Keep This On The Low-Low

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Keep This On The Low-Low

By Chris Carr

"Aw, com’on D," Jamir squirmed, his face screwed into an irked grimace. "Why you gots to play with my tits?" His hands raised above his head like a cornered criminal, he sucked air through his teeth, shaking his head. "Com’on, D, just do it, a’ight?"

I couldn’t help it, though. His developing nipples, erotically swollen on his semi-flat chest, they were a tempting delight. Just rounding the corner of sexual awakening, his slim body was a confusion of boyish immaturity and threatening manhood. My fingers fondling his sensitive buds, I drooled, captivated. Jamir was so sexy.

Acquiescing to his impatient demands, I opened his sagging pants. His anxious boy tool springing to life, it danced before his newly fleeced groin. The downy soft covering of hair about the root of his dick alluring, I ran my fingers through it. Irked again, Jamir sucked air through his teeth, irritated as I plucked his pubic hairs through my fingers. I couldn’t help it, his was such a beautiful body.

"Dang man, com’on," He persisted, backing away. "None of that faggot shit this time."

Looking up at him, I wondered what demons he’d battled, risking a return to my apartment? Granting him what he’d wanted all along, I grabbed his now fully erect wand, guiding it into my mouth. Hissing softly, he trembled, his eyes closing. Like an ill-gotten drug, mainlined by the dope addict, he’d finally got his fix.

He was just sitting on my porch, that day. "Hey," He muttered, thumbing his head up as I stepped out. Startled, I looked around wondering what was the deal. Was this a setup? Jamir stood, nervously facing me as I exited.

"You got a air pump?" He inquired, with an anxious face. I noticed his bike behind him, lain on its side. The front tire flat, it was useless, a forgotten child’s toy.

I’d seen him around the neighborhood, sometimes kicking it with Troy and his gang of wannabees, sometimes on his bike. Distant, he never spoke, save that one time he almost ran me over.

I was on the way to the corner mailbox when, barreling from out of nowhere, he charged around the corner, pedaling dead at me. Narrowly avoiding a collision, I stepped aside as he whizzed by.

"Hey…sorry," he muttered, circling back. Truly moved, I tried not to overreact, tossing him an ‘it’s cool’ nod. He circled again, eyeing me suspiciously then sped off.

Leaving him at the door, I retrieved the pump. How he knew I had it, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d noticed me loaning it to the little boy upstairs to pump up his blow-up toy. Maybe Troy’d told him.

He fixed it on his front tire, his gangly arms flexing as he pushed the pump handle, all the while, watching me. Handing it back, he stood his bike up, standing uneasily beside it. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. An awkward moment passing, it felt like he wanted to ask me something.

"Thanks," he muttered, hopping on his bike and jetting away.

I’m self employed, working from my home on several projects doing mostly word processing and small time web design for various businesses. Which affords me time to do the very thing I shouldn’t, boy watching. What makes me weak in the knees for teens, I have little clues but I’m a hopeless addict. With the first signal of the local tribe of boys, gathering outside, I’m captivated, making several trips from my office through the front room to observe. Troy and his little cohorts were distraction enough, often ripping off t-shirts to play a little b-ball in the warm afternoon sun. Muscles flexing, they’d cavort and play beneath the makeshift basket in Troy’s driveway, just opposite my kitchen and dining room windows.

But when Jamir showed up one day, the stakes were raised to an almost fevered pitch. Mixing it up with the boys, he was almost immediately accepted, his street savvy and quick wit ingratiating. Playing infrequently, he often sat games out to heckle his friends but on those occasions he deigned to remove his shirt and participate, I was wasted, all work stalled, my concentration broken.

I didn’t hear from Jamir for some time then, exiting my apartment one day, I practically stepped on him. Sitting on the cement slab in front of my door, he jumped up when he saw me.

"Sup?" He muttered, looking anxiously around. I nodded, observing his bike, lain on its side, the front tire flat again.

"Hey, can I use yo’ pump again?" I studied him a few, intrigued. Jamir shifted from one foot to the other, nervously looking around.

"Wanna come inside?" I asked. He looked over his shoulder one last time then practically ran into my apartment. Looking anxiously at the door when I entered, I surmised he’d prefer it closed.

"Your bike?" I inquired and suddenly, his eyes lit up, like a huge light had just went on in his head. He dashed for the door, dragging his bike hurriedly inside, closing the door behind him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked expectantly at me, like maybe we’d done this before. His stare urgent, I gathered, this wasn’t about the bike.

"You want something to drink?" I asked.

"Naw, I’m straight," He declined, hands nervously at his side.

How old was he, 14, 15? I’d been with boys his age before, so what was my beef? Why did this feel risky? It had to be Jamir. He didn’t fit the profile. He just wasn’t the amicable, boy-next-door type. His features hardened, his eyes held you like a panther’s, piercingly probing and fierce. Were he here under any other circumstance, I’d be concerned.

