Boy at the Court House

by: Peter

(© 2010 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

I was at the courthouse to have my Army discharge recorded, the last of the errands for the day, then I would go home and make a pot of coffee and get caught up some letters I owed to some of my old Army buddies.  I exited the elevator on my way out to encounter a sheriff’s deputy in a minor struggle with a boy who was not being escorted willingly.

“Please don’t take me back there,” the boy was pleading as he resisted being taken.

“Son, I don’t have any choice,” the deputy said.

“I won’t stay.  I’ll run away. I’m not going back.”

“I can’t keep you from running away, but I don’t have any choice, I have to take you back.”

My first instinct was to walk on, not get involved, but the tone of the man’s voice, more than the pleading of the boy, prompted me to stay. The man sounded as if he really regretted what he was having to do.

“Excuse me, sheriff, but can I ask what the problem is? He seems pretty determined not to go wherever you’re taking him.”

The boy started to speak but the sheriff shushed him with a hand held up.

“Is there an alternative?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“They could just let me go. I could make it on my own,” the boy said, addressing me. Maybe he could, but it sounded like he already had enough to deal with and foolishly, my heart went out to him

“Look, I don’t know the whole story here, but if it’s a matter of finding him a place to stay, I have plenty of room.”

“That’s very generous of you, sir, but I can’t release him to anyone without the judge’s order,” the deputy said.

“What does it take to get the judge’s order? Is he still in the courthouse?” I asked.

He seemed to have to think that over, then he pulled out his cell phone. “I suppose we could see,” he said as he punched a number on his phone. “Frank, is Judge Thompson still in her chambers?….Good….Keep her there. I have to see her. It’s about the Wilkins boy.” He closed his phone and let go of the boy’s arm and placed his hand more gently on his shoulder. “Josh, I don’t want to take you back there any more than you wanta go. Let’s go talk to the judge.”

Judge Thompson was a youngish looking, pretty woman of about forty with a kindness in her dark eyes that belied her stern look of professionalism.

“Sorry to bother you, Judge, but this gentleman happened by and sort of intervened downstairs.  He's offered Josh a place a stay,” the sheriff told her.

“And you would be?” she asked me.

“I’m John Collier. I was just coming off the elevator when I encountered the sheriff and this young man who seemed to be at odds about going back to wherever the sheriff was taking him.”

“And you’ve offered to take him in,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, Your Honor, just from what I heard, it didn’t sound to me like going back to whatever place he came from is a very good option….If you’ll pardon my saying so.”

“Are you married, Mr. Collier?” she asked.

“My wife passed away about eight months ago, and I’m alone in an eight room house.”

“Do you have children?”

“I have a son; he’s in the Marines.”

“You don’t know this boy, or anything about him. Why are you offering to take him into your home? That’s generally not considered a good idea,” she said.

“I believe it's better than the alternative, whatever that is, and I believe the sheriff thinks so too, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought me up here.”

She tucked in her lower lip, in thought. “I would have to run a background check.”

“Oh me, or him?” I asked.

“Oh, I know his background only too well. On you.”

I took out my driver's license and handed it to her, along with a business card. “Here’s my name, address, phone number and email address, and my business address. I think you will find I have a clean history.”

She looked at the cards, still in deep thought, and then looked at the deputy.

“What do you think, deputy?”

“I would definitely go for it if I were you, Your Honor.”

She leaned back in her high back chair and looked away for a long moment of thought. Finally she looked back at us.

“I am impressed by your generosity and touched by your sincerity, Mr. Collier. This is not something I would normally do, but yes, I will remand Josh into your custody, temporarily. But until we accomplish a background check, you can expect frequent visits from Child Protective Services. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“I’ve asked why you are doing this. Now I have to ask, to what end? What would be the duration of his stay?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t thought of it.  “For as long as he needs to stay, and wants to,” I replied.

“That’s pretty open-ended. You realize you would not receive any remuneration, or even reimbursement of expenses till he is officially assigned to your custody,” she said.

