This work of fiction involves sexual contact between an adult man and an 11-year-old boy. The story is set in the late 1960s, so even if the 11-year-old had been real, he would be in his late fifties now and the adult would surely be deceased. If such stories offend you, remember that nobody is making you read this story. Come to think of it, what are you doing on this website in the first place? Stop reading now!
I really like feedback on my writing. Positive or negative, it helps me improve. Email me at jordan.bradders@writeme.com
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It was the Sunday after Labor Day, 1968. I’d turned eleven about a month before, and had been bugging my mom ever since to get me signed up for Boy Scouts. They’d announced sign-ups at school all week and at church that morning. I was champing at the bit to go on my first camp out.
I’d been in Cub Scouts since I was eight, but had been bored since I was nine. All the leaders were women and all we did was sit around doing arts and crafts. I couldn’t wait to go camping and hiking and all the other cool things the big boys did in Scouts. But when I walked into the church hall that evening, I got shy and hid behind my mom. We made our way over to the sign-up table and I watched as my mom filled out the papers to make me a Scout. I was so excited!
My mom sat me down at a table with some other boys and walked back over to talk with the Scoutmaster. I watched in dread, terrified that she was going to say something that would embarrass me. I ducked down, my face burning, when the man looked over at me and smiled.
My mom had been worried about me for years. I used to sit at the top of the stairs and listen while she talked with her friends after we were supposed to be in bed. I’d gotten into that habit when my dad was still around; I’d listen to their fights, determined to protect my mom if he ever hurt her.
When I was five, and we were still living in the city, I was caught with my best friend, Billy, down in the basement. We were having a sleep over and had set up a makeshift tent so we could pretend we were camping in the woods. Really, it was just a blanket we’d thrown over the pool table, but we were little and didn’t care. Billy’s mom caught us when she came down to bring us a snack. We were lying there on our sleeping bags, naked. I had his dick in my mouth, and he had mine in his, and we were sucking away. It wasn’t the first time, but we convinced her it was; that we’d been wrestling and got curious. I think she believed us, but the truth was, we’d been doing stuff like that for a while. We moved out of the city to our “dream house” in the suburbs just a few months later and I didn’t see Billy again until we were teenagers.
My mom was always talking about how I needed a man in my life because my dad was never around. I guess she was right because I was always watching the workmen who were building the houses going up on the edge of the neighborhood, and any other men I saw. There really weren’t that many men in my life, though. All of my teachers were women, and the priests at my church were pretty old and didn’t seem to like kids.
After a while the Scoutmaster nodded at my mom and then walked out into the center of the room. He put one arm up in the air, did something weird with his fingers, and said “Signs up,” in a booming voice. The room went quiet, and the uniformed Scouts formed up around him. An older boy called out “New Scouts, front and center!”
I noticed my mom gesturing at me so I got up and walked out to the center of the hall with the other boys. I was so excited I was shaking. This was my first Scout meeting!
The older boy introduced himself as Chris and said that he was the “Senior Patrol Leader.” He explained that he was the chief “boy leader,” then broke us up into small groups, each led by one of the older Scouts, who were called “Patrol Leaders.” Each took his group – mine was “Wolf Patrol” – to the outskirts of the big room, and told us to sit in a circle on the floor, “Indian style.” Jimmy, my Patrol Leader, explained that we’d be meeting the other members of our Patrol later in the week, but he had some things to teach us tonight. He taught us the Scout Oath and Law, and how to do the Scout Salute, Handshake, and Sign. That last one was the funny thing the Scoutmaster had done with his hand.
When Jimmy asked for a volunteer, my hand shot up. He had me put my arms out in front of me, then took a length of rope, wrapped it around my wrists, then around both arms, pulling them together like a pair of handcuffs, and demonstrated how to tie a square knot. When he had me tug at my bonds to show that I couldn’t get lose, my tummy felt funny and I shuddered. He grinned at me as he untied me, then told us to pair up and talked us through tying the knots ourselves. When we’d finished he gave us each a length of rope and had us tie them around our waists like belts. He explained that we’d be expected to do everything he’d just taught us at the meeting on Thursday, and that we couldn’t be Scouts until we did. Finally, he told us about the Scout Motto, explained what it meant to “do a good deed daily,” and said that we’d be expected to describe our “good deeds” at the meeting. Then Chris called us back and our Patrol Leaders formed us into a half circle around the Scoutmaster.
