And What We Would Do
And what did I want to do? What wouldn’t I do. So let me describe to you what I wanted to do for John, for my beautiful boy, for the sunshine that made it possible for me to enjoy school.
He said he didn’t wank. Why then was his foreskin always in disarray. Now those of you who are cut won’t know what I am talking about, but usually the foreskin goes back clean over the head, and stays there often even when erect. John’s always seemed to be pulled a bit back, and more on one side than another. It needed straightening. I wanted to start by straightening it.
"Excuse me, I see your foreskin needs tidying, let me do that for you"
It was so, so tempting, just to reach out and re-arrange it.
But I wanted so much more. To start by telling him how much I loved him, and to kiss his lips and ask him what he wanted to do. To undo his tie, his school tie, and slowly unbutton the white shirt he wore, and to kiss his chest all over, and his lips, and his chest. To bend down and take of his shoes, and to unclip the waistband of his school trousers, to unzip the fly, and lower them to the ground, ignoring his underpants.
To take each foot, one by one from the trousers, and to take of his socks, then kissing each leg in turn to move onwards and upwards towards his waist, and to lick and kiss his navel; and to move onwards and upwards again, torturing myself, and somehow losing my clothes in the process until I was naked, and he was there in those crisp, white clean underpants. Then to remove those, and to see at last than beautiful manhood, stretched to bursting, the foreskin tight over the head, and to kiss the very tip of it, and then to kiss his lips.
To lie him down, gently, on his back, onto the firm and slightly yielding surface I had conjured up from nowhere, and to hold and kiss his whole body, but gently and with no thought of rush - for this was for him, and if he enjoyed it, perhaps, just perhaps, there would be more times. Then, the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world.
With John lying there, beautiful, and so aroused, on his back, with his beautiful manhood standing proud from a forest of dark, dark hair, in such contrast to his blond head, I wanted to sit up and kneel across his chest, facing him. So totally excited, I would move back, and press the tip of his cock gently, gently against my anus, lubricated with precum, his and mine. And gently, oh so gently to lower myself, the pressure building, until with almost a sound, his cockhead slid inside me, hot, large, almost painful, but just not quite too much to bear.
And to watch his face, his beautiful face as I waited, and then lowered myself, fraction by fraction until he was so inside me that there was no more, and pressing so hard on that special place, massaging it until he was deluged in precum, my precum. Then to start, to rise slowly, watching him, seeing him gasp seeing him reach out to grab my knees, watching his mouth open id surprise as I lowered, raised and lowered myself on his wonderful, proud, hot manhood, feeling his foreskin retract and cover, retract and cover, and massaging me towards..,. towards… I couldn’t, daren’t cum on his chest. He had to cum inside me, had to, had to, and arching his back, with a huge convulsive shudder, to feel him press into me, pressing and gasping and cumming inside me, and relaxing, still inside, where I wanted him to stay for ever.
And for me? No need. For with John in ecstasy, I am complete, and almost spent anyway. So we lie down together, somehow tangled, somehow untangled, and sleep in each other’s arms, more alive than we have ever been.