The Diary of Alex The Great

by D'Artagnon

Blog Excerpt Number One

There's nothing so fine as fucking a straight boy, making him like it, and then leaving him while he's still got your load cooling in his butt. I should know, I've done it seventeen times since the start of the school year, and it's only November. Must have had at least seven "converts" over summer vacation, at the country club and at camp. Hell, I even secretly made web cam videos of four of those, all available on the internet now, of course.

Yup, pump 'em and dump 'em, that's my motto.

Take, Jordan for instance. I just did! Left him half-drunk and fully spunked in his family's cellar rec room. I hope he remembers to pull up his pants before his dad gets home. Only took me four days to get into those pants. Four days, a new personal best! A little vodka, a little ego stroking, a few sweet words at the right time, play on his insecurities and curiosity a bit and BAM! In there!

The thing that worked on Jordan, though, the key to his back door, as it were, was simply cuddling. Oh, I started slowly at first. Caught him looking at me in the cafeteria in that way that is pretty much impossible to not notice if you know what to look for. I was just about to score on Marty anyways, so I was looking for a new target. Like the song says, "Done! Done! On to the next one!" Jordan was a few steps cuter than Marty as well, which didn't hurt my intentions to go after him at all. I could have just switched my sights to Jordan instead, not even gone for the foregone conclusion of chasing Marty, but I wouldn't. I never surrender a target once I've got him locked on. My heat seeking pocket rocket must go where the target is most vulnerable and penetrate deeply.

Besides, and I cannot stress this enough, Marty was such a closet case, I was practically doing him a favor busting a nut in his butt. I must have been, like, all his most secret, deep and nasty erotic fantasies all come to life at once. He needed me to do it, and to do him. He moaned like a banshee that day after school, totally into it. Yeah, I was doing him a favor. He'd get the point, then get the point of me just dumping him, too. They always did.

Anyways, getting back on topic here. The day after taking Marty's cherry, I walked over to Jordan, sitting alone at a side table by the wall. He's about 5'8", kinda geeky, but almost a dead-ringer for that kid who plays Harry Potter in the movies. A passive cute, I call it. He doesn't even know how steamy he could be, so naturally, no one else did either. A lot of potential there.

Fortunately for me, my gaydar is so wicked trippin' on spot focused I could feel his eyes on me as I entered the cafeteria. So I give him a little smile. And when I sat down next to him that Wednesday, after getting my tray, he looked up from his meal like a scared rabbit.

Good, I thought, just the way I like 'em.

I chatted him up a bit, noticing he was knuckles deep into a "New Olympians" book. I already read that one, so it was a good convo starter. While we talked and ate, two significant events happened, both orchestrated to perfection. Couldn't have timed it better if I'd scripted it in some school play and set it all up in advance.

First, Marty walked by, a pained look on his face as seeing how much attention I was paying to Jordan and how casually I totally ignored him. It was the perfect counterpoint to having him totally mine the day before, just totally blowing him off in public now. His expression of wounded pride and utter misery was just like the credit card commercial, priceless. He stormed out, too proud to make a scene of it and too scared of having this secret of his revealed to risk exposing himself.

Jordan noticed. The quiet ones always notice everything. Then again, how could he not, with Marty standing there like a penitent criminal one minute and then stomping out like a scorned bitch the next.

"I think your friend is mad at you," Jordan whispered with that socially uncomfortable twist and hesitation in his voice. That's when I dropped the second perfectly timed bomb.

"Nah. He's not mad," I said, letting that next subtle movement of my seduction happen in that whispery tone of voice best saved for spy movies and crappy romance shows on cable. "He's just jealous," I smiled, and let my leg lean on his a little under the table. It is a very, very carefully timed move, but you'd be surprised how effective it is. Most of the guys I bang just want someone to touch them a little. Give them some skin and you can reel them in!

See, the whole arsenal of my seduction techniques and my plan to move in on and then into Jordan hinges on two simple principles. Need and Shame. Add to that every guy's need for secrecy and keeping up appearances and any guy can be had. It's just that easy. Still don't see it? You soon will.

By the end of lunch, I had his home and cell phone numbers, and his addresses, both snail mail and e-mail, the whole social media rundown. Small towns like Canterbury only have so many streets and just about anywhere in town is almost in walking distance from anywhere else. We chatted on the phone late that night, me practically cumming a few times while we talked about everything and nothing. We weren't talking about sex, mind you. I was just getting him so into me and relaxed talking to me that I was anticipating getting into him and jacking off slowly while we spoke. I held off, though, at least until after we hung up that night. After that, I splashed myself on the chest just to let the tension go, just gunning my meat even past my nut. Getting inside him was going to be mad fucking awesome!

Jordan invited me to his house after school as we were talking during lunch that next day. We talked like we'd been buddies all the way back to elementary school. Marty continued to help my battle plan tremendously by being a pouty little bitch. He walked by the table just as I was telling Jordan a dirty joke. I casually glanced at Marty, totally smooth, tossed him a quick "Hiya," nod then turned back to Jordan and sank the punchline, giving Marty my cold shoulder. Marty walked off, shaking his head, grumbling a series of choice curses, skulking away with a hung dog expression on his face. It was just fuel to my fire. If I hadn't been working Jordan so hard, I might have taken the time to stare after Marty and laugh at him. Took an act of will, but I contained myself.

Again, Jordan noticed the whole event and Marty's reaction. I don't think anyone ever ditched someone else in Jordan's favor before. I don't believe anyone ever gave him much attention, and he was just practically inhaling all the time I was giving him. It was like a drug to him, one he was instantly hooked on and would never ever be free of. And it made him just one step closer to being another notch on my bedpost.

