Sam Johnson

Shy Boy Dirty

Straight boys in their early to mid teens are best. It's just another thing the ancient Greeks got right two and half thousand years ago. At around thirteen or fourteen, a boy becomes so randy, has such an unstable fuck-compass, it's like shooting fish in a barrel.

Of all the boys I've been lucky enough to strike up some sort of relationship with, Connor, whom I met back in 1987, remains my favourite.

He lived a few streets across from me and I bumped into him a few times at the shops. Often he was with his mum, but not always.

He was heart-stoppingly gorgeous despite his rather plain haircut and discount store clothing. He was a bit stand-offish at first, as boys of exquisite beauty often are, but I persisted and he soon started to come round, even breaking into a smile when we crossed paths. I think he was chuffed to be on greeting terms with an importantly dressed man driving a late model BMW.

But it wasn't until I met him wheeling his bike through the local park one Sunday afternoon, that I finally managed to start building some useful rapport. We sat on a bench and talked for almost thirty minutes.

He lived in a small two-bedroom rental unit with his mum. It sounded far from ideal, not a lot of privacy for the boy, but he was fiercely loyal to her. I think the push bike was an important out-of-the-home avenue for him. I was hoping to offer him another.

He liked footy, cars (the BMW Z4 was third on his list) and, it emerged with a bit of coaxing from me, girls. In fact he was starting to like girls a lot.

I showed him a photo of my ex-wife, the sort of 24yo blonde that hits a teen boy right where it hurts, and he blurted excitedly, "Man, she's hot!" then quickly apologized.

"Don't apologize," I said. "She is hot. It's just that she's a lying, cheating bitch as well."

"Oh… did she sleep around?" he asked, trying for an adult tone that he didn't quite own.

I nodded. "If you'd been around six months ago, Connor, you probably could have fucked her as well…"

The boy laughed, a little surprised at my sudden vulgarity. "Do you reckon she would have done it with someone my age?" he asked. "Not that I would," he hastened to add. "I wouldn't sleep with a married woman."

He was such a sweet kid.

"You got a girlfriend?" I asked.

"Nah, not at the moment."

"So we're both looking to pick up, then."

He nodded, his smooth cheeks coloring a little.

I leant back on the park bench and looked around. There was the usual assortment of suburban folk wandering about, playing games or sitting on the grass. "So if you could have your pick of any girl here to fuck, which one would it be?"

The boy looked eagerly around. He quickly settled on a blonde girl, pretty in a generic sort of way.

"Yeah, good pick, she's nice. So you're a bit of tit-man."

He laughed and blushed a bit deeper.

"But see that brunette," I said, pointing. "In the jeans and tank-top, talking to that fat bastard by the drinking fountain."

"Yep," the boy said, nodding. "She's hot too."

"She would blow your fucking brains out, that one. She would be so filthy you wouldn't know your own name afterwards."

The boy cracked up. "Jesus, Sam – how can you tell? What would she do?"

"You ever fucked a girl in a park like this, at night?" I asked.

He shook his head, looking down. He considered a moment, then said, "I, um, I haven't actually done it yet."

"Really?" I said.

He hurried on. "I've made out with girls – you know kissing 'n' stuff, just not all the way."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," he said.

"Oh!" I said, turning to study the form of him through his blue and white T-shirt. "The way you're built… I thought you were older."

"Nah…" The boy tried to disguise his obvious pleasure at the comment. He glanced down at his chest and arms. "Actually, I have started working out a bit… but there's plenty of guys in my year who are bigger than me."

In fact Connor had a perfectly appropriate physique for a boy surging into puberty, but it never hurts to talk 'em up in the way they like.

"Alright then…" I began scanning the park again. "So we need some pussy for a young stud's first time… Maybe that red-head over there – nice tits on her."

The boy gulped and said in a confidential whisper, "I saw her before… she had – you could see her nipples through her top – they were sticking right out. That means she's – you know, she wants it, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's not a blank cheque, but it's a good start." I said. "And I reckon she'd be a screamer, too – the moment you started sticking it in her. Oh, don't Connor, you're too big, you're hurting me!"

"Jesus, Sam!" the boy laughed, giving my shoulder a shove. "Stop it." He had to lean forward, adjusting the crotch of his jeans – all this sex talk was getting him a bit overexcited. But he certainly didn't want to change the subject. "There's this girl at school, Belinda, who I might be able to do it with. She's… the other day she came round to my place, but mum got home early, so…"

"And she was going to let you fuck her?" I asked.

"I think so," he said, uncertainly. "I don't really like her that much, but she's done it with a few of the other guys in my class, and they reckon she's, you know, easy…"

"Ah, the class slut, eh?"

"Well… yeah. The thing is, though…" He talked on effusively, expressing his many doubts on whether Belinda was going to let him do it with her or not, and whether he really wanted to, because she was a bit of a dog, but he did know that he wanted to do it with a girl real bad.

The boy was clearly suffering from pre-match nerves – fourteen was quite young to be losing your cherry back in 1987 – although he kept insisting he was cool with it all. He was such an attractive combination of randy sex fiend and sweet innocent boy. And I'd sure stumbled into his life at a particularly pent-up moment..

"Damn!" I said suddenly, looking at my watch. "I have to get going." I didn't, but I sensed it was the right time to go, the right time to put forward an invitation to take things to the next level. I stood up and extended my hand. He immediately jumped up and shook it.

"Really good to meet you, Connor," I said. "I enjoyed the chat."

