textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/mallstry.txt

A Mall Story
by Dorvis Slaughter

Okay, it started out rather simple.  It was in the central concourse of a
shopping mall in Chicago, full of suburbanites trying like hell to get their 
Christmas shopping done before it was too late.  And this guy, this teenager, 
was sitting on a cracked-leather bench next to a fountain.  The fountain had 
this sort of statue like thing, but no one in the twenty years of the mall's 
existance could tell what it was supposed to be; instead they just saw a big 
blob of metal, with a plaque underneath that read "The Promise of 
Summer."  Oh, well.
	Anyway, this teenager was sitting on the bench looking toward the 
health food store that marked the entrance to "Concourse D."  He had seen a 
few boys that had taken his fancy, but nothing worth even remotely persuing.  
He was a bit, oh, tense?  Hell, we're all boy-lovers here, man, so I can say 
without a moment's hesitiation that this kid was horny has hell.  Oh, by the 
way, this kid's name was Jon and he was 16.  I know.  Usually characters in 
stories like this have these really cool, exotic names like "Thane" or 
"Joaquin" or some shit like that, but trust me, I know this story, and the 
guy's name is Jon.  Anyway...shit...lost my train of thought...
	...fuck...
	Oh! Yeah...okay, anyway he's sitting on this bench scoping out mall 
boys.  Now, Jon had decided a few days ago that he would find a boy before 
Christmas.  By this time, Christmas was a few days away, and Jon was beginning 
to lose hope, thinking that he'd be wacking off all his life and that 
he'd never find the boy for him, etc, etc, thoughts we've all had at one time 
or another.  I mean, Jon was sixteen.  His hormones were raging at this point 
in his life.  He only admitted to himself that he liked boys  one year 
before, I mean, it wasn't very easy for this poor guy.  But he took it slowly,
one day at a time, to be cliched, and things seemed to be at a state 
of homeostasis, if not perfection.  He wasn't getting laid, but his balls 
weren't exploding either .
	Anyway, as I was saying, he hadn't seen any boys worth persuing (okay,
I know, all boys are worth persuing, but you have to be careful and selective 
when it comes to shit like this, you know that as well as I do), but as it 
turned out, the perfect boy, a boy that Jon had only dreamed about, quite 
literally, fell in his lap.  You should have seen it.  I was really charming.  
	Okay, this boy, right?  He was not quite pubescent, so he could have 
been oh, 12-13.  I would have put it there.  He had the essentials of mid-90's
boydress, you know, the backwards cap and sneakers, baggy jeans, and so 
on and so on.   But, and this is a very big but, he was emulating someone 
or some group, I don't know, but he was being fashionable (to his little mind,
anyway) by --get this-- leaving his shoelaces undone.  I mean, hello!  
Shoelaces undone.  In a mall.  Come on.
	So, and I know you've guess this little plot point by now, the boy 
tripped.  I don't know if someone stepped on his undone shoelaces, or if he 
tripped over himself, I don't know.  And it really doesn't matter.  What does 
matter is that he fell, like I said, right into Jon's lap.  However, on his 
way down, his shoulder clipped the support beam and it must have hurt him, 
'cause he made this sort of strangled pain sound on his way down.  
	Now, Jon didn't see the kid before he had him in his lap.  And when 
this blurred body just landed there, he screamed and sort of jumped.  At 
first, Jon was pissed.  "What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, not 
yelling, but well past the point of stern.
	It was then that the boy looked up.  
	Oh, god.  Just telling you about this boy gets me all worked up.  
Okay.  The kid's hair was dark, dark brown.  In low light, it would look 
black, but in the sunlight streaming through the requisite 70's mall-design 
skylights, the brown sheen was quite visible, with a few highlights of red 
here and there.  And, how this happened I'll never know, the kid had bright 
blue eyes (but all boys in these stories have blue eyes, I know, but Jesus, 
bear with me).  Clear blue eyes, just like Paul Newman.  The boy's fac
e was satin-smooth with a small, pug nose and thin but very red lips.
	The boy looked at Jon, and still grimacing with the pain that was 
bursting from his shoulder and said, in that sort of forced whisper one gets 
when talking over pain, "...sorry..."  He must have saw the expression on 
Jon's face change, cause he sort of panicked and said, "Hey, are you okay?"
	It hadn't occured to Jon what kind of situation he had on his hands 
until the kid looked up at him, and the boy's face, oh god, such a perfect 
face, the face sent an alarm through him, something that stirred him like 
never before.  He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a 
strangled crack.  It was really funny, you should have heard it.  Jon just 
stared into the boy's eyes, his mind racing with a million questions, 
scenarios, things to say.  But all that came to a stop when he saw the  
blood on the boy's shirt.  