Jordan's bedroom was about like I expected it would be. Still looked like a thirteen year old lived there, not a sixteen year old. He definitely was a Trading Spaces candidate. Like I said, quiet ones. I mean he had curtains that had little sailboats, toy tops and beach balls on them, and like this little red wagon full – I shit you not – full of beanie babies and teddy bears. I guess what were rare coins and stamps were displayed under a sheet of plastic on his desk, as a blotter. Even his PC was decorated with, of all things, Power Rangers stickers and his computer wallpaper was all X-men stuff. His unmade bed was covered in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sheets.

Everything about Jordan needed a makeover. His room, his clothes, his haircut, all of it was so junior high. Apparently the last time he had a sense of taste and style, together, if ever, it only came up for air long enough to catch up to the 5 th grade. But I didn't have the kind of time, willpower or desire to bring him up to this millennium. All I wanted out of him was to bring my cock off in his rump. And I knew I'd get him. Once I set a target, he's as good as fucked. Believe it!

There actually was one that nearly got away. Hank. He was a big guy, all around, but in the right way. Big shoulders, big muscles, big hands, big feet, and oh-yes, very big cock. Had that strong, handsome look about him, classic and rugged. Took me nearly two weeks to get him alone and willing, and nearly a full fifth of vodka. I should have known that Hank would be a much tougher challenge than the others. The popular jock types, like Hank, always have a crowd of followers, and a lot of them are female. I finally just got him really drunk that night and convinced him that I'd never tell if we sucked each other off. No guy ever admits it, at least not after he's gotten to the point of actually almost doing it, but they all have the "sucked off by a friend" fantasy. I've never seen it fail.

All things being equal, Hank was a pretty lame blow. Not that that made a bit of difference for me in the end. I didn't care if I came in his mouth or not, it was his ass I was after. My main goal was to fuck him sloppy. So while I was holding up my end of some sixty-nine action, I slipped my thumb up his chuck hole. He came so hard in my mouth it made my tonsils ring like church bells on Sunday. But I kept fingering him, sucking him until he was hard again. I had to take a second load down the throat, slurping on his pole, before I could get him turned over. Once I finally had spunked up his trunk, he was so into it, he came again, while I was still rooting him hard. I didn't care if he enjoyed it or not, though. I had just turned the school's star tight end into a wide receiver!

Touchdown! Crowd goes wild!

Hank called my cell a few times a day for about a week after. Of course, I ignored him, on the phone and in the halls. Didn't take him long to read the play. He got the message loud and clear. He doesn't bother me anymore now. I'm sure he's wracked with secret guilt and shame, maybe he even feels a bit of confusion in his own mind about what he felt and how much he enjoyed being fucked by another boy. He even avoids simple eye contact in the halls now.

Not that I ever do. I just don't make it look like I'm either ashamed of anything or that I'm even worried about causing shame in him. Or to any of them for that matter.

And I have to admit, it's the biggest rush in the world, dumping really hot straight guys after playing them like a cheap violin. Do you see it? Need plus Shame more or less times Secrecy equals Power. My Power. And I get to fuck some of the hottest guys in school without having to deal with all that emotional baggage and the god-awful relationship, lovey-dovey bullshit that goes along with it. It's a beautiful thing.

Hank figured it out, though. He'd been pumped and dumped without so much as a kiss goodbye. He went back to hanging out with cheerleaders and band chicks, basically trying to delude himself and forget he got done by a gay boy and had loved every second of it. That's just the point after for me. Sure, fucking Hank was great fun, but leaving him wanting me still is the best. It's not just sex, it's power.

Getting back to Jordan, though, another reason he was so easy is his "I" problem: Isolation. Publically, like around school and shit, he's a straight A's, straight but quiet loner kinda guy. No friends hanging around. No serious "clique" affiliations, not even any other loners he hung out with. His bedroom is practically a library of pre-teen literature and toys. He had tons of fantasy novels and even Dungeons and Dragons books on his bookshelf. He's wicked smart, but about as socially aware as a clump of seaweed. He just kinda exists without any genuine sense of direction, purpose or belonging. Which means he's a sucker for sentimental stuff and the intimacy of the straight up truth, pardon the pun.

The second day of my conquest mission was a masterful stroke of boldness and subtlety. Basically, I was reading tea leaves on him. Getting to see how he thinks, learning his secrets by what he does and doesn't say or do, getting him to open up to me about little things at first. Just building up that false sense of trust that so many relationships really do develop and I've learned to fake long enough to get my willy wet. It's a crucial part of the game, since it tells me how to proceed, how to get past his homophobe walls and learn what's on his secret fantasy list.

And for the record, all boiz have a secret fantasy list, usually far wilder than what they brag about to their friends in gym class. I have to admit I've rarely been wrong or surprised by the things in their deepest, darkest, nastiest fantasies. A lot of them are amazingly similar. I guess it's something genetic or generational or whatever. If I ever get to fuck an older guy, I'll find out for sure, just compare notes as I'm leaving him confused and exhausted.

Most guys, at one point, want to do something, anything, sexual with another guy, usually a close friend. It's that whole "just experimenting" thing. They just want to see what it is all about, but only with someone that they trust not to blab about things. Mostly, it's about comparing. Guys are big into what's quote-unquote "normal" about sex. Not so much about comparing bodies or dick sizes, although that is part of it, too. Don't ignore that truth! It's more about figuring out what is normal about sex and being male. Chicks have soooooo much media stuff to tell them how to be female. Guys mostly couldn't be bothered beyond sports, cars or movies, so they don't know and I think they all crave someone to just tell them if things are actually alright. So when guys do the sex with each other thing, it's primarily about making sure that they themselves are doing things right and that they are feeling the same things. I guess it's not considered manly if you moan a lot when you enjoy sex, or that you should be quiet like when you're jacking off in the bathroom and don't want Mom to hear you hit that ideal moment of bliss. And it's nothing to do with emotions or anything "gay" like that. They just want to know if other guys feel the same way at that moment. They just want to make sure they aren't wrong. Some of them have to fake things through it, I guess trying to figure out if the other is faking it or if they themselves need to try to "catch up" with the other guy.

