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This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between a man and a teenaged youth. Except to the extent noted, the story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by underage boys, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.
This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.
Normally at the beginnings of my stories I note that they are pure fantasy. In this case, this is not quite true. Read on!
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Electric or Manual
(2010, Revised October 2020)
I was in a hurry as I too often am in the grocery store. But I hasten to say, I was not in such a hurry that I couldn’t follow my usual “checkout procedure” at the supermarket. I was not in such a hurry that I failed to take a second to glance up and down the checkout lines. I wasn’t looking for the shortest line; instead, I was looking for the checkout with the cutest boy cashier. I was in luck. The closest was also the cutest―and luck was indeed with me that night, for, as it turned out, it was the shortest line, too! I grinned. The cashier was 15 or perhaps a young 16. Oh, and did I say he was cute as a bottom, er, button? (Oops, Freudian slip.)
The boy was busy with the guy in front of me, and as I placed my products on the conveyor belt, I overheard part of their conversation. They were talking about shaving. I flashed for a moment to the kind of shaving stories I’d read in Nifty, but then I soon heard enough to realize the boy was simply talking about the male ritual all boys begin in their teen years: dealing with facial hair. I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just the subject, it was the boy’s enthusiasm, and not just his enthusiasm, but I got the impression he was that rare human being who brings a special kind of energy to everything he does and says. He possessed, in short, an extraordinary (and intoxicating) joie de vivre.
I glanced over at the guy’s pile of groceries and figured out how the conversation had begun. There was a can of shaving cream and a package of razor cartridges in with all his other purchases. The girl bagger was taking it all in with a slightly put-out expression, one step short of a full-on eye roll.
In no time the boy had scanned the last item, the girl had dumped the last bag into the cart, and it was my turn.
“Paper or plastic?” The girl’s barked question seemed like an intrusion.
“Paper,” I responded in kind. The boy was all mine for as long as I could milk the situation, and I wanted no further distractions. I stood there regretting that I hadn’t loaded my cart down with one of everything in the store.
“Hi,” my young god said. “How’re you doing tonight?” His voice was breathy and quite soft, but even so, it possessed of an intensity that made everything he said seem important. As a long-time customer, I was sure the supermarket chain had coached these squeaky-clean kids to be pleasant and greet every single customer before getting down to the business of ringing up their purchases and taking their money. But so often the teens at those registers seemed self-conscience about the required pleasantries, so much so that they often averted their eyes, offering only the most cursory of glances at their customer―just enough to satisfy the instruction in the “Associate’s Manual.” Not this boy, though. Oh no, not for a second! This associate had taken those simple instructions to a whole new level―his very own art form! While others half-heartedly recited the script, this boy did not. His tone and intensity revealed a genuineness. I smiled at that. Could he be that naïve, but in my next breath, I chided myself. Shame on me for thinking him naïve when I should be delighting in his simple goodness regardless of his motivation.
He held me in his gaze, which meant (be still my heart) I was holding him in mine. In some ways, he reminded me of myself forty-plus years ago. At his age, my hair was about the color of his, maybe a bit darker, and about the same length (longer than what we used to call a “crew cut” but shorter than a “boy’s regular”). But where my teen hair had been wetted, flattened, and combed, his was dry, except perhaps for the front which was standing up nicely-erect, you might say, but it seemed to be all 100% natural (organic as the signs proclaimed in the produce section). There was nothing artificial about this fresh, succulent young man. And those eyes: clear, pure, sparkling blue, again, I reflected, not unlike mine at least at age 15. He had none of the puffiness and dark rings that years of too little sleep and too much work (and perhaps too much play as well) had left around my baby blues.
As we looked at each other, I’m sure my smile stretched from ear to ear. I knew he was seeing dimples in my cheeks (despite my age), again, not unlike the boy himself. Now that I was standing across from him, I could see he was maybe two or three inches shorter than I, making him perhaps 5’-9” or 5’-10”. I probably had been about that height at his age, but where I had been as skinny as a rail at 15 (barely tipping the scale at 115), he seemed to be the perfect build―not too thin, not too “meaty.” He wore a dark green, short-sleeved polo shirt with the store’s logo. His forearms were firm, sporting just a hint of the lightest hair, and his biceps gave a lovely bulge to his sleeves.
And speaking of bulges, some are wondering, no doubt, about that other bulge that figures so prominently in Nifty stories. Truth to tell, I don’t even remember looking. (Shame on me!) It was his sweet face that held me in its thrall―his face and that aura that seemed to spread out far enough from him that it began to infuse me with his dreamy energy.
Now, from my description, you might think we had stared at each other for the rest of his shift, but in truth, it was probably only a second or so. Still, his look said his greeting was no idle blather, not at all: he was expecting an answer.
“Doin’ okay,” I grinned. And then he gave me another look―a look that matched my smile with one of his own, a radiant, glorious smile. He could clearly see something was tickling me. He cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, and his smile grew. I recognized that look; he wanted to know why I was smiling, what I was thinking. Normally, I’d respond with a dismissive “Just thinking about something,” and that would be that. But I’d already learned this young man was wanting a real answer.
“Well, to be honest, I was enjoying your earlier conversation,” I responded, looking back into his eyes, wondering if he’d take up the challenge.
“Oh,” he grinned, and I figured that’d be the end of it. Basically, two shy guys enjoying the moment, but never moving past each other’s boundaries. But my check-out boy had yet another surprise. “About the shaving?” he said with a self-conscious grin and just the slightest hint of a blush. His eyes sparkled.
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly,” I added with a coy smile. And I thought now this would surely be then end of our delightful little interlude. But again, my boy wasn’t ready for it to end.
“So,” he said, “Do you use electric or manual?” By manual, I took him to mean using a razor and blades. My impulse was to ask him for some clarification, but I didn’t want to make him self-conscious in any way.
“Well, I actually use both, depending.”
He raised his eyebrows above those delightfully sparkling eyes.
“Depending on how much time I’ve got. If it’s a quick touch up in the afternoon, then I’ll use electric.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “Cool.”
I looked at him again, at that sweet, unblemished baby-smooth face. I couldn’t see that he’d ever shaved or in fact needed to. If his beard―and I use that term advisedly―was as blond as his hair, I’d need a magnifying glass to see the stubble. He wasn’t like dark-haired boys whose beard can be seen even right after they shave. I resisted the urge to reach out and with the backs of my fingers lightly stroke his cheek in an attempt to feel what the eye could not perceive.
I had to work to keep my composure as I gazed into that face, studied his toothy smile, examined that delightful tiny valley that led from his upper lip to his nose. Ah, yes, his nose! It was the most perfectly shaped olfactory organ I’d ever seen. Cute as a button! When I was his age, every time I looked in the mirror, I thought my nose was about the size of a banana. (Now if that had been in reference to another part of my anatomy that might not have bothered me!) But it was my nose that dominated the reflection in the mirror, and it rivaled Jimmy Durante’s. Yeah, I know, ancient history, but look him up on the Internet! A clue: he was known as “The Schnoz”.) Anyway, this boy didn’t have a thing to worry about in the “schnoz” department―or any other department as far as I was concerned.
The bagger girl had had just about enough of his hijinks. She uttered a throaty groan, snapped a bag open, and rolled her eyes. That broke the trance for both of us. For an instant, I wondered if she had designs on him the way I figured 99 percent of the other people in the store did―the way I did. Was I seeing a little pique or jealousy? Either way, it turned out, it didn’t matter. My boy was having none of it.
“Hey,” he said to her, then glancing back to me, “this is the first time I’ve ever talked to another guy about this stuff.” He continued to look at me with that killer smile, and again I detected just the softest rosy tint spread across those silky-smooth cheeks.
In that instant, my heart melted. I wanted to leap over that counter and snuggle him into me, and whisper to him, telling him that there were lots of other things he could ask about, and I’d be happy to share my knowledge. Not wanting the moment to end, I made another tack: “Have you tried the Gillette razor, the one you put the batteries in?”
“No,” he said.
“Well, it kind of vibrates when it’s turned on…It’s kind’a cool. You should try it.”
He grinned at my description, and then offered a cheery, “Thanks!” He shot a glance at the bagger girl, and then gave me another of his award-winning smiles.
By then, my groceries had been packed, and I thanked them both as I picked up my purchases. I regretted our moment had finally ended, and as I stepped away, one more impulse struck, and I turned and said to him, “Good luck…with the shaving!”
He beamed a huge, rosy-faced grin, and then he turned to work his magic on the next fortunate soul in line. For my part, I turned, and walked slowly into the parking lot, thinking of what might have been.
It should not come as a surprise when I say I thought about that young lad all the way home. And continued to think about him once I got settled in. Truthfully, my thoughts were not of a lascivious nature. No, in truth, they were pure, at least to my way of thinking. My thoughts were sensual to be sure, but rooted in the boy’s own goodness, in his innocent, playful way of being himself. He seemed in those moments to be completely free of troubling encumbrances. It was as if somehow his brain had been imprinted with the notion that life is good, and that’s how he approached every moment of the day, even a moment involving a leering stranger.
I realized that I had, in my confused rapture, failed to glance at his nameplate. I’m sure he had one, but I didn’t even think to look. Dummy! Then I could have used his name, a name which I’m sure must have been as delightful as the boy himself. “Yes, Luke (or Wes, or Eric, or Tyler),” I could have said, “actually, I use both electric and manual.” But I didn’t think to look. Alas, an opportunity missed.
Rest assured that even before I had arrived at my home, I had resolved to go back to the store at my earliest convenience, which, as it happened, was the very next day, but he was nowhere to be seen. If he were only 15, then the state would restrict the number of hours he could work. (I know because I checked online.) I returned the next day with the sad disappointing result.
Then came the third day. Our first encounter was now an eternity ago―nearly 40 hours! For one whole day, he had been AWOL, so like General MacArthur, I promised, “I shall return.” And I did, at just a little past 11 o’clock, the sun high in the clear blue sky (reminding me of the boy’s eyes). I was alert, filled with uncertainty as I stepped through the supermarket doors. What if he’s not here? Thoughts of this boy consumed me: I am the beach. He is the ever-constant tide. Once I am in his presence, his warm, sweet aura will surge over me, wave after wave of pure energy.
An aside: While I say my stories are mere fantasy, this may be the exception to the rule―to this extent. This one time, 99 percent of what you have read thus far is absolutely the way it really happened. It is true. Factual. The conversation is as close to verbatim as I can make it. And the one percent that didn’t happen? I confess I never said, “Well, it kind of vibrates when it’s turned on…,” at the end of Chapter 1. Instead, I simply―unimaginatively―said, “It works really well…” I did, however, tell him he should try it, and I did say, “Good luck with the shaving.” And he did grin.
And so, we come to what might have been…
I returned to the store today, my third excursion in as many days. And―be still my heart―my boy is there. Not only was he there, he is working the “Express Lane.” Perfect! I could just get my fourteen items and “proceed directly to Checkout 1.” But there was also a downside in that: Had he been at the regular checkout, and with more in my cart, I could have dallied there for a longer time. Alas…
There was no one at his counter when I got there. He looked up, saw me, and burst into a great, toothy grin. (And to think I’d been afraid he wouldn’t remember! Silly me!
“Hi,” he said with an energy most teens reserve for “Go team!”
“Hi,” I replied, struggling to keep my voice from sounding inappropriately excited. This time I did check his nametag, and I was not disappointed.
“Did you…” “I checked…” We spoke over one another, and then both of us stopped.
