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Nn Preteen

(2011-11-22 04:02:12)





Related article: From: an107007anon.penet.fi Reply-To: an107007anon.penet.fi Date: Fri, 1 Jul 1994 18:45:30 UTC Subject: Story: 23 Days To Go (mm, pedo)WARNING ======= This story is about a man's lust for a young boy. While there is no actual sex in the story, desires are explicitly Nn Preteen described. If this offends you, hit 'n' or TAB or rub your belly or whatever it is you need to do to skip to something more appropriate for your sensibilities, such as tying up an unsuspecting female hitchhiker with bungee cords and whipping her with al dente linguine. BTW, I don't really mean to make fun of BDSM enthusiasts, I just thought the above was funny. There's room for all of us in the world.AUTHOR'S NOTES ============== I wrote this story about an hour after it actually happened. I can admit this is a true story because I didn't do anything illegal. The anonymous posting helps, too. :-) I just wanted you to know that the boy is real.As always, I'm not going to pretend that I have copyrighted this story in any legal sense. It's up for grabs, but please copy and distribute only with the header intact and credit to the author. Thanks.=============================================================================23 Days To Go by Gamin ParamourThe first thing I noticed about him was the reflection of sunlight off of his bare thigh. It instantly struck me that his sweet young skin must be so fresh and smooth it was actually shiny. As the waitress led me past their table I tried not to be obvious as I gathered in the sight of him, and tried not to grin as I realized she was seating me at the very next table. She placed the menu at a seat where I would have been facing away, but I would have none of that, and quickly chose the position at the four-top that would afford me the clearest view of him.There were three of them at the table. The big man with the jet black hair and the thick moustache wore a uniform with a badge. This was not as frightening as it sounds, since the patch on his arm said "Security". Ain't afraid of no rent-a-cop. Across the table from him, with his back to me, sat a much thinner, somewhat younger man in jeans and a T-shirt, wearing a beeper. They talked of work, so I assumed he was a rent-a-cop as well. Next to the big man sat the boy, doing his best to keep up with the grownup conversation, darting his gaze back and forth between his dad and the smaller man, laughing when they laughed whether he understood the joke or not, occasionally throwing in some comment he hoped the men would find funny. His intelligent grey eyes danced, opening wide now and then to register delight when the men included him in their jokes, then glazing over in boredom when the talk turned to office politics and what a jerk the boss is. During one of these lulls the boy tugged at the brim of his baseball cap, looked around the nearly empty restaurant in an unsuccessful search for something new and interesting, made brief eye contact with me, then settled in to play with the only toy at hand, his own rubbery lips and cheeks. With his hands he pulled and twisted his cute features into grotesque distortions. The men ignored him, but I silently shared his amusement. Then just as suddenly something in the conversation caught his interest, and once again he was a picture of the bright and aware child, piping in with his high, sharp voice, participating with the men as a near-equal.The floor-to-ceiling windows at my back allowed in plenty of light, even under the table where I had a clear Nn Preteen view of one beautiful young thigh. He wore clean white denim shorts, carefully hemmed about halfway between his knee and hip. These unfortunately were fairly snug around his leg, never allowing even a glimpse further up. Still, the visible skin lived up to the promise of my first impression. At this angle there was no shiny reflection, but the streaming sunlight clearly showed that this boy's skin was pink and healthy and utterly devoid of even the softest downy hairs. I've seen kids younger than him whose arms and legs were covered in nearly invisible blond hair, and though such hair is softer than soft I prefer smooth clear skin like this. Above the table his arms were similarly smooth, and I imagined him gloriously nude with not a single hair south of the delicate nape of his neck.The smaller man teasingly snatched the baseball cap from the boy's head, revealing close-cropped dark brown hair with short bangs across his forehead. Despite the fact that I had been thinking to myself over and over, "Man, this kid is gorgeous!", I suddenly realized that was wrong. He was a cute boy, but not beautiful. He had a slightly crooked smile and somewhat too-bushy Nn Preteen eyebrows for one so young, and his two front teeth were just a tad buck for a slight Chip 'N Dale look. The short hair also revealed