Crazy, no? But it's all the dirty little things you can't tell Mom and asking Dad will usually just get you a strange look of concern. Besides, asking your parents about sex is just embarrassing and gross. I don't even like to think that my parents might still be having sex. That's just tooooo creepy.

But again, that's the male need for privacy coming into conflict with a need for intimacy and a low demand for interpersonal maintenance. And it's so fucking easy to exploit! Maybe these straight guys I get with remember a time when they were younger, doing that experimenting thing, just getting boners and talking to their best friends about it. Those things they'd do with their friends when they were like still going to the playground for social contact, those gentle, tender touches and cautious moments of discovery. Yeah, I bet that's why it's so easy sometimes, because they want to keep that sense of wonder and power and joy about their bodies and like the attention that I give them.

Oh well, too bad all I want to do is de-tighten a warm spot between their glutes the old-fashioned, time-honored Greek way. Too bad for them that is.

So here we are at day two and he's practically an open book. I can pick and choose what I want to read from him, it's so easy. As far as he's concerned, we're just hanging out at his house, figuring each other out. Which leads to a lot of those weird, uncomfortable pauses in the conversation. You know, just those moments when the enthusiasm overcomes the vocal part of the brain and the flow of words stalls. During one of those gaps, I notice the X-Box on the floor near his TV. He notices me noticing it, just like the quiet ones always do. He asks if I want to play, which is such a loaded question. I mean, god, do I ever want to play, but with a lot more than just the racing game he loads up.

But it's all good. You see, here we are, all hunkered down on the floor, backs to his bed's side rails, chasing each other's digital cars around on a banked electronic track that some NASCAR fan probably could quote stats on. And while we're tearing around in split-screen mode at like 200 virtual miles an hour, sitting there on the floor with our legs out in front of us, practically holding the controllers right over our laps as we taunt each other, I decide to up the stakes of the race a little. He's so into the game, it lets me uncork one of my best weapons: accidental contact. Which is not so accidental as it sounds.

Confused much? I'll explain. Guys like to touch and be touched, simple as that. But our so-called "masculine cultural identity" says we shouldn't. There are so many taboos relating to touch, even these days, about expressing emotion with other males and just plain keeping up the macho self image in general that it's no wonder so many guys grow up messed up. Or no wonder why we jack off so often. Don't deny it, you all do it.

Thank you, modern culture! You make it soooooo easy sometime, I should be ashamed of myself, but I'd rather just take advantage of it.

Anyways! Accidental contact. Like I said, it's not so incidental and not easy to pull off, either. The selling point of such casual body contact is to make it seem totally innocent and meaningless. Even when you fully intended it.

In the case of me and Jordan on the floor there, I had to focus on the game as I'm putting the move on him. You have to be a competitor in the video game or else someone gets nervous. It just looks too obvious unless you are serious about winning the game on the screen as well as the more subtle game you are really playing. Maintaining your innocent façade is key at this point. That way when the contact is "discovered" you simply don't make a big deal about it. Keeps suspicions low. And early suspicion can mean added days of lost time when trying to score.

When Jordan finally noticed my leg leaning on his, we'd already had about ten minutes or so of continuous contact. Mind you, I still had on my baggy JNCO's and Jordan was still in his khaki Dockers, but make no mistake, it was flesh on flesh as far as Jordan was concerned, that nice, silky warmth of one body part pressing on another. Clothes or no clothes, the feeling is what mattered most, and I could tell it had that sudden revelatory flash of excitement to him. He actually had to adjust his package while the race went on, you know, covering up with the controller and moving stuff around quickly so I wouldn't notice. Except I did notice. And I was suitably impressed. Not that I'm all into size, but he wasn't a shrimp where it counted.

I let him beat me about three times, making sure that the last race was close. Hey, some things are still a matter of pride, and I do have mad skills at video games. I'd give him an elbow or two now and again, simulating trading virtual paint with our virtual racecars. He'd elbow back, playfully. A little friendship thing sorta developing here, but serving my purposes just as well. And I can admit, it was fun being like that with Jordan. We were both giggling as we tried shoving each other around, on the racetrack and on the floor, making boasts and taunting. So what, it was fun for me and he enjoyed it too. Nothing wrong with that. Like so many things in life, X-Box is soooooo much better when you're not alone. And for the record, Jordan is a compulsive giggler, almost nervous disorder-ishly so.

We played another game, but this time it wasn't so serious. Mostly it was a shoving match with smack talk and giggle over-dub. Eventually it just turned into a "push pause" wrestling match, which was kinda what I intended in the first place. It's the next step in the plan, I call it the "uncomfortable pause."

This time with Jordan was almost the textbook example of how to do the "uncomfortable pause" and how it works both inside the human mind in inside the human body, often to cross-purposes. And believe you me, it works… every time. I'll explain. As we were wrestling, I can feel his boner pressing on me. Accidental stuff, you know. Nothing overly sexual. Maybe I should say nothing overtly sexual. Just a guy's natural need and desire for skin contact, no matter what skin. And, yeah, for the record, my bone was pretty much solid too. Hey, I was hunting, of course I had a semi! At least a semi, more like ¾ hard at that point.

His body brushes against mine as we wrestle, d'uh! It's called wrestling! Just his form struggling and bumping on mine. Occasionally, we both feel a hip or thigh move dangerously close to some hard, sensitive parts and we shift away, or just shift weight a little higher. Every once in a while, I can feel his throbber brush over mine only to apply pressure farther up on my belly, trying to gain a slight advantage over me. Right where I want him to be. Time to make my big move. I learned this at summer camp. Watch closely and learn.

I maneuver him into an almost pinned position, both of us grunting and giggling. We're competing but having fun at the same time. I can tell I'm tons stronger than Jordan, but that's only natural. I'm an athlete and he's a geek. Which means I'm not using my full strength. Hey, I lettered in four sports last year; skiing, diving, cross country track and swimming. Should get letters in all four this year again, and maybe add tennis too. Jordan is, well, a nerd, just not the disgusting, pale skinned, computer geek, zit fest type. He has some sense of hygiene.