“You go,” he said. “You were going to ask something?” With his eyes open wide and his lips parted, he looked like a little boy waiting to hear if this was the day his folks were really going to take him to the fair!
“Oh,” I began, “I was just going to ask if you thought about Gillette razor?”
He blushed, the sweet boy, he actually blushed. “I did. I checked it out. The Fusion, right?”
“Right, Gillette Fusion Power,” I added.
“Yeah! I saw it, Aisle 15, there’s a brand new one, the Fusion ProGlide. It just came out a few weeks ago!” He seemed pleased to be providing me with new information.
“Really,” I said. “I didn’t know that. Thanks…” I glanced again at his nametag. “Tad. Um…you know, I could use a new razor myself. Maybe I should go take a look.” I became aware of a presence standing a distance behind him. It was Tad’s supervisor (I assumed), and he seemed to be taking particular note of his young protégé “You’re quite the salesman,” I said, loud enough for his boss to hear. Young Tad blushed.
“Ah, sir…” the boy stopped me as I headed for Aisle 15. “Just leave your things here. I’ll have them ready for you when you get back.”
“Thanks, Tad. Aisle 15, right?”
“Right!” He confirmed with his incredible smile.
“I’ll be back.” For this last, I did my best “Ah-nold” Schwarzenegger impression. He graciously giggled once, beamed that wondrous smile, and offered a soft, “I’ll be here.”
At the razor section I picked up one of the new razors, and started back, but stopped. I looked back down at the display for a moment and made my decision. I picked up another.
When I got back to his counter, he had a customer, and when he looked up, he beckoned me forward.
“No,” I said. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.” Hell, I’d be in heaven if I could have stood there all day watching him.
He focused back onto his customer, and in my dazed state, it seemed just moments before he was reaching out toward me. I realized he already processed my order, and for a moment I considered demanding that he void the order and start all over again. Anything to delay my departure.
“Wow,” he said gazing at the objects in my hand. “Two! In for some serious shaving, eh?”
Now I blushed. “Well…” I began, hoping he’d be okay with my proposal. I know, for some families, a boy’s first shave is quite a special thing. A boy’s first razor is often something his parents want to give to him. It’s a symbol of his becoming an adult. “I hope it’s okay with you, Tad, but it just sort of hit me. I thought…um…maybe you’d like one, too.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “For me! Really!”
I grinned. I guess my uncertainty had been unfounded. “Mhmm. My gift to you, a sort of thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said, but looked momentarily perplexed.
“Well…I’ve never had a conversation quite like the one we had the other night. It was really delightful. I thoroughly enjoyed it, Tad. I’ve thought about it a lot over the last few days.”
“Really! So did I! I―” He stopped now and suddenly blushed a deep red, and I wondered what was going through that beautiful head of his. “I mean…” he stammered and then with a shrug and a smirk, went back to scanning one of the razors.
I smirked along with him. He relaxed a bit and grew more serious, looking down at the second razor. “Umm…It’s really nice of you, but we’re not supposed to accept gifts…”
I leaned in a bit over the counter and spoke conspiratorially: “No one needs to know about this, as far as I’m concerned.” I watched him process that for a moment.
“I guess…” he breathed.
“Tell you what.” I swiped my debit card. “We’ll use plastic for this stuff.”
“And you can ring this up for cash.” I pointed to the second razor. “There,” I said when he had completed the transactions. “Stick that under the counter with the receipt, and you’re all set.”
“Tad,” I interrupted. “I’d really like to do this. You don’t know me very well, but I usually find a way to get what I want. See, I don’t have a son and probably never will have. So, this isn’t just for you, it’s for me. Sort’a gives me a chance to experience something special.” I gave him a smile. “A razor sort’a symbolizes of all the changes that are happening to a boy.” I eyed him carefully, and he blushed again under my gaze. “You seem like a great kid, and I’d be honored to give you this.” I let that sink in and then continued. “I got’ta tell ya: I’m enjoying the hell out of this! So…we okay?”
“Gosh,” the boy breathed, “Okay. Thanks, Mr…”
I smiled. “I’m Will.”
He smiled back.
“When do you work next?” I asked as we bagged up the items.
“Thursday, 7:30 to noon.”
“Ooo…7:30, eh? Early morning!”
“Yeah…It’s not bad though,” he said. “Gives me all afternoon to goof off…if I can find something to do.”
“You’ll come up with something, I’m sure,” I said. Maybe I’ll see you Thursday…if I can think of something else I need to buy.”
He smiled again, and nodded, handing me the bag. “We’ve got a store full of stuff: there’s got to be something here you need, shaving cream, maybe.” Again, those sweet cheeks pinked up, and an awkward moment followed. We both stood waiting, it seemed, for something to happen.
Then another customer began unloading her basket. “Well…Tad,” I said, “later.”
“Yeah,” he said dreamily, “okay.” And then, as I was reluctantly stepping away, he called after me, “Ah, Will…” I turned. He seemed a bit embarrassed to be so forward with a grownup. “Ah…there’s a special on scallops starting Thursday.” He sounded desperate, and then seeming to realize just how desperate he sounded, he added, “If you’re interested.”
I grinned at him. “Definitely. See…you are a great salesman! See you then.”
He flashed a smile that would melt the coldest heart. “Thanks, Will.”
I smiled, offered a soft, “The pleasure is all mine, Tad,” and stepped off.
Thursday could not get here quickly enough, and the closer it got the more antsy I became. Finally, Thursday morning arrived, and I was almost beside myself with anticipation. Oh, to see that boy’s sweet face again.
The scallops looked delicious―and so did Tad; he was just as fresh-faced, scrubbed and clean as could be.
He was busy and therefore didn’t see me sneak up to his checkout, but when he finally looked up, he beamed. I smiled back and nodded. Now, as if to show me he was really the best at his job, he turned back to his customer and allowed me to see how he approached everybody. There was a burst of energy in everything he said and did. Customers, no matter who they were, couldn’t help but be drawn in by this incredible human being. He was perfect!
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly when I finally got up to the register.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long!” I offered.
“Nah…” he muttered, “It’s been busy,” he said. He punctuated his statement with a delightful blush. It seemed even the simplest interaction with me meant something to him that was more than the surface meaning. His next statement let me know my being there did matter to him: “I wondered if you’d come. I was…you know…getting a little worried…um…I mean…” He hesitated now, as unsure as I’d seen him. “I thought maybe you forgot when I got off. Or maybe you’d just decided not to…well…I mean maybe you don’t like scallops. But I didn’t want to miss you.” He looked gave me a sheepish look and finally mumbled, “I didn’t know if you remembered I get off at noon.”
“I didn’t forget, Tad. Sorry,” I said, handing him the scallops. “You’re right by the way.”
He looked momentarily lost. I nodded toward the wax paper covered package. “The scallops. A pound and a half.”
He beamed. “Sweet.”
“So,” I asked. “You try the razor?”
“Yep! It works great! Thanks!”
I grinned. How could I not at his enthusiasm! Plus, I found myself wondering just what he’d found that needed shaving. “I’ve got another question: You ever figure out what you were doing this afternoon?”
“Not really. Maybe I’ll bike over to Birch Point. To the beach.”
“Cool. That’s more than what I’ve got going.” I offered, feeling an odd disappointment that that portion of his life was already planned out. I figured his friends were even now waiting for him.
“Yeah,” he said, and then hesitated and scowled.
“Tad?” I asked, almost worried at the change I saw in him.
He looked at me and almost trembled. “Um…you wouldn’t…” He paused and then seemed to check himself. “Um…never mind.”
I caught his gaze. “What were you going to say?”
He blushed. “No, it’s dumb.”
“Tad…nothing that’s percolating in that brain of yours is ever going to be dumb.” I hardened my voice and tried to sound like a boss, or a parent, or a teacher. I grinned and wagged my finger at him. “Now what were you going to say?”
His eyes sparkled, thought for a moment, and gave a quick scan around to see if anyone was close. He swallowed. “Well I was going to ask if you maybe would want to come with me?” He looked at me with an expression that was a cross between hope and fear. “I guess not though, maybe that’d be too weird…” he said, answering his own question. “…you know, a kid asking a grownup to go to the beach with him.”
“Ah…so, you’re a mind reader, too, I see.”
“Asking me a question, and then telling me what my answer would be.” I cocked my head and gave him a grin, which drew a grin from him as well. “But yeah,” I continued, “maybe that’d be a little weird.” He looked crestfallen. “So how weird would this be: how about you and I go for a boat ride. I know a great little island with a perfect little cove. Great place for sunning or swimming, and people only go there on weekends. Nobody’ll be there today.
His eyes got huge, and he again swallowed hard. “Really? A boat?”
“Really. Long as you’re okay with goin’ on a boat ride with some weird ol’ grownup.”
He grinned. “It’d be awesome, Will! Cool!”
I chuckled and gave him a wink. He grinned, his face reddening again. I’ve never seen a boy who blushed as much as Tad. Those blushes were like some delightful warning light that sent a caution signal: something was about to happen, so be on your toes.
The next forty minutes seemed like the longest of my life. I was waiting in my pickup for Tad to appear. I picked up some trash from the floor of the cab, then scanned up and down the radio stations, trying to guess what music he’d like to listen to. I agonized over not having a jack in the audio system or Bluetooth so we could listen to his playlists. I adjusted the seat and checked in the mirror to see if anything needed adjusting on me. I was as nervous as a schoolboy waiting for a first date to come to the front door.
I grabbed onto the steering wheel, locked my arms, and waited. Noontime came and went. I argued with myself. He’s not coming, I worried. Some inner sense had cautioned him to reconsider. Should I go back into the store? He was coming, but he was just a nice, sweet boy with no interest in my fantasies about him. Maybe he is innocent, I argued, but he’s certainly not stupid. Or blind. He had to know what he was saying! He was the one, after all, who invited me to go to the beach. And he knew what that meant; he said so himself: “kind’a weird.” No, he knew exactly what he was doing. On the other hand―I checked my watch for the twentieth time―why was he going on fifteen minutes late? And so it went.
I was just getting ready to turn the key, when the supermarket’s automatic door swung open, and I told myself to wait one last time. False alarm. It was a woman with a cart loaded with groceries and an infant in the cart’s seat. Beside her, a three- or four-year-old seemed to struggle to keep up with her mother’s pace. Then the woman stopped altogether and turned and looked back into the store. Slowly, she picked up the toddler, handed her to someone, and then pointed out into the parking lot. She started pushing the cart again, more determined now. And right behind her stepped my boy. With his apron slung over one shoulder and a small backpack on the other, he carried the little girl, following the mother. As he walked behind the woman, he continually scanned the parking lot. I got out and stood on the running board, hoping he’d turn enough to see me. It took a few seconds, but finally he did, and all his consternation seemed to evaporate. Mine, too.
“I was afraid you’d be gone.” Those were his first words to me in the truck, and all my silent arguing melted along with my heart. “My boss grabbed me just as I was going out the door, and I had to shelve part of the delivery. I would have called, but I don’t have your cell.”
“It’s fine,” I lied with a smile. “I figured it was something like that.”
He grinned back; we both relaxed and settled in for the short trip to the harbor.
Tad was in awe when he saw my boat. It’s a fun little sloop, not anything spectacular, just 22 feet, but it serves me well. I can sail up and down the coast and spend a few overnights before feeling like I needed to find a motel somewhere with a real bed. But from Tad reaction, it could have been a celebrity’s yacht. It made me smile, and he did, too.