“Money is not an issue, now, or whenever he is assigned,” I said.  "In fact, it doesn't matter to me if he is assigned to my custody.  I'm just furnishing him a place to live."

"I am taking special note of how you said that, Mr. Collier, that you are furnishing him a place to live, not just a place to stay."

"Yes, Your Honor, I meant it just like I said it."

“Well, then,” she said, turning to the boy.  “I have no idea how or why this angel of mercy was placed in your path today, young man, but I’m willing to take a chance on this arrangement. How about you, Josh?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I don’t know either, but I would like to go with him.”

“Your Honor, if I may, before we finalize this, I would like to lay out some conditions, here, in your presence, for the record,” I said.

“Certainly.”

I addressed her, not Josh, to make it seem more official. 

“It needs to be understood that I have house rules. Not many, but they are cut and dried. There are no gray areas in my house, as my son could attest if he were here.  I don’t know if drugs or alcohol have been involved with this boy but I won’t tolerate either. There will be a curfew. There will be shared responsibilities, with common respect for property and each other’s rights.”

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” I said.

She looked at Josh. “Think you can live with that?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Because you do seem to have a problem with rules,” she went on.

“I won’t have a problem with Mr. Collier’s rules, Ma’am, they sound fair and reasonable,” he said.

“All right. I’m going to take a chance on both of you,” she said as she leaned up and called her clerk. “JoAnn, would you come in here please.” A moment later an elderly lady appeared at the door.  “JoAnn, I want you to void my previous custody order on Josh Wilkins and give me a new one remanding temporary custody to this gentleman.” She handed her my license and card. “And cut off funding to the Clarks.”

“Yes, Ma’am, it will be a few minutes.”

“That’s fine.  We’ll chat.”  When the lady left, Judge Thompson leaned back in her chair again.  “Josh, you are getting a rare opportunity here.  You are seven months from eighteen, at which time you can strike out on your own. Meanwhile, don’t blow this. If I see you back in my courtroom before you turn eighteen, you won’t be given another chance at a foster home. You will spend the remaining time in juvenile detention. If I see you back here as a legal adult, you will be spending time with the big boys. Believe me, you do not want to do that.  Those boys are salivating to see a young man like you come through the door. If you think for one minute you can handle that; you can’t.”

Just then the clerk returned with the papers.  She handed them to the deputy, who placed them on the judge’s desk.

“So, before I put my signature on these papers….do we have a deal?” she asked Josh.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She signed the papers and handed them back to the deputy, who gave them to the clerk.  “You are free to go,” she said, addressing Josh and me.

“Well, Josh, shall we go then,” I said.

He looked at the sheriff.

“You don’t need me. You’re free to go, like the judge said,” the deputy told him.

We left and walked to the elevator. Josh didn’t say anything going down. He didn’t say anything till we were leaving the building.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I want you to know I appreciate it.”

“Do we need to go to this other place and pick up your things; clothes or personal belongings?” I asked.

“No,” he replied quickly.  “I don’t have anything worth going back for.”

“Well then, what do you say we get a bite to eat, then go shopping for some clothes.”?

“I don’t have any money,” he said.

“You heard me say that money is not an issue,” I said.

We stopped at Steak ‘n Shake to eat. I watched as Josh scanned the menu. I could see the hunger in his eyes and it was a terrible thing to see. I noticed he kept looking at the full meals but then went back to the cheaper single items.

“Order anything you want, as much as you want,” I told him.  He glanced over his menu at me.  “I mean that. Order the whole damned menu if you want.”

He laughed.  The waitress appeared and I nodded for Josh to order first. He ordered a triple with large fries and a bowl of chili and a coke.

“You don’t like milk shakes?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do, but…..”

“Bring him one of those half and half milkshakes you whip up,” I told the waitress.

“What flavors?” she asked Josh.

“I don’t know what a half and half milk shake is,” he said.