"Me too," he said.

"If you need somewhere to fuck that girl, you're welcome to use my place. I'm rattling around in a big two-storey place on my own – you could have the whole upstairs to yourself to ply your charms…"

The boy's eyes widened. "Really? Are you serious?" He was still a kid, and prone to mistrust the casual promises of his elders.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"Where do you live?" he asked.

I gave him my address.

"Cool! That's only two minutes away."

"I probably won't be living there for much longer. Now that I'm divorced I don't need such a big place. I hardly ever use the in-ground pool – that was Chloe's."

"You've got a pool?!"

"Yeah. You like swimming?"

"For sure!"

"Well, make sure you drop round sometime…" I started to leave.

"Um, Sam?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"Like – do you mean drop round just if I've got Belinda for a, um, date, or…?" I laughed. "Mate, you drop round whenever the hell you like. As I said, until I sell up and move, I'm just hanging around like a shag on a rock – I could use the company."

The boy nodded and said "Cool, alright," then went to grab his bike that was chained to a nearby pole.

I walked home feeling pretty damn happy with the world.

Two days later he called in, about ten past four in the afternoon, still wearing his school uniform of grey pants and white shirt.

For a moment I just stared, and I think he misinterpreted the look on my face. Really, I was just pole-axed anew at how beautiful this boy was. So I spoke up quick: "Connor! Good to see you, buddy! Come in, come in!"

He walked in and looked around in the self-conscious way of teenage boys.

He seemed to think he owed me an explanation. "My mum forgot to leave the key in the usual spot, so I can't get in the house… so I thought I'd drop round…"

"Good. Glad you did. I was just about to start on some very tedious paperwork. You saved me."

As I gave the kid a tour of the house, his visitor-shyness fell away and we were soon chatting and laughing like we had been at the park. His mix of boyish bravado and shy uncertainty was still killing me.

Downstairs was a large open-plan living, dining and kitchen area while upstairs had the bedrooms. At the doorway to the second bedroom, which had a king size bed in it, I said, "This is your room if you ever want to bring a girl here, or whatever."

"Phor… really?" He kept staring at the bed. "That bed is bigger than my whole room at home."

"Just imagine the pounding you could give Belinda on there."

"Ha!" he cried, eyes lighting up. "But, nah, I don't reckon it's gonna happen actually."

"She give you the brush off?"

He was fiddling with a lower button on his shirt. "She's started going out with an older guy, who drives a car."

"Well, fair bet he just wants to fuck her like everyone else. She'll probably be available again soon enough. You've just got to be ready to grab your turn."

"Yeah, but if she's been with all those guys…"

"What? You worried about disease?"

"Nah… nothin' – just don't reckon it'll happen is all."

I pointed to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. "Well then, you can always settle for second best: down the bottom on the left is a stack of pornos about this high."

The boy's eyes bugged wide. "Really? Porno magazines? Like Playboy?"

I was suddenly struck by just how innocent this sexed-crazed young lad was. But you have to remember, this was the eighties: internet porn was still just a wrinkle in the collective unconscious. Boys like Connor didn't have much access to the sex info they wanted. Sex Ed classes and schoolyard mythologizing provided only teasing hints of what the good stuff really was. He'd obviously invested all his hopes of gaining sexual knowledge in this Belinda girl. I thought he could do better, to be honest.

Back downstairs, he sat on a barstool at the kitchen bench while I fixed a couple of drinks. Lemon squashes all round. Personally I try never to use alcohol when seducing a boy – I don't like to take the slightest bit of edge off 'em. Their fierce sexual need can be as delicate as gossamer at that age.

"So, you up for a swim?" I asked him, after he'd gulped down half his drink and let out a long aahhhh…

"I wish!" he said, burping modestly as he stared out at the pool in the back yard. "But I haven't got any bathers."

"I usually don't wear any." I gestured at the high walled perimeter. "It's completely private."

The boy got up, stretched lazily, showing just a hint of tummy, and wandered over to the glass sliding door. He was obviously giving it some thought, but turned round and said, "Nah… I couldn't swim in the raw."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Nah… I'll be right."

"Well, go upstairs to my room – check the second bottom drawer in the dresser just inside the door – there should be some bathers there you can use."

"Really? Would they fit me?"

I shrugged. "Check and see."

So he did. He bounded up the stairs and shortly afterward I heard him yell, "There's only Speedos here, Sam! Is there any boardies or anything?"

"This isn't a fucking boutique clothing store, Connor!" I yelled, and was once again treated to the music of his laughter. "Just put something on and get down here!"

After what seemed a long time, he finally appeared at the top of the stairs in just a snug fitting pair of red Speedos. "I dunno," he said, clearly not at ease. "I think they're a bit small."

"Maybe you're a bit big."

He laughed. "I don't usually wear Speedos."

"They look fine. Come on."

He started down the stairs. "It's like I'm running round in my jocks."

As he came properly into view, my breath was taken away by the sweet fresh form of him, his growing body just starting to show the first hints of masculine definition. Shoulders, chest and thighs all starting to thicken slightly around a tight little tummy and slender hips. But most devastating of all, from head to toe, was the perfect smoothness of his adolescent skin.

The Speedos were a bit small, but that was by design. I kept a few pairs in the dresser for boys like Connor, who preferred not to swim in the nude. Personally I liked it when they chose bathers. Modesty and boy beauty belong together like peaches and cream.

