Stories of an Old Boy

By: XPud
(© 2018 by the author)

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

xpud@tickiestories.us

Chapter 1

Name's Phillip. Let's cut to the chase. I've been around the block a few times... literally. No idea why I can, but I learned that I'm able to revisit any moment in my life and change things up. By my recollections, I've probably been over a thousand years of my own time, but why does that matter when I've got a lifetime's playground to explore?

So anyway, right now I'm 12. You might think, why the hell would you go to 7th grade? Sure, 7th grade sucks for a lot of people, but it's just rife with opportunity, if you know where to look. Take this locker room. Ah, P.E., the time when young boys figure out what they're looking for (or at). I've taken a few attempts at this one moment, and I think I have it just right this time. Let's find out.

I sit here on the bench shirtless, pulling off my khakis to dress into my gym shorts. Matty power walks in with his short blond hair practically bristling. You can see that he has to pee so bad, he has goose bumps all over his prepubescent little body. Regardless, he sits down on the bench to remove his pants, and quite possibly to regain some control over his bladder. As this normally plays out, when he realizes that one of his shoelaces is knotted, he practically rips his pants getting them over his shoes and leaps over Timothy (who has a lower locker) to dash to the urinal. It looks like he has just enough time to pull his little white briefs over his short pecker before it gushes pee against the wall of the urinal. A full minute of peeing later, he breathes a sigh of relief and a couple of other boys laugh at him about it. He takes it in stride, though I can see a slight blush of embarrassment.

This time, though, it's going to be a little different. He tugs at his pants, inverting them just to get them over his shoes. He starts to get up to run.

"Timothy! Check it out!" I yell. Timothy instinctively stands up and gets a face full of t-shirt as he blocks Matty's progress. They both tumble to the ground, each on their backs. Timothy catches himself and sits up just in time to see the show: Matty, taken completely by surprise and having the wind knocked out of him, has no choice but to let go. As he lays there spread-legged, his little white undies do practically nothing to stop the flow as his bladder erupts into them, sending a light-yellow fountain a few inches into the air from his stubby penis, straight through the fabric. His briefs soak up as much as they can while he lies there, feeling the relief and the pain mingle as his shirt and underwear become saturated with warm pee.

The room goes silent. Everyone is staring at the growing puddle around Matty's butt. I know what they're thinking, 'Oh my God, is he okay?' or 'What is going on?!' or even 'Is he PEEING himself?' but Matty's face gives it all away, I'm dead. I'm peeing my underwear and I can't even breathe yet. I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire school. I'm too old to pee myself.

I feign shock, dropping to my knees near Matty, disregarding the puddle & my pants are already on the bench where I was sitting. "Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Matty could have spoken, if not for the fact that as soon as he looked at me, his face scrunched up into the telltale grimace of an incoming crying fit. The boy is 11 years old, but his brain and body are still mostly in the single-digits. As the stream begins to die down, the flow switches to the other side of his body & he begins to cry wordlessly, completely unable to maintain composure. I help him up to a sitting position and rub his back. Some of the other boys get that look on their face, like they're about to say something smart, when I shoot the Glance of Death their way. I planned it out this time around that I have a reputation for going a little crazy when people fuck around with what I'm doing. (Sure, it gets me some Creepy Points, and people generally stay out of my business, but it works out for me.)

"Come on, Matty, let's get you to the shower. First, though, let's keep your shoes dry." He sits and sobs as I remove his shoes and socks, placing them on the bench before offering a hand to him. He grabs my forearm as I grab his and hoist him up to his feet. His shirt and briefs drip with urine, making a steady splattering sound in the puddle left on the floor. This makes him redder, and another spasm of crying wracks his face and body. I lead him through the crowd, which has grown noisier. There's laughter and ridicule, concern and confusion, as I guide Matty to one of the showers. I take off my own underwear and step next to him, completely unconcerned with what the others might think.

The water sprays out quickly, spitting out a quick spatter of cold water before the warm water catches up in the pipes. I turn him to face me. "It's okay. I'm sorry I called out to Timothy. If I hadn't done that, you probably would have made it."

"No & no, I was the st-stupid one," he said between hiccups. "I should've g-gone sooner."

"It's okay. Let's just get you cleaned up." I wick the water across his lower back to wash off the pee.

"It's not okay!" he snapped. "I'm going to be made fun of so hard!"

"Not if I can help it." I looked him in the eyes. "Look. You don't have any real reason to trust me on this, but I'll make sure they don't make fun of you."

He frowned a moment, before a huge sniffle overtook him. "Why are you helping me?"

At this moment, I was really glad he hadn't looked down yet to see my 4-incher steadily growing stiffer. "Nobody deserves to be made fun of, okay? Now let's get those briefs off of you; they're no good to you now."