“Its split down the middle, two different flavors in the same glass,” she said.

“Oh.  Chocolate and vanilla,” he said.

Josh was hungry, and as he ate, I noticed for the first time, the breadth of his shoulders and chest; and that he needed more meat on his frame. “I want you to know, Josh, that you will always have all you want to eat with me,” I said.

“That’s more than I can say for the Clarks,” he said.

"That was the foster home?"

"Yes."

“What was so bad about it there, if I may ask?”

“Sure you can ask. It was hell.  I don’t know how they get by with it.”

“Get by with what?” I asked.

"I don't know if I should talk about it," he said with a wary look.

"You don't have to but I promise whatever you say will stay between me and you if you want it to."

“One of their favorite punishments was to have you sit at the table and not be allowed to eat; you just sat and watched everybody else eat.  And it was for no reason. I think it was just so they wouldn’t have to spend so much of the money they were getting on food. I got that punishment a lot, because I was the oldest and the biggest, and I ate more than anyone else. Sometimes they would make us all sit there and watch them eat. Then we had to do the dishes and clean up then go to bed. I hate those people. I hope they rot in hell.”

“Did they ever abuse any of the boys?” I asked. 

He looked at me, a quick, wary glance.

“You know, beat them,” I added.

“Not that I ever saw, but I know they did, they were just careful about it.  They never beat me, because I think they knew I would fight back.  But I know some of the kids got it.  There were always unexplained bruises.”

“Did anyone ever report any of this?”

“No. Well, yeah, at first, but it didn’t do any good. A couple of boys tried; they complained to the lady from child services when she came around, but nothing was ever done, except they missed a lot of meals, as punishment. And one boy had welts on his butt, from a belt. He wouldn’t say that’s what it was, but I know they beat him for squealing on them. But look, I would rather not talk about this,” he said quickly.

“All right,” I said.

After we had eaten we went to the mall. I wasn’t a frequent visitor to the mall so I didn’t know what stores were there, but I watched Josh to see which ones caught his attention. He stopped to look at the displays in Hollister’s.

“Let’s go in and have a look around,” I said.

Inside, I told the clerk that he needed to be outfitted, to let him browse.  I stood back and pretended to browse, but I watched Josh.  I could see a longing in his eyes that broke my heart as he picked up shirts and pants, sometimes held them up, but then checked the price tags and laid them back down. After several times I finally I went over to him and put my arm lightly around his lean waist and my hand around his side. 

“Josh, I told you that money is not an issue. Get what you want.”

He glanced at me, his eyes wet. “I’m just not used to this.  I….I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, personally, I liked this shirt,” I said, picking up a dull red T-shirt that he had laid back down. “And those jeans you were looking at were pretty sharp. Why don’t you go try them on? You need to get rid of those you have on, hanging down around your butt.  They look hoody.”  When Josh had gone into the dressing room, I took the clerk aside.  “I have to run down to the other end of the mall. Tell him he has a five hundred dollar limit.  And make sure he spends it all. He can go a little over but don't tell him that.”

He blinked and smiled.  “Yes, sir, I will tell him.”

When I returned to Hollister's, Josh was at the counter, talking to the clerk with animated gestures; laughing and happier than I’d ever hoped to see him. He looked around when he saw the clerk looking past him.

“I’m finished,” he said, with a broad smile, and I thought, five hundred dollars never bought such happiness. And there was a new bounce in his step as we left the store, him carrying two bags.

“I guess we ought to find a shoe store,” I said.

“These are okay,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“You need more than one pair of shoes. They get to stinking after a while,” I said.

He laughed.

We went to Foot Locker where I told him to get two pair of shoes; his old ones could be used as work shoes.  From there we went to a regular shoe store where I made him buy a pair of dress shoes, and a pair of heavy hiking boots. As we were leaving, I said, “I like Hollister’s, but you need some dress pants and shirts.  I guess I didn’t mention it, but you will be going to church.”