Mr. Taylor stood looking at us, a big smile on his face. I’ll never forget the first thing he said: “Welcome to the great adventure we call Scouting.” I don’t remember much else, but I do recall that when he looked at me, I got all tingly inside and my face felt hot. Just at that moment, Mr. Taylor nodded and smiled. I felt like I had a special connection with him, and found myself thinking “I wish he was my dad.”
My mom took me the next day to buy a Scout Uniform and Handbook. I begged her to get me some camping equipment, too, but she explained that the Troop had all that stuff and the Scoutmaster had told her not to buy any of it yet. Though I was used to arguing with her until she gave in, I didn’t this time. Mr. Taylor had said so.
I read that whole book by Thursday. I carried the rope with me all the time and tied square knots until my mom took it from me, laughing that I was going to get blisters on my fingers. I put on my uniform every night, and practiced the Scout Sign and salute, reciting the Scout Oath and Law over and over in front of the mirror. I know I made my mom crazy practicing the left-handed Scout handshake, but I was determined to be the best Scout Mr. Taylor had ever seen.
I was the oldest of four kids and my mom worked, so she didn’t have time to take me to meetings. I was thrilled when she told me that the Scoutmaster would be picking me up and taking me home. I was sitting on the bottom step in full uniform, obsessively tying and retying the square knot, a half-hour before he was scheduled to pick me up. I would have been ready even sooner but my mom had made me eat dinner with the family.
I don’t remember much about that first Scout meeting except that I was the only new Scout who completed all of the joining requirements that night. I’ll never forget what happened on the way home, though. We talked. Really talked. Mr. Taylor asked me all kinds of questions; and he listened to me! He wanted to know if I liked sports, and how I did in school, and my favorite subjects, and about my younger brother and sisters, and whether I was looking forward to Junior High School, and … you get the idea. When we pulled up in front of my house he put his hand on my leg and gave it a quick squeeze, and then told me how proud he was of me for completing the joing requirements so quickly. I literally shook with excitement and had trouble opening the car door. I wished more than anything in the world that Mr. Taylor could be my dad.
Wanting Mr. Taylor to be proud of me was such a great motivator that I completed the requirements for the “Tenderfoot” rank in no time. That included pitching my own tent, cooking, tying some knots, and some other things that I did on my first campout, only three weeks after joining. The best part of that campout weekend, though, was getting to spend time with Mr. Taylor, including almost an hour each way in his van.
We all met back at the church on Sunday afternoon. I waited while Mr. Taylor talked with some parents, and then climbed back into his van for the ride home. I was thrilled when he asked if I’d help him unload the camping equipment before he took me home. He backed the van into his garage, then I helped him stow all of the gear. I didn’t know it but this was to become a routine for me.
He invited me into his house, offered me a Coke, and then went to the phone to call my mom. After a minute, he asked for my number and redialed, a puzzled look on his face. “Hmmm … it looks like your mom must have gone out for a while. I guess you’ll have to stay here until I can get you home.” I had a house key in my pocket and knew that my mom wouldn’t mind me being home alone, but I agreed, not really wanting to leave.
Mr. Taylor turned on the TV and handed me the remote, then said “I’m going to take a shower.” Leaving his bedroom door open, he called out “I’ll be right back here if you need anything.”
I flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch, but when I heard the water running in the shower I suddenly needed to pee. I looked around for a bathroom, but finding none as my urgency grew I ran towards the sound of the shower. Afraid that I might embarrass myself by wetting my pants, I called out and asked if there was another bathroom.
Mr. Taylor stuck his head out and laughed “Nope … just this one, but we’re both men. Go ahead. Just don’t flush while I’m in here.”
I stood at the toilet and carefully directed my stream into the bowl, my mind reeling at the word “men.” I flushed out of force of habit and then winced. “Sorry, Mr. Taylor. I forgot.” I was relieved when he laughed. I washed my hands and went back out into the living room. While I waited I looked around the little house, imagining what it would be like to live there with him.
When the sound of the shower stopped I ran back and sat on the couch. Mr. Taylor walked out in a pair of gym shorts, vigorously rubbing his hair with a towel. I guess I must have been staring because he laughed and asked “Something wrong, kiddo?”
When I blushed, shook my head, and looked away, the man dropped onto the couch next to me and said “It’s okay, Jordan. It’s natural to be curious. You can ask me anything you want.” He stretched his arms out along the back of the couch, which gave me an unobstructed view of his hairy underarms and torso.
