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 5

Monday makes way for Tuesday and then Wednesday. Much to Canelito's disappointment, we got a new seating chart in that class the very next day, not that he'd ever say anything about it, even to me. Every once in a while, when he walks by to sharpen his pencil, he looks down at my junk, hoping to catch a glimpse. Man, I'm probably the only porn that boy has ever seen. I'll let him approach me when he's ready for more, though.
 
Meanwhile, Matty and I get to hang out a bit more over at his place ... my house is boring and full of irritating sisters. Yes, even after a millennium of patience, they still get on my 12-year-old nerves. That, and he has more multiplayer games, where all I have is my cellphone and a couple of outdated games on my outdated PC. Anyway, we're playing another round of Black Ops (I finally frag the bastard a few times ... a few.), when, right near the end, he starts squirming a little bit.
 
Within a surprisingly short time, Matty breathes, "Oh no," and nearly throws the controller as he dashes to the bathroom.
 
Only about seven seconds of peeing is followed by a full minute of silence; I don't hear the flush or see the boy. Curious and concerned, I knock on the door to see what's up; no reply.
 
I slowly open the door, saying, "Matty?" and knocking again just in case.
 
Inside, Matty is sitting on the floor in his unzipped tan cargo shorts, the inside of both legs soaked dark with pee, face soaked with tears. He doesn't even look up; instead, he runs his fingers through his short hair and grimaces in what looks like extreme frustration. This merits investigation.
 
I grab the hanging towel from near the shower and place it in the moderate-sized puddle on the floor, wrapping it around his feet.
 
Sitting down across from him, I reassure him, "Hey, it's okay. We were really into... "
 
"It's NOT okay!" he practically screams. "It's not okay! It's not fair! It's not..." He sniffles, and adds quietly, "It's not fair."
 
By this time, his mom is standing in the bathroom doorway, concern etching lines into her face upon seeing her boy sitting in a puddle of pee. "Matty, darling, I'll get you a dry set of clothes."
 
This just sets him off in a wail of anguish. I put my hand on his knee for comfort as he lets out his frustrations in salty streams down his cheeks. His mother comes back with a navy blue pair of shorts and more standard white Hanes briefs. "Come on, let's get you out of these," I say, offering a hand. He accepts, and I hoist him up as flashbacks of our first encounter flit through my mind.
 
I get the tub to a decent warmth as he steps out of his wet clothes and in to rinse off his legs and wash his face. The whole time, his mother stands in the doorway; I steal a glance at her face, and see a mix of curiosity, admiration, and pain. I realize that I'm acting far older than my age, but I don't really care that much.
 
"You must think I'm the biggest baby," Matty mumbled dejectedly.
 
I act like I'm thinking about it for a moment. "Mm, no, not really." I hand him a towel.
 
He takes it and buffs his face and legs with half-energy. "I cry like a baby, I'm small like a baby, and I pee myself like a baby."
 
"But you don't play Black Ops like a baby, you do better in school than a baby, and you're still way taller than a baby."
 
"That doesn't matter." He says it in a defeatist sort of way, not petulant, but simply resigned. "I'm always going to be a baby."
 
I look to his mother for more info; this seems deeper than it looks. Sure enough, she motions her head toward the door, beckoning me out of the bathroom.
 
"Go ahead, dry off and get dressed, Matty," she says. "We'll be outside." With the door closed, Matty's mom leads me to the living room and looks at me carefully. "You seem pretty mature for your age."
 
Without even thinking, I reply, "I am."
 
She smiles a bit at my bluntness, and sits slowly on the couch. "Well, thank you for being Matty's friend. His first year at this school hasn't been easy." My furrowed brow is clear enough to her; she continues, "He used to go to a private school, but last year... " She sighs. "Last year was really rough for him."
 
"How so?" I prod.
 
I can see the debate on her face before she lays it on me. "First, his father and I divorced. Then, Matty was diagnosed with a rare form of kidney cancer that... well, we're pretty sure it's cured, but the mix of chemo and surgery left him with a few... problems. One of them, this one, is that he can't tell when he needs to go until it's an emergency; it's also harder for him to hold it. It has been very difficult for him to get used to, and it frustrates him."
 
Ah. That makes sense, now. "So he hasn't always had that problem," I say, more as a statement than a question.
 
"Right. Another side effect of almost half a year of battling the cancer is that it stunted his growth, which he's sensitive about. THEN, after the medical bills, we couldn't really afford private school anymore, so he has had to adjust to Akronis, which has also been pretty hard for him." Suddenly, she gets this confused look on her face. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. This isn't your problem ... I'm sorry."
 
I shrug. "I've always been a good listener."
 
She gives me another surveying look, and smiles slightly. "I guess so." She stares down the hall at the bathroom door. "Thanks for being his friend. He needs more people like you."
 
