealing perfectly shaped white teeth. His skin is much
darker than mine, a golden-bronze from head to toe, not even a shade
lighter at his thighs and hips because for the last two months he
has spent almost every afternoon in the nude. He tans beautifully
but he has the advantage of his heritage. His rich dark tan comes
from our two months together on Phaenon. I should explain that
Phaenon is our 34 foot yacht. Built in Canada in 1990 and engineered
to one of the highest standards in the world, the boat is something
Rafael and I treasure for the wonderful times that we have shared
aboard it. This summer we spent two and a half glorious months
cruising down the Inter-coastal Waterway to Florida, and then
across to the Bahamas and the other islands of the Caribbean. We
returned only two days ago.
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Jag’s hands, freed from duty ion the cock, slid easily over Anton’s body, massaging, pressing, brushing, tickling. He knew all of
the right spots to give attention to. When his mouth had carried Anton
beyond any chance of refusing, his fingers explored his anus – tickling the puckered hole till it relaxed. Then an exploring finger entered, searching for the walnut shape that was the prostate gland -
the seat of orgasm. When the shattering, shuddering climax came, that
gland was stimulated from inside and outside. The other hand wrested
the last ounce from the balls as the flood of seminal fluid exploded
from the spunk store, crashing through the prostate, to fly in spasmodic wads up through the straining, surging shaft, filling Jag’s
mouth and throat faster than he could cope with it, and flooding out
down the sides of the pulsing, dying rod. Later Jag licked him completely clean – ready for the companion whom Anton would certainly now
accept to share his bed for the night…
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Anton was indignant at first, but the idea had been planted in his
mind, and soon spread to his loins. Though his mouth refused, his penis showed a different opinion. It soon became clear that he would
have to allow Jag to help him for there was to be no privacy for self
relief. And the painful hardness showed relief was necessary. Anton
submitted to Jag’s hands. Jag expressed a wish to help him enjoy himself as much as possible. When the act was thoroughly underway, and
his hands were controlling Anton to a near climax, he had suggested
that Anton allow him to use his mouth to make the act even more pleasurable. Anton, who if in a less excited state who most certainly have
recoiled from the suggestion, gave a silent acquiescence to Jag, whose
warm mouth soon enclosed his shaft.
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Jag had then taken his clothes off and had lain on his bed reading. After a while he expressed surprise that Anton was still dressed
and asked him if he were feeling cold. He explained that the heating
in the rooms was automatically increased in the later evenings. Anton
had then removed all but his underpants.
It was fairly obvious that Anton had been observing Jag’s body,
and Jag had been trying his best to show his best features without
making it too obvious that he know he was been examined. Clearly Anton
was too virginal to make any overtures, so Jag took the initiative. He
asked Anton if he had had sexual release that day. He stated that he
would be obtaining relief himself with a friend later, but stated that
he would be happy to assist Anton if he required it, and that he would
try to have the another friend fetched so that Anton could have someone to sleep with himself if he desired.
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As Anton entered, the lithe figure that had been lying on one of
the bunks arose to a relaxed position of attention to greet him. He
was about a year older than Anton, though he looked perhaps a little
younger than him. In many ways he was similar, a little lighter in
build, but clearly athletic. He was black haired, with a light olive
skin – the hair thick on his head and brows, but his body clear, ex-
cept for the inevitable dusting on his legs and lower arms. The per-
fect tan of him was the product of hours under the sun, with due care
to the arrangement of lighter and darker shadings to emphasise his
good looks. He had chosen to keep his sexual midriff white, always
wearing briefs, because he liked the bright contrast of the darker
stomach and thighs and the dramatic shock of thick black pubic hair.
He answered to Jag, or `Lightning Loins’. His voice was as smooth as
his skin and as dark as his hair.
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Slowly Klaudio worked. This had to be a good one – a better one
than a quick hand job – but he could use only limited resources for
fear of spooking his charge. A short burst of speed had Anton groan-
ing, and the feet started working. His hands, which had released the
grip on the sheets now clutched them again, but from ecstasy not fear.