Holding me with that expectant look, he seemed agitated, maybe from lack of time, or fear of discovery but it was insistent, wanting immediate action. The tension thick enough to cut, I wondered just how much he was up for. Glancing at his feet, I quietly requested, "Take off your shoes." A test, I waited to see what he’d do. He eyed me suspiciously, then, licked his lips and kicked first one tennis off, then the next.

"And your socks," I added, watching for his response.

Again he eyed me suspiciously. Was this part of the routine? If he didn’t take them off, would he miss something? With a frustrated huff, he lifted one foot, snatching his athletic sock off, then the next, planting his long, delicate feet on the soft carpet.

My eyes helplessly moving over his form, I started to believe this was happening. Jamir. Jamir Meters, was in my living room, those intensive eyes on my person, expectantly awaiting my next move. What had he heard? What’d excited him so, he risked petitioning the strange man in number 3?

I sat on my sofa, somewhat numb, remembering all the times I’d seen him about the neighborhood. The suspicious looks, the sidelong glances. My fantasies, the many times I’d gazed at him through the blinds, my stiffness straining against my briefs.

"Betta’ watch him, that nigga gay," I’d overheard Troy proclaim one day. From my window, I observed the way he stared at my apartment, chills running up my spine.

"Com’ere," I whispered, motioning him over. He sauntered over, looking down at me, a slight bulge in his pants. I gazed up at him, the boy beneath the rough exterior returning my stare. ‘Gon’, do it,’ his eyes almost said. I reached up and unfastened his pants, peeling them open like some forbidden fruit. His dick surged, rising beneath his boxers until it tented them. I slipped them down his slender hips, admiring his smooth, hairless skin, his taut, sinewy muscles.

His dick snapped free from the boxers, pointing straight out from his downy fleeced groin. I looked up at him again and he looked nervously away. Lifting his growth in my hand, I leaned forward, heartbeats thundering in my ears. Almost instinctively, he raised his shirt, holding it away from his groin like it might ignite from the heat.

A soft hiss was all he allowed, the moment he sensed his dick in my mouth. His toes wiggling on the carpet, a slight shudder seized him as he pushed his dick forward. Another hiss escaping him, he held his shirttail even higher. His toes digging into the carpet, his dick swelled in my mouth, urgent dollops of piquant cum darting from the slit in its swollen head. His chest rose and fell, tiny whimpers escaping him as he squirted, filling my mouth with his sweet nectar, then, it was over.

Later that week I saw him with Troy and the other boys in the neighborhood. As I walked by, they talked in hushed tones, eyes darting my way. Jamir conspired with them, mockingly regarding me as I passed.

I’ve lived here seven years, the neighborhood deteriorating around me with time. When first I moved here, it was rather nice, but the growing numbers of wannabe gangstas and small time weed pushers have changed that. I keep my eyes peeled for trouble, whenever I venture out but for the most part, the most I have to deal with is Troy and his little teen wannabees.

Keeping mostly to myself I rested in the confidence they knew little to nothing of my orientation. In time, however, I gathered they’d pieced together the clues, the climate growing cool. It started with the curious glances and quiet acknowledgements among themselves, whenever I’d happen by. I suppose the company of questionable males I keep didn’t help the situation. On more than one occasion, I noticed them suspiciously eyeing one of my visitors, Patrick in particular. Lord, I’ve tried warning the boy that bright colors and subtle sashaying was a dead giveaway but what can you do?

That day I heard Troy warning Jamir about me, I was mortified. Could this lead to trouble? I thought. But Jamir’s sleek form and confident manner was alluring beyond my fears and more than once, he’d caught me observing him as I entered my building. Those piercing eyes holding me, he never once gave indication he was in any way interested.

The next time I saw him was on a suspiciously quiet day about the neighborhood. Troy and his minions absent, he was riding alone on his bike, outside the car port. As I passed, he cut his eyes at me, never acknowledging any connection between us. When I approached my car, he suddenly whizzed by. Circling in the empty spot next to my car, he glanced at me, still feigning disinterest.

"Not kickin’ it with the guys?" I asked, opening my car door.

He popped a wheelie, circling again but said nothing. As I moved to get in the car he muttered, "They gone." Stopping, he rested on his outstretched leg, gazing at me.

"Gone?"

"To the pool." He shifted his weight to his other leg. "To play some grab-ass with the girls," He added, almost as an afterthought.

"And you didn’t go?" He glared at me, snapping,

"Don’t get it twisted. Ain’t ‘cause I ain’t likin’ girls."

"O..K," I said, surprised at his outburst. He shook his head derisively, then continued.

"Troy actin’ stupid." I waited, unsure what to say. "Nigga packin’."

Thinking him some kind of humanitarian, I was impressed. "Ain’t about homeys carrying guns, huh?" He huffed a scornful laugh, rolling his eyes.

"Damn, where you been? Carry a gun, go to jail, duh?" He shook his head again.

"Oh," I muttered.