	"Jesus!" Jon said, with a tone the boy couldn't read.  It scared him. 
He grimaced and backed away.  Tears began to well up.
	"I...I'm sorry...really..." the boy stammered, like Jon, not sure of 
what to do.
	"No, jesus, it's okay, but...you're bleeding!"
	"Huh?"  Jon's last statement cought the boy by surprise.  He hadn't 
expected it.  The boy still couldn't quit assess the situation.  "Bleeding?"
	Now, Jon was freaking out right now.  This boy was hurt.  Jesus, a 
hurt boy!  He hated to see anyone hurt, but, dammit, a boy!  "Yeah, uh..."  
Jon pointed on the patch on the boy's shirt where the blood was seeping 
through the white cloth.  "You know, bleeding..."
	The boy looked at his shirt, and as with most injuries, it wasn't felt
until it was seen.  The boy placed a small hand on the patch. "Owwwwwww..."  
Tears began to well up again.
	"Come on, " Jon said, taking the boy by the shoulder.  Let's find a 
bathroom.  We can clean it up."  
	"O-okay," the boy stuttered.
	Jon stopped by the mall's first aid and picked up a band-aid.  He' 
left the boy out side the first aid room and told the little Asian woman 
behind the counter that it was for him, so he could be sure that it was he and
only he who would attend to the little work of art that fell, injured, into 
his lap.  This is too fucking wierd, he thought.  Then he smiled.  Wierd, 
but nice.
	Jon took the boy and together they found the little restroom corridor 
at the end of the councourse.  A few mall-walkers had looked with fleeting 
interest at the boy's bleeding shoulder, but as soon as concern came, it 
passed, and they went on to shop and do whatever the hell it is that 
mall-walkers do.  Jon pushed the men's room door open end entered the betiled 
and flourescent cube of toilets and sinks.  "Get up on that."  With that Jon 
was telling the boy to sit on the flat-topped trash can, and the boy obeyed, 
without question.  "Take your shirt off."
	Jon's thoughts were racing again.  <<oh god I hope this works I'll feel 
it I'll actually get to feel his chest oh god I hope I don't get hard jesus I 
hope he's not really all that hurt fuck he's beautiful his eyes are so damn 
blue my god I can touch his chest jesus>>
	The boy untheatrically stripped off his T-shirt.  To Jon, of course, 
everything was in loving slo-mo, and he saw the boy's tiny belly button appear,
the outline of his ribs, his small pink nipples, his deep and hairless armpits,
the small and <<thank god oh fuck yeah thank you god>> minor cut on the 
right shoulder.  The shirt came up over the boy's head, the elastic neck band 
ruffling his hair.  
	"How is it?" Jon asked the kid, trying to keep his voice straight and 
unbreaking.
	"How's what?"  The boy didn't seem to be in much pain now.  He seemed...
oh what is it, Jon thought...he seemed...curious?  Was that it? <<Jesus no 
that's your imagination Jon fuck think about it god get your dick out of 
your brain>>
	"The cut..."
	"Oh...uh, okay, I guess."  The boy examined it nonchalantly.  "Yeah, I 
guess it's okay."
	Jon took some paper towel from the dispenser, got it wet under the 
faucet, and began to lightly wipe away the blood with his right hand.  He 
placed his left hand on the boy's side, slowly, slowly bringing it up, sensing 
the smoothness of it, the silkiness of the preadolescent skin.  The entire time,
the boy looked at Jon's face, which was a mixture of determination and 
something else...
	"So what's your name?" the boy asked.
	"Huh?"
	"What's your name?"
	"Oh, it's Jon."
	"Jon what?"  The boy blinked, one, two, three times.  Jon almost 
swooned.
	"Um...Jon.  Jon..."
	"Goodman?" The boy giggled.
	"Oh god, no!" Jon laughed, too.  Captured by this boyish humor.  "Jon 
Kwiatkowski."
	"Kwiat...?"
	"...kowski."
	"Polish, huh?"
	"Yep.  What's your name?"  With this, Jon placed the bandage over the 
tiny cut.  There'd be a bruise there in the morning.
	"Tommy."
	"Tom what?"
	"Waits."
	Jon did a double take on this one.  "Waits?  Your name is Tom Waits."
	"Yeah...what?"  The boy obviously did not get the coincidence.