We sat that way for a few minutes but I was too shy to ask him any questions or even look away from the TV. I was curious – I’d never been that close to an almost naked man before – but I was just too scared. After a few minutes he got up and picked up the phone. This time my mom answered so he got dressed and drove me home.
Our Troop was well known for a really active schedule, including at least one outdoor activity a month and sometimes more. October was no exception. At our next meeting, Chris, the Senior Patrol Leader, announced that we’d be attending a Camporee at the end of the month.
The next few weeks were a blur of activity as we worked to prepare. Chris had explained that Camporees were more than campouts; they were competitions in which Troops could show off their skills. Chris clearly wanted to win; and even though Mr. Taylor claimed otherwise I could see that he wanted that trophy just as much.
When the Senior Patrol Leader asked for volunteers to help get the Troop’s equipment cleaned up, he laughed when he saw that my hand was up first. He announced that we’d be meeting Saturday morning at Mr. Taylor’s house and that the “uniform of the day” was to be play clothes. “We’re gonna get dirty,” he laughed.
I was up early and skipped my routine of cold cereal and Saturday morning cartoons. When my mom asked when I’d be home, I just shrugged and promised to call if it was going to be too late. She nodded, and I was on my way, peddling my bike the short distance to the Scoutmaster’s house.
I got there so early that Mr. Taylor wasn’t even dressed yet. He peeked out then opened the door, standing aside because he was wearing only briefs. Laughing, he said “My … what an eager boy. We aren’t starting for another hour.” Pointing at the couch, he tossed me the remote and walked into his bedroom to get dressed.
I knew we weren’t supposed to start until 9AM. I’d gotten there early because I wanted to spend some time alone with Mr. Taylor. I followed him and stood in his open bedroom door, asking questions about the Camporee and about what I would have to do to earn the next rank, while he dressed. As before, I was very curious, but this time wasn’t as shy, letting my eyes linger on his hairy body. He didn’t seem to mind and made no effort to hide his nakedness when he pulled off his briefs and tossed them in the hamper. I felt a stirring in the pit of my stomach and had to struggle to remain still but I didn’t drop my eyes this time.
Once dressed, Mr. Taylor sat me down at the kitchen table and took out a worn copy of the Boy Scout Handbook. I felt a flush of pride when he commented that he’d never seen a boy earn Tenderfoot so fast. Then he showed me where I could find the requirements for Second Class Scout. I’d already gone over these at home but pretended this was the first time I’d seen them. He explained that I’d be able to complete many of the requirements at the Camporee the next weekend, but that I wouldn’t be able to advance until I’d been on a few more Scout activities. Then the other boys started to arrive and it was time to get to work.
Chris was right. We did get dirty; me more than most. The biggest stuff was stored neatly on shelves in the garage or in the van, but some of the smaller items were up in the attic. While the bigger boys carried the tents, tarps, tables, stoves and other things out into the back yard, the Senior Patrol Leader directed me to a small hatch in the ceiling. Because I was the smallest boy present, really the smallest in the troop, I was elected to climb up into the attic and drop things down to the other boys. It was hot, dusty and dark up there, but I didn’t stop until the last of the equipment was piled in the garage below.
The day went fast and we got a lot of work done when we weren’t roughhousing or eating pizza. By 3 o’clock, we had all of the gear cleaned, repaired and stowed, either in the van, or back on the shelves. I was climbing on my bike, tired but happy, when Mr. Taylor stopped me. I nodded and followed him back into the garage when he asked if I could stay and help him get the rest of the smaller items back in the attic.
I climbed back up the little ladder and stood with my body half in the attic, while the big man handed up one item after another. Once they were all piled in the attic, I climbed up to stack them in their place by the back wall. Mr. Taylor stuck his head through the opening, nodding his approval. I shook with pleasure when he praised me, saying “You do nice work, Jordy. I can’t even fit up there, so I couldn’t have done this without you.”
I guess I must have pushed myself too hard that day, between the work and the heat in the attic, but I got dizzy and fell as I climbed down the ladder. Mr. Taylor caught me in his arms and carried me into the house like I was one of those manikins they use to teach CPR. He dropped me onto his bed, a look of concern in his eyes. That look turned to alarm when he touched my forehead. “You’re burning up,” he said as he strode into the bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth and draped it over my forehead, then unbuttoned my shirt. He went back for a few more washcloths, and put one under each of my armpits. I felt better immediately but didn’t say so because I was enjoying him taking care of me. No man had ever done that before, either.