When he got to the base of the stairs, I crossed to him. "Stand up straight, Connor."

"Eh?"

"Look." I took him firmly by one arm and dragged him to the start of the hallway where a full-length mirror hung on the wall. He was happy to comply, although a little bemused, and still very self-conscious. I placed him in front of the mirror, so we were both looking at his divine reflection. "You're becoming a man, right?"

He shrugged, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

"So start carrying yourself like one," I continued. "You know the drill. Shoulders back, chest out. You're starting to develop a very nice, classical physique – the sort men have strived for since the beginning of civilization – so treat it with respect. Display it like it was meant to be displayed – naturally, unapologetically, and with due modesty. Understand?"

He just rolled his eyes.

There was really nothing wrong with his posture; this was more of an appreciation exercise, not to mention a further defining of our relationship.

I placed one hand flat on his chest and the other on the small of his back, guiding him to a more upright stance, then firmly clasped his shoulders and straightened them a little. He couldn't help twisting and flinching under the feel of my hands on his bare torso, but he followed my directions well enough.

"Good boy," I told him. "That's better." I ran one hand from his shoulder down across his smooth chest, feeling one of his tight little nipples flick under my fingertips. It caused him to shiver. Then I let my hand drift further down across his tummy before lifting off just before his bathers. The boy flexed his shoulders and shifted his stance, then glanced down worriedly. His cock had started to thicken, stretching the tight fabric of his crotch.

I felt I could have made a successful move on him right there. But I didn't. The more beautiful the boy, the slower I like to take things.

I gave his little butt a slap, causing him to emit a startled "Ah!"

"Go jump in the pool," I said. "I'll get some towels and stuff and be out in a sec."

He nodded and made for the sliding door, giving his crotch a push and a pinch as he went. I watched him pause and fumble with the sliding door's catch, as he worked out how it worked. Simply watching the lithe play of the lad's back and shoulders as he got the door open was worthy of a moment's deep reverence.

"Hey, I thought you said you didn't wear bathers?" he yelled from the middle of the pool as I walked outside.

"Smart guy," I called back, putting the esky and towels and other stuff down on the well-manicured lawn. I'd decided to go along with the kid's preference for a G-rating, but that cheeky taunt upped the ante. "When I get to you, it's you who won't be wearing any bathers!"

"You and who's army!" he yelled, then started smacking the water surface hard, trying to spray water at me as I came across.

I dived in and swam straight for the boy as he tried to splash his way to the far end.

I quickly caught him, and as I grabbed him round the waist he let out a shriek and tried to wrench free. There was no way was I letting him get away, but I was surprised at the strength of him, twisting and turning like eel.

I finally got a good bear hug on him, slamming his back against my chest, holding him tight with one arm while running the other hand straight down to the front of his Speedos.

"Nooooo!" he screamed hilariously, kicking and wriggling. "Shit you're strong," he muttered as he found himself unable to break free.

I tugged the drawstring of his bathers undone and slowly pushed my thumb under the band, feeling a hint of his pubic hair at the very base of his penis. I teased him with how close he was to having his togs ripped off. But he made a sudden massive and unexpected effort – wrenched my hand away, twisted hard to one side, and damn near escaped. I hauled him back in and said into his ear, "I'm gonna strip you off, boy – so you may as well quit struggling."

"No way!" he grunted, still laughing excitedly, and trying some sort of Chinese burn manoeuver on my arm. "I'm gunna strip you off!"

So we wrestled around some more, me keeping control but letting him move around enough to think he had a chance. I mainly concentrated on gripping and feeling his smooth torso, stroking his sucked-in tummy, prodding his little belly button (which never failed to make him shriek), rubbing his hard nipples, and occasionally tickling his sides and up into his armpits, causing him to thrash and shudder against me while screaming Stop-it Stop-it through his tortured laughter.

Then I went back down to his bathers, again got my thumb under the top of them, and yanked the front down far enough to spring his boy-cock free. I felt his semi-erect length rub against my wrist as I tried to push the nylon fabric further down. But the back of his Speedos got stuck a quarter of the way down his tight little butt.

"Aw, shit!" the boy muttered, grabbing desperately at my hand.

Extremely impatient to get the damn togs off him, I suddenly moved both hands to his hips – but he used the freed moment to turn and push massively at my chest, and this time managed to launch himself clear of me.

My grip on his bathers hadn't been solid, but I did manage to drag them down around his knees before he got fully away.

He splashed quickly clear of me, half dog-paddling, half-running in the chest deep water, constantly reaching down to try and pull his briefs back up.

I dove down below the surface and powered after him. I got a wonderful view through the water of his little white butt, bobbing and clenching as he struggled to get away.

As he reached the side of the pool, he got his bathers back up – but they were twisted and out of kilter and they cut up between his buttocks, spreading the firm mounds a little. But he soon sorted it out and got himself safely back in his Speedos.

I broke the surface of the water a few feet from him, just as he turned to face me. His face was lit up and he raised his hands, ready for round two. But I veered past him and hauled myself out of the pool.

"Giving up already?" he taunted, with a faint note of disappointment.

"I got to hand it to you, Connor," I said, breathing quite hard. "You're a strong little bastard."

He continued to swim and paddle about, occasionally calling out to me that I was chicken. A rather classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, I couldn't help reflecting.

Lying down on the towel, I called to him, "What time do you have to be home, Connor?"

"Mum gets home at half-past seven. What's it now?"