"Ain’t ‘bout goin’ to no jail," He clarified.

He observed me a few, then pedaled up the driveway. I watched him, captivated, those familiar longings resurfacing. Fearing anything other than my memories could prove dangerous, I looked at him one more time, then got in my car.

Suddenly, he was in the garage again, circling that empty space. His taut ass raised high, it swiveled as he pumped the pedals. As he circled, he caught me looking. He stared at me, pedaling towards the car, then swerved off, riding back out the garage. I watched him in my rear view mirror. He rode down the driveway, into the street this time, circling a few times on the pavement. The whole time, he kept glancing at the garage. I watched him a while longer, then, tiring of his games, I started my car.

"You got some films?" He asked, suddenly at my window. Startled, I answered yes, but that they were gay. He shook his head, then looked down, spitting on the ground.

"I think I have a straight magazine," I added. He looked suspiciously around, apparently concerned with detection now.

"Wait till I’m inside, then just come to the door when it’s clear," I instructed, turning my car off. He stared at me a few seconds, then zipped off.

My heart racing, I rifled through stacks of magazines, praying I’d find that one straight mag I’d bought, some time ago. So much time had passed, I became concerned he’d lost interest. Stopping to frequently peek at the front door, I’d returned to the stash in my room when a light tap sounded at my door. Dropping the handful of magazines I had, I dashed to the door.

Jamir stood outside, nervously glancing about until I opened the door. "Dang nigga, took you so long?" He assailed, darting inside. "Close the door," He insisted, looking nervously through the security screen. I complied, closing the door, then turned to face him.

"I… I didn’t find it yet," I submitted, looking toward my room. Following my gaze, he took a few tentative steps in that direction.

"They in there?" He asked, peering around the door.

"Uh… yeah," I said, stepping into my room. He stood in the door, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Like… what they be doin’?" He finally asked, stepping precariously into my room.

"Why don’t you kick it here, and I’ll put one on," I said, motioning at my bed. He stared at it like it was some foreign object from the planet Zeton, then looked up at me. As I moved to the VCR, he darted his eyes at me, anxiously observing my actions. No sudden moves, I reminded myself, slowly finishing the last two steps toward the VCR.

Turning it on, I additionally turned on the TV. A tape was already in the VCR, one of my favorite scenes already in progress. I looked back and noticed that he’d half sat, half laid on my bed. His feet on the floor, he was resting uneasily on his elbows. His eyes glued to the set, he watched in wonder as an older man eagerly sucked a young looking guy’s huge dick.

Fearing any motion from me might distract him, I stood by the bed, glancing frequently at him. The thuggish looking younger guy was making quiet moans of satisfaction as the older guy worked him. Jamir stared at the TV, a bulge slowly growing in his pants. Licking and lapping at the younger guy’s balls, the man lifted his legs, languorously licking downward until he dragged his tongue across the boy’s upturned asshole.

"Ugggh!" Jamir ejected, sitting up. "That’s nasty!"

I watched him, wondering if he’d loose interest but he said nothing, staring raptly at the TV. The man was in a full munch fest now, his face mashed between the moaning boy’s cheeks. Jamir stared, that bulge in his pants unavoidable now then, he glanced up at me.

"That what you be doin’?" As I searched for an answer, he added, "What these niggas doin’, doin’ nasty shit like that?"

"It’s like eatin’ pussy," I tried to explain, glancing at the TV.

Frustrated, he sucked air through his teeth. "Naw, I mean… how niggas like them doin’ shit like that?"

"’Cause they hard?"

"Yeah. Where you get this shit?" He looked up at me.

"Porn store in the village," I submitted. He shook his head in disbelief.

A loud groan echoed from the TV, pulling us back to the action. Shuddering and writhing, the younger guy groaned as the older guy slipped a finger up his asshole. Jamir stared at the TV, reclining on his right elbow, his left hand idly cupping his growth. Risking it all, I squatted and pulled his shoe off. He stirred, a little startled by my touch, but said nothing, wiggling his toes when I removed his sock. I repeated the sequence on his other foot, glancing up at his groin when I’d finished.

He stared at the TV, his legs parted, idly nibbling on his fingernails. Running my hands up his thighs, I groped his growth. He flinched, looking momentarily at me, then back at the TV. I opened his pants, then lowered his boxers below his balls. His dick stood proudly, seven inches of hardness jutting from his groin. Watching me intently, he let out a small hiss when I slipped my mouth around it.

Holding it upright, I slid my mouth up and down his length. He quivered, his eyes darting anxiously from me to the TV. His hips gyrated, small groans escaping him as his dick speared upwards, brick hard. Behind me I heard the boy on the TV groaning seductively. Aware that the fuck scene was now playing out before his eyes, I pulled Jamir’s pants and boxers down. He offered no protest, his dick dangerously close, until I motioned to remove them. Snatching at his disappearing clothes, he made a half hearted attempt to pull them back up. I licked at the head of his dick and he soon forgot about it, pushing his hips up instead.