It took another fifteen minutes to row out to the mooring, stow our gear, and get the boat ready, but by 12:40 or so, we were on our way out of the harbor.
“Your folks okay with this?” I asked casually at one point.
“Umm…” He shrugged. “I guess. My dad’s away on business. He’ll be back in a few days, and my mom and aunt are visiting my grandma in Portland. They’ll have dinner there, then head home.
I nodded and smiled. Seems we were going to have some time on our hands―a happy prospect, indeed!
I set the mainsail and the little jib, and we eased back and let the wind carry us.
“So…I don’t know a lot of ‘Tad’s’. Cool name,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s different, but then I guess maybe I’m different, too.” His words just sort of hung there, and I noticed they lacked his usual high-energy delivery.
“Well, I like it,” I said, trying to lighten up the suddenly somber tone.
“It’s short for Thaddeus. Means ‘heart,’ Mom says.”
“Really!” I beamed. “I like it even more, then. It’s an awesome name!”
He offered a hint of a smile, and the sparkle worked its way back into his eyes.
“So, Tad, I interrupted you at the store. I was asking if you tried the razor?”
“Yeah,” he said shyly. “Thanks, Will. It was awesome.” He turned his head slightly to display his cheek. “See?”
I looked closely at his cheek. What I felt like saying was, son, with that little bit of peach fuzz, I could have nibbled you smooth in about thirty seconds. I smiled. I could see the idea of a beard that needed shaving was for Tad, like most boys, a thing to be proud of. I didn’t want to wound his ego. “Little hard to see in this bright sunshine,” I replied, with a squint.
“Well…here…” He scooted closer to me and leaned in. “Feel.”
My heart was pounding right up into my mouth, and now I did what I had imagined doing the other night. I reached out and touched his baby-smooth skin. With the backs of my fingers, I lightly touched down on his velvety-soft cheek. I trembled when I touched him, and I was sure he did, too. Tremors passed through him like tiny flashes of lightning as my fingers drew across his cheek.
After I reluctantly lifted my fingers from his face, he murmured dreamily, “Smooth, huh.”
Okay. This was another one of these moments. Did he know what he was doing; that is, did he know he was driving me crazy with lust, or was he just being a sweet, innocent boy. In that moment, I was convinced it was the latter; it had to be. His response proved it: When I touched his cheek, he winced a little, stiffened, and blushed. He abruptly turned his gaze out to the horizon, unable to look at me as I touched him. I suddenly saw it for what it was, a simple act by a sweet, naïve boy, a boy who had no hidden agenda. But even in the moment, he lost some of his innocence; he realized that what he’d done had meaning. A new law of physics was revealed to him in a newly-discovered sensual universe: Every action of one who acts elicits a reaction of equal or greater effect on the one being acted upon. A simple offer that just popped innocently into his head had led to an incredibly sensual moment, and he was unprepared for the effect. He was unprepared for the resulting intensity. The enormity of that first touch settled in on him.
“Was that your first time?” He seemed confused. “Shaving?” I tried to ease his self-consciousness.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “It was.”
“Thanks.” He smiled shyly.
I wanted to keep the conversation going. “Have you sailed much?”
“You want to take the wheel?” I asked as we lazed along our way on an east-northeasterly heading. The energy that usually surged over his body reappeared in that moment, igniting the sparkle I’d grown to love in his eyes.
“Sure.” He slid in beside me and placed his hands where mine had been on the wheel. After what he’d just learned, I know he aware of our closeness. I could feel his heat even with the steady, cool breeze. I cast a sideways glance in his direction, but he seemed unaware of my gaze. His clear blue eyes gazed steadily ahead as if he were Leif Erikson on the brink of discovering a new world.
“So,” I began, “tell me about yourself, Tad.”
His eyes widened, and he stiffened slightly. He reached down and tugged at his pants, the way nervous boys do. “Not much to tell.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that, not for a second!”
He grinned. “Well, I’m a sophomore, but I’m only 15.”
“What’s the story with that?” I asked.
“Nothing too exciting. I was home schooled until middle school. And I was kind of ahead the other kids, so I skipped sixth.”
“How was that?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I was littler than everyone else. Even the girls.”
“Well, girls mature earlier than boys,” I offered.
“Yeah.” Whatever he was thinking prompted yet another blush. “Well…anyway.”
“Ah…girls,” I mumbled. “You have a girlfriend?” I held my breath.
“No!” I guess he realized he’d spoken with a bit too much force and tried it again. “I mean, no, not yet anyway. I dunno…My dad says I’m just a late bloomer.” He paused for a moment and seemed to darken a little. “Maybe I am. I didn’t start growing, you know, like puberty an’ stuff, until last year.” He seemed to think about that, and then shrugged. “Anyway, just not interested, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said with a shrug that was meant to convey indifference but did anything but.
“That’s cool, Tad. It’ll sort itself out when you’re ready. Whatever.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Maybe.” I could see the wheels turning. He had a question for me: “Will, are you…you know…like married or anything?”
“Like married?” I grinned. He smiled, then shifted his gaze back to the horizon. “Good question,” I offered. “Nope. Not married…no ‘anythings,’ if you mean girlfriends, boyfriends, cat, dogs.”
He sort of chuckled but he didn’t miss the “boyfriends” part of my list. He seemed to eye me for a moment, as if he might want to ask a follow-up question. I began to consider how I would answer if he somehow screwed up enough courage to ask me the question: if I was “like…you know.” I think he wanted to ask, but he didn’t, so I deflected the conversation.
“So how do you spend your free time?”
“Well, my mom and dad and I are at church a lot.”
Ohhh-oh, I thought. “Cool,” I said-coolly. “Which one?”
He named one of the largest churches in the area. It was one of those ultra conservative churches. Sort of Baptist. You’d probably call it non-aligned, or non-denominational, or non-something. It seemed like the pastor did his own thing. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working if you judge by the numbers. But that explained a lot: the home schooling, why Tad was as clean-cut as he was, why he wore the clothes he did, etc. Yet something didn’t add up. It seemed to me a boy from that type of environment, from that type of family would never risk spending an afternoon with a stranger like he was doing with me. And I am certain his parents wouldn’t have been quite as accepting of our little adventure as he had suggested earlier. They would have had to meet me, run a background check, and had me join their church, first. Hmm.
One hour and a few tacks later, we eased into our little cove. We dropped the sail, and motored in. It was a little tricky getting in through the small, rocky channel. Unless you really knew the place, it’d be easy to end up on the rocks, which is why I think no one ever put in there. As an added benefit, we’d never be seen. In fact, the narrow inlet was all but invisible from the open ocean. Even the lobstermen hauling their traps wouldn’t be able to see us. On the charts, it looked more like a stream and too small for anything but a skiff.
“Wow,” Tad said once I’d set the anchor. He took in our own private little haven. “Cool.”
“Yeah. Very.” I agreed. “So…I’m gonna change, I guess. Get my swimsuit on. Ah…I can stay up here, and you can change dow―” I stopped as a wave of panic flood over his face.
“Oh my gosh!” he cried. “I’m so stupid!”
“What! What’s the matter, Tad?” I asked.
“I didn’t bring a da― um…a darn suit! I forgot to tell you! I should have stopped at home, but I was so late, and so excited to…well…arrrghh!” he groaned in exasperation and looked like he was about to cry.
“Hey, Tad,” I breathed. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Taking hold of his other shoulder, I turned him to face me. “We got lots of options here. Lots.”
“Really?” he asked, calming down a bit.
“Yep. Not the end of the world, no matter what. You know, we’ve got some food, some drinks, and great company!” He cracked a hint of a smile. “I’d be fine,” I continued, “just staying right like we are and getting to know one another better.” He seemed to relax again.
“Yeah, but I thought…you know…it would be fun to go swimming.” He blushed. Why would that make him blush, unless the idea of seeing me in a swimsuit, or the idea of me seeing him in a swimsuit was sparking certain thoughts. Well, we were about to find out.
“We still can, Tad,” I reassured. “I’m sure I’ve got a spare suit somewhere below.” His cheeks pinked up slightly. “Or…you could just go in your skivvies.” More pink. “Or…” I said, raising my eyebrows, “we could just go au natural.” I don’t think he got the meaning. “Sans suits,” I clarified. Still nothing. “Skinny-dipping?” That he got. Bright red flooded into those sweet cheeks. I chuckled. “Finally, I get a reaction!” He looked at me nervously, as if this were something that he had never considered, but now suddenly he was. Hmm.
“You’re, um, like kidding, right? About, you know, going…naked.”
I shrugged. “Those are the options I can think of.” I gave him a grin. “But, for what it’s worth, lots of times when I’m out here alone…I’m naked as the day I was born! And I’ve never been caught in an ‘em-bare-assing’ position. I emphasized the appropriate syllables, and he blushed right on schedule. “If you’ve never done it―gone nude―outside in the sun, well, it’s really different.”
“You like doing it?”
“Going nude? Honest?”
“I do, Tad. Really.” I glanced skyward. “I just love feeling the sun and the breeze…like all over.” I added the last part for his benefit and was rewarded by a self-conscious grin, and more rosy cheeks. “But-hold on a sec.” I stepped below and rummaged around in a box. I found an old swimsuit, a Speedo as it turned out. I tossed it up to him. He grabbed it, and sort of held it up, staring at it. For a long moment, he didn’t move. “Sorry, Tad, but that’s the best I can do in the swimwear department.”
He kind of leaned and looked around the Speedo. “It’s…” I grinned as he searched for the word.
“Trim?” I asked. “Sleek? Skimpy?”
“Getting warmer,” he remarked drily and then: “Will, what are you going to do…wear?”
“Look, Tad, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You decide. Whatever you decide is cool with me.” I grinned up at him. “Tell you what: I’ve got some stuff to do down here. You said you wanted to go for a swim, so I’ll give you a little privacy, and you can decide what you want to do…Change or whatever. When I hear a splash, I’ll join you. Just one thing, a little heads up: if you decide for the undies option, we may have to fly ’em off the backstay on the way home to get ‘em dry! And…just so you have all the important data as you’re deciding, I can tell you from experience, if you’re swimmin’ in your undies, it’s sort a like having nothing on at all. Once they get wet, well, they get clingy―major wedgie potential―and sort’a see-through.” I raised my eyebrows knowingly three or four times and grinned. For an instant, I thought he was actually going to put his hand down over his package, but he resisted. However, that didn’t do anything to slow the red that flooded up his cheeks and up to his temples. “So whatever. You decide.” I went below to give him some privacy.
I got into my suit, also a Speedo. I fought the urge to peek out as he was changing, and I wondered if he was fighting similar urges as I was changing. To kill some time, I puttered around in the galley getting things shipshape. Soon I heard a clunk: one shoe. Another clunk: the other shoe. I heard Tad unzip his khaki Dockers but resisted trying to catch a glimpse of him in the cockpit. It was difficult, but I wanted him to know I was good for my word, and after a moment, I heard a bit of scrambling, and then a splash. Once up on deck, I gazed down at his leavings: a shoe here, a shoe there, a couple of white ankle socks, his store-logo polo shirt, and a sweet pair of tighty-whities: Hanes. The Speedo was nowhere to be seen.
A flash of disappointment flooded over me, but it was only momentary. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his decision. After, all, just coming out here with me, by all accounts a stranger, was probably as big a risk as I should expect of him―or deserve. But still, I could not resist the urge to crouch down, and under the guise of straightening up his things, I grabbed onto his undies and drew them to my nose. I breathed in, hoping to catch a hint of his scent, and I wasn’t disappointed. His innermost clothing was still warm from holding his body snuggly, and it was permeated by the sweet, warm aroma of boy. Mmm.