“Oh.”  He seemed taken aback.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir, I….I just was never a church goer,” he said.

“Me either, but we will go together,” I said. He only nodded.

When he was completely outfitted we went to Wal-Mart for toilette articles.  While we were there I went through the grocery section and told Josh to pick out the foods he liked.

“I eat anything,” he said.

“No, I want you to pick out what you like, so I’ll know when I do the grocery shopping. I’m going to do the same, so you’ll know what I like when you do the grocery shopping, so pay attention.” He seemed okay with that. 

He was tentative at first, picking up things then putting them back.  When he picked up a large jar of super-crunch peanut butter I took it, put it back and picked two smaller jars and handed them to him.

“You don’t need to buy the large size, we’re not going to run out, and the big sizes take up more shelf space in the pantry,” I told him.  After that he seemed more at ease picking up stuff and putting it in the cart.

At home, I pulled into the garage. It took several trips to carry everything in. I showed him the pantry and told him to put the groceries away while I checked my messages. He seemed happy and eager to do it. Then I showed him through the house.

“I’ve got two bathrooms; one of them has just a tub, the other a large walk-in shower. You can use either one.”

“I like the shower,” he said.

“It’s just off of my bathroom, but you’re welcome to use it anytime,” I said.  “But if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to put your stuff in the other bathroom; that’ll be officially your bathroom.”

“Okay,” he said, fighting back a smile.  “Wow, I never had my own bathroom before.”

I took him into the guest room. “This will be your room. My wife had it as a guest bedroom. If you want to change anything, make it more masculine--different pictures, bedspread, or even furniture--let me know.”  

Suddenly, I noticed Josh wasn’t paying any attention to me. He’d turned to stand at the window.  I waited, quietly, for a moment, unsure what was the matter.  Finally, I spoke.

“Josh?”

“Why are you doing this, Mr. Collier?” he asked in a hoarse voice, without looking around.

“It’s pretty simple. You needed a place to stay, and I happened to have extra room,” I said.

“No, why? Really.  What do you want from me? What do expect out of me?”

“I expect you to get your head on straight, to get on the straight and narrow and stay there, and you should know up front, son, I won’t settle for anything less.  I didn't from my own son and I won't from you,” I said sternly.

He dropped his head and sucked in a deep breath and his shoulders shook a couple of times; I could tell he was fighting down his emotions, even crying. I put my hand on his very solid shoulder.

“You…you called me son,” he said softly.

“I guess I never got out of the habit,” I said.

“I’ve never been called son, except in a bad way, in anger,” he said.

“I won’t ever do that,” I said.

“You must have been a hell of a father to your son,” he said as he slowly turned to me.

I chuckled.  “Well, he would argue that,” I said.

“No, he wouldn’t.” He was fully turned to me, his face screwed up and his lower lip quivering.  “Sir, I need to be alone for a minute, if it’s okay.”

“Sure.  You will have your privacy here,” I said, and left the room. I closed the door behind me, but not before I heard Josh burst out sobbing. I wanted to go back in and hold him, but he said he wanted to be alone. I left him alone and went back to the living room to go through the mail. After about ten minutes, he came out of the bedroom and went into his bathroom. I heard the water running.  Then he came into the living room.  His eyes were red.

“Sorry about that,” he said, forcing a smile.

“No need to apologize,” I said, motioning for him to sit down. He took the swivel rocker on the other side of the lamp table.  “I want you to know, that you don’t have just a room here, Josh. This is your home; you have the run of the place. The refrigerator is not off limits. We’ll have to work out a schedule for the TV, I don’t know what you like to watch, and I won’t put a TV in your room.” 

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Why don't you put on those new clothes, see how you look," I said.

"You just want to shit can these," he said with a sly grin.

"Well, they have to go," I said.

He came out in the dull grayish pants with cargo pockets and the dull red T-shirt.  He filled the shirt out nicely, the way it hugged his body, accenting his narrow waist and the taper up to his broad shoulders.  His chest muscles were well defined under it.  The pants fit him equally well, hugging his waist and accenting his round butt. 

