I had barely heard the knock at the door by the time Damon’s book bag had
landed on the floor, and his body was draped over my couch. “Got all my
homework done,” he said, “so I don’t have to do any here.”
“You hungry?” I replied, knowing that he was always hungry, because he was
fourteen. Damon and his mother lived at the other end of the same apartment
complex, as it was Michelle who had tipped me off to the vacancy, knowing I
was looking for a better living situation. I’d met her when we had both
become involved in a fight to keep a casino from being built near the local
middle school, which I cared about because I’d seen firsthand what casinos
can do in Atlantic City, and she because her son was at the time a student
there. We’d had dinner a few times, and went out for New Year’s Eve once,
but even before that date Michelle knew I was gay, and that it could lead
to nothing beyond friendship.
She didn’t care, and she appreciated how much Damon liked my company,
needing as he did a man in his life. For his part, Damon didn’t seem to
care one whit, either, so long as I provided companionship, advice, and
plenty to eat when he was visiting, which was fairly frequently now that I
lived a two-minute walk away. He wasn’t even fazed by my lack of a
television or other screen to occupy his time.
I pulled a frozen pizza out to heat up without waiting for an answer. It
had plenty of company: frozen waffles, frozen tater totters, frozen ravioli
. . . Damon was staying the night and possibly the next, so I had to be
prepared. I had every intention of cooking meals, but without frozen junk
food I wouldn’t be doing much else than keeping him in calories. 5’10”
tall, he towered over many of his classmates, but probably weighed only as
much as the shorter kids his age. His skin was a milk chocolate color,
mostly uninterrupted by hair, and his teeth were whiter than his dentist
could explain, given his brushing habits. A lot of food went down past
those teeth, but it never seemed to add any mass to his lean form, except
to make him taller. It seemed he’d put on another inch since yesterday.
When Damon wasn’t using his mouth for eating, he really liked talking, at
least to me. His mother often couldn’t get a word out of him, and I didn’t
know what he was like with friends his own age, but he would excitedly tell
me about all of his adventures. That’s not just a metaphor: this boy’s an
avid gamer, both the MMORPGs and table-top role-playing, not to mention the
Magic card game. He talked plenty, but I probably didn’t know much more
about his private life than Michelle did, because the things he shared were
almost always pretty superficial. For my part, while trying to avoid being
preachy I did try to slip in observations about morality, character,
responsibility and the like so he’d get an idea of what’s expected of a man
in this society. It’s not that I would ever lie to him about my flaws — he
knew I’d had my share of police encounters, and how I’d finally quit
smoking weed after 20 years — but I tried to give him something positive
to aspire to, rather than mimicking my mistakes.
The first meal (again, I knew I’d be providing five or six a day this
weekend) wasn’t even finished when he took out his newest deck of Magic
cards, and we settled into that for a time. I mostly lost because that’s
what happens when an adult takes on a 14-year-old kid in this game, but I
didn’t mind. It was dark when I got up to stretch, so as I went around the
apartment shutting the blinds, I asked again, “You hungry?” He was, as
always, and appreciatively cleaned his plate when I handed him some
steaming ravioli. He went to relieve himself as I washed a couple of
dishes, and as I turned to dry my hands I found him leaning in the doorway,
part of his body hidden by the frame, and mischief in his eyes.
“You know what you want to do now?” I asked cautiously.
“Mmhmm,” he said, laughter in his eyes.
“Do I want to know?” I asked.
“Come into the living room and find out,” he said, disappearing. I
followed, and was smacked in the face with something soft and fluffy as I
did so.
“Pillow fight!” he cried, hurling another at me. He’d apparently grabbed
all the pillows off of my bed and stockpiled them. I’ve got nearly a dozen
and they’re all feather, which made it possible — if only barely — to
move them in one trip.
I bent over to grab that first one even has he conked me over the head with
a second. “Why you little . . . ” I started to puff in mock-anger. He
laughed and leaped away as I swung. Now that I was on guard it was more of
an even match-up, with neither of us getting in many good licks. It was
actually getting a bit boring when he caught my hip.
“Did I hit you in the balls?” he asked.
“. . . yeah,” I said, even though it wasn’t true. I was curious what would
happen.
He stood there for a moment, lowering the pillow he had been readying
against me. “If you hit the other guy in the balls, you have to take off a
piece of clothing as a penalty,” he said, stripping off his shirt. I’d seen
him at the pool in our complex and at his place without a shirt plenty of
times, but this felt different somehow. Probably just me being a perv. I
would never try to get him to do anything he didn’t want, and stray
thoughts like that were only a distraction, so I pushed it from my mind.