“How’s the water?” I asked, as I folded his pants and shirt, arranged his shoes, and placed his now folded briefs on top of the pile.
“Great!” came the sputtered response. “Not too cold. Come on in!”
I moved to the stern and dove in. In an instant, my head broke the surface. “Not cold!” I squealed. “What’re you: a walrus! It’s cold enough to freeze your balls off!”
He laughed (and of course blushed at my bodily reference). But he really laughed―as hard as I’d seen him since I’d first met him. He had a wonderful, open laugh coming from deep inside.
“Oh…so you think that’s funny, huh?” I had swum to within a few feet of him. I thought about reaching down and grabbing his package, and making a further comment, but I reminded myself the innocent by before me might not be ready for such playfulness. I would have to be patient and let the relationship develop.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I kind’a do.”
“All right for you, then,” I mumbled, swinging my arm to create a spray of water that soaked his head. He gasped, and the play was on. We cavorted like two playful whale calves: splashing, diving, poking, bumping. After 30 minutes or so, I was ready to get out of the water. “Hey, Tad, don’t know about you, but I’m about as cooled off as I wanna be. And I’m starting to look like a prune―more wrinkled than my ol’ grandma. Time to get out, for me.”
He swam for a few more minutes, and then he was climbing up the ladder and over the rail. In that instant, I glimpsed his incredible body for really the first time. He was to my eyes, perfect. He trembled at the cooling breeze on his wet skin; I trembled because of the vision I now beheld. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him. I gently dried his back and chest and patted down his hair. I tossed him a towel and watched him take care of his legs. In those too brief moments, I examined him without clothes―well, his usual street clothes―and felt my pulse quicken.
“Speedo fits pretty good, huh?” I said simply.
He blushed as I knew he would. “I guess,” he breathed.
I grinned. He knew I was studying him as if he were a work of art, but he never made any attempt of cover himself or turn from me. He was, simply stated, beautiful. I feared using that word with him. I was sure it would freak him out, and possibly make him feel he’d made a mistake coming with me. “Handsome” would, no doubt, be a more acceptable word, but even that might be hard for him to hear from me. So instead, I kept my own counsel, and let my eyes convey my appreciation.
The skimpy suit looked like it had been made for him. It was almost all white, with a bold red stripe. For the first time, I got a hint of what he carried between his legs and wasn’t disappointed.
The rest of him was exactly how I pictured him: utter perfection. His skin was smooth and hairless, except for light downy hair on his arms and legs. His tan was relatively even across his body. (except the whiter skin that the Speedo revealed.) His neck was probably about a size 14” and he held his head proudly erect. His muscles were firm. He was not what you would call jacked, but he was perfectly proportioned. His biceps mounded nicely, and I could tell he was strong without being muscle-bound. Wiry, my mother would have said. Clearly, he had some more growing to do.
His legs were also appropriately muscled and straight and true. I figured he took about a size 30-inch pant leg. For that matter, I guessed his waist was probably about the same size waist. His chest was also muscled. I could not see an ounce of fat, nor could I count his ribs. Neither too “meaty” nor too thin. M-mmm, just right! Thanks to the chilly water, and the brisk toweling (and perhaps something else, as well?), his two nail-point nipples were erect, and the copper areolas surrounding them were penny-sized. Which brings me to his belly. Again, firm and muscled. With a little work, he’d be well on his way to a nice six-pack. His sides tapered to form that wonderful male “V” shape, like a road sign arrow pointing to some attraction demanding attention. His navel was just the slightest swirling outie. Without falling to my knees with a magnifying glass to give a closer inspection, his belly appeared completely hairless. I thought of his brand-new razor. Oooo…how I’d love to properly shave that sweet boy’s body.
“Hungry?” I asked, determined to wrench my mind from the path on which it seemed to have set itself.
“Yeah,” Tad said.
“Me, too.” I opened up the cooler. “We’ve an awesome selection. Let’s see…we’ve got tuna sandwiches…and ah…tuna sandwiches…and―oh wow―look at this: tuna sandwiches.” I looked up at him. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Gee,” he said with a smirk, “Hmm. Maybe I’ll try a tuna sandwich.”
“Tuna? Excellent choice!” I grinned and handed him a sandwich and a soft drink.
We stood for a moment, and I noticed he bowed his head: He was saying grace. I felt a little awkward about having started right in, so I waited until he looked up. His eyes flashed to my sandwich, which had obviously had a bite taken out of it.
“My family always says grace,” he said simply.
I nodded. “I guess I’m not too religious,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “No problem.”
“Sounds like your family is, though.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Church is a big deal for us.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty tight with your family.”
“Mostly…but we don’t always agree.”
“No family does, Tad, not even close ones.”
“What if…” His voice trailed off, and he looked off in the distance. “I don’t know, what if there was something really big? It could really mess up everything.”
In that instant, for the first time that I’d been around him, I saw a cloud forming, hinting at a coming storm. It was dark, and it was scary, and I wanted to take him, pull him to me, and hold him until it was okay.
“Tad, if a family truly loves one another, it’ll survive whatever the ‘really big’ thing is. It may not be easy, and things may not be the same afterward, but the love will stay strong.” I looked over at him. “I not naïve, though. I know it doesn’t always work out that way,” I added, “and if it doesn’t, then maybe the love wasn’t as strong or as real as people thought it was. Sadly, I’ve seen that happen, but in situations like that, I’ve also seen the ones who have been rejected find love―real love―in other places, with other people, people who know true love is affirms, not tears down.”
Tad nodded, but I’m not sure what I said helped him feel any better.
“Hey,” I said softly, “We can sit down, you know!”
We ate mostly in silence. We watched as an osprey hunt for its lunch, but neither of us felt the need to say anything. I worried that perhaps I’d said the wrong thing or that he was suddenly feeling that he’d made a wrong decision to come with me. Something was on Tad’s mind.
“So,” I began, “is it what you thought it’d be?”
He scowled for just an instant, and he cocked his head. “The Speedo?”
I grinned. “That, too.” I paused. “Actually, I meant coming out here with me.”
“Oh,” he said, the sparkle in his eyes returning at least for a moment. “Yeah, Will, it’s awesome.” He broke into his heart-stopping smile, making his eyes sparkle even more. “Really!”
All the uncertainty I’d seen just moments ago had left him. I wondered what was behind that darkness. “I’m glad. I mean you were pretty quiet there for a while, Tad. I was beginning to wonder if you were having second thoughts.”
“Second thoughts? No! Just thinking, is all.”
“Anything you care to share?”
Tad was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Nah…I guess not.”
“Well, I’m a pretty good listener, if ever…”
“Thanks. Um…you feel like going for another swim?”
“Maybe in a bit. I thought I’d go up on the bow and catch some sun.”
He shrugged. “Okay, that sounds good, too,” he said simply.
As we spread out our towels, I said, “Now, this is when it’s really nice to be naked.” I let the idea drop, and he and I stretched out on the towels. The conversation moved on. We talked about school, what kind of music he liked, and other odds and ends.
Then he abruptly changed the subject. “Why’d you say that, that part about going nude now?”
“Did I make a mistake? Should I not have said that?”
“No,” he answered after he’d thought a bit. “It’s just so…” he looked out over the bow, shook his head, and then turned his gaze to me. “…So different.”
“Well, I said it because it’s true. At least for me. I didn’t mean to make a big deal of it. It just feels nice to feel that warmth all over.”
“You didn’t make it a big deal,” he muttered softly. “I did.” His silence told me he was still trying to work something out. “Will? If…um…I wasn’t here…would you be, you know, nude?” His eyes drifted up and down my body.
Suddenly my answer seemed like it would be a big deal. “Dunno.” I paused, and then shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. Really, Tad, I guess it would depend on my mood, the weather―lots of stuff. But yeah, today? I guess I probably would be.”
I dropped my head back down onto the towel and let my eyes drift shut. I had a feeling the conversation wasn’t over.
“Will?” I opened my eyes. “Would it be too weird if…you know…if I tried it: going nude?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.” I grinned easily at the suddenly nervous boy. I could see he’d made a decision. “I might just join you―unless that’d be too weird.”
“It’d be okay,” he muttered, adding a grin.
We had been on our stomachs. Now we rolled over, and slowly, staring at the Speedo, he reached down, loosened the drawstring, and began to pull it down. Oh, how I wanted to offer my assistance. He glanced over at me and saw my hungry stare. He gulped as I shifted my gaze to where his hands were hard at work. My heart was pounding as he tugged the suit lower. I thought I should make this easier for him, so I forced my stare back up to his eyes.
“You can look,” he whispered h. “I want you to.”
So I did.
A soft bush of blond hair came into view, the same color as the corn silk of the hair on his head. In another squirming tug, the base of his penis appeared. As more of his boyhood was revealed, I could see he was uncut and far from fully erect, but neither was he completely flaccid. Then the suit was down over his thighs, and off. His cock rolled slowly to the side; below it I could see his ball sack, which appeared to hold two man-sized testicles, large enough that they seemed almost out of proportion with the rest of him.
“Nice, Tad,” I breathed. “Very nice.” I glanced up at his face in time to see the blood flooding into his cheeks and right up to his temples.
“Now you,” the boy said with a shaking voice. For some kids, stripping down would have been no big deal, but it was for Tad. He was violating so many taboos that had been defined by his family and his church. Again, I wondered why he had decided to break those prohibitions with me. But he had something else on his mind, he’d made a request, one that I was more than happy to accommodate. He propped himself up on his elbows and riveted his stare on my hidden (for the moment) package. In just seconds, I’d tugged down on my suit and revealed my hardening cock and my balls to his hungry eyes.
“Ohh,” he sighed when I had divested myself of my suit and leaned back. I looked over at him. It was as if my package were a magnet for the boy. In that moment, it seemed if I were to offer, he would have dived onto my cock without a moment’s hesitation. As he stared at my now-rapidly hardening cock, I could see he was torn between reveling in my transforming manhood and feeling guilty about lusting over another man’s body.
I reached out and made contact with his shoulder. “It’s okay, Tad,” I said as gently as I could. I studied the boy as, mesmerized, he drew in a long, slow breath. A slight frown, and narrowing eyes told me he wasn’t sure it was okay. I glanced down and I could see his cock responding as well. He seemed so uncomfortable I thought he might decide this was all wrong and pull his clothes back on. “Tad.” He reluctantly lifted his gaze. “I know this is all new for you, and I’m guessing there’s more going on here than just a little nude sunbathing. I know there is for me. And I suspect there is for you, too. When I see a perfect male body―and that’s what I’m seeing right now―I react. He blushed again at my description of his body.
“It’s not perfect,” he muttered.
“It is in my eyes,” I replied.
“Well…I’m not perfect, he breathed.
“None of us are, Tad. Not if we’re human…and you, my friend, are very human. And just for the record, if I had any influence, an exact likeness of your body would be on permanent display in the Louvre. You are, your body is, the essence of male youth.” Tad turned beet-red again.
“But…I’m…” He glanced down at his now throbbing five-inch boyhood, which pointed up to his chin. “It’s wrong.”
“I’m…” He shook his head and directed his gaze down to his cock. “It’s the way it should be around girls, not men,” he murmured.