With movie-precise timing, Matty opens the door after that sentence. He is fully dressed and bleary-eyed, though much calmer than he was. "Sorry," he says with a little more vigor. "I got carried away in the game." He joins us in the living room.
 
"Well, I paused the game, if you wanted to continue."
 
Matty scans the floor as he shakes his head. "Nah, I don't feel like playing anymore."
 
"You wanna talk about it?"
 
"Not really."
 
"Will you anyway?" I ask with a hopeful smile.
 
His eyes meet mine, and I see the shadow of a smile creep into his lips. "Fine. Let's go out back."
 
Outside, the air is just crisp enough to take the edge off of the afternoon sun. We walk in silence to the swing set, and he hops on a swing. I take the other one and we begin to sway in slow sync.
 
"What did Mom say?" he finally asks. I fill him in on what I knew, leaving out the part about his growth. He rolls his eyes hard enough that they bring the rest of his head back with them, and he stares up at the crossbeam with a long sigh. "Apparently, Mom doesn't like me having friends."
 
"What do you mean?" I ask, fully aware of his incoming answer.
 
"You've been over twice and now she tells you how much of a freak I am." He stares at the gravel underfoot as he slowly swings.
 
"You're not a freak."
 
"Yes I am."
 
"Well, you're a cute freak."
 
This takes him by surprise, and his head jerks toward me. Just as quickly, he looks back down at the ground, though his cheeks are redder than before. "Still a freak, though," he says with less conviction.
 
"You're talking to the guy with time-travel powers. Who's the real freak of nature here?"
 
He sighs. "Well, can't you like, go back in time and stop me from getting cancer?"
 
I give him a sad stare. "I don't have that power. I wish I did." Memories of multiple friends and loved ones that die of cancer in the future careen through my thoughts before I shun them.
 
He doesn't reply for a moment. "So your new friend is a big baby."
 
I don't take the bait. "Do you want to be?"
 
"What? No! I hate it!"
 
"So..." I draw it out. "I guess that's why you don't want to try diapers."
 
The incredulous death-stare he gives me is answer enough, but he follows it with, "Are you kidding?! I'd rather be dead!"
 
Sadly, I believe him. "Well, you could try a few other things instead."
 
"I already make sure I go at the same time every day, or at least try. I don't drink that much, either."
 
"Maybe you could wear an extra pair of underwear or something, just in case. It would help against small accidents."
 
He looks at me as if I were a stranger. "That... I dunno. Maybe. Not if I do... THAT," he says, nodding his head to the house.
 
"No," I admit, "but it might help against when you laugh or things like that. Besides, even in gym class, it won't be easy to tell that you're wearing two pairs of underwear if you do it right. I bet you could even ask Coach Rigby if you could change out somewhere else so they can't like, I dunno, make fun of you or whatever."
 
He sneers. "But I'll still be 'the weird kid' if I do that."
 
I raise an eyebrow. "It's middle school. We're all weird."
 
"You know what I mean!"
 
"Of course I do. I also know that I kinda want to see you in just your underwear."
 
That does the trick; he giggles unwillingly. "Why? I'm just a kid."
 
"What? So am I!" I say with faux-innocence.
 
"Yeah, a 1000-year-old kid."
 
"Give or take, sure."
 
"So," he says, changing the subject, "have you ever told anyone else about your power?"
 
"Nope. Just you."
 
"Are you ever going to?"
 
"I dunno. Maybe."
 
A short silence settles on the two of us. "You wanna go back inside now?"
 
As his reply, he flings himself off of the swing and starts walking.
 
By the time we go back inside, his mom is already blaring more soap operas in the living room, so we go to his room. We resume our paused game; after a few more rounds, I ask him to try putting on another pair of underwear to see how it fits. He takes off his shirt and shorts, and puts on another pair; it's practically impossible to see that he's wearing an extra. Well, other than the one waistband piece sticking out, which I squat down and help him fix.
 
"Et voila!" I say. "More protection, less noticeable! Do a little turn for the audience."
 
He sticks a hip out `seductively' and does a goofy little turn; he's so ridiculously adorable it hurts. Though the underwear itself isn't noticeable, I do notice the scar from his surgery running straight down the center of his abs; how did I miss that before? Okay, it is a pretty precise cut with relatively little scarring, so there's that, but still.
 
He keeps doing the catwalk thing until he turns and practically wiggles his butt in my face. There's no other course of action at this point but to clap it with both hands. He literally jumps and yelps from surprise ... it wasn't that hard of a hit, especially with the extra padding.
 
"Hey!" he says, for some reason surprised.
 
"What? There was a beautiful wiggling butt in my face! That's what I thought I was supposed to do!"
 