“Sure, if that’s what you want,” I said. “Still plenty of targets, like
. . . this one!” I cried, faking low and then throwing a pillow in his
face. That got a barrage in response of about a half-dozen which I could
barely block, because I was laughing so hard.
He stopped, and said, “Did I hit you in the balls?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” Was that disappointment in his voice? Nah. I must have imagined
that. Still . . .
I launched an attack of my own, swinging with both hands and then just
throwing pillows and couch cushions at him indiscriminately before just
jumping on him so I could tickle him and give him a noogie. “You hit me in
the balls,” he said when we quieted down again.
None of those pillows went had hit him above his knees or below his
elbows. I was sure of it. Nevertheless, I peeled off my shirt and we went
on. This was getting interesting, indeed. During the next volley I faked a
groan, and he took off a sock. So it went, with purported ball shots
happening so often that both of us should have been rolling on the ground
and vomiting if they’d been real. I did get nailed in the crotch at least
once, but it was a feather pillow, after all. In maybe half an hour we were
both down to boxers, but Damon showed no sign that he was ready to stop.
When he came at me next, it was with an underhanded blow, and I mean that
both ways. It came up and caught me right between the legs, enough to
elicit a groan despite the soft pillow that hit me. “Sorry,” he said. “Was
that really bad? I didn’t mean to hit you hard.” I nodded slightly, but it
was already feeling better.
It felt better still as I watched him yank down his underpants and toss
them on the couch. He was limp, but not shriveled, and it looked to be a
handsome piece of meat. “You can hit me back and I won’t block,” he
said. “It’s only fair.”
Maybe it was fair, I could see that it was something else, too. “All
right,” I said. Taking a pillow in my hand, I gently but firmly pushed his
testicles upward with it, until his scrotum was stretched and shiny next to
a penis which was similarly pulled upward. I pulled away, and as his dick
flopped back downward, I said, “Bam.” Damon laughed.
“You don’t want to hurt my balls?” he asked.
“Balls can bring pain, but that’s not what they’re made for,” I said.
“Anyway, you DID hit me in the balls, so you gotta drop trou.” THAT is what
I was expecting, and I tried to stifle a smirk as I followed his
direction. He looked me over quickly, trying to play it off, but that’s
hard to do when you’re both naked.
Sitting down, I said, “Is there any point hitting each other with pillows
anymore? It’s not like taking off more clothes can happen.”
He shrugged.
“You hungry?” I asked, and he nodded. I got up and pulled some ravioli out
of the freezer to heat up.
“We’re just going to chill naked, then?” he asked.
“If that’s what you want. We can do pretty much anything naked that we can
do with clothes on, if you don’t count things like strip poker.”
He laughed. “Yeah.” He accepted the plate of steaming pasta gladly and as
he began to eat, said, “Truth or dare?”
There isn’t much of interest that happened next, because despite us not
having any clothes on, the dares didn’t get sexual. It was stuff like
singing “I’m a Barbie Girl” and eating cat food out of the dish. It was the
truth that got interesting. I learned that Damon had occasionally tried on
his mother’s bras, for one; at another point he asked me what I liked about
sucking dick.
“It is really erotic being able to give that much pleasure to a guy,” I
told him. “He has to trust you completely, and it’s something of the
surrender in that that I really get into. Sometimes it’s so good that get
off myself, just from that.”
His eyes went wide. “Seriously?” I nodded. “Guess I have a lot to learn
about sex,” he admitted.
“You ever have any? Not including with your hand, I mean?”
“Shut up!” he said, getting embarrassed.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Everyone with a dick strokes it,” I assured
him. “It’s just biology.”
“To answer your question,” Damon replied, somewhat mollified, “No, I
haven’t had any sex yet. I had a girl offer once, and there’s a couple of
boys I’m pretty sure want to do something with me, but nothing’s actually
happened.”
“How come?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Mom. She’s . . . “
” . . . a little overprotective?” I finished.
“Ya think?”
I laughed, then said. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I should tell you. The
standard advice — which is pretty good — is that you don’t need to rush
it, because sex and love get confused and that can hurt.”
“Okay,” Damon said, scratching his pubes absently, “but what’s the other
thing you want to tell me?”
“That you’re really good-looking and that doesn’t last forever. That you
should have as many kinds of sex with as many different people as you can
while you’re young, to figure out what you’re really into. That you should
understand why and when to use protection, but not to ever be afraid to ask
someone to fool around. No is not the end of the world, but no always means
no. You will get a lot more yeses than you think, just by asking.”