What had just happened? What had started out as a second act in a fun afternoon lara ucuz escort 3-act comedy had abruptly taken a turn toward a tragedy. The darkness had descended again over this sweet boy. He was struggling, hurting. “Tad,” I said, “maybe that’s true for some boys and men, maybe even for most. And it may be that your mother and father and your church are telling you that it’s the only way a man should become aroused…but I think you know that’s not true. I definitely know it’s not true!”
“It’s a sin.” He looked like he was about to cry.
“Tad, I understand that’s what you’ve been told. But it is not true. I think the people who are saying that are confused and maybe a little afraid, but regardless, they’re wrong.”
“Tad,” I interrupted.
“Sometimes I just hate it―hate those feelings! He’s testing me.”
“God,” he said with a palpable sadness.
“What test? I asked. “What ‘it?’”
“My penis.” He closed his eyes and murmured more to himself than me. “Sometimes I think it would be better if it was just gone.”
“Tad!” I shouted, almost losing my cool. “I know Jesus said if your right eye offends you, pluck it out, if your right hand offends, cut it off, but he never ever included your penis in that.” I shook my head. “Never. And for that matter, he never even mentioned anything about being gay or homosexual. He never said it was a sin. Never.
“Shhh,” I hushed. I had a pretty good hunch he was going to deny his sexuality, and I didn’t want him to do that with me. “Tad, just listen for a minute. Please.” He cast his eyes downward. Was that shame I was seeing?
“Okay,” he murmured.
“If you believe in God, then you have to believe that God created what’s there between your legs. And if you believe in God, then you have to believe God created your body to experience those amazing sensations. Your cock, Tad, is perfection. If there are people telling you those feelings are bad, they’re wrong. If you believe in God, and God created all life, then those feelings are the work of God, not the devil.” I pressed my hand onto his shoulder and paused to let that sink in.
“I think I know what’s bothering you, but, Tad, even that is not the end of the world. It may mean you and your family are in for some challenging times, but you are who you are…just as I am who I am. We can’t help who we are, neither you nor I. I can’t be someone I’m not―even if I wanted to be, and I don’t, I don’t want to be anyone else. Tad…” I lifted his chin, and his eyes locked onto mine. “I am really happy with who I am. The fact is, your mother and father are who they are, too. The challenge for them is to accept you for who you are, no matter what they believe.”
Tears flooded down his cheeks. “They never will. It’s wrong.”
“It is not wrong, Tad, not for me, not for you.” A few hours ago, I never imagined having this conversation with him, but there was no way I could avoid it now. “When I was your age, younger even, I remember being worried about sin and going to hell and all that crap. So I started reading the bible to figure out what was going to happen to me…’cause I knew who I was, what I was. But the one of the things I kept reading over and over was that God is the creator. That means God created me. And God created you. A God with that kind of power wouldn’t make mistakes. You and I are the way we’re supposed to be.”
“God doesn’t make mistakes,” Tad murmured, contemplating what I’d said.
“If you believe in God, then the only logical conclusion is that I am the way I am because God made me this way. And you’re the way you are because God…”
“…made me this way.”
“My pastor says gays are perverted.”
“He and a lot of other people, but you and I know better, don’t we?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Tad, I’m sure. You are not a mistake. Look at me.” He did. Again, I pressed down on his shoulder. “Tad, if anything in the world is sacred, you are. I saw the goodness in you the first moment I saw you at the check-out counter. You bring light wherever you are. You are who you are. You are a creation of God, and that means you are not bad.”
He seemed to relax some then, but it was only fleeting. “My parents don’t think so,” he said. “I mean, Will, I know I’m gay, but they don’t, they don’t know about…how I am…but I know what they say about gays.”
“And that stinks. It’s so messed up. I’d like to think that they might change. Grow. Learn. But that can be really hard for some people―especially church people. They’re all so damn sure that God wants them to hold onto their perverse ideas. But what they’ve really done is to stuff God into a box, and they’ve made God be the way they believe. They are filled with a twisted pride as they spout their sanctimonious ‘we’re-better-than-you’ beliefs, but when I read the bible, those kind of pious fakes are the only people Jesus seems to have had a problem with. They were the ones Jesus was saying needed to change. And like I said, Jesus never said a word about gay people.”
The pain that this beautiful boy had been keeping buried now flowed from him in hot, hurtful tears. As he lay next to me,’ I knew I had to rethink what I’d been hoping might happen on this awesome day with this amazing boy. I needed to throw all my fantasizing out the window. This boy needed help. He was grieving. He needed to purge himself of those vile teachings, and I was the only one who was there to help him.
I moved my hand lightly over his shoulder and felt him stiffen. Here was a beautiful naked boy within my grasp, but in this moment, I desperately wanted him to be fully clothed. (Strange, I know, but absolutely true.) I didn’t want my touches to be taken the wrong way. With his nakedness, I feared the messages would be confusing to him. All I wanted to do was to comfort him, to reassure him; I wanted my touch to soothe, not excite.
I gently stroked his shoulder, his warm, baby-soft skin. “Tad, I have a pretty good idea how you are feeling.”
“I doubt that,” he muttered, cutting me off.
“Maybe, but for a while when I was about your age, I felt the same way. It seemed overwhelming, but we cannot deny who we are. In the little time I’ve been around you, I’ve seen how much you have to offer the world.” He gave me a look. “I not kidding, Tad. I’m serious. I know the only thing you can think about is how your sexuality will destroy your family, and everything you love. I understand that. If you’re like me when I was going through all that, it overwhelms everything else, and why wouldn’t it. You’re on guard all the time, pretending all the time, you’re pretending at home, at your church, at school, even with your friends.
“But the truth is while your sexuality is important, it is not the only thing you are. Yes, you are gay. And yes, you are a truly amazing human being! And you would be whether you are gay, bi, or straight! You are a wonderful part of a wonderful creation! You are, Thaddeus, you are a person of extraordinary worth. The grocery store job? I’ve watched you. You touch each and every one of those customers with your goodness. You matter to them, and not because you’re straight or gay, but because you are who you are: a wonderful, intelligent, caring, awesome human being―and yes, an awesome human being who happens to be gay.”
He trembled, looked into my eyes, and I could see such uncertainty. Then as if suddenly chains which had held him captive had been broken, he lifted up off his towel, and threw himself onto me, hugging me as if he were drowning and I was his life ring. His glistening body pressed against mine. He tucked his head under my chin. His boyhood pressed into my groin, and my manhood was sandwiched between our bellies. I was stunned. He held me tightly in his embrace, and I felt hot tears on my neck. “I’m scared,” he breathed.
My hand trailed down his back and found his luscious bottom. I felt so privileged to be with this boy in these moments. “I know, Tad, I know.” With just the lightest touch, my hand drifted up off his butt and up over his smooth back. It was as if my hands might defile him. I wanted to do nothing to jeopardize the purity of his being.
“You never have to be scared when you’re with me. I’ll always be here for you, Tad. I pray things never get overwhelming for you, but if they do, I’m here. I promise you, you will always be safe with me.” He sobbed then; huge drops of hot tears seemed to scald my skin. He wrapped his arms around me even tighter, and I held him, softly patting his shoulder blade. “There, there,” I soothed. In those moments, he might have been a small boy with a skinned knee. “Shhhh…” I rocked him gently.
We lay that way for an hour it seemed. Finally, when my every limb was without feeling, I whispered softly, “Tad, I need to move a little.” He looked up at me and started-reluctantly-to get up. “No,” I whispered, “just a bit.” I scooted back and leaned against the mast. “That’s better,” I said with a smile, and held out my arms.
He quickly settled back down, this time we faced in the same direction, he nestled in between my legs, and leaned back against my chest. “That’s better,” I whispered in his ear. “I meant it, by the way.” He twisted around enough to look into my eyes. “What I said earlier. I’ll always be here for you.”
There was a hint of a smile, and then he turned around to gaze out at the endless ocean. “Thank you, Will” came a soft reply. And later, much later: “Will?”
“It’s nice like this. When you hold me.” It was a simple statement, but it said so much. And it surprised me. For a boy concerned about his “wicked” thoughts, he was being remarkably revealing in that moment.
“I like it, too,” I confided.
“It just feels so right,” he breathed and nestled further into me, so my cock aligned somewhat naturally with the deep cleft of his bottom. He had to be aware of what he was doing, but I was learning not to presume anything with this young man, a lesson that was about to be reinforced.
He took my hand and drew it first to his chest, and then deliberately moved it downward over his firm, gently rippled belly. It was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, as smooth as his own bottom. I slowed my hand’s downward journey and toyed with his cute belly button. And then, growing impatient, he tugged at my hand, and I relented. He drew me over his soft, downy nest and onto his penis. When my fingers touched his boyhood, he drew in a sharp breath. It had awakened and was now throbbing, pointing again up to his chin. Oh, ye gods of Olympus! It was nearly more than I could bear. To fondle such perfection took my breath away. So velvety smooth, so hot, so hard. So perfect.
“Tad, we don’t…you don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?”
I felt his head nodding against me. “Yes. Unless you don’t want to.”
“Oh, Tad. I do.” I moved my hand lightly over his cock. I felt his whole body relax, and then he sighed, as if there were magic in that touch, a magic that transported him to a place of utter bliss. I gently let my fingers drift over his body the way a thistle seed floats over a meadow on a warm summer day. He was so warm and smooth. With gentle prodding, his prepuce slipped back revealing a glistening, silky helmeted head. Utter perfection. He gasped when I had moved his foreskin off that beautiful head. And when I released it, it eased back over his shy glans, as if trying to shield it from probing eyes.
I reached lower and cupped his balls in my hand. I could feel what I could not fully see: his scrotum was covered with fine, short hairs. But it was the heft of his testicles that focused me. They were larger than what I expected “Mmm,” I hummed. “You must shoot buckets when you jack off!” Tad’s face turned red, and I figured I’d got it just about right.
“Will,” he said simply, turning away. He swallowed hard. “I’ve never done it,” he breathed.
“Done it?” I was momentarily confused.
“You know, masturbated.”
There was so much struggling to burst from my mouth in that instant. First, I had a hard time believing him. What healthy boy would―or could―refrain from pleasuring himself. “Never?” I asked, disbelieving.
“My church has a youth group, but sometimes the boys and girls meet separately. And my pastor meets with the boys, and his wife meets with the girls. The pastor tells us how the bible says it’s a sin to…you know…’spill your seed.’ He says it’s a way God tests teen boys, and that no matter how the devil is making a boy feel, he can’t give in because if he did, he would be failing God’s test.”
“And you’ve been able to…’resist’? In my experience, that’s downright impossible for a boy.” It took every ounce of my resolve not to launch into a rant.
“The pastor has special counseling sessions for boys who are afraid they’re growing weak and are going to fail God’s test. He says we have to tell him if we’ve had any impure thoughts. We have to confess what they are and how they make us feel.”
“Oh, Tad,” I groaned. “I’d just lie, I think.”
“I’ve tried, but he’s pretty relentless. ‘I know how the devil works on boys like you,’ he says.”
Yeah, I thought, the dirty ol’ fuck is probably getting’ his rocks off at the expense of these poor, guilt-ridden boys.
Tad continued, “And lots of times, parents report their sons if they find evidence.”
“Pastor Rick says parents should have a rule if they have teenaged sons: no closed doors. ‘Too much of a temptation,” he says, and…well…Mom and Dad agree. Because the devil has terrible power, he says, especially over teenage bodies, especially teenage boys’ bodies.” He reddened. “Mom and Dad have seen my sheets. I mean, well, like in the morning when I’m still asleep: you know, tented up, so they tell Pastor Rick, and we have to have a talk.”