So I am using just enough strength to dominate him, make him think he's got a chance, but to keep him struggling hard. For this to work right I have to have him totally believing that this is all spur of the moment and that it happens naturally. I make a "mistake" on purpose. Just enough of a mistake that his body instinctively realizes there's a weak spot and a chance to win. I make the mistake again, give over enough leverage to be vulnerable. Instinct and a long dormant competitive spirit and the heat of the moment do the rest. I give him just enough room to move on my left side, he takes the bait. He turns suddenly, and tries like mad to pin me, rolling me partly onto my right side and back. Now this is the crucial point. When I did this with Hank, I HAD to dominate him. For Marty and Jordan, I had to let them dominate me. It's an ego thing. You'll figure it out in a second.

Jordan pushes me flat to my back in such a way that his cock is pressing down over my hip and his thigh is covering my crotch. His face is about half a foot over mine, we're both smiling and sweaty and grunting and still struggling and then…

I stop resisting. All motion between us save breath just stops. Eyes lock. Sometimes at this point I giggle a little, or lick my lips a little too quickly, so my stomach twitches against his by now heavy but not quite fully hard dick.

Eyes meet. Breath pulls up short. I consciously flex my Kegel muscles slightly, which makes my dick seem to have a pulse against his leg. His arms visibly tense, and I feel his weight above me, trembling. I feel his cock get even harder, pressing about the spot where my abs and hip meet.

This is the moment I've been waiting for and setting up. Manufacturing, more like. This one perfect moment. In that one short space of time, Jordan feels happy, powerful, excited, relaxed and in control, probably the first time in his life he's felt all that at once. It's an addictive feeling. Euphoric almost.

And in the next instant he realizes how good his body feels, how good my body feels touching his, under him. He realizes it feels pretty good to me too. In the heat of the moment, he smiles.

And in the very next instant, just three scant heartbeats later, he stops, thinks about what is happening and questions… everything.

Predictably, it is an awkward moment for most straight guys. Marty actually said, "Uh, this is mad strange," as he rolled off me. Hank, under me and pinned, got real nervous and looked away, blushing as he pushed me to the side and sat up. Jordan froze. It was like he couldn't make a decision. Which is kind of what I wanted in his case. It would make it much easier for me to make decisions for him when the time came to score.

Seduction is all about pure psychology. It's like poker. You can tell a lot by the eyes, but more about what you see behind the eyes. Jordan was exactly where I wanted him to be at this point, physically, mentally and emotionally. Perfectly in the mousetrap and the best part is he didn't even realize he was the mouse or that there even was a trap involved. He had no idea what was truly going on.

Now you might think that I could just kiss him, keep him thinking with his little head, get into his pants right then and there and be done with it all. But it doesn't work quite like that. Or that fast. He has to think about it and want things to happen more. And they always do.

"Uh, okay, you won there, Champ," I say, smiling, keeping the mood light from my side. "You gonna let me up?"

Jordan rolls off awkwardly and we fumble through another race, to try to "normalize things" a little. His mom calls him down for dinner just as we're getting into the second lap, which is a good enough reason for me to head home. But the feel of him on my body, touching him, was clearly in his mind now. He probably had to jack off three times that night just to get to sleep. My own quota was only twice, but the second was long and I did the teasing thing, you know, edging all the time.

Day three happened very quickly, proceeding to a step I call "waiting for the party." Now you see, I'm not exactly hiding the fact that I'm gay. By the same token, I'm not openly advertising it, either. Ambiguity is just another of the weapons in my arsenal. Besides, I've seen what happens to boiz that go around acting all queer. Aside from the fact that it isn't my style, I don't really feel a need to call attention to myself enough that I get an ass-beating every other week because some straight yahoo caught me staring at him too long. That ambiguity is just another one of the tools I've developed to get my tool into some other guy's box.

You see, they have no proof that I'm how I am, so it works to everyone's advantage to keep quiet about when I conquer someone. Oh there are questions about my sexuality, mostly because I don't hang around with girls much. There's a reason for that, aside from the fact that they do nothing for me. They're my sexual competition, after all, and I'm not much for fraternizing with the enemy. At any rate, there are rumors about a lot of people, most of which are just not true. Hank, most definitely, isn't gay. I think Marty might dance on both sides of the street, but he's mostly gay, in my humble opinion. Jordan doesn't know what he is, which again, is just another wrinkle in my favor.

So, waiting for the party. I call this step that because that's exactly how it works. Seduction isn't about smashing someone over the head and dragging them into the bushes, despite what Hank and his buddies might think. Not too swuft, that crowd! No, seduction is the art of making someone believe that they want exactly what you want them to want so that you get what you want from them because they willingly give it to you, or something like that. It's the end results that count, and since I'm the one who decides when the end is, all this emotional messing about crap is just the decorations for the party. All I have to do is wait for the invitation to arrive then choose when to show up and make the party. And then leave before I have to help clean up. It's a beautiful thing, I tell you.

For those taking notes at home, here's how it works, the deep, underlying psychological bullshit that makes it soooo easy for me. Up until this point Jordan thought he knew himself fairly well. The last two days, however, have been an emotional, social and mental roller coaster for him. You see, his body is talking in a language he's unfamiliar with. His moral upbringing is urging him to keep his physical and emotional feelings hidden like a good and proper American teen boi should. But the feelings surging through him feel right, even if he can't explain how or why they do.

Friendship is probably something he's not been used to since grade school, when his more geeky tendencies took control, despite what nature and puberty were doing to him. Especially any kind of close friendship where there is anything resembling trust, he's just not been exposed to that since his room decorations were actually appropriate to his age. Remember, he's questioning every little twitch and thought in his own body and mind now, and because he's an introvert, like Marty, I had to be the coy, shy type when we wound up wrestling on his bedroom floor. In Hank's case, I had to dominate him so he could actually allow himself to enjoy being a little weak for once. It was part of his secret fantasy file anyways.