"Five-thirty. What about homework? I don't want you coming over here as an excuse to stuff up at school."

"Nah, it's fine," he said nonchalantly. "Don't have any tonight."

"Liar!" I called.

"Hey!" he cried, then after a pause: "Well, nothing I can't catch up on tomorrow. I've got a library period first up in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah."

I could have lain there watching him in the pool for ever. But of course I was also impatient for him to get over here on the towel next to me.

Finally he got out on the opposite side, the water cascading off him, his slender young body sparkling in the sun. With his back to me, he immediately busied himself with making sure he was decently arranged in his Speedos.

"Is there anything to eat?" he yelled, as he rounded the pool and came running over to where I was.

He dropped down onto the towel beside me and immediately dove into the bag of chips I'd opened. "I'm starving!" he said.

I grabbed a can of Coke from the esky. "Drink?"

"Thanks," he said, taking it and ripping it open.

After he'd finished his refreshments, he sat toward the foot of his towel, in a cross-legged fashion, charmingly boyish, but giving me only the view of his divine back.

And straight away he got back onto his favourite subject. "Hey, Sam?"

"Hm?"

"When did you first do it with a girl?" He looked round with a grin, partly checking to make sure I didn't mind the question.

I didn't, as it happened. "I was sixteen."

"Was it good?"

"Well… it was intense. She was only thirteen."

He let out a whoop. "Sam! You're a cradle snatcher!"

"You bet. You saw my ex – I've always preferred people who are younger."

He nodded vaguely. "So when… what did… why was it intense, with the girl?"

"You want a blow by blow description?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I proceeded to give him a very detailed account. It was factual in outline, but I did 'porn' it up a bit, to maximize the lad's stimulation. When I got to the bit where I had the innocent little girl on the back seat of my father's Kingswood, and she was trying to stop me, but I kept pushing my hand between her legs, until she let me start feeling her wet little pussy, then I took her undies off and convinced her to put one leg over the back of the front seat… It all got a bit much for the boy.

"Jesus, Sam," he muttered, and suddenly spun over to lie face down on his towel, crushing his straining hard-on into the ground.

As I described the girl's scared little cries of "no-no" as I was pinching her pert little breasts, and slowly forcing my cock inside her, he started to croak "oh shit" while grinding his hips into ground and burying his head in his arms. The entire taut straining form of him – he had to be damn close to blowing his load.

"And then I blew after about two pumps in her, and that was that. Never saw her again, unfortunately."

"Oh man," the boy said in a strained voice into his towel. "I would do anything to be able to do that… that would be so hot… Did you have to put a condom on first?"

I grabbed a tube of sunscreen and said, "Sit up a moment. Put some of this on – you're starting to burn up, you dill."

He lifted his head and looked at me as if surprised to see me there – he'd drifted off into his own private wank-land for a moment. "Eh? Oh, um, yeah, alright… in a minute."

"Not in a minute. Your shoulders are already going red." They weren't, but he was in no fit state to tell what was going on. I held the tube toward him.

He got a silly smile as he said, "Um, but, I have to wait, Sam… I've got a massive boner."

"Boast, boast," I said, and flattened the material of my own bathers to make my hard-on obvious. "Bigger than that?"

His eyes widened as he laughed, "You've got a boner! Man, yours is massive…"

"Don't try and weasel out of this with flattery, boy." I again shoved the tube of sunscreen at him. "And anyway, I don't see how having a hard-on stops you putting on some sunscreen. It might mean you have to use a little more, is all."

The boy raised himself slightly off the towel, but facing away from me, and peeked down at the scene of his crime. "Wearing these skimpy little things – you can see everything. I may as well take it out and have a wank!" His voice cracked a little as he made his red-faced joke.

"Well, maybe you should."

"Ha!" Then after a pause, "I, um… I think I leaked some stuff before…"

"What – you blew your load?"

He shook his head, then lay back down and buried his head. "Nearly," he said in a muffled voice.

Was he really this bashful, or was there a bit of teasing going on? Probably a bit of both. Either way, he was driving me nuts.

"Hey, what are doing?" he cried as I got over the top of him, a knee on either side of his hips, and took the cap off the sunscreen.

"Just lie still." I was about to squirt the cream onto him, but changed my mind and threw it aside. The boy's golden skin cried out to be appreciated naturally. So instead I ran the back of two knuckles lightly up his spine, making him shiver and squirm. I swear, there's a brief period in an adolescent boy's life when his skin becomes so sensitive, it's impossible – maybe even inadvisable – to make contact with him without it being sexual.

I started massaging his shoulders around the base of his neck, firmly working his tense young traps. "You need to relax, buddy," I said.

He just grunted, lying still, but occasionally grinding his hips into the towel, a reflex response to his continuing painful arousal.

I kept a gentle massage going on his neck and shoulders, wanting to just ease him down a notch or two, and gradually he melted into the rhythmic pressure of it, and even let out a sigh or two.

"There's this other girl," he said after a while. "Emily. I really like her."

"Ah… so she's the one you'd really like to sleep with?"

He nodded. "She's really nice. A couple of weeks ago, after a school trip to this stupid cannery place, we were coming home on the bus… and I was sitting next to her…" The boy was speaking softly, but with a purpose. "And, like, it was night, it was dark, and so, we kissed a bit…"

"Damn, Connor – you put the moves on her? You made the move?"

He nodded.

"You dog! Good work, buddy!"

"Ha, yeah, well…"

"And she was into it?"