“Unbelievable, Tad. This is so twisted! If I were you, I’d have been visiting ‘Pastor Rick’ every day! You really have never jacked off? I’m…I…” I shook my head, lost for words.
“There’ve been times…I mean I’ve just gotten so…like I dunno…I get all these thoughts and pictures in my head and feelings like everywhere, but especially, you know, down there, but I start thinking about what Pastor Rick says and what if Mom and Dad find out, and I get scared, and then…you know…it gets…”
“Soft.” He couldn’t look me in the eye. I couldn’t blame him. “But I’ve never, you know, made the sperm come out. Sometimes it’s all I can think about, but when I start, all of a sudden there’s Pastor Rick in my head, or I can see Mom and Dad looking all disappointed, and then I start feeling really guilty again. Then I start thinking about the devil, and how I’m disappointing everybody and failing to do God’s will…and well, I can’t, you know, like stay hard.” I felt him twisting his head to the side, and again, I felt hot tears spill onto my skin. “But I figure it’s okay ’cause that sort of saves me. If Mom and Dad found out, I know they’d be really disappointed in me.”
“Oh my God, Tad. That is so-o-o twisted. Do you think―not your pastor or your parents―but do you think that a loving God would torture of teenaged boy that way, would give you all the feelings and capabilities of a healthy adult, and then expect you not to discover how to pleasure yourself? Oh, Tad.” I drew my left arm around his chest and pulled him tighter to me. It’s a wonder this boy―all the boys in that church―weren’t so screwed up that they’d all need years of counseling! Then I thought of something else. “Tad, you don’t have wet dreams?”
“I can’t help it, Will,” he muttered guiltily. “Pastor Rick says that happens because the devil puts evil dreams in a boys head. He says if a boy can’t control those wicked thoughts and feelings, then they might have to have…” Tears fell from his eyes.
“Shhhh,” I hushed. “It’s okay, you don’t need to say any more.”
“Yes, I do,” he moaned. “Pastor Rick says if the boy has extra skin, they might have to cut it off to stop the devil’s control of his body.”
“Oh my God,” I cried, “Enough!” I was filled with fury. Tad twisted around, alarmed at my outburst. In that moment I wanted to tie that sick fuck of a pastor up by his balls. “Tad, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. But what he’s telling you is just so wrong. And sick! So sick! No reputable doctor would do circumcise a boy for that bullshit reason! It’s emotional abuse, pure and simple, and physical abuse if that sick pervert convinces the parents to actually have that done to a boy. If he ever tries that with you, come straight to me immediately. Promise me!”
“No, Tad, this is important. I want to hear you say it out loud.”
“I will,” he said. “I promise.”
“Good,” I responded. “And just for the record, circumcision won’t stop those sensations. Tad, it hurts me so much to hear all this crap―all this bullshit that you, that all the boys in your church, have had to listen to!” I felt him flinch when I said that. “I’m sorry, Tad, but please, no more about what Pastor Rick says. It’s just so sick what he’s doing to you guys. The truth is nothing like what he’s telling you. Wet dreams? Jackin’ off? It’s simple biology: your balls are these incredible sperm factories. Before puberty, they’re just sort of waiting to go into production. Then, when you begin puberty, they start manufacturing sperm. The sperm builds up, and it’s got to come out one way or another. If a boy isn’t having sex with someone or masturbating, then nature takes its course, and a boy has a nocturnal emission, a wet dream. It’s just the way God made males. A wet dream is just natural! And I believe it’s just as natural to find relief by jacking-off.”
“You do? Really?”
“I do. Absolutely! No question!” He studied me. I think he knew I was being as serious as I could be. “So, Tad, I have a question for you: Why? Why are you here today, naked in the lap of a naked man?”
I felt him tense then.
“Don’t send me away. Please.” His breaking voice trembled.
I tightened my grip on him and leaned down and kissed his sweet cheek. “I could never do that, Tad. Never! But I’m trying to understand: being here the way we are right now…why?”
He was quiet for a long time. “I had one of those things…nocturnal emissions…last night. I had a weird dream, like the one’s…” He looked almost fearful, but he continued. “…like the one’s Pastor Rick says the devil puts in our heads that makes us impure.” I sighed, shaking my head. Then he continued. “It was a dream about you, Will. You and me…doing stuff.”
“And, by the way, dreams like that are also completely natural and normal and healthy,” I said, “The only work of the devil is what’s coming out of the mouth of that pervert of a pastor.”
“The way I’ve been brought up, it sounds so wrong, but here, right now, you and me, it seems, I dunno, just so…right. He was again silent, but I could tell he was still working something over in his mind. “You’re a good person,” he said finally, “I trust you. And then the other day I looked at your ring finger, and no ring, so I figured you weren’t married…and I wondered if you were, you know, like gay or something. I thought if you were, maybe I could ask you stuff, maybe you could help me.”
I smiled. “I’d be happy to help you, Tad. And yeah, I’m ‘like gay.’ Or something.” I giggled softly in his clean, salt-smelling hair.
Tad smiled then, but apparently he wasn’t finished yet. “Will…I was hoping, like really hoping, maybe we could try stuff. You know…like together…” He looked up at me sheepishly. “…so I could tell if, you know, if it really was wrong or not.”
“How about see if it’s really right?” I gave him another smile. “Tad, I want you to listen really carefully to what I’m going to say.” I felt his body tighten. “When I first saw you at the store, I thought, Now there’s a hot, young stud. I thought I’d love to…well…I’d love to do sexy things with him!” I hoped that wouldn’t be too much for a boy who had been filled with guilt about the simple act of pleasuring himself. I looked at my blushing boy. “Maybe even some of the things in your dream.” His eyes widened and a hint of a smile stretched his sweet lips.
What I’d just said didn’t scare him off, but now came the harder part. “But, Tad, almost in that same instant, I realized that you were not just a hot guy, you are a beautiful human being. So genuine, so caring. Such a beautiful young man. But now, hearing what you’ve been through, I’m having second thoughts. I’m not sure ‘doing stuff’ together is what you need right now,” I said. “I see you differently now; you’re more than an incredibly handsome boy. I am concerned that you’ve had to struggle with all this…bullshit. I’m worried that maybe ‘doing stuff’ might only complicate things for you.”
Tad twisted his body around and stared up at me. A look of pain clouded his face. I scowled. I expected to see relief or appreciation, but that wasn’t what I was getting from him. He turned away, looking out beyond the rock-lined inlet, out over the ocean. Low waves washed up over the granite edges of the island. He was silent for a long time. I held him gently, unmoving. Finally, he twisted back around, and holding my gaze, he spoke again. “Will, do you want me to tell you what I was thinking that first time I saw you?”
“Yes, Tad, I’d like that.”
“Truth,” I agreed.
“The truth is, at first, I didn’t know what to think. That other guy…I don’t know why I started talking about shaving. I just did. I’m sure he thought I was just some stupid kid, but then I saw you. Right away, I knew you were different,” he continued. “I got embarrassed with the other guy because he made me feel like a weird little kid, but that all disappeared when you started talking. You thought what we were talking about was…interesting…maybe even important. You paid attention to me; it was like you were really listening.” He blushed as he talked in his soft, quiet tones. “I got embarrassed again, but this time because…well…I was feeling different all of a sudden. And I was looking at you and thinking how cool it is to be talking to an adult and not having to be on my guard all the time. It was awesome just talking with you. And…honest, right?”
His blush grew even deeper. “It was sort of gave me a funny feeling…like in my body, like little sparks of electricity.” He gulped and his voice grew even softer. “And I was starting to get, you know, hard.” He looked deep into my gaze. “I do trust you, Will. I knew I could ask you stuff and you’d be honest with me. And when I saw you again, I was even more sure you were the person I could ask anything…and you’d tell me…and maybe even show me stuff. I wanted you, Will.”
I hadn’t been prepared for this. I’d sort of worked out in my head how my time with this boy was going to go, and what I’d just heard felt like it was about 180 degrees out from where I’d expected. Still, I wasn’t sure he understood all the implications of what he was saying. “Maybe, Tad,” I began, “it’d be better if you, you know, explored all this with another boy. Someone your age.”
Now his face clouded with an exasperated scowl. “Another boy!” he gasped. “Who! There are no other boys that are…the way I am! That are gay.” He shook his head and sighed. “Do you know what would happen if I tried getting another boy interested…in ‘exploring?’” He paused and when I failed to come up with an answer, he continued. “I’d be ruined. Everyone would know, and everyone would know why. I’d be ruined.” He turned back to me. When he spoke again, he was subdued, hurting. “That’s why I wanted you to like me…enough, you know, to teach me.” He paused, and once more looked up at me with those soft, doe-eyes. “I thought you’d understand.”
Oh my God, how his simple, honest words seared into me. I felt foolish. Of course he was right. My suggestion was ridiculous. It had been thoughtless. His response had proved that. I do understand, I wanted to tell him. Clearly, the boy had thought this out―apparently a lot more than I had, anyway. “I’m sorry, Tad. I’ve assumed some things, when I should have been asking you. But now I am: You said you wanted me to teach you. Is that what you’d like, Tad?”
A long silence again followed. I continued to hold him tight, pressing his back to my chest. My right hand continued to hold his now flaccid penis. It felt so diminished in my grasp, so vulnerable. He lifted away and, twisting, looked into my eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “it is.”
“Then we will, Tad.”
“So,” I said. “Electric or manual?”
He twisted his head and glanced up at me. “Electric?” A look of confusion flooded over him. Then he noticed my grin that stretched into a smile. “I get it. You’re kidding. Like razor thing.” Still there was a little uncertainty in his voice.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, trying some sleazy, condescending salesperson. “I’m afraid our Jerkoff-atron 9000 is out of service today for scheduled maintenance.” I gave him a smirk. “Seems our only option is manual!” I eased my grip around his chest, and let my fingertips dance up and down his side, finally reaching up into his armpit.
He stiffened and squealed like a little boy. “Stop!” he protested. “It tickles!”
“Mhmm,” I hummed. “All part of the service we provide.” I chuckled, paused, and then lowered my voice to a whisper. “But perhaps you’d prefer our advanced option for our extra-special customers.” With my left hand, I began tweaking his nipples and savoring his luscious, warm skin. He gasped, and I moved down, pressing gently, feeling each rib, then circled upward to toy with his nipples again. Like little soldiers, they snapped to attention.
“Just relax, Tad,” I whispered. “You’re in good hands.”
“With Allstate?” he said, offering his own grin.
I smiled, and my right hand found his penis again. Our discussion and his revelations about the pastor at his church had deadened his arousal. Now my fingers settled on his diminished boyhood. I moved as if he were the most fragile of sculptures. His body tightened as I caressed him. “Trust me, Tad,” I breathed in his ear. “Just let it happen.” His foreskin completely covered his glans and extended a bit beyond. As my fingernails scraped over his sweet, hard nipples, I felt his boyhood start to swell, and I knew my touches were sparking life where threats and guilt had just moments ago caused a withering reaction. I eased his foreskin back off his head. In an odd way, perhaps, the lengthening of his cock gave me hope, hope that maybe that vile religious pervert had not done permanent damage to this beautiful boy.