Mr. Taylor continued to care for me, leaving my side only to refresh the cold, wet washcloths, and to get me water to drink. When he could see that I was feeling better, he started to remove the washcloths, and laughed. “You’re filthy, boy! You’d better get a shower and rinse off this mud.” He helped me sit up, pulled off my shirt, and leaned down to take off my shoes and socks. Then he stood me up and helped me take off my pants, leaving me covered only by my briefs, and walked me to the shower. Helping me in, he said “I think you can take it from here,” and closed the shower curtain. I stripped off my underwear and tossed it out on the floor, then turned on the water. Once he saw that I was okay, he said “I’m gonna go call your mom and let her know what happened.”
I jumped out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor, and ran after him. “No! Don’t call my mom! She won’t let me go camping next weekend. Please!” I stood there, naked and dripping, staring up into his eyes.
He stared back at me for a few seconds as if thinking then ushered me back into the bathroom and helped me back into the shower. Taking some towels from the closet, he mopped up the water, still apparently thinking. “I won’t call yet. You get cleaned up and we’ll talk.” Then he picked up the towels and my now sodden briefs and walked out of the room.
I finished my shower quickly, not wanting to give him time to change his mind. I dried myself, and when I saw that my clothes were gone I wrapped one of his towels around me. It was big enough that I had to wrap it around myself twice, and though it was up under my armpits it still dangled almost to the floor.
I walked out feeling like I was wearing one of my mom’s dresses and found him loading the towels and my clothes into the washing machine. I stood there, waiting, and trying to figure out how to convince him not to call my mom. I knew how much she worried about me and was sure she wouldn’t let me go camping.
He gestured towards the couch and I walked over there, but waited for him to sit down. Then I sat down right next to him, my side pressed against his, and said “Please don’t call my mom. She treats me like a baby. She won’t let me go camping.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs, but not moving away from me. “Well,” he said slowly, “you seem to be fine now. You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and said “That happens to me sometimes. It’s not a big deal, but it makes my mom crazy. She gets all scared, and won’t even let me out of the house. Please don’t tell her. I don’t wanna miss the Camporee.”
Mr. Taylor handed me the remote and dropped a magazine in his lap. I thought I’d seen his pants tenting out, but said nothing. “We might as well relax while we wait for your clothes. Then I’ll take you home. No way am I gonna let you ride your bike after this.” He stretched his arm out behind me and I curled into his side, loving the feel of my body nestled against his. Though he opened the magazine he never looked at it, but turned and looked at me every few seconds as if thinking.
I started at the sound of the washing machine buzzer, reflexively pressing myself into the man’s side and burying my face in his chest. When he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close, that was the highlight of my day. He held me that way for a moment then got up and put my clothes in the dryer. When he came back and sat down next to me he seemed much more relaxed. He didn’t cross his legs or cover his lap this time, just held me close. ‘Like a father with his son,’ I thought happily.
When the dryer stopped, I dropped my towel into the washer and dressed in front of Mr. Taylor, not even turning my back. Then we went out and loaded my bike into the back of his van so he could drive me home.
The next night all of my plans were wrecked. My mom learned that a distant relative, someone I’d never even met, had died. She said that we’d be leaving Wednesday to go to the funeral and would be gone all weekend. I begged and pleaded, even arguing that I couldn’t afford to miss three days at school, but she said I wasn’t old enough to be left home alone. Heartbroken, I called Mr. Taylor to tell him I wouldn’t be able to make it to the Camporee. He listened to my explanation and then asked to talk with my mom. I called her to the phone hoping for a miracle; and I got one!
She talked with him for a few minutes, then thanked him and hung up the phone. Looking at me thoughtfully, she said “Mr. Taylor says you can stay with him while we’re gone. He doesn’t want you to miss the Camporee. I’ll let you if you promise to be on your best behavior and do everything he says.” I agreed, of course. After all, that was what I wanted more than anything else in the world.
Tuesday evening my mom drove me over to Mr. Taylor’s house to drop off my bags and talk with him. She made me repeat my promises of politeness and obedience, and thanked him over and over for his kindness.