	Jon began to laugh.  "Do you know who Tom Waits is?"
	"Uh-uh."
	"Well, he's a, um..." Jesus, Jon thought.  Just what the hell is Tom 
Waits?  "I guess he's like a singer."
	The boy showed genuine interest in this, knowing that there was a 
singer out there that shared his name.  "Is he cool?"
	"Yeah," Jon said, still giggling at the thought of him with Tom Waits 
shirtless on a garbage can in the mall.  "He's really cool."
	What came out of the boy's mouth next amost sent Jon Kwiatkowski 
crashing through the bathroom wall out into the mall concourse.  The boy 
sighed and said, "Hey, can I have a lift home?"
	"WHAT?...ahem, what?"
	"I need a ride home.  Do you have a car?"
	Jon's mouth became just the slightest bit dryer.  "Yeah I do.  Sure, 
yeah.  How...how did you get here, though?"
	"Bus."
	"Oh."
	Jon, for one of the first times in his life, didn't know what the fuck 
to say.  He looked at the kid, who was putting his shirt back on, and stood 
agape.  Tommy finally noticed this, sort of giggled and said, "What?"
	"Um...you wanna go?"
	"Yeap, sure."
	Tommy jumped down off the garbage can and was on his way out the door 
before Jon even thought to move.  The boy turned around.  "You coming?"
	Jon looked at him.  "What?"
	"Are...you...com...ing...?"  He pronouned every syllable and giggled. 
	"Yeah! Oh, yeah...fuck...I'm sorry.  Oh, I didn't mean to say that."
	"Say what?"
	"The f-word.  Sorry.  I'm not used to being around kids."
	The boy smiled, a full smile that lit up his whole face.  Jon sighed.  
Tommy walked up to the almost panting teenager and said, "Why the fuck not?"  
And burst into laughter.  Jon laughed with him, and they left, piling into 
Jon's admittedly shitty Vega.  The music startled both of them when Jon 
turned on the car.  Jon's hand shot out and flicked the volume knob, deadening 
the guitar wail of the new Soundgarden, a tape that Jon just couldn't get 
enough of.  "Sorry," Jon giggled, a little embarassed. "It's hard to hear 
when the muffler really gets going."
	The boy shrugged.  "Oh, it's okay, I like Soundgarden."
	"Oh...you know them?"
	"Oh yeah, they're great."
	<<I don't fucking believe this.  This boy is perfect.  His is the most 
beautiful creature I have ever seen.  He loves Soundgarden.  I'm going to die 
tonight, I know it.  This can only be the bliss before I go straight to 
hell...>>
	"So where you live?" Jon asked the boy, who was perusing the tape case
that was on the floor.
	"You know where the Trumbo Theatre is?"
	"Yeah, sure."
	"By that.  On Farcia Street."
	"Oh, okay, I know where that is."
	They didn't say much on the way to the boy's house (and besides, you 
want to get to the inevitable good stuff as much as I do).  
	Tommy pointed.  "There. that one."
	"Okay."  Jon pulled in the driveway and parked the Vega.  He did not 
want to see this boy, this fucking masterpiece go in.  That's when the boy 
opened his sweet lips and uttered the magic words...
	"You wanna come in for a Coke?"
	"Yes." Jon said, without hesitation and with extreme finality.  Jon 
had jumped on that one.
	The house was a typical mid-60's one-floor ranch, nothing spectacular.
It smelled of simmering potpourri and dried flowers.  "Smells nice in here," 
Jon observed, genuinely fond of nice smells.  
	"Yeah, I guess.  My mom burns that shit."  
	Jon was a bit surprised at this kid's language.  He figured he 
shouldn't be all that shocked, but perhaps it was his Catholic upbringing...
	"No, really, it's nice."
	"Yeah."
	Tommy went into the kitchen, grabbed two Cokes, popped them open and 
gave one to Jon.  Jon was aware of a strange quiet throughout the house.  
"Where is everyone?"
	"Work."  Jon said this nonchalantly.  It was just a part of the every-
day.
	"Is it just you?"
	"Yeah, me and my parents."
	"Yeah, well then, who's this?" Jon asked, pointing to a picture on top
of the TV that showed a smiling Tommy and a pretty girl, about the same age.  
	Tommy sneered.  "That's Ann, my girlfriend."
	Jon's heart sank.  <<...girlfriend...>>
	"The bitch.  I hate her.  My mom makes me keep the picture up there."
	"Why? Don't you like her anymore?"
	"She just sucks, that's all."