I completed the task, lowering his pants and boxers off his feet, tossing them aside. He spread his legs, his smooth thigh muscles flexing. I held his dick upright once more, this time lapping at the sensitive underside. He wiggled and sighed, spreading his legs wider. Then I lapped downward, licking about his almost hairless balls.

He hissed loudly, laying back, his legs parting still more. Turning my head about his tight orbs, I painted them with saliva. He writhed and hissed, his legs well gapped now then froze when he felt me licking further southward. I licked heartily about his perineum, evoking twitches and moans, then lifted his legs, my heart in my throat as I licked still further downward.

Quivering wildly, he let out a surprised yelp when my tongue dabbled at his tight dimple. He offered the standard protest, commenting that that was "nasty", his hands pushing me away but his ass couldn’t resist the incredible sensations. When I returned to his balls, he relaxed, offering no additional protest when I lapped downward, between his warm cheeks again.

My face shoved between his luscious cheeks, I stroked his leaking seven inches, mirroring the scene he’d seen earlier. Trembling and grunting, his dick writhed in my fingers, drawing him swiftly closer to his release.

"Umm!" He grunted, his toes curling, then I felt his dick spasm, great plumes of hot cum suddenly airborne, raining down onto his quivering stomach. My tongue probing his tight hole, he allowed a quiet moan, another spurting jet of cum leaping from his dick. Quivering and spurting until he’d emptied, he paused just long enough for me to retrieve a towel and clean him up, then immediately jumped up, snatching his clothes on. Pushing his feet into his tennis, he glanced at the TV, then glared at me, hurrying towards the door. Readjusting his softening dick in his pants, he was all scowls as he left.

I saw him around the neighborhood, following that incident but he was extremely distant, scowling extra hard at me if he was with his friends. How these boys do it, I can’t imagine but had I been introduced to the things they’d done with me at their age, there’s no way I could’ve feigned disinterest.

Bumping into him at the corner store one day, I thought he’d at least acknowledge me but he did no such thing. Head down, he passed me, wandering to the opposite side of the store. He’s got his honor to protect I reasoned, making my purchases.

Time passed, Jamir palling it up with his friends, dropping hoops with them in Troy’s driveway and I made efforts to move on. My heart aching, I noticed he’d acquired a new habit. Riding the neighborhood on his bike or kicking it with the fellas, I observed him going shirtless. Often sporting a doo-rag, his only other attire was his drooping pants and tennis. Drooling at him from my window, I lusted for his sleek, smooth chest, a pair of swollen boy knobs dotting each pec.

Then, like before, he just showed up. His voice calling my name through the security door, I was startled by the strange sound. Peering around the door to my office, I gazed at him through the door. Straining through the screen he searched for shapes between anxious glances over his shoulder.

I opened the screen and he scurried inside, his smooth skin brushing erotically against my arm. "Took you so long?" He accosted, nervously regarding the open door. "Hey, can you close that," He insisted.

Shirtless, he stood uneasily in my living room, that expectant look on his face again. Captivated, I approached him, my fingers timidly reaching for his exposed nipples. When I fondled them, he squirmed, his face screwing into an irked grimace.

"Aw, com’on D, why you gots to play with my tits?" His hands raised above his head like a cornered criminal, he sucked air through his teeth, shaking his head. "Com’on, D, just do it, a’ight?"

"Dang man, com’on," He persisted, backing away. "None of that faggot shit this time."

His dick extending in my mouth, he wedged it further, lodging it in my throat. Another hiss escaping him, he trembled, sweat popping out on his smooth chest. Air moving rapidly about his lungs, he sighed and hissed, looking excitedly down at me. In minutes, his dick hardened, bumping along my lapping tongue.

Crying out, he suddenly grabbed my head, raising up on his toes. "Shit!" He yelped, pitching forward. Grabbing my shoulders, he steadied himself, his dick leaping on my tongue. Warm jets of thick cum squirting from his swollen head, his breath hitched in his throat. Another volley leaping from his dick, he exhaled, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Over and over he spurted, my mouth filling with his warm issue, until finally, his store was exhausted.

A look of utter confusion on his face, he pushed his dick back in his pants, readjusting it as he headed for the door.

Sometimes I try to imagine what these boys must be going through. When I was their age, there was no avoiding it, I liked boys. While I wasn’t cavalier about it, wearing it on my shoulder, as it were, I still couldn’t deny my attraction. Between trysts, I’d sometime question my orientation. Did my messing around with my friends mean I was gay? Would I always be gay? But all those questions went out the door, the minute the urge hit.

How did these boys go such long periods without another steamy session? Did images of us together slip into their jack off fantasies? Or were they able to go so long because they actually found sex with their ladies gratifying? If so, what was the driving force that eventually led them back to my door?

The few times I saw Jamir around the neighborhood, he acted as if I didn’t exist. Head down, he’d whiz by me on his bike or totally avoid me on some occasions. Entering my building one day, I heard Troy taunting him, opposite our fence.