You see, because of how his body reacts and how I acted and how he felt inside, Jordan's thinking that perhaps the things drifting between his physical urges, his emotional needs and his mental confusion are all actually things from inside his own mind.

In short, he's questioning if he wants what he suddenly feels he might want. And that illusion is something I have to keep up right until the point where I get my junk in his trunk.

At lunch on day three, I sit with Jordan again, giving him a "manly" thump on the arm as I sit opposite him at table. It's a guy thing, puts a normalcy spin on things. More confusion. Again, Marty walks by, looking positively pitiful at this point. He looks so wounded when he comes by that he doesn't even have the strength to eat his lunch. He choose a spot where he could watch Jordan and me and after only a few minutes, he stood, a little too quickly, practically on the verge of tears, and trashed his lunch without eating a bite. I guess he's still hanging on to what he thought we had. Whatever that might be. But he's way smarter than Hank, so he'll figure it out soon enough. Probably already has realized that he's been pumped and dumped. See, the emotional side of sex can suck if you let it rule you. He was learning. Soon, he wouldn't care anymore and he'd get on, a little wiser and a little more cautious about whom he lets into his world and pants. So, I just happily ignore him. Oh, yeah, Power!

Jordan looked up at me as I sat down. I offered him the cake with the green frosting on it from my tray. He took it without looking at me, but I could tell he had "questions" going on in his head, and my presence only made those questions more immediate to him. Again, that's just to my advantage. The party was about to begin.

"Hey, what's wrong, Jordan?" I ask, trying to be neutral and all "concerned" at the same time. "You look like your dog died or something." And he did. Almost. It's a cute look on him. I had an image of my load running down his face with that look changing into a smile.

"Just thinking."

"Bout what?"

"It's nothing. Homework shit," he replied, lying. Which in this case is a good sign. It means he's being cautious because he doesn't understand himself yet or what he's feeling. And as an introvert, he's wondering if it's just his feelings that are out of whack or if I had a "moment" with him the day before. Beginning to see how this works?

At this particular stage of things, I have a number of choices. If I sense he's not going for it, I can ease off the heavy stuff, and let his fears die down some. You know, play the long, waiting game. Sure, it means the score takes longer to get to, but sometimes the game is better in extra innings. Doesn't mean I give up, mind you. I never let the target go until he takes at least one shot in the can.

Conversely, I could uncork the heavy guns and really wreak havoc with someone's life. Sympathy, trust, understanding, dreams, fears, sharing "guy feelings," oh god, the list of things straight guys, or almost straight guys believe when they feel just a little gay is almost unbelievable. And they always fall for it, because deep down, they want to. They want the sense of reality to pervade and replace reality. You drop the cool façade a bit, act a little uneasy, a bit emotionally insecure and uncertain and then give over something, anything, that sounds like a hardcore nugget of truth, flavored with some emotion like fear or longing and he will open up like Christmas morning.

Sure, I'll have to listen to all their hidden emotional junk and psychological baggage and what naught, pretend to be all like friendly and deeply affected, swear secrecy and all that mess, but it doesn't matter to me. Let them have their Hallmark moments and Nickleback ""Photograph" memories. It's all just part of the seduction. Steps in the master plan.

So we chit-chat at lunch, Marty has his very satisfying little fit, and the whole time, my eyes are scanning the faces. Jordan's too preoccupied to notice me looking for my next "good friend." I purposely keep our conversation light. My goal for him right now is to keep him tense, thinking and second guessing himself. To that end, I employ another of my devious and highly developed techniques. I keep shifting my feet around so that there are fleeting moments of "incidental contact" going on under the table. It keeps him feeding off my touch and questioning everything about himself, his feelings about me, and everything around him in general. Just gentle nudges and moments of realizing that my knee is resting on his sideways. It's such a subtle form of base manipulation, but hey, it works.

In the meantime, my gaydar is in target acquisition mode. Here and there I catch subtle pings and pangs, but no one actively returning any hint of curious interest. I am patient though. There are a lot of boiz here, of varying ages. It's kind of weird about this area that Canterbury is still a combined junior/senior high school, despite the shift to the middle school system that happened long before I was born. As far as I'm concerned, it just means that I have a broader menu to choose from. Hank's a senior, Marty the epitome of the closeted sophomore. Jordan is a junior, like me. Maybe it's time to sample something from the freshmen level, a nice juicy eighth or ninth grader, perhaps. Maxy Perault sure is a cutie, and a star on the soccer team, so he's likely fit and shapely. Might be fun to root in his back forty like a farmer behind a mule. And that Simon Grafton might be a bit on the chunky side, sorta between growth spurts right now, apparently, but his older brother, Arthur, was a sweet and tight fit, and soooo into it! I actually wound up cumming in Arthur three times that night, twice on webcam. Summer was very, how you say, productive. I can tell that Jordan will give it up soon, so I keep multi-tasking, looking for my next disposable lay, the next notch on my belt.

"Oh, homework shit," I say, casually, but hinting with tone and timing that I'm more interested that I really am. "A lot of homework tonight?"

"Huh?" he replied, munching on some fries, absently.

"I said, do you have a lot of homework tonight?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Trig and a paper for AP English Comp and I gotta study for a test in Physics tomorrow." See, total, nerd. Even his classes are geeks.

"Ah," I say, non-commitally. "So I guess we'll just have to hang out tomorrow instead, then. Whatevs."

"Tomorrow?" he asks, practically squeaking.

"Yeah, you know, so you can study."

"Uh, no, that's okay. You can come over… if you want." He has no idea what I really want, but I can see him fighting with himself about what he really wants himself. I keep my smile hidden, not wanting to disturb him and where he is mentally. But it is fun to watch it when you know what to look for. It's kinda cute, watching him internally squirm. Just another bit of fun for me.