His body began to arch up, but Klaudio knew how to change his grip at
the right moment, holding him there for a full minute before reducing
the stimulation to allow him to get his breath. Anton’s face now
looked very different. The strain that showed there now was from a
different stable, and the open mouthed smile was real.
Five times did Klaudio make his loins rear up and hold him there,
until he was crying out to be allowed to come. Then he came – shooting
high to land on his taut, flat belly. Klaudio risked trapping the
later spurts with his lips pressed to the eye of Anton’s glans: he was
too far gone to notice even if he had bitten the end off. He reeled
back, practically in a faint. By the time he was taking notice again,
Klaudio had cleaned him up and zipped his flaccid weapon back into his
fly, and began the language lesson as if nothing had happened.
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Anton’s eyes were still firmly clenched, as if he were gripping
his courage with the lids. His lips were pulled into a rictus, like a
smile but clearly not one. He needed to relax if he were to enjoy it.
Klaudio quietly changed his grip, and moved up the bed to kneel beside
his loins. Then with his free hand he gently stroked Anton’s forehead.
At the unexpected contact, his eyes sprang open. Klaudio cupped his
hand beneath his neck, casually grazing the erogenous zone behind his
ear, and raised his head so that they could look at each other. Klau-
dio raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly: a clear gesture meaning,
“Am I doing it right? Are you enjoying it?”
Klaudio changed hands, so that he had a one free to stimulate his
balls and upper inside thighs. He knew how far he could go with this
at this stage. There must be no hint of a movement towards the anus;
even the sensitive point at the root of the scrotum was out of bounds
at this stage. It must be purely penile, this orgasm.
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But Klaudio gave the merest touch with the side of his bent fore-
finger to the underside of the glans. The corona of the penis flared.
He moved his other hand to cup above the shaft, as if warming himself
at its heat. Then slowly he began a two hand movement – the lower hand
a gentle fist the lower joints of whose fingers formed a knobbly flat
platform moving along the underside of the penis, while the other hand
formed a coving arched over the fist, gently trapping the shaft be-
tween them. Slowly it moved up and down the tool, sometimes gripping
enough to move the skin over the hard shaft, sometimes barely grazing
it. Sometimes the hands would move at different speeds, chafing the
surface; sometimes the knuckles or the joints of the fist would be
brought into play, their harder knobbles kneading the surface.
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But Klaudio knew what he was doing. He had become a doctor with a
friendly but detached beside manner. He looked at Anton’s face more
than his organ, obviously concentrating hard on his pronunciation.
Then he decided to go for it. With one hand he made the unmistakeable gesture on the forefinger of his other of frigging, and repeated
the word for wank three times. He looked expectantly at Anton. “Do you
want me to wank you.” It was a neutral request – still the friendly
doctor offering treatment. Anton froze. Klaudio looked at him patiently, and was just at the point of asking again, when Anton grabbed
at his hand and pulled it into the general vicinity of his groin. He
closed his eyes, flung his head back and gripped the sheets. The patient was tensed for the cut of the knife!
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Then he closed his eyes, flicked the light switch, and rolled over
on his side to sleep.
Anton looked towards the door at the sound, then dropped a hand
quickly to his crotch, to flatten his erection and to conceal it? His
hand gripped his weapon. Feverishly he pulled at the unfamiliar zip,
but by the time Klaudio had entered, his penis was still exposed. Anton froze.
Klaudio stood facing the bed, and smiled. With an exaggerated expression of delight, he started to point to the various parts of the
prick, repeating their names. His pointing finger got closer and
closer, but still he did not touch it. As he got very close, Anton’s
hands clutched at the surface of the bed. How long would he bear this
language lesson, before grabbing his tool and stuffing it hastily away
inside his trousers?
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Completely still, with his eyes closed, for about a minute, then
wiping the spunk from his stomach and hand. He began to milk the re-
maining juices from his dying cock, pulling upwards with the tip of
his forefinger pressed hard into the underside of his organ. He wiped
the gland carefully, so that the foreskin, now beginning to bunch be-
low his glans, wouldn’t stick too painfully when it had return to the
protection position. Finally he cleaned the mirror, before folding the
towel under his prick’s tip to mop up any last weeping.