When the school bus dropped me off the next day, I let myself into my house, got a snack, changed my clothes, grabbed some comic books and other essential supplies my mother hadn’t included, and rode my bike over to Mr. Taylor’s house. He wasn’t home from work yet but he’d said I could wait in the back yard. I fell asleep in a chaise lounge on his back porch and woke up to the delicious smell of hamburgers cooking on the grill only a few feet away. There was even a glass of iced tea on the table next to me. I knew immediately that this was going to be a great week!
I was just standing up when my host walked through the sliding glass door wearing only sandals and a pair of gym shorts. He stuck out his hand in a mock formal way and said “Welcome to Casa Taylor! Mi casa es su casa.” I didn’t know what that meant but it sounded like he was happy I was there. So was I.
We ate at the picnic table outside talking comfortably. One of the things I liked about Mr. Taylor was he never treated me like a kid; he talked to me like I was an adult. When he asked if I had any homework I told him I’d get right to it instead of arguing like I always did with my mom. Though it was easy I pretended to need help and was thrilled when he gave my shoulder a little squeeze while he leaned over me to see my work. When I was finished he suggested that I get a shower and change into my PJs before we sat down to watch some TV (VCRs hadn’t been invented, let alone DVDs or Blu-rays, so we were stuck with network TV).
I ran off to what I would soon come to think of as “my room” and undressed, then went through his bedroom to the bathroom. After showering I wrapped myself in a towel, went back to my room, and made a show of searching through my luggage for my PJs. They were there, of course, because my mom had packed my bags. But I pretended that I’d forgotten them and came out dressed only in my briefs and a tee-shirt.
Blushing, I explained that I’d forgotten my PJs. Mr. Taylor smiled and patted the place next to him on the couch and said what had thrilled me so much the previous weekend: that we were both men. We sat side by side; the man’s big arm draped across the back of the couch behind me, and watched TV. When I leaned against his side he brought his arm down and wrapped it around my narrow shoulders. I was in heaven!
Mr. Taylor shook me awake just as the 11 o’clock news was starting. I was sprawled out across the couch, my head on his thigh. I just about died from embarrassment when I saw I’d drooled on his bare leg. The man just laughed and said “Don’t worry, Jordy – I’m fully washable” (I still use that line to this day), and told me it was time for bed.
I got up, feeling a bit groggy, and staggered towards my bedroom, but Mr. Taylor reminded me to brush my teeth. After I’d finished in the bathroom I came back out and told him “goodnight” then went off to bed.
I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. When the news ended I heard applause and laughter and a man’s voice. Later, I would learn that Mr. Taylor had been watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Eventually, he turned off the TV and then one light after another. He quietly opened my door and looked in on me, then closed it again and went to his own room.
I must have fallen asleep but woke up a few hours later needing to pee. I got up, now dressed only in my briefs, and padded through the dark house through Mr. Taylor’s room and into the bathroom. After I finished, I went and stood by his bed, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, nervously staring at him.
His eyes popped open and he asked if I was okay. I made a small choking sound, as if I’d been crying, and told him I was scared. “Sometimes when I get nightmares my mom lets me sleep with her. Can I sleep in here with you?”
I was disappointed when the man shook his head and said “You’re too old for that now, Jordy. I think you’d better go back to your room.” When I didn’t move right away, he said “Don’t worry; it’ll be okay,” then gestured towards the door.
I reluctantly went back to my bed and lay still for a while, but then started sobbing, quietly at first, then louder. I wasn’t really scared but just hoped he’d hear me and call me to him. I really wanted to sleep with him.
After a few minutes, Mr. Taylor came in and sat on the edge of the bed, bed next to me. He gently stroked his hand over my back and whispered “You really sound scared, Jordy.”
I turned over, then sat up and hugged him. “Please, Mr. Taylor?”
The man picked me up in his arms and carried me back into his room, my arms clinging around his neck. He laid me down, climbed in next to me, and pulled the covers up over us. I nestled my body into the curve formed by his torso and legs and was almost instantly asleep.
When I woke up in the morning, Mr. Taylor was already in the shower. I went in and stood in front of the toilet, peeing for what seemed like forever. When I finished, I giggled “Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor – I won’t flush this time,” then went back to my room to get my toothpaste and brush. When I returned, he was just getting out of the shower. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he dried himself, still fascinated, and a bit excited, by his big, hairy body.
When we sat down to breakfast, I pretended to be embarrassed, and said “Thanks for letting me sleep with you, Mr. Taylor. But … umm … please don’t tell anybody I got scared. Okay? I don’t want the other guys thinking I’m a baby or something.”