"I think so… but…"

"But what?"

"Just… not long after I started kissing her, I just… I spoofed in my pants…"

It was obviously deep-dark-secret stuff for the boy, so I resisted the urge to laugh it off as a trifling matter. "Happens a lot, early on," I said. "But it sure can be fucking embarrassing."

"Oh, man, it was so embarrassing."

"Did she realise?" I asked.

"Well, I um… See, the thing is, I sort of flinched and bit her lip – and she screamed and got all upset."

"Oh shit…" I tried not to, but couldn't help laughing.

"It's not funny," he said, laughing a little himself.

"No… well, maybe a bit – it sure is a novel way to draw first blood."

He pushed himself up off the towel, turned and tried to swing a punch at me.

"Lie down," I told him. And he did, resting his head back down on his arms and loosely flexing his shoulders. He had no hair growing under his arms yet, but I still occasionally caught a whiff of his young scent.

Meanwhile he continued to get it all out in the open. "I had to sit there next to her for another half an hour. She was pissed off and wouldn't talk. I could feel all the spoof trickling down between my legs, and there was this wet patch on my pants – it was a nightmare."

"No, you're right, Connor – that's a bit of a shocker, that one. Have you talked to her since?"

"Not really. I mean, what could I say?"

"Just let it go for a week or two then start in like nothing ever happened. She probably had no idea what was going on."

"Yeah, but I've done it before."

"What? Bitten her lip?"

"No! Spoofed in my pants. How can I have sex with a girl if I can't even get my clothes off before I spoof everywhere?"

"Easily fixed, that is."

"How?" he asked, dead serious.

"What's your jerk-off routine?"

"Ah, well… I do it a lot, actually," he said with a nervous laugh. It was embarrassing stuff for him, but it was also obvious that he loved being able to talk freely about it all.

"Gee, I never would have guessed that, sunshine."

"Smart-arse," he laughed. "Basically I, um, I do it in the shower every morning."

"There's part of your problem, right there."

"Why?"

"A morning wank in the shower is always a rushed job. You're late for school, the hot water's running out, someone else is banging on the door, so you bash the crap out of your cock to get it over and done with… you're training yourself to go off like firecracker." I stopped the massage and scooted backwards, allowing me to run my hands down his glorious young back, then up his sides, feeling his slender waist and the delicate expanse of his rib cage, which tickled him of course and made him twist and flinch.

I ran my hands back down to his slender hips, held him as he again made a reflex pelvic grind into the ground, quite a lengthy straining one this time. I'd just started tugging at the sides of his Speedos, letting him know it was time to get them off, when he suddenly tensed sharply, let out a pained grunt, and lifted his butt up as he blew his load into his bathers. I put my hands on his clenching and re-clenching buttocks, feeling the power of his orgasm.

"Oh fuck…" he whispered, after the final spasms died away.

I moved back to my own towel, catching a glimpse of the lad's flushed face, his frowning countenance. Then he was suddenly wrapping the towel around his midriff as he started standing up. He wanted out of there.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I did it again," he said unhappily. "I just spoofed in my bathers."

"That's a relief," I said. "For a second there I thought you were choking on a chicken bone."

He laughed, but hollowly, and started walking off.

"Hold it, Connor!" I said.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," he said.

"No you don't. See, this is what I don't get with you," I said, quite exasperated.

"What do you mean?"

"The way you suddenly get all uptight and guilty and want to hide yourself away." He was about to protest, but I continued on, determined to give him both barrels. "We've been swimming, wrestling, trying to rip each others bathers off, and talking hot sex all afternoon – why on earth do you think I'd be worried – or surprised – if you rubbed one out along the way…"

He looked at me quizzically.

"'Spoof', is the term you prefer, I think."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I think this all relates to your pre-ejaculation problems – getting uptight the moment things get a bit dirty. You need to let go a bit. I think, Connor, what you need to do is learn to embrace your inner dirtiness."

At least that got him smiling again. "Thanks, Dr. Phil," he quipped.

"Ha! Smart guy!"

Daffy Dr. Phil nonsense it might have been, but it did get him wandering back over, and about to re-take his seat on the towel.

"Don't sit down," I said, getting up off the grass.

"What?"

"Drop the towel."

For a fraction of a second, he was going to protest, until he realized he was being challenged on his 'uptightness'. So he set his jaw and defiantly pulled the towel off, letting it fall on the ground. "Happy?" he said, unable to stop from glancing down at himself.

"Very," I said, walking over to him.

There was a sizable wet patch just to the left of the bulge in his Speedos.

"Hands off," I said, as he started reaching toward his crotch. "You're worse than a florist at a flower show the way you keep rearranging yourself."

He looked up at me defiantly, but moved his hand away.

"My turn," I said. "Okay?"

He gave an uncertain nod.

I cupped the bulge in his Speedos and gently felt him. He reacted with an intake of breath and a small step back, but then he readjusted his stance and stayed there for me. He certainly hadn't achieved full manly size yet, but had more than enough to get himself in trouble. His boy-cock was thick but not hard from his recent orgasm, and as I gently squeezed its length, feeling the kid's spunk squishing around, he flinched forward, bringing his hands up protectively. "Ooh, shit!"

"Sorry," I said. "Still pretty tender, huh?"

"Mmm."

By gently massaging his boy-sex, I got some of his semen to press through his briefs onto my hand. I held it up between us and took a deep sniff. The boy reacted with grimace of disgust.