"Been hearing you hang out with that punk next door," He goaded.

"You a Got-damn lie," Jamir bristled, standing. Glancing at me over the shrubbery covered fence he added, "Think I be hangin’ with a faggot like that fo’?"

Troy and his crew laughed, slapping each other five as I entered my apartment. There are times I wonder why I stay in this neighborhood? There were more ‘gay-friendly’ parts of town, parts where I wouldn’t have to endure such taunts. Why didn’t I pack it all up and just leave?

Sometime after that dark day, I decided to rent a movie for the evening. Treating myself to dinner at my favorite Thai restaurant, I stopped at my video store on the way home and rented "The Rookie", starring Dennis Quaid, for obvious reasons. (Hey if I have to tell you why, you’re probably in the wrong place, lol!)

The movie didn’t show the one boy I wanted to see enough but, all in all, it wasn’t bad. As the credits rolled, I took my empty microwave popcorn bag and dirty dishes to the kitchen. Returning to the living room, I turned the VCR and TV off, darkening the room.

"Hey?" a voice called.

Startled, I looked toward the security screen and there, in the dark stood Jamir, his face pressed against the mesh. Though I couldn’t believe it, part of me was not surprised. Approaching the door, I gazed at him through the mesh.

"Oh, you tryin’ to play me now, huh?" Staring at me through the door, he sounded a little anxious.

"Better watch out Jamir," I taunted "don’t want to be seen with the faggot." With a nervous grin he replied, "How you gon’ trip ‘bout that? What was I supposed to do?" Looking over his shoulder he looked back through the door. "Com’on D," He petitioned. Wondering if I needed my head examined, I opened the door.

As usual, he squeezed past me, before I could close the door as if someone was hot on his heels. Quieting himself, he looked expectantly at me.

"Can’t figure out why you’re here, Jamir," I stated. "It can’t be because you want to be with the faggot next door."

"Man you gon’ keep trippin’ I’ll just leave," He snapped. I said nothing, waiting for him to back it up.

"Fuckit," He spat, storming towards the door. Reaching to open it, he paused. With a loud huff, he turned, his face a study in frustration.

"Why you got to act so stupid?" He assailed.

"Damn, you just don’t get it, do you? I’m acting stupid?"

Utterly frustrated, he rolled his eyes, pacing before the door. Somewhat concerned with his display of anger, I looked around for something to arm myself with, should the need arise. I’d decided the lamp on the table should do when he stopped, a distraught look replacing his anger.

"You think I wanna be like this?" He implored. "You think I wanna be lying to my peeps? Sneakin’ over hear on the low-low and sittin’ in my room, tryin’ not to think ‘bout what we do? Damn, you don’t get it! How many times can you jack off? How many times can you keep fakin’ it with the ladies and makin’ up excuses? Shit is fucked up."

Truly disturbed, he snatched the door open. "Jamir," I called, walking up behind him. Closing the door, I turned him around.

"They stole my bike," He said, his eyes moist. Angrily batting back tears, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Sit down," I said, directing him to the couch. He sat precariously on the edge, staring into the distance, his face set. "Fuck Troy," He muttered.

"When’d they take it?" He looked at me, distracted.

"Two days ago."

Plopping back on the couch, he slouched, staring at the ceiling. I thought to offer a new bike but figuring it’d probably make more problems, didn’t. He sat in silence for some time, that troubled look on his face, then quietly inquired, "How you do it?"

"I’m old enough, I don’t have to worry about Troy and what he thinks. You, on the other hand have to be careful."

He sat forward, resting his chin on his fists. "Wish I could just disappear," he mumbled.

We sat in the dark, listening to the sounds of a dog’s barks in the distance, and the crickets outside my window. Imagining he’d dealt with a lot, I felt empathy for him. A boy his age should be throwing a ball with his friend, I thought, not struggling with adult issues.

After some time, he looked up at me, a curious look on his face.

"What’d you think, first time you saw me at yo’ door?"

I chuckled, "That you was part of a setup. Didn’t you see the way I was looking?"

"Naw, not then."

"Oh," I said, comprehending. "That you was the cutest thing I’d ever seen," I finally declared. "Even though you still looked like you could jack me or something, those hard assed eyes of yours." He smiled, I believe for the first time. It was a beautiful smile, belying the youth within. With an intent look on his face, he asked, "How old was you, your first time?"

"’Bout your age.

"Yeah, who?" He asked, sitting up.

"My cousin from down south. He was ‘bout 17 and tall and dark, just like you."

"Where’d you do it?"

"In my daddy’s car. He’d let us use it to go bowling because Willy was old enough to drive. Least, that’s what we told him we were going to do. We never made it to the bowling alley though. Willy drove around and we talked and talked and I couldn’t remember feeling closer to anyone in my life. My heart was pounding and my hands were sweaty and I didn’t care where we were going, long as I could stay with Willy.