He nodded “Don’t worry, Jordy… I won’t tell anyone. That would probably be best for me, too.”
That school day dragged along slower than any I could remember but finally it was over. I couldn’t wait to get “home” to Mr. Taylor’s house. I proudly let myself in with the key he’d given me, then went to my room and took off my school clothes, changing into just a pair of shorts. Then I started straightening up the house, starting in my bedroom, then the living room and kitchen, and then the bathroom. Finally, I made his bed, and then went looking for the vacuum cleaner. My mom would have fainted if she’d seen me cleaning like that but I wanted to make him proud.
I was standing looking into the refrigerator thinking about dinner when Mr. Taylor walked in. He walked through the little house, going from room to room, then came over and gave me a hug, pressing my sweaty body against his. “You didn’t have to clean my house, Jordy, but thanks. You go put some clothes on. I’m taking you out for dinner.”
Mr. Taylor took me to Pizza Hut, which he knew was my favorite restaurant. I was happy to be there with him. I was even happier when the waitress mistook me for his son and he didn’t correct her. On the way out to the van I laughingly called him “daddy.” He didn’t laugh but hugged me close. I knew at that moment that I’d do anything to be close to him.
On the way home he told me he wanted me to get right on my homework, warning that he wouldn’t turn on the TV until I was done. I ran into my room and stripped down to just my shorts again and spread my homework on the dining room table, while he went in and took a shower. Like me, he came back out in just a pair of shorts and sat down next to me to read and offer me help when I asked for it. I was in a state of bliss. I finally felt like I had a dad!
When I told him I’d finished my homework he went over it and made me redo several pages before declaring me done. Walking into the kitchen, he asked if I liked popcorn, to which I responded with an enthusiastic “yes!” Then I went in and got a shower, this time returning only in a pair of briefs. He didn’t object.
It felt completely natural to curl myself into the hollow by his side when I joined him on the couch. He must have felt the same way, because he wrapped his arm around me, holding the bowl of popcorn on my lap, his hand resting on my thigh. We sat that way, watching several programs and talking while we munched on the tasty snack. When I started to feel drowsy, I stretched out on the couch, resting my head in his lap. Again, that felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When the news came on, I hopped up, not waiting for him to tell me to go to bed. I went in and brushed my teeth, then quietly climbed into his bed, hoping he wouldn’t make me go to mine. I lay there waiting through the news, and what he’d told me was “Carson’s monolog,” until he came in.
He just stood there for a moment, shaking his head but smiling. Then he went in and brushed his teeth and joined me in bed, wrapping his arms around me like I was a big teddy bear. I nestled back against him, unbelievably happy. Then I felt a lump in his shorts; a big lump. Being a boy I knew exactly what that was. I was terrified that he’d kick me out of his bed, but pressed back into him, wiggling my little bubble butt against it.
He didn’t kick me out of bed. He groaned softly and pressed himself into me, kissing my neck gently, and roaming his hand over my almost body. I continued to wiggle against him, knowing that I was exciting him and loving it. I giggled softly when his hand slipped down to my little dick, which was hard as a rock; when he moved it away I used my own hand to put it back.
I lay there, moaning softly as he stroked my dick through my shorts. Then I pushed them down, and whispered “You can do anything you want, Mr. Taylor; and I’ll do anything you want.”
That’s how it began. Neither of us got much sleep that night. He licked and sucked my little dick, and then I did my best to do the same for him. His cock was much too big to fit in my mouth, but I kissed and licked his dick and balls and sucked on his head until he came on my chest. That was the first time I’d seen cum, and he smiled and laughed when I scooped some up with my finger and tasted it, then started licking it from his cock.
We cuddled until I fell asleep. In the morning, we didn’t talk about what we’d done. He drove me to school, and told me he’d pick me up after because he was taking some time off work to get ready for the weekend.
The Camporee was great. Our Troop won the overall competition and I completed most of the requirements for Second Class Scout. I couldn’t earn that rank till I’d been on some more Scout activities but I was still proud. More importantly, Mr. Taylor told me he was proud of me. He recognized me in front of the Troop as the boy who’d earned that rank faster than any Scout he’d ever seen. When he predicted that I’d earn my Eagle rank in no time, I beamed, and got a little stiffy!