"What?" I said. "As spunk goes, I would say yours is a truly fine vintage."

"Jesus, Sam," he said, with a nervous laugh. "You're sick."

"I just wished you'd taken your damn bathers off before spoofing. This stuff would've done wonders for the lawn."

"Ha! Maybe get a ladybird pregnant!"

I laughed. "I wouldn't put it past you, you potent little bastard." Then I pushed my hand a little closer to his face. "You want a taste?"

"No way!" he cried with a shocked laugh.

"Not the slightest bit curious?"

"No!"

I wouldn't have minded a taste, but I wasn't going to risk grossing him out at this point. I was close, but hadn't yet landed this skittish colt of a boy.

I put my hands to his slender hips and began tugging his Speedos down. I started slow, giving him every chance to call it off once more. But he stood there quietly.

So I knelt and brought them quickly down his smooth legs, then tapped his ankle to let him know he should step out of them. Which he duly did.

I stood back up, dropping the bathers on the grass. "Bloody hell, Connor," I said, staring at his exposed sex.

He was blushing while trying strenuously to look casual. "What?" he croaked, unable to decide how he should stand or what he should do with his hands.

His come-sticky penis peeled itself slowly off him and curved out in front of him. Not having gone down much from his last climax, he was already re-engorging, the tip of his pink glans just starting to push back out the end his foreskin. And he had the loveliest fat little ball sack, a little bit of white goo dripping off the bottom of it. The beginners' fringe of pubic hair round the base of his penis was also soaked in cum and plastered like little kiss-curls on his smooth skin.

"The nervous way you've been carrying on – I thought you must have had some sort of misshapen monstrosity… That's a fucking fine cock, Connor."

He looked down at himself, again trying to hide a big grin. "But… it's not really… I mean… it's not very big…"

How fucking beautiful was this kid? Standing there pushing his hips out and shyly asking me to say nice things about his penis. It wasn't a big ask. His need for reassurance went perfectly with my desire to raise him on high.

"Your size isn't an issue. That's a perfectly respectable size for a fourteen-year-old cock. I'm talking about aesthetics, Connor. Far more important."

"How do you mean?"

"The look of it. Proportions. Your cock has length and width in perfect harmony. Your knob is an eye-catching shade of pink, and it just starts to emerge as you reach full tumescence – a dead-set erotic winner, that one. The shaft of your penis is slightly convex in shape – the Doric column effect – very pleasing to the eye for some reason. Then there's the silky softness of your foreskin… Do I need to go on?"

Talking him up had the happy corollary of getting him up. His boy-cock was now sticking up fully erect, hard as steel but with that hint of silky translucence a pubescent boy often has. He was in quite a state of laughing, embarrassed arousal.

And do you know what this gorgeous boy said to me then? He said, "I'm getting a massive boner again."

"Thanks for the heads-up, buddy," I said. "From now on, we'll take it as a given that if you don't have a 'massive boner', then it's more than likely you're on the way to getting one. Okay? At least for the next five or six years."

I moved in close beside him and took his hard cock in my hand. He didn't move, but sucked his tummy in. I ran my thumb over the swollen head of his penis and he flinched a little as he was still tender.

"Okay," I said. "Get down on the grass, on your hands and knees."

His eyes widened. "What for?" He wasn't arguing, just wanting to know what was going to happen next.

"We're going to do a little role playing."

With a nervous, excited grin, he dropped to the ground.

"And you're going to play the part of a dirty fucking animal."

"Jesus, Sam," he muttered, shaking his head.

As he got himself on all fours, I went to the bag by the esky and got out a bottle of personal lubricant.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to look. "Geez, this feels ridiculous kneeling here in the raw… What have you got, Sam?"

"You're awful chatty for a fuck animal," I said. Judging from the boy's voice, his flushed countenance and the straining hardness of the cock under his belly, I reckoned he was feeling a bit more than just 'ridiculous'.

I knelt beside him and poured a liberal amount of lubricant into the palm of my right hand.

"What's that?" he asked.

I curled my fingers and thumb, creating a tight little wanking-hole with my hand, and held it out for the boy to see. I tilted it a bit so the clear lube dribbled out and over my thumb. "This," I announced, "is going to play the role of a young girl's tight pussy."

He choked on a laugh, a nervous shiver rippling along his bare torso. "Like that one you did it with."

"Yes. And your mission," I continued, "is to destroy it with your cock."

"Jesus, Sam," he muttered again.

"What, you don't want to accept your mission?"

"No-no," the boy quickly said. "I will… I just – I don't really know what you mean."

"It ain't rocket science, buddy."

Keeping my fist tightly shaped, I put it under him and nudged his belly with my knuckles. "Just fuck it." I brought my fist near to the head of his hard cock, but just down and to the left a bit.

He was lifting one arm and twisting his head back, to see what was going on. I still don't think he'd got the idea at all, and was waiting impatiently for me to start doing stuff to him.

"Come on, Connor," I said, giving him a light slap on the hip with my spare hand. "If you want to fuck a hole, the first thing you need to do is stick your dick in it."

And the penny finally dropped. "Oh… stick my dick into your hand?"

"Oi," I said gruffly. "We're role playing here, remember?"

Now that it all made sense, the randy lad was keen to play. He rocked slowly forward, aiming his cock at the hole my fist was making, but he missed, went right over the top so that his fat little ball sack mashed into my knuckles. "Missed it," he laughed, and eased back to line it up again.