"Then he passes this park and he says ‘What’s that?’ and I told him it was Pinewood park and he says, ‘Wanna stop?’ and of course I said yeah." Jamir stared at me, hanging on my every word. "He didn’t even have to ask me. He just put his hand on my leg and I knew what was up. He got me off four times that night and was still coming back for more. If we didn’t have to get pops car back, we probably would’ve spent the night there," I chuckled, a bulge developing in my pants.

"What happened when he left?"

"I just ‘bout died."

He looked at me a minute then, his face a work of frustration, he blurted, "Why I cain’t do it with a lady?" He paused, that far off look in his eyes again. "I tried but…" Drifting off, he glanced at me. His face screwing into a scowl, he spat, "Man, I ain’t gon’ be no fag."

"It’s not you," I attested. He cut his eyes at me, almost as if he thought I was being cynical.

"You ever wish you wasn’t like this?"

"Some."

I observed the way he was struggling with himself and fell deeply for him. His oval shaped eyes filled with questions, he was but a boy, searching for answers. That I’d had someone to talk to, during those days after Willy left.

I wanted so bad to hug him. To pull him to me and just feel his warmth next to me but we hadn’t moved to that level and I was still unsure what he’d allow. We sat, content with the silence for some time.

"So what about that drink?" He asked. Remembering the drink I’d offered that first time, I went to the kitchen to finally make good on it. Pouring us both a glass of Sunny D, I grabbed some cookies, returning to the living room.

He’d removed his shoes, and socks. Wiggling his toes idly in the carpet, a lopsided grin crept around the corners of his mouth. A bit stunned, I froze, staring at him. From his piercing, brown eyes to his sleek, brown form, I devoured him with my eyes, eventually returning to his feet. He looked down, as if noticing them for the first time. Sliding them slightly away from him, he wiggled his toes again, this time looking directly at me.

I set the food down, walking to him. He lay back, eyeing me with those fierce eyes. Like that first time, they seemed urgent, demanding action. Kneeling between his legs, I traced my hands up his thighs, sensing the warm flesh beneath the jeans. He squirmed, a little uneasy but a bulge was developing in his pants.

"Take yo’ shoes off," He requested, glancing at my feet. I reached behind me, pulling my shoes, then my socks off, returning to his taut package, stroking it through his pants. I was about to unzip his pants when I felt his feet on mine. Curiously caressing the soles of my feet with his toes, he gazed at me, that lopsided grin on his face.

I opened his pants, pulling them and his boxers down and off his feet. He spread his legs wider, his feet curiously exploring my legs now. His dick sat up hard from his exposed groin, a downy patch of hair just above it the only covering, his legs smooth. I stroked it, squeezing a clear droplet of boy essence out. He planted his feet on the floor and thrust his hips upward, extending his wand wickedly into my hand.

Suddenly sitting forward, he snatched his shirt off, tossing it aside. Drawn to his wide, erotic nipples, I moved one hand up his torso, encircling a tender nub in my fingers. He hissed, his dick swelling in my other hand as he pumped his hips. Tossing his torso about, he arched his back, pushing his nipples at me. Then, to my surprise, he grabbed my hand and guided it over to his other nipple. This was a side of Jamir I’d never seen. He was literally on fire.

His toes wiggling in the carpet, he writhed, softly calling my name as I fondled him. Emboldened, I moved over him, lowering to suckle one of his ripe buds. He shuddered when I enclosed it in my mouth, his hands suddenly about my head, holding me tight against him. Swirling my tongue about the swollen pap I delighted in how it felt in my mouth. The broad areola, the darting, brown nipple, dancing on my tongue.

Writhing and shuddering, he wrapped his legs about my waist, his feet resting above my ass. The heat from his groin smoldering beneath me, I pushed against him. He rubbed his dick against my belly, drips from his oozing head staining my clothes. Breaking just long enough to snatch my clothes off, I returned to his hungry embrace, drawing his other nipple in my mouth. He moaned and writhed, his bare feet on my naked back sensuous.

Lapping and suckling his sensitive nipple, I feasted, his body a tasty treat. "Aaahh, Dwayne," He groaned, thrusting his swollen gland into my mouth. Swathing my tongue across his pert nipple, I felt it erect, sitting out from his smooth chest. Trembling, Jamir dug his heels into my back, his toes wiggling in mid-air.

Licking down his chest, I followed his thin breastplate, licking downward, over his taut stomach muscles. They rippled beneath my ministrations, then quivered when I swabbed my tongue inside his navel. His feet still dangling in mid-air, his toes curled, folding atop his wrinkled soles. He writhed and groaned as I dabbed at his belly button, a look of surprise on his face.

I finally released him, licking still further down, amidst his wiry patch of dark pubic hair. He watched me captivated as I lapped a few times, wetting his curly hair. Then, his head thrown back, he gasped when I enveloped his dick in my mouth. Slumping on the couch, his ass hovered over the edge, his feet about my head as I sucked his stiff hardness.