When we got home that afternoon, I helped Mr. Taylor put away most of the equipment and then we went inside the house. I was excited. He told me I could get a snack while he took a shower, but I had other ideas. When he went into his room, I went into mine. I stripped off my clothes, followed him into the bathroom, and got into the shower with him. He looked down at me and smiled.
I picked up a bar of soap and started soaping his hairy body, starting at his belly, and working down to his big cock. It was already hard, it’s single eye staring up into my face. I rinsed it off, then took its head in my mouth as I reached around and started soaping his butt. He moaned loudly then reached down and pushed me away.
Kneeling, he started washing me, rubbing the soap over my body, and paying special attention to my hairless little dick. Then he turned me around and soaped my ass. Bending me over, he rinsed me off, then did something that absolutely amazed me. He spread my cheeks and pushed his tongue into my tight little asshole!
I almost screamed when he did that. I had a hard time keeping my footing on the slick floor of the bathtub as waves of pleasure washed over me and my dick stiffened to the point where it was throbbing almost painfully. After a few minutes he stopped and turned me around. Kissing my face, he asked “Did you like that?”
I nodded enthusiastically and hugged him tight. In a hoarse whisper I said “That felt so good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He reached down, and pushed one soapy finger into my asshole. Then he started wiggling it around, like he was searching for something. Suddenly, I did scream, but not in pain. He’d touched something inside me that made me want to sing. Gasping for breath, I clung to him, my ass clenching and unclenching around his finger.
Laughing, he stopped and rinsed my body, then toweled me off. Then he picked me up and carried me into his bedroom and laid me on the bed. Straddling me, he stared into my eyes and said “Did you mean it when you said I could do anything I want?”
My eyes wide, I nodded. “Anything.”
He kissed me, this time pushing his tongue into my mouth, then started kissing his way down my body. He stopped to lick and suck at each of my nipples until they were hard, then worked his way further down and started licking, kissing, and finally sucking my dick. Opening his mouth wide, he took my dick and balls into his mouth, and sucked until I was groaning and my body was writhing uncontrollably under him.
Then he stopped and looked up into my eyes. “You are so sexy, Jordy. I want to do something to you now. It might hurt at first, but I promise it’ll feel good. Can you be brave for me?”
I’m sure there was fear in my eyes but I nodded. He gently turned me on my belly and put a pillow under my hips. Then he reached into his bedside table and took out a tube that looked like the one my mom used when I had a chest cold. I couldn’t see what he was doing behind me, but then he kissed the back of my neck and said “This’ll be okay, Jordy. I’ll take care of you.” Then he thrust one finger into my asshole, pushing it in deep, and started wiggling it around. I groaned loudly as my dick started to throb. It started to hurt when he pushed a second finger into me but I bit down on the pillow, determined to be brave. I kept telling myself that I’d do anything to be with him.
I screamed into the pillow when he pushed a third finger into my tight little asshole. He didn’t stop, but kissed my neck and shoulders over and over and cooed into my ear. “It’ll be okay, Jordy. You’re gonna love this. I just have to get you ready. Oh man! You’re so tight!”
I closed my eyes, and remembered how proud I’d felt when he praised me just a few hours before. I told myself over and over that “This’ll be over soon.”
Finally, he stopped. He pulled his fingers out of me, and whispered “Are you ready, Jordy?”
I didn’t understand what he was asking me, but I nodded anyway, still desperate for his approval.
He climbed up along my body until his hard cock was jutting between my butt cheeks. He reached down and slathered his cock with some kind of cold, wet jelly, then started kissing me again. Suddenly, I felt his big, thick cock pushing into my asshole, which had only a few minutes before contained his three fingers. I did scream this time as the pain ripped through my body. He held my shoulders down, pressing me into the mattress as he forced himself into me, filling me with his adult-size cock.
I guess I must have passed out because I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. All I know is I was in the bathtub, soaking in hot soapy water and Mr. Taylor was gently ministering to my body. I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me and that was all I needed. I felt a fiery pain from my butt but I didn’t care as long as I was looking up into his eyes. He bathed me, then drained the water and gently dried my body. Then he picked me up and carried me back to his bed.
Fear flashed through my eyes, but he cooed at me “Don’t worry, Jordy. It’s all over. I’m going to take good care of you now.” He turned me on my belly and rubbed some kind of salve into my butt. I didn’t know what it was but it immediately put out the fire. He climbed into bed with me and cradled me in his arms, kissing me over and over, and quietly singing in my ear. I fell asleep that way even though it wasn’t dark outside yet.