His eyes shoot wide. "No! No. That's... that's okay. I'm clean now." I glance down to see why he's so hesitant, apparently my hands brought him to attention as well. If his briefs weren't soaking wet, I might've missed it, but he was definitely standing at 3 inches of full upright attention. When I look back, he's noticed; his face goes red as a tomato and begins to scrunch up again. God. If this wasn't such a ridiculous turn-on, I'd feel so bad for the boy.

I roll my eyes, smiling ever so slightly. "We're boys. That happens. I mean, look." I point to my own lance, set to charge forward. "It's fine." By this point, Coach Rigby has herded the rest of the boys out of the locker room and quelled the noise as they all marched out to the gym. However, the coach of course has to come investigate why two boys aren't out there and what happened to Matty, why did he pee himself, etc. As soon as I see the coach round the corner, I immediately intercept him before he has a chance to talk to Matty. I know damn well that'll just set him off more.

"What's going on?" Coach asks. "Is everything... okay?" He says hesitantly, eying my boner surreptitiously.

"Yeah, yeah. He just tripped and got the wind knocked out of him when he had to pee. It was just bad luck." I look down at my tent-pole and act like I didn't notice. "Oh, uh, that's embarrassing. I promise nothing was going on."

The coach just laughs and shakes his head. He calls over to Matty, "When you're ready to come out to the court, let me know." To me he adds, "Just have Matty dress out without his underwear on for today, and we can throw his clothes in the wash with the shower towels."

"Got it," I say, nodding. My erection is throbbing painfully at this point, having no desire to go down. It doesn't help that Coach Rigby is hot as shit with a perfect ass and good God Damn I'd hit it if I were an adult. Or maybe just in high school. I bet I could convince him. Note to self: sleep with Coach in 10th grade. But for now...

I return to a slightly calmer Matty, who is soaking in the warm water as much as in his own thoughts. He has already taken his underwear off and is facing away from me, showing off his absolutely gorgeous little butt & a skinny white boy like him has no business having that much ass, but I'm not about to complain about it. I walk up to him. "Hey," I mutter softly before putting a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches slightly. "I'm so screwed," he mumbles.

Putting my other hand on his shoulders, I go in for the kill. (Having lived as long as I have, I know damn well when I'm taking full advantage of a situation.) "I promise that if any rumors start up, it'll be way worse for them. You won't get bullied for it. Here; let me help you take your mind off of the whole thing." I press my thumbs slowly but firmly into his shoulders, which elicits from Matty a quick jump but an immediate melting into my hands. He lets out a soft moan, which I'm not entirely sure was intentional or even noticed.

This is going to be easy.

I massage his shoulders for a few more squeezes before moving down slowly, finger by finger, to his middle back. I can already see his sobbing being replaced by slightly deeper, heavier breathing. Geez & if I'm not careful, I might just shoot before I get touched; the fun of a tween, hormone-fueled body. I take a deep breath and center myself; then, I grab him firmly by the shoulders and massage the stress out of them, ever so slowly pulling him toward me. He lets out a quick sob and a long, sensual sigh. As our bodies press together, I know he can feel the base of my erection pressed atop his cheeks and all 4 inches jutting up his spine. The warm water spills between us and down his chest as I look over to see his short spear pointing straight at his chin, scrotum scrunched up as if ready to deploy already.

I press my middle two fingers in at his sternum, right under the collarbones, and begin a slow circle massage. (If you've never had anyone do that to you, it's fucking amazing.) Not one rotation into it though, he makes a strangled groan and exhales completely as his dick twitches once, twice, and begins to ooze clear semen on the third...I wouldn't have thought he could have anything but a dry orgasm; apparently he's already started puberty, despite how he looks. Either way, it's too much for my hormone-fueled body: I immediately tense up, pulling him close as I coat his lower back (and my chest) in jet after jet of milky cum.

We both stand there, breathing heavily for a moment, before he giggles. "Um, did you... did you just sperm on me?"

I find myself surprised that he knows what that is. "What? I & um... yes. I & I'm sorry, let me get that& "

My stammering is interrupted by the most adorable, bubbly laugh. "Gross! But you made me sperm, too... that massage felt really good." He turns around to look at me while he cleans the cum off his back. His wasn't "sperm," as he called it, but he definitely came.

"I guess watching you have an orgasm made me do it, too." My cheeks are flash-fire red by this point; how the hell am I affected this intensely? I haven't felt this way in centuries! To make it worse, he starts washing my chest off! They're going to have to invent new shades of red to describe me right now.

After he finishes, we end up staring at each other wordlessly for a moment. Without warning or preface, he lunges forward to hug me, staggering me back a few steps. I hug him as a father would his child, as a friend would his friend, as lovers would. I feel my dick rising again.

"Thank you," he says, face still buried next to my Adam's apple.

"No problem," I stammer. "Hey... the coach is going to wonder where we are soon. We should, y'know, go."

He breaks the hug to look at me again, the vaguest hint of a smile creeping into his demeanor. "Yeah. Let's go get dressed. And don't worry & I won't tell anyone if you don't."

I blink as he bounds out of the shower area, having problems determining who exactly was the predator here.

To be continued...