But each attempt he made missed or bounced off and went sliding past. "You're moving your hand!" he whined.

"Bullshit," I said. "You're flinging your cock around like a windsock in a hurricane. Try and get a bit loose in the pelvis, boy."

In actual fact he was right. I had been subtly tilting and moving my fist so his straining erection kept twanging just wide of the mark. It was getting him a bit pissed off, which was nice, getting him to make some angrier stabs at it, although still in a rather stilted, rocking-horse fashion.

After a few more failed attempts, he let out a frustrated whine and said, "Can I use my hand?"

"Sure – you're the man here, remember. You do what you have to do."

So he reached back with one hand and took hold of his cock, just with two fingers and a thumb, and carefully guided it to the hole my fist made. As his swollen, spongy knob nudged into the collar of my fist, he let out a satisfied Ahh and started to gently try and ease it in.

But I had my fist a bit too tight for his cock to slide into – at least with the childish wriggling attempts he was making.

He was pretty damn horny now and getting more pissed off. "Sam, you're holding your hand too tight – loosen it a bit."

"Are you trying to fuck or do a finger painting down there? Put some effort in."

"Fuck off," he shot back. Then the gorgeous lad finally took matters into his own hands. He let his cock slip free of my fist as he raised himself upright on his knees. His smooth young chest was on magnificent display as got his knees planted securely in the grass. His little fringe of golden pubic hair, suddenly lit up by the sun, gave his young sex the appearance of being on fire. Then he grabbed my fist with both his hands and pulled it toward him as he made an aggressive thrust forward with his cock.

I didn't even need to loosen my grip for him. With a excited grunt, he got his cock part-way into my fist, his glans squashing, his foreskin skinning right back. A little kink in his shaft, as he got stuck half-way, caused him a sharp stab of pain – but he ignored it, slightly altered his stance, and continued forcing himself in until I felt the tickle of his pubes and then his pubic bone hitting against my thumb and forefinger.

The beautiful boy's cheeks were flushed with colour but, combined with the savage glint in his eye, it now spoke of his sexual aggression rather than any shyness.

And he certainly knew what he wanted to do now. Keep both hands on my fist, chest expanding like a roused young ape, he planted his knees in the grass and started to fuck the tight grip on his cock. It wasn't easy keeping my fist reasonably stationary, but it was essential if I was going to see my darling boy fuck in all his glory.

I quickly brought the bottle of lubricant up with my spare hand and spilled some on the shaft of his cock as it slid in and out. At the same time I adjusted my grip to form the perfect masturbatory hold on him, maximizing his stimulation, making sure the underside of my thumb fully rubbed his sweet spot.

And he fucking loved it. He seemed shocked at the intense slippery stimulation of it, and started to fuck fast and hard, occasionally bending forward and grunting as he dragged my fist onto his pistoning cock. The look on his face alternated between awe-struck pleasure-meltdown and snarling fuck-anger. Both looks were all the more exquisite for being produced by such startling new experiences for the boy.

It wasn't long before the colour in his cheeks started to spread down across his goosepimply upper chest, and the soft little grunting noises he couldn't help making suddenly got real urgent.

So when I suddenly released my grip and pulled my hand away, to say the boy wasn't happy is an understatement.

"Fuck it," he whispered, trying to yank my hand back into some sort of position. "Sam, I wasn't finished." He was breathing hard as he gave me an angry, pleading look.

I poured a bit more lube on my hand, made a fist for him, but this time held it lower to the ground.

He immediately grabbed my fist with both hands to quickly haul it up to his aching cock. "Come on…" he whined.

"No," I said. "I want you to get down on all fours this time, Connor." His fucking so far had been fine, wonderfully energetic, but his style was a bit prim and wooden, his little white butt kept tightly clenched together at all times.

He didn't argue at all, got quickly down on his hands and knees, and looked around at his stiff cock to see if my fist was there.

"Spread your knees a bit, buddy," I said. "You're meant to be playing the part of a dirty fucking animal, remember."

He started to, but was a little hesitant, feeling the way his small buttocks were spreading apart under my gaze. But he did it, also exposing the smooth tight-drawn ball sack between his legs.

"Jesus, Sam," he said. "You want me to do it like this?" The light breeze now caressing his exposed anus was pushing at the limits of how dirty he was prepared to be.

"Beautiful, Connor," I told him. "Now this time I want you to concentrate on using your hips. Okay? Keep the rest of your body still and just fuck with your hips. And get really filthy with it."

The boy gave a bit of a snort and shifted nervously on his knees. He was now able to use his hand to line himself up with my fist. I let him immediately slide his hard cock into the tight slippery grip of my fingers. He gave an excited grunt, relieved to be back where he needed to be, and straight away started to fuck. But he automatically launched into his stiff-hipped back-and-forward rocking motion.

So I let him go.

"Shit! Sam…" he said, thrusting his cock through thin air.

"Do it with your hips, boy."

"Yes. Alright. Sorry, I just…"

Again I met his straining cock with my stationary gripping fist.

And this time he did good; he discovered a lovely fluid hip-motion which enabled him to fuck with all the urgency he needed. I made sure my grip followed and rewarded his new fuck style, met his in-strokes with a tight, slippery squeeze. He got a hump in his back as he strained to fuck harder and faster, and those little grunting noises he liked to make started up again. I felt the rising power of him as his pubic bone smacked harder and harder against my fist. The lad even started grinding deep and hard at the end of some of his in-strokes, which I rewarded with a rippling squeeze and tug against his straining motion.