"In my day you would've looked like a rag picker, but you look sharp," I said.

"Thanks."

I leaned over and handed him a set of keys.  “Here’re your keys.”

He took them and held them gingerly with two fingers.

“You’re giving me the keys to your house?”

“I said you would have a curfew, I didn’t say you were under house arrest. You’ll need a key to let yourself in.  Only one of them is the key to the house, the other one is the key to my truck.”

He heaved another emotional sigh.  “Look, I don’t deserve all of this….”

“What?” I cut in with a scowl of disbelief.  “A roof over your head and something to eat is not something you deserve, Josh. I am deeply sorry that you’ve been through what you have, but that’s behind you. And I said that wrong.  It’s not a roof over your head and something to eat. It's your home and three meals a day plus all the snacks you can gorge down.”

“But your truck….all the clothes…..”

“I didn’t say I was signing the truck over to you,” I said, laughing.  “But you’ll need something to drive, because I’m not going to drive you around everywhere you need to go. On more formal occasions, like a date, you can use the car, but I’m not giving you keys to the car. By the way, you do have a drivers license, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“No tickets?”

“None.”

“Good. Don’t get any. Tickets lose you those keys and all driving privileges. If you ever get caught drinking and driving, I will take your license. And don’t say I don’t have a right to do that. I establish the rights in this house.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re welcome to have your friends in as long as they don’t move in. We’ve already covered drugs and alcohol, make sure they understand that.  You will have your privacy. That means if you have your door closed, I’ll assume you’re looking at porn and jacking off; I won’t disturb you.”

He laughed; it was the most beautiful sound. “And what about when your door is shut?” he asked.

“I don’t close my door,” I said. “It’s always open.”

“Does that mean you don’t jack off?” he joked, and I loved that too.

“No, it just means I don’t care if you watch,” I joked back.

“I noticed you have a computer. Will I be able to use it, and maybe have an email address?” he asked.

“And watch porn?” I joked. “Of course. I’ll set you up. One thing I forgot to ask. Are you in school?”

“No.”

“Graduated?” I asked.

He lowered his head. “No, sir. I dropped out,” he said.

“Go back, or get your GED,” I said. “That’s not negotiable. I want to know your decision tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then I pulled out my wallet and dug out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“That’s your allowance.”

He handed it back to me with a scowl. “I’m not taking your money.”

“No, you’re not. I’m giving it to you,” I said, handing it back, this time putting it firmly in his hand.  “I don’t want you having to come to me for everything you need to buy, like your personal items, and dates, movies, etc.”

“I never had an allowance before,” he said.

“Well, you’ll discover that twenty dollars a week, you’ll have to stretch it.”

“I’ve never had a real date either, and I don’t need twenty dollars a week for personal items.”

“I expect all that to change.  Dating, I mean,” I said with a smile.  “Trust me, my son never had any trouble going through twenty bucks a week.”

“I hope I get to meet your son,” he said.

“You will,” I said. “Josh, we’ll cover your responsibilities around the place later.  There is one thing we need to have understood; when I sit down with the paper, I don’t wanta be disturbed unless it's something important.”

He laughed. “I understand. You don’t care if I watch you jack off, but you don’t want to be disturbed reading the paper.”

I laughed with him and gave him the finger. I think it was a moment that sealed our relationship.

“I guess I’ll go back and get settled in,” he said, as he stood up.

When he turned to go I stopped him. “Josh.”

He turned around.

“Welcome home.”

“Thanks.”

“And you don’t have to call me sir. Name’s Paul.”

“All right.  Paul. Thanks.”

I left Josh alone to get squared away in his room while I read the paper.  When I was finished and turning on the television, I noticed that he hadn’t come back out of his room. I went in to check on him. He had already gone to bed and was sound asleep. His jeans and shirt were draped neatly over the back of the desk chair. I stood for a long moment, watching him sleep, taking in the view of his tanned, muscular upper body, and wondering if I had made the right decision.