We sat there quietly for the next few minutes. Damon was probably thinking
about the things that I had said, because he started to bone up. He didn’t
try to cover it, not that it would have been easy in his naked
state. Before long, he had more than six hard inches in his lap.
I noticed. It would have been hard not to. As it happens, I couldn’t help
but get hard myself. So much for adult self-control. For at least another
minute, neither of us said anything. Damon’s head was leaning back, but he
definitely knew we had the same problem. I sat next to him, stealing
glances at the fourteen-year-old’s cock from time to time.
“Just by asking?” he said finally.
My mouth was dry, and I had to lick my lips before responding. It may have
sent the wrong message. It may have sent the right one. “Sometimes the
answer comes quick,” I said.
“Then will you suck my dick?” he said, the words rushing out. “Please?”
“Your mother said I should reward you for being polite,” I said, grabbing
his young tool and squeezing it gently. I was rewarded myself with a hiss
of air from his mouth, and his fingers digging into the couch. I bent
towards him, and licked the nearest nipple. That got a bona fide moan out
of the boy.
He had just enough of a pubic bush for me to wind a fingertip through the
hair as I teased each nipple into hardness. The trend toward trimming made
sense to me at first; most people don’t like getting hair between their
teeth. Shaving, though — especially by someone who’s already underage —
freaks me out. If Damon had been bald, he would have been out of luck, and
I was very grateful that he wasn’t out of luck.
My hand wandered upward, noting where those pubes stopped growing, and that
there was no hint of a trail between there and his navel. I already knew
that Damon’s stomach was smooth and flat, but now I felt his firmness, and
discovered evidence of a developing six-pack under the skin, out of
sight. As my hand explored up, my mouth continued down. Before long I was
kissing his navel as I toyed with his nipples, now hard enough to cut
glass. I don’t like being cruel, though, and I tried not to tarry overlong
on my way to the prize.
As I closed the remaining distance, I slid a hand around to clutch his
butt, and he spread his legs in response. My other hand grabbed the other
cheek, and together they guided his rocket in for a landing. As if he knew
about the metaphor in my head, Damon let out his breath explosively as he
entered my mouth. The skin of his cock was just as smooth as his torso, but
radiating heat from a more primal source. My moistened lips explored every
inch on my way down, even while I caressed him with my tongue and steered
him clear of my teeth.
I felt his hand upon my head then; he rested it there gently, not pushing
me down at all. I rewarded his good behavior with tongue-flicks across his
cock-head. A quavering, shuddering moan erupted from his mouth, and I slid
back down to prime the pump with some steady suction. The boy clearly
enjoyed that, as well as the fondling I gave his balls all the
while. Feeling adventurous, I allowed a finger to wander into the uncharted
territory behind and beneath those balls, but I found the gate closed
tightly, barring entry. No matter: I was here to suck this kid’s cock, and
nothing else.
That didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy toying with his balls as I bobbed on his
shaft, or kiss them when I wanted to slow him down by working him just with
my hand. In truth, my caresses were every bit as welcome as my tongue and
throat: Damon’s breathing was mixed with moans now, as he give into the
pleasure and imagined what was to come.
“Your cock is amazing,” I said to him. “So hard, so thick, so ready for
action. This is a man’s cock, Damon.” I talked to him like that because I
figured maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t already ruined by the idea that ‘dirty
talk’ and degrading people was sexy, and that if I boosted his ego as he
got closer to orgasm he might take the lesson to heart. Every time I can
teach a boy that positive talk is a turn-on, an angel gets its wings.
He liked it. He also liked my tongue circling the head of his dick, and how
good it felt when I plunged it into the back of my throat over and
over. His chocolatey nuts bounced free of my hand as he started to say,
“Oh yeah, fuck yeah, oh god, I’m so close, you’d better move . . . “
Damon never got that warning out completely, because it hit him, and turned
the final word into a cry of pleasure. I knew what was coming, and took him
to the hilt. I swallowed once, twice, three times; I wasn’t sure how many
spurts came out, but that’s what it took to swallow it down.
After a pause, I released his penis from my mouth, now shiny with my
saliva. “You swallowed it all?” he asked, and I nodded. “Why?”
“Makes cleanup easier,” I said. “You hungry?”
Damon nodded, and said, “I just wish you cooked as good as you . . . ate.”
As he got up, I smacked his naked ass for being a punk, then we went into
the kitchen to have a bite to eat. He stayed naked the whole time.
The End