I woke a few hours later, still cradled in his arms. I lay there a few minutes, enjoying the feeling, but then had to get up and pee. Moving his arms from around me, I stood up and started towards the bathroom. With that first step, I called out in pain. Mr. Taylor leapt out of bed, scooped me up, and carried me into the bathroom.
“It’ll hurt for a little while, Jordy, but you’ll be okay,” he whispered as he stood me in front of the toilet. I gasped when he reached around, gently gripped my dick, and aimed it into the bowl. “Let me do that for you,” he whispered, as I started to pee. When my flow stopped, instead of shaking off the last few drops as I’d been taught, he stroked from base to tip several times, milking out the last few drops; I still do it that way to this day.
When I was finished, he carried me back to bed and applied more of the salve. It had the same effect as before, immediately relieving the fiery pain. He lay there, holding me and whispering in my ear. He told me that what we’d done last night had made him very happy and that he loved me very much. I fell asleep in his arms, a huge smile on my face.
We woke up early Monday morning and Mr. Taylor carefully examined me, then carried me into the bathroom and put me in the bathtub. He took a box from his medicine cabinet. I didn’t know what it was, but saw the word “Fleet” on its side. Pulling out a plastic bottle and some tubing, he asked “Do you trust me, Jordy?”
I nodded but looked nervously at the tubing, aware of the pain that had resulted the last time the man had asked if I trusted him.
He explained that sometimes men had problems going to the bathroom after what we’d done, but that this would help me go. Then he put some of that jelly on the end of the tubing – I could see the letters “K-Y” on the tube – then gently turned me on my side and pushed it into me. He held the bottle up over his head and I felt a coldness flowing inside me. I lay there, clenching my butt cheeks, until I had an overwhelming need to poop.
Alarmed, I tried to stand up, but he picked me up in his strong arms and put me on the toilet, the tubing still sticking out of my butt. After a few more minutes, he reached under me and pulled it out, then waited as all that liquid flowed out of me. I felt much better once that pressure was released, but my ass was on fire again. He stood me up and used a towel to dry me back there, then bent me over and applied more of the salve.
He explained that my butt would probably hurt for a few days, and gave me the rest of the tube of what turned out to be Preparation-H.
We both got dressed and he took me out to breakfast at my second favorite restaurant, what my mom called a “greasy spoon.” We sat at a booth in the back, talking in whispers as he explained that most people wouldn’t understand what we’d done and that he could get into trouble if I told anyone. “You don’t want to lose me, do you Jordy?”
I swore that I would never tell and I meant it. Until now I never have.
Mr. Taylor and I were very close after that. We found lots of reasons for me to spend time at his house, both overnight, and for a few hours at a time after school or on weekends. That got easier as I rose through the ranks in Scouting and I became a Patrol Leader.
Mr. Taylor was not a gentle lover, but I never doubted that he loved me. Every time we had sex I hurt for a few days. But I never complained because he took such gentle, loving care of me after.
When I was approaching my thirteenth birthday I started to grow hair, first above my dick, then under my arms, and then over my lip. I was very proud, because it meant that I was becoming a man, but Mr. Taylor seemed less and less interested in having sex with me. We still cuddled, but I started to notice that he found fewer and fewer reasons to invite me over, especially overnight. Finally, he told me he wanted to stop having sex, but promised me over and over that he still loved me and that he would still be there for me. I was terrified of losing him and cried on and off for days. My mom noticed the change and called Mr. Taylor, but he assured her that I was just moody because I’d started puberty. As usual, my mom thanked him for being such a good friend to me. She never did suspect a thing.
Mr. Taylor was true to his word. He stuck by me through all the years of Scouting, all the way to the rank of Eagle Scout, and then made me a “Junior Assistant Scoutmaster” at 17. When I started playing football in 9th and 10th grade (I grew fast once I started puberty), he cheered for me at most of my home games. He attended my High School and College graduations, sitting next to my mom just like my dad should have. When I went off to college, he helped me get signed up as an Assistant Scoutmaster of a nearby Troop and we stayed in touch through the years.
The last time I saw him was when I spoke at his funeral. It turned out that I was in his will. He’d left me a Boy Scout Handbook signed by Sir Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts. It is one of my most treasured possessions, and not just because of its historical significance.
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(c) Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders. The author reserves all rights. Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only. It may not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite block, golden tablet parchment, papyrus scroll or book without the author’s prior written permission.