I was waiting in airport for my gate to be called, waiting for the
announcement that would precipitate one of the longest airline journeys
in the world, the long haul to Singapore. I hated the journey. Every
time, it left me feeling like I'd been run through the mangle, and it
took me days each time to recover. The fact that my business trips were
only a week long at a time just added to the torment.
I was sitting on one of those impossibly uncomfortable airport seats,
struggling to hold the paper in the right position to finish the
crossword. I only had one more clue to work out, the ancient name for
Switzerland. I let my mind drift, and my eyes wander around the room.
I wasn't really looking at anything in particular, just letting myself
defocus. When the answer came to me (it's Helvetica, in case you were
wondering. I'll never forget that clue), my eyes snapped back into
focus, and I realised where they were looking. Across the way, playing
with a handheld console of some kind, was a young boy, maybe twelve
years old, or a young thirteen. I let my eyes rest there for a minute,
drinking in the lad's beauty.
He really was my type. I'd realised years ago that I was attracted to
boys, and didn't try to persuade myself that I was anything but a
boylover. I had been married in the past, when I was quite young, but
my wife was well gone, with my best wishes and half the pension fund.
The lad was cute. Really cute. Slightly longer than normal hair, though
you would hesitate to call it long. It was light brown, almost
sun-bleached on top. He had a little button nose and proper rosy cheeks
on quite a pale, flawless complexion.
The clothes were good, too, a sort of half-hearted attempt at the
skater look, with very soft, faded looking blue jeans. Definitely my
type. I watched for a few more seconds, before I realised that perhaps
I had been looking for a little too long, and forced myself to return
to the puzzle and write in that last clue. After a few more moments
scanning the other brainteasers on the back page, I decided to have a
quick piss before we had to go through the gate, and there was a long
wait on the other side until we were in the air.
As luck would have it, the boy chose the same moment to do the same
thing, and walked about ten feet in front of me all the way to the
toilet. The gents was one of my favourite places to spy a bit of little
boy dick, either at the urinals or through a peep-hole between
cubicles. My boy went into a cubicle, and so I decided that I would
chance the cubicle next to his.
The only word that's fitting at this point is 'jackpot!'. There was
a peephole between the two stalls, and quickly ridding myself of my
trousers and pants, I sat down on the toilet seat and had a look
through.
What I saw sent my heart racing and the blood pumping to my dick. I was
eye-high with the boy's dick, which he was idly holding. It was a
lovely dick, one of the nicest I'd seen in some time, a perfect little
tube of flesh with a foreskin that was far too long for it and a little
bit pink at the tip, contrasting nicely with the pale shaft. I reckoned
it to be about 2 inches soft. After a moment, I saw it bulge a little
and a shaft of piss broke free from the end, making a loud splashing in
the water of the bowl. It lasted for about 30 mouth-watering seconds
before the stream dried up and the boy started shaking the last few
drops off, pinching the head through the foreskin, puckering it up even
more than it had been.
I thought the show was over, and was about to stop watching and start
having a wank, when I noticed that the boy wasn't pulling his pants up.
Instead, he was still tugging and squeezing at his dick, and I realised
that it was starting to harden. He let go for a second, obviously to
check on the progress he had made, and I saw with delight for the first
time since I was that age myself a boy's dick growing in front of my
eyes.
It hardened pretty quickly (young boys have all the luck), and ended up
a good four inches, I'd say, though quite thin still. The foreskin was
long enough that it still hung over the end - my very favourite type -
and the veins on the side stood out strongly.
After a moment letting it stand there, the boy went to work on what I
assumed was a fairly regular pastime, judging by the refined technique.
He went for the two-fingers-and-a-thumb style that I typically employed
myself, working the foreskin up and down his shaft. Clearly he didn't
have long before he would be missed, and went at it quite fast. His
little balls, in their hairless sack, were pulled close to his body and
jiggled up and down in time with his wanking.
Pretty soon I could see the boy's stomach muscles tensing, and his
other hand went down to cup his balls. A finger definitely drifted back
beneath his scrotum towards his arse, and started rubbing around, which
brought a barely audible gasp from his side of the wall, and nearly got
one from me, too. He was very close to cumming, and when it happened, I
was pleasantly surprised to see a couple of drops of watery semen
dripping out of the end of his foreskin, which were caught in the hand
that had been fondling his sack.
I assumed he would just wipe the secretion off on a bit of toilet
paper, but the hand disappeared upwards, out of the line of my sight. I
could only assume that he licked his hand clean, because when it came
back to capture the drop that worked its way out of his softening dick,
it was clean and glistening slightly.
As quickly as the moment had started, it was over. The boy zipped up
quickly and left the stall in a hurry, maybe feeling guilty, or perhaps
just a little bit late. I was going to have a wank of my own, but I
realised I'd already shot my load onto the floor between my feet
without having even touched myself. I never saw the boy again. He
wasn't in the lounge area any more when I returned to my seat, and
there was no sign of him as I went through the gate, but I still have
fond memories of the time I managed to look in on his most private of
moments.