	Jon giggled a bit.  You won't mind that in two years, he thought.
	Tommy looked at the picture, the expression on his face turning a bit 
melancholy for a bit.  "You got a girlfriend?" he asked.
	"Used to."
	"Yeah, I know, girls suck, eh?"
	Jon laughed.  "I guess."
	Tommy's voice became an almost inaudible whisper.  "Did you shuip?"
	"Huh?"
	"Shudoip?"
	"Speak up, man, I can't hear you."
	"Did you do it?"
	"Oh!" And with that, Jon blushed, partly because he hadn't understood 
the kid in the first place, and mostly because he found something about that 
question so erotic, so..hot...that his penis began to stiffen in his jeans.  
Aw shit no not now  He searched for an appropriate answer.
Finally, he decided on the truth.
	"No, I guess not."
	Tommy giggled, sensing Jon's uncomfort.  "Are you a virgin?"
	"Yep.  Are you?"  He loved it when boy's lied about their sex lives.  
He once talked to a nine year old who had done it "a million thousand hundred 
million" times.  But this kid, once again, surprised him.
	"Yeah, never done it, either."
	There was an uncomfortable pause.  Neither Jon nor Tommy knew what to 
say next.  (I know all of you do, but shut up, and go back to jacking off!)  
It was Tommy who finally broke it.  "Are you...um...you know..."
	"What?"
	"You got...you know..."
	"No, I don't know...what?"
	"You got puberty and all?"
	Jon smiled.  "You mean did I go through it?"
	"Yeah."  Tommy was blushing a bit, but he wanted this information.  He
was a twelve-year-old, man, this was cool shit to him.
	Jon was as straightfoward and honest as he could be.  "Yeah, pretty 
much I guess."
	"You got hair and everything?"  The kid wasn't struggling anymore.  
He was interrogating.
	"Yeah."
	"Do you, um, like make, uh, do you like get sperms and all that like?"
	"Yeah."
	"Wow...that's kinda cool."
	"I guess."  It was now, Jon decided, his turn.  "How about you?"
	"About me what?"
	"Puberty?"
	"Naw, I don't got any hair or anything.  It really sucks."
	Jon toyed with the idea of spelling it out for this kid.  "No, it 
doesn't.  Being hairless is nice, kid.  It really is."
	"No it ain't!  Most of my friends are already starting and stuff."
	Jon found a trap in that.  "How do you know?"
	Dead silence.  Tommy's eyes darted around, anywhere but directly 
looking at Jon's eyes.  Jon knew what the boy would say before Tommy opened 
his mouth.  And when he did, the exact words taht Jon predicted came out, 
verbatim: "How do I know what?"
	"About whether or not they've started puberty."
	"Um...well..."  Cought.  "I guess we've kinda showed it too each other
and all."
	"You mean you compared your dicks?"
	Tommy was beet red.  "Yeah, I guess."
	"Hey, man.  Don't worry about it, it's cool."  This last appeased the 
kid a bit, but not much.  Jon was now so far into this conversation, he 
couldn't even tell you when he started playing everything out, when his mind 
switched into gear, sensing, feeling out the situation, playing every word 
like a chesspiece.  It was true, friends and neighbors, he had the gift he was
born with, and he now for the first time began to flex muscles that had only 
been used for the purposes of fantasy.  He wanted this boy, he was sure this 
boy wanted him, and it was all in the right moves.
	"I guess," the boy said, and squirmed.  Jon noticed the squirm.  
	"Do you do it alot?" Jon asked.
	"With my friends?"
	"Yeah."
	"Sometimes.  When I sleepover and stuff."
	"Do you get hardons and everything?"
	"Yeah."
	Jon had prepared for this move, and now with confidence, he executed 
it: "You got one now?"
	"A what..."
	"A boner."
	Tommy smiled again.  <<oh jesus look at that he does he fucking has a 
hardon no fucking shit>>  
	"I guess," the boy said.  There was a pause, and then the boy asked, 
"Do you?"
	Jon had fallen into a trap, but it was a trap he was happy to fall 
into.  "Yep."
	"Really?"  The boy's face switched from slight shy embarassment to 
genuine interest.  "How big does yours get all the way hard and stuff?"
	Jon blinked and kept his eyes closed long enough for this one thought. 
<<This is it.>>  He slowly opened his eyes and said, softly, "You wanna see?"
	The boy, without a moment of hesitiation said, "Yeah!"
	"Okay, but you have to show me yours, too."
	"Oh, okay."  The boy smiled again.