that his ears stuck out a little, adding to the rodent impression. I'd seen much prettier boys; indeed I'd had several prettier boys. But this one was all boy, and had a great little body, and obviously struck me enough that I'm sitting here now writing about him.Several times the thinner man moved around in his chair and blocked my view, and I found myself cursing him. "Get out of the way, asshole!" I shouted inside my head, though even as the thought formed I knew the man was not really an asshole. I felt somehow as though I had a right to observe the boy, like we had been brought together so that I could see him, share him, make him part of my world, at least for the duration of breakfast. I found myself leaning over into obviously unnatural positions trying to see him, and knew I'd be noticed if I kept that up, so I reluctantly returned to my magazine. But then the man moved, and once again I had a semi-clear view of the prettiest boy, if not in the world at least in the restaurant.I only caught snatches of their conversation over the hum of the restaurant air conditioning and the background noise of the few other diners. I could better make out what the boy and his father said by reading their lips, but had no idea at all of the thinner man's contributions, since his back wa to me. Still, it was apparent that they were nice people, and I was glad for the boy that he had a good life and a father who likes him and enjoys his company. He was clean, healthy and well dressed, and his father smiled at him often and encouraged his comments. I never saw the father touch the boy or display any form of physical affection, though I know it's hard to draw any conclusions from twenty minutes of observation in a restaurant. Then the boy made it clear that the thinner man didn't know him, which may have contributed to his father's reluctance to touch him.The boy looked at the thinner man and said, "There's only 23 days to go until my birthday." I looked him up and down, trying to guess his age, which I put at 10. The thinner man must have asked him his birth date, as the boy answered "July 22nd." In my brain I asked, "How old will you be?", and the man must have asked it out loud because the boy smiled and said, "Eleven."Eleven! What a fantastic age. Young enough to be a boy, old enough to begin to understand there's a world beyond his own experience. Young enough to still want to sit on laps and cuddle, old enough to know the pleasure that can be had with the right kind of touching, and maybe, just maybe, bold enough to try it. I remembered being eleven, the desperate longing I had for that kind of touching with the other boys, of stroking my young cock every night in bed to visions of all the boys I desired; the ones in my gym class, the ones at the YMCA, the ones in my judo class, the ones in my scout troop; not knowing exactly what I wanted to do but knowing ecstasy was out there somewhere.What does this cute boy think about when he strokes his hairless little dick in his little bed under his little Power Rangers sheets? Was he like me at that age, holding its short stiffness between his thumb and the tips of two fingers, sliding the taut skin up and down furiously as he pictures one after another of his young friends parading their beautiful bodies before him? At ten years, eleven months and seven days since the miracle of his birth could he experience the miracle of an orgasm, as I could at his age? I already had a little hair then, which I sincerely doubt he has, and I remember the feeling building up in my boyish loins until I thought I would pee all over myself. How many times did I quit before the summit was reached, afraid of what seemed ready to happen? Was that the stage this boy was at now, jacking his immature stiffie and enjoying the incredible sensations, but not understanding the peak he was reaching and backing down too soon? When would he let it happen, and for the first time feel himself rush over the edge, feel his tiny balls clench and strain, feel the universe wash through his being like a giant wave? Would he have any cum that first time? Would he feel it climb the column of that short cock and burst forth into the air, the almost clear droplets showering down on his smooth, flat belly like hot rain? Or would he be like me, feel it climb the short column all right, but rather than burst into the air like fireworks merely bubble out of his red, raw-rubbed penis and dribble down the sides and between his still-stroking fingers, not achieving his magnificent airborne salvos until months later? Or would his first orgasm be intense, thrilling and exciting, but dry? It was frustrating to realize that I would never know.The waitress brought their food, and I was amazed as she just kept putting plates in front of the boy. He gazed wide-eyed at the feast, which included a huge plate of pancakes smothered in fruit and whipped cream ("Yuk," I