This sets us both giggling and he practically flops on top of me. Suddenly, there's a pair of fingers jabbing into my sides! I yelp and squirm, but to no avail; he has his legs around mine and I can't get away from the tickling. I admit that I probably would have come close to peeing if it didn't make me almost instantly hard having a hot boy like Matty straddling me.
 
There's only one recourse, return fire. I start rapidly poking him in the belly to get him to retract his hands, and immediately torque the both of us over so he lands on his back. Then it's Merciless Mode; poke after poke, all over his body, so he can't defend any one place. The squeals and giggles he gives are just music to my ears. Suddenly, he squeals a different sound, the one I was looking for, and a small wet splotch blossoms on his underwear. He crosses his legs quickly, and stays for a moment; he slowly uncrosses them to check, and no more comes out. He looks at me angrily.

"See?" I say. "That normally would have soaked through a whole lot more, but with two pair, you can have a squirt get past you and almost nothing happens."
 
He looks at it and feels it. "I mean, I guess it isn't that bad. But still!"
 
I place my hand on the wet spot and push inward and upward slightly. "Still what? Are you mad at me for making you pee a little?"
 
He tries to keep an angry face, but a smile keeps creeping in. "Yes! ...maybe."
 
"Can I make it up to you?" I move my hand in a little circle, feeling his dick already beginning to grow from its little button.
 
"How?" he asks, playing along.
 
"Well, see," I explain, "I was thinking that we could get you out of those wet underwear and maybe into my mouth." By this point, he's already pointing straight to his waistband. I slowly strip off the pairs of underwear, slipping them over his butt, enjoying the softness of his skin. My dick throbs painfully in my pants as I handle the damp underwear and look down at Matty's perfectly shaped privates. Seriously--a tight little oval sack, nice-sized balls, three inches of perfectly straight up cock... they're perfect.
 
Matty looks over at the door. "What if Mom comes in?"
 
"If she does, I can go back in time and warn you."
 
Matty's mouth slowly opens with, "Oh yeaaahhhhh."
 
I slowly move my hands up Matty's smooth legs. He breathes in sharply as I do so, only squirming slightly as my hands run up the insides of his thighs and across his pelvis. I grab his dick in one hand, wrapping three fingers around it. "How do I get this joystick to work?" I ask, wiggling it left and right. "This game isn't working, Matty!"
 
Matty starts giggling and writhing underneath me. "That's not a joystick!"
 
"Are you sure?" I ask. "I think maybe I was doing it wrong. What if I do this?" I rub my index finger along the top of his glans, sending jolts through his midsection with every stroke.
 
"Phillip! No!" he says, and I find out quickly why: he immediately starts squirting pee onto his belly.
 
I aim it up and down, acting like it's an uncontrolled fire hose for a moment. "Whoa! This thing is out of... " Suddenly, I pinch it shut. "Okay. I think I got it. But just to be sure... " and I clamp my mouth down on his dick. A few quick flicks of my tongue across the same spot and he starts peeing full-stream again, tickling my throat with the power behind it.
 
A few things happen at once: I grab his undies and wipe off his belly, I continue drinking at full speed like I was chugging a water bottle, and Matty's eyes just about pop right out of his skull as he watches me. His pee is only lightly salty, not bitter in the least; all told, he gives me about a quarter of a glass of refreshment before he sputters out.
 
"What the crap, man!?" Matty says, astonished.
 
"What?" I reply, finally taking his dick out of my mouth. "I didn't want to make a mess. Besides, your pee tastes good."
 
"Yeah, but--" he says, and stops. "It tastes good?"
 
"To me, yeah."

As he begins to respond, I take my thumb and first two fingers and begin to run them along Matty's slick penis. The words dissolve into shuddering sighs as pleasure washes over him.

 
"See?" I point out. "Pee doesn't have to be all bad. Sometimes it's fun." I run my fingers up and down a few more times. "Do you ever do this on your own?"
 
"Yeah," Matty says breathlessly, "but it feels so much better when you do it."
 
Sadly, I know I can't go any farther, because I find out in four minutes (yeah, I had to rewind this one) that Matty's mom busts in to ask a question. I never find out the question, because she's too flabbergasted by seeing me licking her son's balls. Back to the present, "Well, we'll have to do more later. My Mom sense is tingling. Let's get dressed."
 
He gasps, scrambling to put something on. I toss the now-quite-wet undies into the hamper and hand him his T-shirt and Xbox controller.
 
"3, 2, 1," I say as we're playing a round of Black Ops, and his mother barges in to find two innocent, fully-clothed boys playing console games. Granted, Matty puts on a wrinkled shirt that was on the floor instead of the one he was just wearing, but she doesn't seem to notice.
 
"Matty," she begins, and he whirls around.
 