	<<you bet your fucking ass he fucking loves this he's as hard as I am 
and goddammit this is fucking it jesus christ I don't goddam believe it I'm 
showing my dick to a boy and he's showing me his is this fucking cool or 
what>>
	There was a rather long pause.  Then, Jon stood up, and undid his 
pants, took down the zipper, and with one stroke, pulled down his jeans and 
underwear.  He stepped out of his legwear and stood back up straight, giving 
the boy full view of this penis, a good sized dick for a guy his age, about 
six inches, with big balls that hung low and a mass of curly brown pubic hair.
Jon thought his cock had never been this hard before.
	"Wow..." Tommy whispered.  "Dude, it's huge..."  And he swallowed.
	Jon looked down at his own dick, which was throbbing slightly with his
pulse.  "It's okay, I guess.  I've seen bigger in the shower at school.  It's 
average, I guess.  How about you?"
	"Aw man, mine's all small."
	"Come on, you gotta show me, now."
	Tommy gulped again, never taking his eyes of the biggest dick he had 
ever seen.  He had never even seen his own father naked.  With grim deter-
mination, he took his sweatpants and underwear and pushed them too the floor. 
He revealed two smooth, hairless legs and a fine, up-pointing, circumcised 
cock about four inches long.  His scrotum hugged close to his body.  "See," 
he said, "it's puny and shit."
	Jon was so euphoric he almost couldn't speak.  "Dude...you're...perfect,
man...you...you're so perfect..."
	"Huh?" Tommy wasn't paying attention.  His only focus was that 
monstrous prick three feet away.  Finally, he look Jon in the face and asked, 
"Can I, um...you know..."  An indicative motion of his hand.
	"Touch it?"
	"Yeah."
	"Go ahead, kid.  It's all yours."   Jon sat on the couch, his prick 
standing up proudly between his legs.  The bottomless boy sat next to him and 
carefully, slowly, he touched the head, then wrapped his hand around the shaft.
Jon laid his head back.  His mouth was as dry as the Sahara.  He asked Tommy, 
"You know how to jack off?"
	Tommy nodded.
	"You wanna do it to me?  You can see my sperm and stuff."
	"Really?"
	"Go ahead."
	The boy moved the skin up, then down.  He looked at the skin cover the 
head, then uncover it, once, twice.  With his free hand he tugged at his own 
penis, making sensations ripple all though his body.  Tommy could hear the 
teenager's sharp intakes of breath with each stroke.
	"Is it okay?" Tommy said, a bit apprehensively.
	"Oh, yeah, it's fine, great," Jon sighed.  "Do it a bit faster, like 
pretend you're doing it to yourself."
	"Are you gonna shoot your sperm?"
	"Pretty soon, kid, just keep going."
	Tommy kept at the task at hand, watching the older boy's penis with a 
mixture of reverence and anticipation.   His other hand movied away from his 
own penis and cupped Jon's large balls, kneading them.  Jon ran his hand over 
the boy's thigh, brushing his little boner, making Tommy shudder.  Jon took 
Tommy's penis is between his forefinger and thumb and began to stroke it
lovingly.  The boy swallowed.
	Jon moaned.  "Oh jesus..."
	"Are you gettin' close?"
	"Oh yeah."
	Then Tommy did something neither had expected.  Still working Jon's 
cock, he got up onto his knees and planted a thick wet kiss on the teenager's 
mouth.  The boy's smooth torso rubbed against Jon's own, sending jolts of 
pleasure through him, directly to his cock, where the little hand was working 
ever faster, faster.  Jon's arm wrapped itself around Tommy and hugged him 
close.
	"Oh, Tommy...gettin' close...gonna come."
	"Come on, Jon, shoot it!"
	With Tommy's command, delivered in the boy's sweet unbroken treble, 
the semen came, in four thick healthy spurts.  "Oh god, yeah! Oh fuck! Tommy! 
Oh god!"  The sparkling juice landed everywhere: on Jon's torso, on the boy, 
one jet overshot them both and landed -- splat -- on the wall behind them.  
Jon's whole body convulsed with unbearable pleasure for what seemed like hours,
but soon the feeling died down, and it subsided.  All that was left was a 
panting teenager, a smiling boy, and lots and lots of sperm.
	The boy removed his young hand from Jon's dick, and broght it close to 
his eyes so that he could examine the slick cum that was all over it.  "Check...
it...out..." he whispered.  "I never seen anything like that, man.  That was 
fucking cool!"
	"Like that?"
	"Dude, I didn't realize there was so much sperm, man!"