The next morning I wondered even more about my decision and how I would live with it, when I saw him go across the hall from his bathroom, naked, with a towel in his hand; in that short glimpse, he nearly took my breath away.  I was in the kitchen, making breakfast, in my shorts.  It struck me out of the blue....I quickly went back to his room and tapped lightly on the door then opened it.  He was drying off.

"I wanted to tell you, Josh, I don't stand on formalities or modesty, you can run around the house any way you like.  I don't usually wear much more than my shorts unless I have to answer the door....sometimes not even that.  So you feel free to do the same."

"All right. Thanks."

"Breakfast is about ready.  How do you like your eggs?"

"Over easy, but it doesn't really matter."

"Two? Three? You can have all you want."

"Three, then."

I didn't linger; the skillet was heating up.  He came out a few minutes later wearing very brief briefs and white crew socks. I almost burned myself, not paying attention. I had the table set but told him to pour some orange juice and asked him if he drank coffee.

"I do sometimes."

"Get yourself a cup. And check the toast, will you."

He got the toast and put it on our plates, then stood behind his chair while I served up the eggs and sausage. I set the skillet back on the stove and motioned for him to sit down in his chair right around the corner from me. I picked up my toast to butter it.  He did the same.

"I'm not used to cooking for a growing boy; if I don't make enough, you say so."

"All right."

We ate in relative silence; neither of us being used to the other.

"Wonder what the Clarks are having for breakfast this morning," I remarked.

He smiled.  "Bet not what they usually have, since they're not on the public dole anymore," he said.

He didn't talk unless I said something first, and each thing we said, there was a silence that followed. Throughout the course of the meal our knees touched a couple of times accidentally and it felt good. The third time, as we were finishing up, it wasn't an accident; I wanted to see what his reaction would be, and when I touched my knee to his, I didn't pull back like before.  I looked at him and saw in his eyes that he realized it was on purpose. He didn't move his leg away either. I had taken the last bite of food in my mouth but still held my fork.  I still wondered what the Clarks extracted out of this boy to make him earn the basic necessities of life.  I wondered and I wanted to make it clear that things would be different here.

"Josh, I want you to understand something," I began cautiously. "I don't know what all went on before but I'm not like the Clarks," I said huskily.  "You don't owe me anything....nothing happens here that you don't want to happen." I eyeballed him with a look that conveyed my message more than my words, and one that required a response.

He was finished too, except for his orange juice. He had picked up the glass but just held it as I spoke.  "All right," he said as he set the glass back down.

"All right, you understand?  Or...all right....?"  I let my voice trail off.  I was sure he got my meaning.

"All right both," he said. "I mean, nothing like that happened with the Clarks, not with me anyway, but I wouldn't mind if....if we wanted to do something."

"I do," I said bluntly.  "You're a very handsome boy." I very slowly laid down my fork and eased my chair back to stand up.

"Now?" he asked, sounding a bit surprised.

"If you want to."

"All right."  He said that a lot.

He pushed his chair back to get up as I moved around the corner of the table. I put my hands on his waist and guided him back against the sink cabinet.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked.  "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do."

"I'm sure, with you," he said.

The way he said it made me doubt his truthfulness about the Clarks. I pressed myself against him.  His warm, hard muscles felt good against mine, and I could feel the bulk that was in the pouch of his shorts against mine. I wanted to kiss him but I refrained, saving it for another time.  Kissing always seemed so much more intimate than giving head.  I gripped his waist and lifted him up and set him on the sink counter.   

"Wow, you're strong," he said.

I leaned down and kissed his chest and nipped his tits with my lips.

"OHhhh," he moaned softly, and put his hand gently around the back of my head.