As soon as he's distracted, I pop around a corner on the game and head-shot him. "Yes!"
 
"What?!" he yelps. "No fair!"
 
At this, his mother just smiles. "Nevermind. You boys have fun. Dinner will be in an hour." She closes the door softly. Mission accomplished.
 
"So," I say, not giving Matty any time to complain. "I have a question. Or five."
 
"Five?" he says with a raised eyebrow and a tone of skepticism.
 
"Maybe. One: you said you liked the way I looked. But what about... me? Do you ...do you like me?"
 
"Duh," he says. "You're my friend."
 
I give him a deadpan stare. "You know what I mean. Like, LIKE like me." I stop. "Wow, that was a lot of 'likes.'"
 
Matty snorts and giggles. "Yeah it was."
 
"So... do you?"
 
He hesitates. "Yeah, I think so."
 
"But why? I'm old enough to be your great great great great great great great great... "
 
"I know!" he interrupts. "I get it. But like, I dunno. You're not like some 1,000-year old guy with a beard that goes to the floor and a cane and all that. You're just like... a boy."
 
"And you're okay liking a boy?"
 
Matty shrugs. "Mom always said that people like what they like. I mean, that's what she said about my uncle."
 
"Is your uncle gay?"
 
"Yes. I mean, I guess so." He shrugs again. "But anyway, yeah, I do like you. LIKE like you."
 
Despite my many years, seeing such an adorable face say that to me just sends thrills down through me. I try to stay composed, though. "Well, why?"
 
"Well," he drawls, "you're really nice, and helpful, and funny, and... " he looks me up and down. "You're... y'know."
 
"Hideous?"
 
"No!" he says, slapping my arm.
 
"Stupid?"
 
He just grabs the shirt he was previously wearing and socks my face with it. "Stop it! Geez!" he says. "You're good-looking, okay? Gawd."
 
I beam foolishly. "Well, you're really cute, too."
 
"Yeah, but," he begins, and hesitates with a knowing smile on his face. "Doesn't that, like, make you a pedophile?"
 
I sigh. "Well, sure, but a) at my real age, I'd be a pedophile even if I dated a 90-year-old, and b) imagine how that would look if I were still 12. I don't think those rules count. Besides, I'm not like sexually harassing or molesting you, am I?" He responds with silence before I realize my mistake. Not rewinding, though ... my bed, I lay in it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up."
 
"It's okay." He brightens up quickly. "Hey, thanks for helping me out, and for not, y'know, making fun of me."
 
"Anything for the person I LIKE like." I smile before he catches what I said.
 
"Wh--you-you like me?" he sputters. "LIKE like me?"
 
"Yes!" I exclaim. "You're cute, you're awesome, you're a great person... what's not to like?" Also, admittedly, I really like having someone to protect, but that seems out of line to mention.
 
"But WHY?" He honestly seems completely stumped.
 
"Because I know a good person when I see one. Trust me, I've seen a LOT of them. So what if you have some bladder problems? You have a good reason to. Not everyone survives cancer, and sometimes things just don't go immediately back to normal. You're fine, man." And, let's be honest here, total fetish food.
 
He sighs, the happiness at my admission fighting the frustration of his condition. "I guess. Still sucks."
 
Unfortunately, my phone alarm goes off at that moment, reminding me that I have to go for dinner at my own place. I say as much.
 
"Aw, can't you stay over again?" he laments.
 
I shrug. "I don't exactly live here. My parents like to see me once in a while. But hey, maybe we can hang out again on the weekend."
 
We say our goodbyes and I get my stuff together. Before I leave the room, though, he taps my shoulder. "Um, I know we're not going out or anything, but... can I hug you?"
 
If that isn't the most adorable damn thing I've ever seen. "Of course! I love hugs from cute boys!" This is totally true, and pretty much always has been, admittedly.
 
He giggles, and nuzzles his face in my shoulder in a full-bodied hug. "Thanks," he says quietly. Again, I can't help but feel like I'm hugging a friend, a lover, and a son, all in the same moment. Maybe I am, in a way. Regardless, I know Thursday and Friday are going to be the better for it.
 
After I wave goodbye, I kick the stand out from my bike and head home, just in time for dinner to hit the table; Mom is so predictable that I don't even need time-travel. We eat, small-talk, and the like before I head to my room, lie on my bed, and jack off furiously while thinking about how fucking hot the day was. Without Matty around, I can plateau for a little while longer, but just thinking about his dick in my mouth again made the euphoria rise in my pelvis. You know how sometimes you can find a GIF file online that shows someone cumming, just the first huge blast, over and over again? Yeah, I totally indulged in the feeling of that first blast of cum ripping through my 4 inches over and over again. Afterward, spent bodily and mentally, I finally remembered that I had science homework due. Dammit.

To be continued...