I cast my eyes downward to watch the transformation. As many times as I have seen it with my own body and in others, I never cease to be amazed. It is magical. I dropped my left hand down and drew my fingertips along that part of him which defined the end of his belly and the start of his leg. I felt an involuntary tightening at that spot, more like a little spasm. He sucked in a quick, short breath. My fingers found his soft pubic hair, and lightly slow-danced across it. I was in heaven, and I think he was, too! I continued my üniversiteli escort gentle touches, cooing and ahhing in his ear. For his part, he emitted soft groans and sighs, as his penis grew. If his nipples were his little soldiers, then here was his proud general returning their salute.
“It’s weird feeling someone else’s hand down there,” he breathed, sounding almost as if he were thinking aloud.
“Mmm” was my response. “Enjoy it.”
“I am,” Tad replied. “I don’t think it’d be getting hard if I wasn’t,” he breathed. Practically everything the boy said (or in some cases just thought) brought about a pinking of his cheeks, and this was no exception. I smiled.
“Mhmm,” I hummed softly. “I think you’re right, Tad.” He chuckled softly at that.
I continued to explore his body, letting my hand drift along his side, then mount the crest of his thigh, and finally slip into the silky warmth between his legs. When I fondled his testicles, I felt a tremble spread throughout his body, its intesity suggesting a greater urgency. “Nice,” I breathed. Now the sweet boy was unable to settle himself, trying to absorb the assault of unfamiliar sensations. He began a sort of rhythmic clenching of his body: tightening then loosening. Even his buttocks tightened and relaxed, the effect of which was the softest caresses on my cock, and it drove me wild. He surely had to be aware of the level of my arousal if he had any feeling at all in that scrumptious bottom of his!
Now he took my hand which held his penis and urged me to do what I promised I would. “I think I prefer manual, anyway,” he gasped.
“Excellent choice, sir,” I whispered into his ear. I smiled, remembering Nifty descriptions of “aching manhood.” I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if after all these years of denial, he was truly aching as wave after wave of new sensations flooded over him. His belly muscles tightened, his legs locked, pushing hard against mine. Taking my hand in his hand, he drew it up and down over his tumescent boyhood. I smiled. It was as if he thought I needed to be reminded of what the basics of masturbation. He was a rock-hard five inches now, and when I was too slow to respond, impelled by nature, he lifted with the intent of driving himself up through my curled fingers. A hungry boy! A side benefit of this action was a tightening of his buttocks, which further electrified my own manhood.
I smiled, happy to see that even a boy tortured with guilt for the first years of his adolescence could respond naturally and “enthusiastically.”
“A little desperate, are we?” I whispered, feeling his soft hair on my cheek.
“I’ve waited a long time!” he gasped. His tone said this was serious business, which made me smile. His gaze bore down on my hand as it caressed his penis, which pulsed in my grasp; it was strong enough that I had to grip him firmly, lest it throb right out of my hand. These new sensations overpowered any thoughts of guilt. It was easy to see the boy was overcome with emotion. His eyes watered and a few tears oozed down his cheeks. In this shared experience, I thought about that pastor’s perversions, and I wept along with Tad, I wept for the joy he was now experiencing and in sadness and rage for what he’d suffered at that vile man’s perversions. No boy should have to deny himself what nature intended in order to satisfy the twisted notions of some―and let me charitable here―“misguided” adult. I thought about that. They label me a pervert, but in truth, who is the real pervert?
As my fingers played over his cock, the boy groaned. “A long time,” he repeated.
“I know, Tad, I know,” I sighed. “Just try to relax. Otherwise you’ll be coming before we really begin.”
“Begin…Oh my gosh!” he exclaimed, twisting around and looking at me with eyes wide, “We haven’t begun yet!” He gulped in some air and his eyes widened in alarm.
I owed to my sweet Tad an apology, for at that moment I laughed right out loud. I did. You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet, kid, I thought. But truthfully, I was simply caught up in his enthusiasm, that joie de vivre. It oozed out of that boy; it was impossible for him to contain it. As I gently exercised his snug prepuce, I could see that was not all that oozed out of him. I fantasized that for all his years of denial, he’d stored up gallons of precum, and finally the floodgates had been opened. With his foreskin fully retracted, which required a bit of extra care, I gazed on that perfect helmet: pure, glistening, soft, warm, exquisitely smooth, a deep pink with a purplish tint. His head had a regal coronal ridge, sharply defined and curving deliciously around the top and down the sides. There wasn’t a drop of precum at his meatus, but there was ample evidence that there had been some mere moments ago. Easing back his foreskin must have caused his collected juices to be spread over his glans, making it appear like a small, succulent plum dipped in the sweetest honey.
“No, you sweet boy, we’ve just barely started. Is there a problem?” I asked innocently, still tickled by his ragged breathing and wide-eyed desperation. I wiped the tears from his eyes, then mine.
“No! No problem,” he gasped. “It’s just…it’s…uhm…I ahhh…I dunno…it’s…it’s…arrrrghhh!” The poor boy was so overwrought by the sensations assailing him that he was reduced to incoherent babble, eliciting another grin from me. Some primeval sense, part of every boy’s genetic code, told him what he was sensing was simply a preamble to what would follow―whatever that might be―and it was causing him to struggle with a new kind of frustration.
“Tad,” I interrupted. “Take a breath…it’s okay.” I stroked his rippling belly. I think just that minor stimulation had him aroused and close to his first conscious orgasm. As I released his pulsing cock, I let my other hand come to rest on his stomach. “Shhhh…” I urged softly in his ear. “Breathe. Relax.”
“Re―,” he muttered. “Yeah, right.”
“You’re doing great,” I said, “but I think you were about to come. I want you to last a little longer. I think it will be a little better if we can slow down a bit.”
“Slow down!” His tone suggested I might as well have asked him to scale the mountain known as K2.
“Yeah,” I smiled, “it’ll be better, I think.
“Better!” he blurted out.
“Yes, Tad. For you. I’m serious, young man,” I said with a grin.
“Okay,” he huffed, but his “okay” was filled with doubt. I’m sure he was thinking nothing could be better than the sensations that were already surging through his body.
The sun beat down on our bodies, and I was glad for the soft ocean breeze. This beautiful boy nestled against me, his head tucked under my chin. It was heaven.
When his breathing had once again become slow and gentle, I returned to the process of sensitizing the most erogenous of all human organs: his skin. His penis had lost none of its rigidity, and it continually pulsed out a powerful beat. As my left hand traced lightly over his belly and up to his chest, his cock became a metronome, counting out one boy’s dance to nirvana. I teased those two sweet little nipples, and his boyhood jerked almost violently in response, a kind of pulsing exclamation point to his soft, gasping intake of air through that sweet mouth.
I took that little breath as permission to continue my explorations of his body, my hand drifting up and down, teasing, brushing, scraping, toying. My light touches almost seemed to be leaving a wake: tiny rippling waves of energy seemed to spring from his body wherever I touched him. A soft moan escaped from his lips, and I knew he had earned an introduction to a new level of sensation.
It was time for that poor boy to be truly introduced to the mysteries of masturbation. My grasp on his boyhood was not a full grip, but rather just my thumb on the top and the tips of my fingers below. Now I tightened my grip ever so slightly, and I quickly dragged down his foreskin, once again uncapping his sweet glans. A sharp gasp told me he sensed the difference in my action on that part of him. I marveled at his response, given how he’d been traumatized by those perverse dire warnings against ever stroking the organ I now awakened. I waited for the feeling to ease a bit, and then slowly began the upstroke. Like a building wave, his foreskin led the way, bunching for a split second at his rim, and then surging over his glistening head until it was nearly fully covered, my thumb and index finger forming a ring snug against his now-covered coronal ridge. Again, a gasp punctuated my movement. His whole body tensed.
I wondered at the boy. To be denied for so long, and now this sudden, complete submission to the demands of his young, alive body: It was amazing, and I was overwhelmed to be part of this extraordinary moment―possibly the most momentous day of his young life. It was truly remarkable. After today, he would never be the same. In these moments, this boy was discovering a different reality for himself. And while he did not choose his sexuality, he had, in these moments, chosen to explore this new consciousness, a choice he had made on his own. I was committed to accompany him, but, in these moments, he was, in Henley’s words, “the master of his fate, the captain of his soul.” I would be honored to help him navigate this new leg of his voyage, but this extraordinary young man was the one who had chosen to leave the old world. He had made the decision to embark on a new journey of discovery to world he’d only dreamed of. If he were able to complete the voyage, he would discover a place free of the torments that he had dominated his life until this very moment.
It was my fervent prayer that, along the way, Tad would exorcise the demons haunting him. Puberty is a time filled with the uncertainties that come with dramatic change, filled with turmoil caused by surges of hormones. With rare exception, there is no adequate preparation for such a journey. Despite the upheavals of puberty, most boys share a sense of wonder as their bodies transform from child to man. It is truly wondrous! Caring adults give a boy permission to glory in these incredible changes. But this permission had been denied to Tad, and that is twisted and tragic. I hoped Tad was resilient enough to break out of the strictures imposed upon him and to discover the blessings of his body and his sexuality.
“Do it again.” His words weren’t a request but a command―pleading and desperate―but a command nonetheless, and it drew me back to the “task at hand,” so to speak. I smiled and took it as a hopeful sign that perhaps he would succeed in fully realizing who he was.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” I said in breathy tones. And I began a slow, steady up and down motion. He stiffened a little and pressed his hands down on my thighs as he leaned back into me more, gasping softly. My hand moved deliberately in a steady action on his rapidly pulsing boyhood. He mewed softly with each stroke.
Each time I capped, then uncapped his head, the leaking precum added soft sounds to the movement of skin on skin. With my other hand, I continued to play with his hard nipples. He kept clenching his tight, smooth bottom, and each time he did, my cock throbbed against his crease (which only caused him to clench even more).
As I worked his rigid tool, I varied my pressure as well as the length of my stroke. Sometimes my fingers completely covered his head; sometimes I let them “bump” up against his coronal rim. Each time he’d stiffen and offer a little gasp or a moan, or a soft, “aaahhh” as he drew in a short, sharp breath. Other times the sensations appeared to overcome him, and he almost whimpered.
“Faster!” he gasped. The sweet boy’s voyage was being ravaged by a stormy sea of sensation. His body, this beautiful vessel, climbed one massive wave of unfathomable stimulations, only to crest, and careen down to meet yet another wave with an even greater sensory assault on his trembling body. He knew something awaited him at the end of this voyage, but exactly what it was and exactly how he’d get there and when remained a mystery to him. All he knew was that he was on the ride of his life. I increased my speed, and yet again, another surge of raw energy surged through his body. Truthfully, he seemed barely aware of what was happening, barely consciousness, but he had committed himself to this ride, and he never flinched.
My left hand reluctantly drifted downward away from those erect, coppery nipples. With my fingernails scraping lightly down his rippled belly, I savored that boy’s heat and elicited more reactions from his overworked body. When my fingers reached his soft bush, they lingered, playing in that warm tangle. Even that seemed to add to the flood of energy that pulsed through his body. I drew my finger downward and to the side, following the path between his leg and his genitals. Again, a soft squeal escaped from his lips, and he opened his legs even more, pressing firmly against my own legs.
His breathing had become short, sharp gasps, and he seemingly took more air in than he expelled. Waves of energy surged through his body. His skin had taken on a sheen, glistening from the hard work that his body had never before experienced. He was close. A silent debate raged within me: bring him quickly to climax, or delay and ratchet up his responses yet again. Then my boy made the decision for me with just one, short word: “Please.”