Gyrating his hips, he thrust it in my mouth, scraping the sensitive underbelly against my swirling tongue. That he’d never lowered his legs intrigued me. Raised high and slightly parted, his asshole lay exposed, just below his tight, roiling balls. Taking his position as an invitation, I licked still further down, pausing at his taut orbs.

He spread his legs as before, his toes dancing to the thrill of wet lips on his sensitive balls. I painted them, turning my head about each warm sphere, my tongue erotically swabbing them. He reached his hands between his legs, his long fingers running through my hair. With each new sensation he let out small grunts and sighs, his balls wet with my saliva now. Then, hoping he wouldn’t object, I moved further down, across his quivering perineum, en route to his tight hole. He gasped, raising his legs even higher, spreading them for full access. I looked up at him, his newfound willingness intoxicating, watching as I licked down…down…down, finally across his pin tight hole.

Had Jamir been wanting this all along? Had this forbidden memory, crept into his fantasies as he stroked his throbbing erection, haunting him? His legs spread wide enough to almost open his asshole, he writhed and moaned, his tight pucker spasming beneath my dabbling tongue. Over and over I swabbed my tongue across the length of his warm valley, painting his hairless slot with spittle. But it was when I worked his winking hole he shuddered the most. His long toes wiggling about, he’d gasp and writhe.

Taking a big chance, I wet a finger in my mouth, substituting it for my tongue. He flinched, sensing the wet digit, sluicing across his quivering hole but said nothing, his eyes closed. Working my middle finger back and forth across his wet hole, I watched to see if he’d protest when I ventured to direct it inside.

He grunted, his toes clenching down atop his soles then, his hand shot between his legs, grabbing my hand. "Com’on D," He contested, looking warily at me, "why you always got to do the faggot stuff?" He wasn’t as willing as I’d thought.

Raising up, I got between his legs, moving almost face to face with him. He recoiled, his eyes fierce once more. "What’d you say, first time you saw that guy eating that boy’s ass out?"

"It’s nasty," He asserted.

"And how’d it feel when I did it to you?" He looked away. "Give it a chance," I suggested, reaching between us to stroke his stiffness. Despite his objections, his dick swelled in my hand.

"But that’s faggot," He protested.

"It feels good," I countered, running my finger across his tight hole. He closed his eyes, a passionate sigh escaping him, his legs involuntarily spreading. "Dang D, you nasty," he charged, peering between his legs to watch me diddle him. Another gasp ringing out, he writhed on my stroking finger, his head thrown back once more.

Wetting my finger again, I aimed it at his tight hole, this time pushing it in. "Choo doin’?" He groaned, his asshole wiggling on my finger. Working more inside, I searched for his hot spot, massaging my finger against the tight walls of his warm channel. Occasionally, he’d flinch, my finger apparently causing him discomfort but he didn’t move to stop me.

Those hard eyes of his watching my every move, I’d never been so attracted to him before. As with that first time, they showed his soul, expectantly waiting to see what I’d do. Daring to trust me, he sat up on his elbows, his feet atop my back once more, his legs spread as I fingered him. Enduring the small discomfort, he emitted a hushed groan when I found his spot. His eyes wide, he thrust his hips upward, trembling to the new sensation.

Probing his swollen prostate, it rolled around on my fingertip. He gasped, his eyes flinging wide with surprise, then moaned, his pelvis rotating lewdly. Taking my time, I sluiced my finger back and forth, across his tender gland, stoking the fires. His dick sprang up, standing almost vertical to his groin, warm drops of clear boy juice trickling down its side. He whimpered and gasped, digging his heels into my back as he pumped his hips, his eyes still filled with wonderment. Holding him with my eyes, I stroked him, enjoying his every whimper and shudder.

"Be right back," I said, pulling out. He looked at me like I’d stolen something from him. I quickly returned, hiding the items I’d retrieved beside the couch, raising his legs once more. He looked at me confused, until I lolled my tongue across his upturned asshole.

Excitedly wiggling his toes, he let out another passionate groan, his quivering rosebud dancing on my tongue. In time, he was bone hard again, completely involved. I reached among the items and found the lube. Pouring a healthy amount on my hand, I lubed my finger up, returning it to his hole. He gasped again, sensing the now lubed finger easily slipping inside him. Fighting back cries of elation, he wrapped his legs about me, writhing helplessly atop my invading digit.

His dick bobbling in mid-air, it oozed stickiness again, dribbling down his hard column. No doubt, had I stroked it just a little, he would’ve blown like a Roman candle. The lube enhancing the sensitivity inside his tunnel, his prostate swelled, ricocheting electric bolts of fire up his tube. He was trembling almost uncontrollably now, tiny beads of perspiration popping out on his forehead.