The smell of the young lad's roused sex heat was now coming off him in waves, a hormonal boy-scent that seemed to thicken the air around us. A light sheen of sweat covered his body, making the muscles of his back glisten as he arched high to shove his cock in, then rapidly dipped down with his out-stroke. And his cute white butt, clenching hard to slam in before bobbing perkily out, cheeks spreading a bit to show his smooth crack and tightly clenched little pucker.

With my spare hand I picked the bottle of lubricant up and poured some down his ass crack. As the clear liquid ran across his sphincter, he let out a startled murmur. "Ah, shit, what the hell – ?" He was looking round worriedly, but didn't for one second stop shoving his cock in and out of my hand.

"Just some lube," I said to him, holding the bottle up.

He frowned. "Oh… I thought I'd done something." Then dropped his head back down to concentrate on fucking.

The wonders of a boy this age never cease. Some liquid runs down his ass-crack and he thinks he must have done something. What? Who knows. He sure doesn't. A young lad's sexuality has no certain boundaries because experience hasn't yet put them in place.

As he quickly regained his urgent rhythm, I ran my spare hand from the small of his back down over his butt, letting my fingers slide into the top of his slippery crack.

It got an instant response from him; he broke his stride and tucked his tight butt defensively forward. "Hey, shit, no – don't touch my ass."

"Connor," I said, just gently stroking his buttocks with the palm of my hand, "I'm not going to do anything heavy, anything that'll hurt or make you uncomfortable, alright? I'm just going to give your orgasm a kick along – dirty it up a bit. You want to finish off with the filthiest orgasm you've ever had, don't you?"

He gave a consternated grunt that seemed more yes than no, or at least admitted he had no choice.

So as he got more used to my hand caressing his buttocks, he shifted a little on his hands and knees and started fucking my fist hard again, soon reaching a nice dog-humping level of intensity.

I went from stroking his smooth buttocks to running my fingers down his ass crack. As I ran three fingers across his tiny sphincter, just making the lightest little prods into his clenched softness, I felt the shock waves course through his humping young form. He sucked in a sharp breath, and made a couple of massive, angry thrusts of his cock. I double the squeezing grip on his cock and he let out a pained groan.

I kept running my fingers right down between his legs and cupped his balls in his smooth, tight scrotum. The swollen heat of him seemed ready to blow.

As I quickly moved my hand back to his anus, I said, "Connor, I'm going to stick my fingers in your dirty little ass."

And he grunted yes, even nodded his head, as he was rising quickly now, getting set to burst his banks in an entirely unknown sort of way.

I rubbed my middle finger across his tight little rosebud, then quickly prodded and wiggled at his opening, teasing the sensitive little folds of his anus while bumping against the tight ring of his sphincter.

I'd had an intuition he might be one of those straight boys who goes a bit nuts at having his ass played with, and I was right.

"Aw, shit… fuck! " he snarled, responding in the only way he could, by trying to fuck his cock more savagely into my fist. I again massively increased the tightness of my grip on him so he could go at it with agonizing intensity.

Then his pained grunts started to sound almost worried, a pleading, boyish note of help me creeping in. The fuck explosion rising in him was too big, like a tidal wave compared to the little dribbles in the shower he was used to. But the fuck animal in him had control now, working his slender young frame like it was fit for only one thing.

And in the final frantic moments, his knees shuffled forward as his hands clawed chunks of lawn and he pushed his ass back and out in a last ditch attempt to get even filthier.

I was pushing the tip of my finger into just the start of his tight little opening, feeling and stimulating the powerful contractions of his sphincter. Further down, his hot boy-balls had almost disappeared from view as the deep shaft of his cock swelled ever bigger, taking over the downy softness between his legs and making him fit for only one thing.

I hadn't planned on it, but as I felt the first tremors of his orgasm begin, the first frightened O-o-oh's and a shiver or two running up his inner thighs and along his tight tummy, I pushed my finger into him, pushed through his clenching resistance and all the way into his tight, silky warmth. He let out a sharp cry, and I quickly crooked my finger and stroked gently until I found the solid little walnut of his prostate.

It was like a lift floor falling out from under the boy as the first huge spasm of his ejaculation undid him. He fell forward onto his elbows with a whimper, his face a mask of pain, the powerful fuck-movements of his hips suddenly concentrated in one straining, desperate grind of his cock into my fist. Luckily I caught the boy's swollen glans just as it swelled dramatically purple, squeezed it painfully tight in the middle of my fist and caught the first thick bolt of cum ripped from his innards.

He made pump after straining pump into my hand – a hand which was now coated and dripping with his semen. His anus continued to spasm compulsively and magnificently around my gently stroking finger.

Long after he'd gouged the last milky drop out of himself, he continued to rub his penis up and down in my hand. I had to relax my grip considerably as the boy quickly become very tender. I gently eased my finger out of his ass and began to soothingly stroke the young lad's back, watching as his delicate ribcage, still heaving with his laboured breaths, slowly returned to normal.

It was quite a while before the lad said anything or even moved, but eventually he turned and sat on his towel, leaving his knees spread as though wanting to give his sore sex plenty of air. His erection had gone, leaving him with a thick raw tube, lying to one side, dribbling a little cum out the end of his foreskin which had started to cover him again.

With a dopey grin and a glance down at himself, he said, "Jesus, Sam."

The End