	"Well," Jon said, petting the boy's silky hair, "there's always more 
when you're especially turned on.  And kid, you turn me on, man."
	Tommy once again broke into that killer grin.  Then he surveyed the 
damage and grew thoughtful.  "How are we gonna clean all this up?"
	Jon laughed.  "A towel will do nicely."  Jon noticed that Tommy was 
still captivated by the sperm on his own hand.  Jon had an idea.  "Go ahead," 
he said.  "Taste it if you want."
	The boy's jaw tightened.  "Is it all gross and shit?"
	"No, it's kinda cool, actually."
	That was enough for Tommy.  He brought his hand to his mouth, and with
a flick of his lips took a fair amount of Jon's healthy adolescent cum into his 
mouth.  He paused thoughtfully, then finally concluded, "Tastes wierd."
	Jon stared at the boy, filled with this undenyable emotion. Was it 
love?  Perhaps.  He drew Tommy closer to him.  Jon's eyes stared pleadingly.  
"Kiss me again, like you did."
	And Tommy bent down and kissed him.  Long.  The boy wrapped his arms 
around Jon's neck and squeezed.  The kiss downshifted to a hug, and eventually
Jon was aware of something hard poking his leg.  The little waist began to move.
	"That feel good?" Jon asked, still running his hands up and down the 
boy's smooth, moving back.
	Tommy whimpered.  "Aw...yeah, it feels awsome."
	"You almost there?"
	"Kind of, yeah."
	Jon sort of pushed the boy away.  "Here," he said.  "Sit down, spread 
your legs."
	The boy did as he was told.  Jon moved onto the floor, positioned 
himself between those perfect thighs, bent down, and took the boy's unbeliev- 
ably rigid cock between his lips.  The sensation sent a quake through the lusty 
boy, and he responded with a gasp.  "Oh, god..."
	Jon paused a moment.  "Anyone ever done this?"
	"Uh-uh, no.  Oh, please do that again."
	Jon smiled and went back to the little boner.  Oh, the sweet taste and 
smell of a prepubescent boy.  Reaching around, he cupped the boy's buttocks and 
lightly kneaded them.  Tommy moaned.  From this range, Jon could see everything.
Not a hair, not one damn hair, and what a nice little cock!  Oh, but the smell
of the boy...so sweet, so...so like a boy.  And Jon became aware of two hands 
wrapping themselves around his head.
	"Oh, Jon, do that."
	Jon could sense the passion and pleasure of the other boy and he sped 
up.  His own cock had again become rigid, and with his right hand he began to 
work it in time with his mouth.  The boy began to tense and tighten.
	"Jon...I'm gettin there, man...it's gonna happen..."
	Jon said nothing and kept working his mouth and his hand.  In just a 
few seconds, the boy's pelvis thrust up, and he emitted such a wail, a high, 
cracking cry of triumph, that Jon knew it was a very powerful orgasm indeed.
	"I'm coming! Oh god...Jon...Jon!...."
	Hearing his name filtered through orgasmic bliss, Jon felt his own come 
rising again.  He gasped against the boys cock and the sperm came, as much as 
before, powerful, fierce jets of adolescent sperm.  When the wave broke, he 
looked up at the boy, who was smiling broadly.  He looked the boy's smooth 
tummy, rising up and down, spotted with the evidence of Jon's last orgasm.  
	Tommy whispered, "Dude...that was awsome."
	"Did you like it?"
	"It was the best come I ever had!"
	"You jack off a lot?"
	"Yeah.  Like twice a day."
	"You know," Jon declared, smiling "you can always come over my place 
if you want, you know, like, when my mom's not home.  This don't have to be 
the last time."
	Tommy smiled.  "Yeah, I know.  I will, believe me...that was the most 
awsome thing, man, ever.  You are so fucking cool, man!"
	Jon laughed.  "Yeah, kid, and so are you."
	The boys wiped themselves up and dressed, and eventually, after
much cuddling, kissing and talking, Jon went home.  He lay down on his
bed, hands behind his head, and pondered everything.  Jesus, what the fuck was
that?   I just had sex with a boy.  I don't believe it.  That's it.  
That's the last time.
	But deep down he knew it wouldn't be.  He wouldn't do that to Tommy...
oh, hell, he wouldn't do that to himself.   He knew the boy would be there 
tomorrow, and the next day.  Tommy was his boy, and he was the boy's lover. 
	And with that, he drifted off to sleep.

(c) 1994 by Dorvis L. Slaughter