I spent several minutes on his chest before I began my journey downward.  I came into his treasure trail at the top of his abs and followed it down. He leaned back against the wall.  I pressed my face into the pouch of his shorts and felt his young manhood coming alive. I mouthed the pouch till it was soaked with my spit and his shorts began to tent. 

"Stand down," I said as I lifted him off the counter, then I went to my haunches in front of him.

I continued to mouth the pouch of his shorts as I tugged them off his lean hips. His cock was already hard and it smacked against his belly when I freed it from his shorts.  It stood up at a sharp angle and quivered and pushed out precum that ran down over the head.

I avoided his cock and nuzzled my face into his warm balls as I pulled his shorts down to his ankles.  I held them for him to step out of them and he set his feet wider apart.  More precum oozed out and he swiped it off with his fingers.  I quickly grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers to my mouth to lick it off.

"You like it?  Here, I'll squeeze some more out for you."  He pushed his cock down and milked it, forcing a copious amount of ball juice onto my tongue. I licked off the head but still didn't take it in my mouth.

"MMmnnnnn," I moaned as the taste of him permeated my taste buds.  Instead I pressed my face into his crotch under his balls.  I licked his perineum and was able to reach the crack of his ass.  He moaned, "Ohh, fuck," and spread his legs wider.

I took hold of his lean hips.  "I want your ass," I said in a hoarse tone as I turned him around.

He bent over the counter and jutted his butt back in my face.  I pulled his buns apart and buried my face between them, my mouth locked snugly over his asshole.  He moaned loudly, almost an outcry, as I licked and tongued his smooth asshole.

"Fuck, this is good," I murmured, my voice muffled by his firm butt. 

"Awww, yeah, eat my ass, Paul....ohh, lick it man, tongue me....Ohh, it feels like your tongue is clear up inside my ass!....Oh, Godd, Yess!....Like that!....tongue fuck me!"

I suddenly realized that he was jacking off and I stopped--I didn't want him to go off--but it was too late.

"Ohh, shit, don't stop!" he groaned as he reached back to pull my face into his ass again.  "Tongue it!  I can't hold it.....I'm gonna cum....awwh, tongue it, Paul....I'm cumming!"

I gave him what he wanted even though I wanted his load in my mouth. With my tongue flicking inside his hole I reached between his legs and cupped the head of his cock with my hand.               Seconds later my hand was being shot full of warm boy cum.  He shot a lot, overflowing my hand, and the stuff dripped to the floor. I kept my face in his ass till I felt him begin to relax then I brought my hand to my mouth and lapped up the warm, sweet nectar.  He tasted wonderful and I gulped it down with great joy.

"You made it too good, I couldn't hold off," he said, straightening up from the counter.

"That's okay," I said as I stood up.  I stepped over to the sink to wash my hands.

"You caught my load, what'd you do with it?" he asked.

"I couldn't let it go to waste," I said. 

"Oh, Mann!  Wow, you ate it?"

"You taste good," I said.

"I've never tasted my own stuff," he said.  "I've tasted my precum when I lick off my fingers, but never the real stuff."

"I thought all boys did that right away when they're able to shoot."

"I'm really sorry, you probably wanted it to last longer," he said.

"I'm sure there will be plenty more where that came from."

"Does it all taste the same, from different guys, I mean?" he asked.

"No.  You won't taste the same every time.  It depends on what you've had to eat or drink."

"You can tell me what to eat or drink to make it taste better for you."

"No need to worry about that, you young guys always taste fresh and sweet because you don't let it build up very long."

"Then you're saying it's a good thing to jack off often," he said, laughing.

"Like you need an excuse to jack off."

"Maybe I won't have to so much anymore," he said.

"Only when you want to," I told him.

"I'm glad you rescued me from the Clarks, Paul."

"Just so you know I didn't do it to take advantage of you.  You will never have to sit and watch me eat."

He smiled then laughed a mischievous little laugh.  "No, I guess I won't.  It'll be more like you eating me while I watch, huh?"

The End.

Posted: 05/28/10