I increased my action. I toyed with the idea of slipping my hand under him to explore his hidden bud, but I was afraid that would be too much for him. I wanted no distractions; I wanted him completely focused on what was about to happen. Now, as if dissatisfied with my efforts, he yielded to those primal forces that had compelled him to begin lifting his hips, thrusting his cock faster into my hand. Rather than just using my fingers, now I let my whole hand surround his tool. He groaned loudly and continued his wild thrusting.
In those last moments, I think my sweet Tad was literally out of his mind with lustful hunger. Whatever was about to happen, he had to have. Now! At one point, I thought about trying to restrain his humping action, but this was for him, and I wanted him to be a participant. This had to be something that wasn’t simply being done to him. There had been too much of that in his young life already. No, what was about to happen had to be something in which he was an active participant, something he had chosen for himself. His thrusts did that.
My hand was practically a blur now. I glanced down, tightening my grip. If his penis had become any more rigid, I feared he’d rupture some internal mechanism. His balls had all but disappeared, mere shallow swellings on either side of his tool’s root. He stiffened even more. I felt the thick tube on the underside of his boyhood expand, as if it knew what was about to occur even before Tad himself knew.
“Something’s happening!” he whined. They were hardly words, more like wild, desperate whimpers. (although later when I recounted these final moments, he had no recollection that he’d spoken at all).
“Mmmmm…” I hummed into his soft hair just above his right ear. I drew my lips back and forth over that corn-silk sweetness, breathing in his clean scent. And then I kissed the top of his head, as if he were a baby.
His head had been tilted back and thrust against my neck. I worried at times he’d choke off my breath. His eyes were shut. “Tad,” I whispered into his ear, “Open your eyes. Watch what’s about to happen! When it does happen, give into it completely.” He struggled to comply, and when he had, I bore down to provide him with the release he so desperately sought.
“Aaaaahhh!!!” His body locked suddenly, impossibly, as if a jolt of electricity has violently contracted his muscles beyond their limit. His back arched and hips lifted high. I felt his penis spasm with startling force. The first bolt of his creamy juice burst from him and landed just above his navel. Then, as if his body finally understood its mission, the second blast reached all the way to his nipples. Violent contractions forced out more of his semen in hot, thick spasms, reaching all the way to his face-and mine. Each time his body expelled another bolt of his cum, he cried out, as if at the mercy of his own body.
After what seemed an impossible orgasm, he began to quiet in a series of shudders. It was as if, for the past several minutes, his whole body had become an erection, and now it was slowly becoming flaccid.
He moaned softly as the tension that had strained every part of his body drained from him. His hands, which had gripped my thighs so tightly in these moments of resolution, lay unclenched and unmoving. In fact, the only sign of life from his body was his long, slow breaths and his shrinking boyhood which continued to pulse even as he came down off his climactic high.
In Tad’s face I found utter contentment, true bliss. In those moments, I was in the heavenly aura of this pure, loving, beautiful boy. Finally he had found contentment, and so had I. In those post-orgasmic moments, when he had experienced full resolution, my hand gently released his penis.
I gazed down at his perfect body. His legs stretched out over mine, his arms relaxed by our sides, his head rolled to the left, his warm cheek against my shoulder. His slow breaths raised and lowered his beautiful chest. I scooped up a dollop of his still-warm spend. He stirred as I did that, and with dreamy, half-open eyes watched as I placed my drooling fingers in my mouth. Ahhh…succulent nourishment. Not sweet exactly, the way Nifty stories describe a boy’s first ejaculations, but oh so savory, like an exquisite sauce, rich and smooth with just a hint of tangy aftertaste.
“You ate it,” he sighed. His soft words suggested this act was something he hadn’t considered before.
“I did, Tad.” I could see he needed more explanation. “I want to taste you. I want your hard work to bring me nourishment.” I smiled. “I want to have your body’s essence part of me.” I ran my finger over his cheek to gather more and slipped it into my mouth. “Mmm.”
“It’s really okay to do that?” he asked.
“It is,” I replied.
After reflecting for a moment on what my response, he whispered, “What’s it taste like?”
As my answer, I scooped up another bit of his juice from his chest. I brought it to his lips. After a moment of hesitation, he parted his lips, and I slipped my coated fingers inside his mouth. He sucked down slowly, taking this offering of his honey from my fingers.
“Weird,” he said.
“It is at first, but it will probably grow on you,” I replied.
He smiled and then settled down again, deep in thought. “Will?” he asked finally.
“Yes, my sweet boy.”
He offered a lovely, full smile when I said that, and snuggled against me even more. “Mmm,” he hummed contentedly. Then he realized there had been a question he wanted to ask and lifted his head again. “It was good, right?”
I smiled now. He so wanted to please, so wanted to get it just right. “How do you think it was, Tad?”
He dropped his head onto my chest, and I felt his whole body relax. “It was…” He shook his head as if the question were impossible to answer. “Awesome,” he said finally. “Unbelievable. Like nothing I ever imagined. It was like I’ve been dead forever and then all of a sudden, I was alive, really alive, for the very first time. Like in that instant I was born!”
I laughed softly. “Oh yeah, Tad, it was good. very good. Just perfect!”
He didn’t, as I thought he would, blush at those words for he had, I think, settled back into that place of complete and utter bliss.
“Now I know what those kids at school mean when they talk about cumming hard.” He grinned, and it was wonderful to see.
I laughed again, and moved my hand gently over his smooth, semen-slicked chest. “I got’ta believe, Tad, that none of them have ever had an orgasm like the one you just had. It was like watching Vesuvius erupt! And thank you for that, Tad.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek. He reached up, kept my head close, lifted up and kissed me, his warm, soft lips pressing against mine.
When he broke from me, he smiled. Then he sighed. “Will?” he asked again.
“I wish we never had to leave here.”
“I know, Tad. I know.”
We both knew, of course, that that was an impossibility. Still, we had a while longer, and we continued to lay together. Our slow, relaxed breathing became one. We became one in spirit, if not in body.
Eventually, we did get back into the water. “It is different,” he said after we’d been splashing about for a while.
I grinned. “Yeah. But better?”
His grin turned into a laugh. “Way better!”
By late in the afternoon, we’d returned to the harbor, moored the boat, cleaned up, and gotten into the pickup. He’d been quiet for most of the trip home. I understood he had a lot to process.
“I don’t want it to end,” he said finally.
“Well,” I said, “we have the evening left. We could get something to eat―something other than tuna sandwiches.”
A great smile stretched across his sweet face. That was all the answer I needed. Then he seemed distracted for a moment. “I should shower first,” he said. “The salt is itchy.”
“Let’s do that at my house,” I offered. “…if you’re okay with that.”
“Of course I am!”
In just minutes, it seemed, he again stood naked before me, this time in my bathroom. We got the shower going, and just before stepping in, he glanced down at my sink. My brand-new razor was there next to a can of shaving cream.
“How do you like your new razor?” he asked.
“Awesome. So smooth,” I said. And in that instant, I got an idea. “Tad,” I began, “I’d like to do something. Will you let me?”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Well,” I said, “let’s just say, I think you could use a little bit of a trim.”
“Electric or manual?” he asked with a coy grin.
His gaze fell to the razor for an instant, then back to me. “Manual,” he said, his voice trembling. I got him in the shower and soaped him up, paying particular attention to the area at the base of his boyhood. I rinsed him off, shut off the water, and reached for the shaving cream. I knelt before him, like a supplicant worshipping his god, and lathered him up.
When he felt the cream on his balls, he stiffened. “It tingles,” he offered by way of explanation.
And then I began. I worked slowly, carefully. I trimmed up his pubes, making a sharp, defined edge along the top, then on the sides, I tapered the line down to the underside of his penis-which by now was a throbbing erection and pointing to the ceiling. He had only a few downy hairs on his cock, and they were gone with just a few strokes. His balls had a few more hairs, and I worked carefully, first stretching, then shaving his scrotum. He had his hands on my head, and each time I’d draw the razor down over his balls, the pressure on my head would increase.
When I finished, I rinsed him thoroughly, and then, like the consummate barber, I grabbed a mirror, and held it so he could check out my handiwork. I wasn’t at all sure he’d approve. He studied it for a long time, glancing from the mirror to me.
“It’s awesome,” he said softly. “So cool. It looks so different.” Then he looked again at me. “Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I said, and reached out and stroked his penis once.
He got a sly look on his face. “I meant my pubes.” His eyes sparkled.
“Oh,” I said, standing up. “That, too. Very cool.”
We were both grinning as our eyes found each other’s face: his, smooth, fresh and angelic; mine, weathered and worn. Our smiles faded, as the moment grew more serious. His eyes dropped a bit, focusing on my lips. He drew his tongue over his own lips-red and ready.
I reached out and with my hand caressing the back of his head, pulled him to me. His heart pounded and his face flushed, as did mine. He closed his eyes. The first touch of our lips was chaste. But his hunger quickly overcame him, and we kissed again.
It was late when we finally got dressed, and both of us knew that Tad would have to get home before his mother. “Hey, Tad,” I whispered, “it’s getting to be that time.”
“I know,” he answered.
“We need to get you home.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Thank you, Will. Thanks for today, for…everything.”
“Oh, Tad, thank you.” I kissed him again.
“When can I see you again?”
“Well, you’ve got my number, Tad.”―We’d exchanged our contact info on the way back from the island―“When you think there’s a time when you can get away safely, let me know. I’ll be waiting for you, whenever you have some time.”
He grabbed me and hugged me tight. I felt tears soaking through my shirt. With his face buried in my chest, I heard him whisper, “I don’t want this to end, Will.”
“Shh,” I breathed. “It’s okay, Tad.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but there’s more I want to learn. You’re my teacher, Will.” He blinked away his tears and gave me that beautiful smile of his.
I wrapped my arms around him. “We’ll figure it out, Tad.” I took him by the hand, and together we walked out to my pickup.
A reminder: the factual reality of this story is limited to just the first Chapter of this story. Everything that follows that chapter resides in the realm of Nifty fiction. I know nothing of the boy’s family circumstances, nor of his sexuality.
I could tell you that we met again in the grocery, and that one thing led to the other, and life has never been the same for either of us, but that would only be more Nifty fantasy.
In the days following my first encounter with him, I saw the boy just one other time. Since it was nearing the end of the summer season, I surmise that perhaps his family had closed up their summer place and had returned to their year-round home in time for the beginning of school.
I wrote “Electric or Manual” in 2010, a decade ago. My grocery check-out boy would be in his mid-20’s now, and as I made revisions to the story I found myself wondering what he is doing today. Tad, as you may have guessed, is not his real name. In deference to his privacy, I shall not share that detail. Instead, let’s just refer to him as “J.”
J is (or was ten years ago) a sweet boy. It is just that simple. Is he gay or straight? I have no idea. Would he go with a stranger on a boat trip (if my little sloop were anything more than another Nifty fantasy)? I rather doubt it. Indeed, I have no reason to believe his motivation in chatting with me was anything but his natural sweetness, his self-confidence, and that extraordinary joie de vivre that I hope shines through in this story.
I also hope―naïvely, I’m afraid―that fewer young gay men face the kind of religious and familial rejection that Tad experienced in my story. The sad truth is up to 40 percent of all homeless youth are LGBTQ+. Recognizing that this abuse remains a reality for so many LGBTQ+ young people, I urge you to consider making a donation to one of the many agencies that strive to make life better for this underserved population.
And J, if you should happen upon this, my sincerest hope is that you have remained the extraordinary human being that I met a decade ago. The qualities I sensed in our brief interaction all those years ago often seem in short supply today. And please be sure to share that beautiful smile with all whom you meet in the course of your day.
With warmest regards,
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