"You sure?" I ask. This is just a subtle nudge to get him to make up his mind the way I want him to. Watch though, he'll do exactly as I desire, without even knowing it.

"Yeah. I can do my Trig problems while you play X-Box, shouldn't take too long. I can scratch out an English paper in my last period study hall and I'll just read up for my Physics test before bed tonight. It's more a quiz than a real test, anyways." He stabbed a fork into the cake I gave him and actually brought his own leg out to meet mine. A moment later he pulled it back, mumbling an apology, but it was his move that time, not mine. He probably didn't intend to do it on any conscious level, but remember, I've not got his mind and body at odds. Conflicting signals.

"Cools," I smile. Almost party time!

Notice what happened when I asked if he was sure? He instantly realigned his priorities for me, made a plan and even spoke it out lout to convince himself as well as sell me on the idea. That's an indicator of where his mind is.

The next step is key to waiting for the party. We've now made plans to hang out after school, so in his mind that time is now very important. He's not used to even casual social friendships. He may already be thinking of me as a best friend, which in my experience there is no such thing. Best friends always let you down, and at the most important time. Who needs that kinda pain? Just the same, nerds don't usually get the attention of popular kids like me. So in his fantasy world, this is super important to him and he believes it's super important to me. So I have to reinforce this belief. Just a bit of insurance meddling, mind you. Watch and learn, it's masterful.

I make like I'm getting a call on my cell. We're not supposed to use cell phones to school, but everyone does anyways. Just set it to vibrate or silent ring and everything's cool. Between you and me, no one's on when I open the phone and start talking. Jordan only hears what he thinks is my half of the convo, but it's all just a carefully worded script. It's all an act, designed to make him, or the next guy, think exactly how I want him to.

"Hullo? Oh hey, Mom…Not really, I was gonna go hang out with Jordan today…Nah, he's cool. Kinda nerdy, but cool," I wink and smile across the table as I say that, getting a grunt and a shake of the head from him as he digs deeper into lunch. "Uh, off Lowell Ave…Yeah, near Fox School…" which is just answering one of those embarrassing "Mom" questions. The one that goes, "oh well, where does your mysterious friend Jordan live, Alex?" Next I get the slightly annoyed expression out of hiding and let it play over my face as naturally as you please. I can see Jordan watching as I shift my position in the seat and look sorta off into space. I feel his eyes on me and let my expression go from slightly annoyed to teen-angst upset. "Today? Well, what about Angie. I thought she was gonna… Really? Is she okay? Oh good… Yeah, it's no big deal, Mom. I'll do it… Okay… How long do you think… oh… okay, yeah, no prob, Mom… Yeah, see ya tonight… Love ya… bye," and I flip the handset closed, angry like.

Jordan looks up from stuffing his face, somewhat reticent to meet my eyes. Cell phone etiquette is to respect the privacy of someone else's call, politely. But we all know the reality; that we can't help but eavesdrop. Curiosity is the most reliable trait in all of human nature. It's a fault and a survival instinct we're all hardwired for. Jordan conveniently heard every word of my convo with "mom" and anyone would clearly interpret that little slap to close the flip phone as a mild gesture of transferred aggression.

I know, it seems like such a little wrinkle on top of an already over the top play, but it is so necessary to sell every detail as it weren't just an elaborate mousetrap. And it's such a strong selling point. Keep watching.

"Uh, whut's up?" Jordan asks.

"Ah! My stoopid sister's car shit the bed down in Watertown. Mom needs me to take my Grams to her hair dresser and to Market Basket and CVS to do her weekly shopping. Looks like we'll have to hang out tomorrow after all. Running Grams around will take until after dinner time." I look over and then on purpose let my eyes drift away from his eyes and focus on my tray. "Sorry, man." Then I flick my eyes up for a fraction of a second and then back down, guilty-like. That's all it takes and he bought every bit of it!

"Oh," he says, dropping his own eyes to his own tray, but you can tell by his expression he is clearly not thinking with his stomach. "Well, how long will all that take? Seriously?"

"Couple hours at least," I replied, my voice showing my own disappointment. I lift my tiny half pint of 2% milk up for a drink while he's thinking it over. "She's like really old, and doesn't get around too well, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess."

We go quiet for a second between us. As I'm draining off the last of my milk, I catch a glimpse of the previously mentioned Max Perault walk into the caff. He looks like he's been dragged rough over twelve miles of bad road, all beat up. I guess freshmen still get into fistfights. I make a note to look him up after Thanksgiving break, give him a chance to heal up and not look like damaged goods before I set out to tap that ass.

"Uh, you could come over later, like after diner or so. I mean, if you want to."

I look up to Jordan and smile. The party is on! Got to love those introverts. Their thought patterns are so very predictable, always spiraling inwards. It's almost pathetic. He knows, or thinks he knows, that the thought of me not spending time with him upset me. He also wants that time together with me, so he keeps trying to make it happen. Which is exactly what I wanted him to do.

You see? Seduction. Waiting for the party. Sometimes it's so easy, I'm almost ashamed of myself.

Almost, but not quite.

But you see, I'm very selective in choosing a target. I'm not a size queen, although if he's hung, well, I don't exactly object. Just gives me something to play with while I'm in him. No, what I look for can be summed up very quickly. Cute, Smart, and Pure.

The cute part speaks for itself. Most of fucking a boy is all about the fantasy of sex itself. Having a cute face grunting in pain and pleasure just inches from my face when I blow a wad just makes it that much better for me. I've done some plain and homely boys before, and they really got into it and were better than average fucks, but they spoil the illusion a little. If I wanted to just close my eyes and pretend to be in a cute guy's ass, well, I could do that alone and just jack off. Not nearly as much fun. Just check out my webcam files from my web site. The highlight list from this summer is done up in red.