Retrieving yet another item from my secret stash, I quickly opened a condom, slipping it on. He raised up, trying to see what I was doing but I lifted his legs, laying him back on the couch. Playing with his hole a little while longer, I aimed my well lubed boy-reamer at his virgin orifice. His eyes staring at the ceiling, they widened when my hardness pressed against his tight aperture.

"Ain’t no fag," he asserted, staring at ceiling. "Ain’t no fag," he kept saying over and over until the flared knob of my dick wedged inside him.

"Ahh!" He yelped, raising his hips. "Take it out, take it out!" He whined reaching between his legs for my dick. I held it inside him, stroking his throbbing tool instead. A look of confusion on his face, he pushed at me in an attempt to remove my dick, all the while gyrating his hips when I stroked his pulsing seven inches.

Moaning loudly, he grimaced as more of my dick advanced. The situation tentative, I played with his throbbing boy toy in an effort to coax him back. “Hurts,” he voiced, his face pained. Trying to find a combination of moves to bring him around, I pushed forward, advancing more of my dick, then pulled out. He whimpered, his eyes darkening. Holding his slender hips, I took a big risk, sliding inside him nearly to the root.

His eyes widening, his toes curled to the strange sensation. A look of stunned pleasure on his face, he no longer seemed in pain. Quickly pulling back out, I held his hips again, reversing direction, my entire length slipping across his sensitive prostate. He cried out, writhing on my impaling girth, a passionate whimper escaping him when my dick hit bottom.

His dick wickedly hard it dangled above his stomach, a drop of clear boy juice pearled atop its swollen head. Lost in a sensory overload of sensations, he looked at me astonished, his quivering asshole snapped tight around the head of my withdrawing dick. Before he could process it all, he let out another gasp my dick sinking home once more, ravaging his raw prostate.

“Dwayne,” He cooed, locking his legs about me. Pulling back out, the tight lips of his asshole tugged at my withdrawing dick, massaging every inch so, I thought I’d blow. Trembling, I pulled back until just the head was lodged inside his quivering orifice. Then, writhing and moaning, he dug his heels into my back, my dick thrusting back inside. His eyes flinging wide, he stared at me, desperately struggling to process all the sensations assaulting him.

“Dang, you fuckin’ me,” He marveled, watching my dick slide inside him. “Ahh, shit!!” He yelled, throwing his head back.

His legs nearly strangling me now, he held on, his hips involuntarily pumping once more. “Damn, you fuckin’ me,” He asserted, gazing at his violated hole. Picking the rhythm up, we fell in sync, his hips involuntarily rising to meet my down thrusts. His eyes alternating between his well reamed hole and mine, he moaned and whimpered, still surprised at what he was doing. “Oh, Dwayne, you fuckin’ me,” he repeated, humping himself down atop my dick. “You fuckin’ my ass… ahhh!”

Pounding him now, I wrapped my arms about his heaving chest. He locked his hands behind my neck, holding on for dear life, unable to resist peering between us to watch my dick plow him. “Damn!” He bellowed, the site of our union extremely stimulating. “Oh shit, you fuckin’ me!”

His head thrown back, his toes curled as he let out a wail, ramming himself clear down to the root of my dick. Rotating his hips atop the full length of my dick, he bellowed, his asshole spasming madly around every inch. Like a wicked milking machine, it found the cum in my balls, wave after wave undulating up the entire length of his tunnel, snatching the substance from my balls.

I yelled now, my head thrown back as my dick fired, propelling hot loops of cum deep inside his spasming hole. He yelled likewise, his dick launching angry pelts of thick cum at my quivering stomach. Like a rapid fire machine gun, his dick spurted, cascading round after round of wet potency at me, wetting my chest, my stomach, one even leaping to pelt my chin.

I can’t say who shot the most that night, my dick equally unleashing untold rounds inside him but after what seemed an eternity, we both eventually emptied, our recoiling dicks firing blanks, still unable to stop spasming. Jamir was still locked down on my dick, his asshole performing wonders as it convulsed and quivered, uncontrollably. He moaned and whimpered, squeezing his ass muscles, wringing the last vestiges of indescribable pleasure from his plugged hole. Although I’d long since emptied, the sensation of his hungry asshole, whipping about the length of my dick wouldn’t let it rest. We moaned and writhed, both in ecstasy as we finally came down.

He fell onto the couch, my dick still lodged inside him, his dick still quivering. Idly squeezing his ass muscles, he occasionally lifted his hips, the sensation of a man’s dick, thrust inside him unbelievable. He didn’t want to let go, but eventually, he relaxed, allowing my dick to slip out.

Raising his head to glare at me, he warned, “Nigga, you ever tell anybody…” Then, as if realizing the absurdity of his admonition, he stopped, shaking his head.

“We’ll keep this on the low-low,” I said, lowering to kiss him on the forehead. In a flurry of extreme emotions, he grabbed my head and raising up to me meet me, amied directly for my mouth. We kissed for some time, Jamir whimpering and writhing, a soul set free.

“Do it again!” He gushed, locking his legs about me once more.

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