thought.) plus two fried eggs and four strips of bacon, plus a small dish of baked apples plus some kind of baked potato-and-cheese casserole. He ate more than either of the men, but I was glad to see he didn't finish everything. I would have hated to see such a cute boy puke.I watched him enjoy his food as I drank coffee and pretended to read my magazine. Under the table he bounced one leg with nervous energy, just as I always did at the dinner table at his age. His father didn't yell at him for it, though, as mine always did. "Go ahead, sweetheart," I said in my head. "Bounce that pretty thigh for me." I watched the muscles work under his smooth skin, and enjoyed the quivering of his flesh as he bounced. The wooden chair pushed up at the underside of his thigh, warping it out of its normal shape and giving it an oblong appearance. I noticed a small scar at his knee, and wondered if it was a recent injury or a permanent reminder of some more serious mishap in the past. Other than a reddened blemish halfway down his shin which appeared to be a mosquito bite, his young leg was smooth and perfect, somewhat tanned already I fancied, though of course I had no way of knowing his normal skin pigmentation without a glimpse under those tight white shorts. I longed for such a glimpse.They finished breakfast and their plates were cleared. I was afraid they would leave, but the men settled in to drink coffee and gab some more and the boy slouched in his chair with bored resignation. I watched as he played with a spoon on the table top, pushing the round end down Nn Preteen so that the handle popped up from the table (like an erection, as only I would observe) and spinning it around under his fingers. To do this he lifted his upper arm to the level of his shoulder and bent it down to the table at the elbow. Since he wore an oversized T-shirt which could have fit three of his skinny arms through the arm holes I found myself with a view up to his hairless chest and armpit. As he moved I saw his slight pectorals swell and stretch, and cursed the water glass that partially obscured this lovely sight. His armpit was completely hairless and as pink as the rest of him. His chest and side looked soft and ever so slightly rounded with baby fat, and I caught two glimpses of a brown nipple. Looking back I'm tempted to remember it being erect, but in honesty I have to see it as flat and soft as it really was. Still, it was large and prominent, and I'll bet it really does get hard with very little stimulation.When the spoon handle clinked off the water glass a third time, his father finally reacted and shot the boy a reproachful look, and he stopped his play. The boy slouched there a few more seconds, then suddenly said something to his dad and was out of his chair, walking away. As I stared at his beautiful form moving up the aisle I realized that he was going to the washroom, Nn Preteen and I had an impulse to oh-so-casually follow him. I pictured us standing at adjacent urinals, no barrier between us of course, getting the view of that small penis I so desired after all. But I was in the middle of my breakfast, and I realized it might look suspicious to wait all that time for my food and then go to the bathroom when it finally comes. What if someone had noticed me staring at the boy, then saw me follow him to the washroom? The father may not be a real cop, but he was a big guy with a nightstick on his belt. The longer I debated the more I realized it was getting too late, that the boy would be finished by the time I got there. I decided not to go, another opportunity wasted. Paranoia is a bitch.It was several more minutes before the boy returned, and I drank in his image as he drew closer. He had a very nice body, and walked with poise and confidence back to his seat. I made a point of noticing if he had perhaps failed to zip his fly all the way or anything of the nature, but there was no such luck. He was too young for there to be any discernible bulge in those tight white shorts, though they showed off his nice round ass to great effect. Then he flopped back in the same chair as before and waited for his dad to finish the boring work-related conversation with the thinner man.I had finished my breakfast and another cup of coffee, and had errands to run, so I reluctantly took my leave. I was brave enough to smile at the boy as I walked by, but he either didn't notice or refused to respond. I didn't look back as I left the restaurant, but I didn't have to. This nameless boy is burned into my memory, and I'm sure I'll wish him a silent Happy Birthday 23 days from now.THE END ============================================================================= Boys know truth from counterfeit as quick as the | chemist does. They detect weakness in your eye | Ralph Waldo Emerson and behavior a week before you open your mouth. | "Education", 1865
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