Smart is for a reason you might not imagine. I like smart boys because they are easy to fool, succumb well to precision flattery and always think there's more going on then there truly is. Besides, it's no fun, no challenge, talking your way into a dumb boy's pants. No sport to it. The chase is sweeter and the conquest that much more richer with a smart boy. Also, that look of pained recognition and resignation, like with Marty, is all the more delicious from a smart boy. A dumb guy might do something stupid like blab about what happened between us, ruin both of our reputations and spoil any chances of me keeping the streak going. The smart ones know they've been had and remain quiet to save face and hide their own shame. Remember the equation: Need plus Shame equals Power.

And as for pure… well that should be self explanatory. You can't get STD's from a virgin. 'Nuff Said!

Jordan fit all my primary target criteria, wicked. Everything was going perfectly. I could almost feel the squeezes on my shoulders as he rides out that first shock of pain when I push into him for the first time. It was all going soooo well.

Okay, so he's invited me, made special plans that alter his own personal agenda for me and is pretty much putty in my hands. Smart money said that tonight I get in there, right?

Not even close. He has a taste of wanting me. Now I need to make that taste into an irresistible need. A hunger.

"Sure, I'll give you a call before I come over." I smile. He's definitely got the taste. Oh yeah, party time soon!

So naturally, I don't come over that night, I don't call and I generally leave him stewing in anticipation during the time I said I'd call and come over. But not without a small taste to feed his imagination. Just because the invitation was sent doesn't mean you should be rude and not RSVP, even if you plan to be fashionably late.

Much later than scheduled, that evening, I smack a pebble up against his bedroom window. It's time for my usual night jog, so the parents aren't the least suspicious as I go out so late in just sweats and a light jacket. It's not far to Jordan's house, so it's easy access all around. After a few more pebbles, he comes to the window, no shirt on, hair partly dried, like he's just stepped out of the shower. Not that it totally matters, but for a nerd, he's in good shape. Oh, he's not as sculpted as, say, Hank, but he's not bad in the bare chest department.

Quiet ones. They always have such interesting… surprises.

"Hey!" I whisper up as he opens the window. It's early November, he just got out of a shower and now he's poking his damp head out the window, because he recognizes me. If that's not an affirmation of how well I have him in the palm of my hand, I dunno what is.

"Alex?" he whispers back. "It's late. Thought you were gonna call?"

The real answer to this question is that I was chatting up some people online, trading some of my personal best moments for some of their own, updating my web page, basically having a good old time knowing that I'm keeping Jordan so wound up he wont known to comb his Sketchers or tie his hair. Oh, and I squeezed out two quick ones, one for the camera and one watching someone else going at it solo.

"Something came up after I took Grams home. And my celly ran out of juice, so I couldn't call. Sorry, dude." My breath was puffing out in the cold night air, making my apology not only audible but visible as well.

"So you came out in the cold to tell me?" he called down.

"Well, yeah," I replied, a little louder than someone throwing rocks up at another guy's window at nearly 9:30 at night ought to. That and a quick side glance to see if anyone was on the street watching gives it that extra ring of honesty that sells the point.

Up in the window, his breath trailing out, one hand holding back his sailboat and beach ball curtains, Jordan looked down on me, unsure what exactly to make of the fact that I was standing there, just to let him know that I hadn't forgotten about him today. It was a moment that he had no point of reference for. He couldn't, on the spur of the moment figure out what to say.

"I just got out of the shower," he haltingly said after a bit. "I should close the window and study for tomorrow."

"Right, the physics quiz. Okay. See ya in lunch tomorrow?"

"I'd like that," he said, probably not realizing that he had said it out loud, or with that certain tone of voice that told me I was the only thing he'd be thinking about all day until lunch. I didn't feel guilty about it in the least. I wanted him to be thinking like that. Besides, he was blowing the bell curve for the rest of us, so he could use a few days of being a space cadet. Give the rest of us a chance to catch up to his massive brain.

"I gotta go," he said. "See ya tomorrow."

"Yeah," I smile. "Tomorrow." I waved, turned and trotted away at a light jog. But I could feel his eyes on me as I padded home. I risked a look back over my shoulder as I passed under a still shedding elm tree. Through the skeletal branches I could see him still staring out the window at me, the window still open, him still hanging half out with the curtain pulled aside. He was soooooo hooked.

Day four, the ultimate test of my abilities, dawned perfectly as only the best fall mornings can. I had known the night before he was ready. I think in a way, I had known at lunch on day two that he was practically naked and waiting for me every night. But today, the fourth day, I was going to uncork all my endgame moves. And I was also going to have my next conquest after Jordan picked out before the weekend. After getting Jordan, I was going to take the weekend off from active hunting, relax, do the necessary computer stuff to cover my trail and set up for the next adventure.

Like Darth Vader said, "All too easy."

To make a long story short, day four started out with me getting a solid gaydar ping in gym class. In the shower, no less! Cute sophomore with bright green eyes. I think his name is Dylan. I made a mental note of where his locker was and got a partial good look at him while he was getting dressed. Didn't get a great eyeful of his package, but he filled out those boxer-briefs nicely. He carefully avoided my eyes in there, too. A little bit shy was just fine by me.

Lunch was another delicate dance of not saying exactly what was on either of our minds. Marty walked by, stopped long enough to give me the dirty-slash-hurt look and then just walk out of the caff, not even bothering to get a tray. Precious! He should have a t-shirt made up that says "whiny bitch-boy" with a broad arrow pointing up.

Jordan was practically bubbly. He smiled a lot, even after being stood up. My guess is that he did a lot of deep thinking last night. And probably a lot of stroking too. His leg was touching mine under the table a lot, practically just leaning on mine, knee to knee. I saw the cute green-eyed sophomore from the gym shower pass by, giving me a certain glance. That glance that starts out with intent and then switches to an almost too casual randomness to disguise itself. I made certain to figure out which table he sat at for lunch, halfway to the other side of the caff. Oh yeah, target locked!

"So can you come by after school?"

"Yeah. Provided my 'rents don't make me go do something stupid like wash the cars or clean out the garage or something like that." Always give yourself an understandable excuse to have to go home. It makes it easier to just pump and dump and leave them still wondering what happened while you're getting your pants back on. If they know there might be a reason you have to be somewhere else, in advance, it makes it so much easier to pull stakes and go. Not to mention it adds a sense of urgency to their Need.

"You know," he began, cautiously, "I was really kinda impressed that you came over just to apologize last night."


"Yeah. I never had a friend that cared enough to do that. It musta been like below freezing last night. And there you were."

"I had to do my night jogging, anyways. It was no big deal to run by your place."

"I thought you live over on Salem Street. My house is miles from yours. Across the stone bridge and everything."

"It's not all that far. Least it didn't seem like so far," I smile. In his mind, he's building it up to be more than it is. He doesn't realize that I'm an athlete and that I jog that far on a routine basis. Farther even. I sometimes jog home from school, and that's farther than from my house to his.

We pal around after school, playing that lame racing game again, this time his leg firmly against mine the whole time. And that was by his choice, not mine. I'd have been a little more subtle about it, but he was taking initiative this time, which is part of my plan as well. He now wants my attention, my touch, as much or more than he wants my friendship. He's hungry. It's not just a want in him anymore: it's a Need.

So we're sitting on the floor, backs to the bed rails of his bed frame, giving each other little elbow jabs and foot shoves, trying to make each other screw up at the game. His parents are both at work. His older sister is out of the house, doing whatever girls do when they gather in groups and go to the mall up at Rockingham Park. We were perfectly alone, and would be for hours. But I was getting kind of antsy. It had been a lot of build up for me. Even for such a short build up period, I had invested a lot of excitement and anticipation into this one.

"Hey, want a drink?" he asks, pressing pause.

"Sounds good," I reply, stretching out a little, dumping my controller in his lap. It hit something firm. I grinned as I stood up, facing away from him, not entirely trusting my composure. I slip my hand into my backpack as he's standing up and retrieve the small flask in the pencil pocket. Something I brought along just for the occasion.

We go down to the kitchen where he tosses me a Dew, cold from the fridge, but still gets out glasses. I smell sawdust in the kitchen and discretely ask him what the odd odor is in the air.

"Oh, that," he says, turning toward the cellar door. "Dad's in the middle of fixing up the rec room down cellar. It's only half finished." And in the brief moment when he's turned around, I pull the flask out and get "caught" adding some to my drink. "What's that?" he asks, all innocent. See, quiet ones.

"A little anti-freeze for the radiator," I reply, grinning evilly. He grins a little too, almost getting the joke. "Want some?"

"What is it?"


"What's it like?"

"Try some. It's not too bad in tonic. Kinda covers up the bite to the taste. Makes it more," I shrug before saying, "refined."

He nods. I pour fully half of the flask into his drink. Only a drop went into mine, but he doesn't know that. His eyes go wide.

"I've never had liquor before," he confides.

"It's not that big a deal. Just don't tell anyone. Pops would have a cow if he knew I've been nipping his supply."

"It's our secret," he said, clinking his glass with mine. He took a heavy draw on the cup and to his credit, he didn't choke or try to spit it up. I matched him gulp for gulp until both our glasses were drained.

"Wanna see the cellar? It's gonna be wicked cool when my dad finishes it. Big screen TV, surround sound, the whole deal!"

"Sure," I say, following as he enthusiastically leads me to the cellar door. He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me, the door open to darkness vanishing down and away.

"Um, the stairs are a little tricky and the light hasn't worked in years, so stay close, okay?"

"How about I do this, then?" I answer, putting my hands on his shoulders. He practically shudders at my touch. He is soooo ready, I practically didn't have to give him any vodka. But what the hell, it usually helps them loosen up.

"Yeah, that's good," Jordan replies, a little subdued. "Okay, here we go. Down into the dark of the keep!" Okay, so he was being a little corny. At this point, I really didn't care. My target was in range and about to get a full salvo from my main cannon.

At the bottom of the stairs, he pulls a cord and a bare light bulb flares to life, and I come to a short stop against Jordan's back, his hips stopped against the back of a sofa that had seen better years back when it still roamed the open plains. Whoever shot that couch should be shot as well. I guess Jordan's lack of fashion sense was genetic.

"Um, opps," he says, in an uncomfortable but excited way. I can sense he's a little bit embarrassed. And a lot bit horny. I reach my hands down across his chest instead of simply taking them off his shoulders, sort of half trapping him. He sighs, stiffens a moment and then relaxes against me a bit.

"Alex, what are you…"

"Shhh. It's okay, Jordy," I coo, feeling his chest and stomach through his shirt. His heart is going like a freight train and he's kicking off heat like a furnace. His breathing is irregular and shallow. I feel all this through his skin as I enfold him from behind. "I've been thinking about this for days now. I've seen you watch me before. I know…" and I lean my head over his shoulder a little, getting my chin beside his ear more. "I know you want this as much as I do," I finish, just holding him, barely touching him as my fingers run like electric arcs over his body.

Okay, so maybe I'm editing for content a little. It didn't exactly go that way, nor that fast, but it did happen along those lines. I got him a little drunk, got him a little more excited, got to taste and touch anything and everything I wanted, got into his boi hole, gave him a great fuck and then left him still a little disoriented but happy in his family's semi-completed cellar rec-room.

And since this is my blog, I guess I should say this much as well. Jordan was aces in the sack. Best one ever. He liked it so much I couldn't help but just overnut! I came in him twice, once in his mouth and once in what I really wanted. Being inside him was like a religious experience. He was like a kid with a new toy and we both got to share playing with it. I only wish I had it on video, it was just that damned good. Almost good enough to make me forget about the continuing hunt.

Almost, but not quite.

So I left him, headed for home, took a long shower and updated my blog here, with plans for the weekend and the week ahead. Wonder if I can get the cute green-eyed boy in only three days? Sounds like a challenge to me. Oh well, check in next week to see, if you dare.

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