The Boy

This is the first part of a story I started, then decided not to finish when I read it was better to write from the perspective of the one being fucked. I didn't want to just trash it though. I'm a two-finger typist, so these stories take up a lot of my time. I am submitting it as a one of (unless my followers demand more). I left the ending open, so you can imagine for yourselves what happens next.

*****

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was taking out the trash from the kitchen to the cans in the alley behind my house when I first saw him.

He was dressed in a blue hoodie and blue jeans that seemed a little big on him. Not in the baggy way you see some young boys wear their pants. He was wearing a belt and had them pulled up, they just looked like they were a size or two too big for him. Still, even in the baggy pants, I could just make out the high shelf of his bubble butt. I couldn't see the color of his hair or what his face looked like because of the hood, which he probably pulled up to protect him from the cold mist in the morning Spring air.

He was hunched over one of my neighbor's trash cans, looking for something. At first, I didn't understand why he was elbow deep in someone's garbage, then it occurred to me he must be homeless. I approached him hesitantly, thinking I might be able to help the guy out with some cash for a meal, or something. He must have heard my footsteps, because he turned, obviously startled.

That's when I saw his face. He was blonde, his curly bangs falling just above big blue eyes that seemed to have seen more than their share of hardships at such a young age. And he did look young, a teenager at most. I stopped dead in my tracks looking at his beautiful face, wondering how a kid ended up on the streets. He looked at me with an expression that indicated he hadn't decided to start running from me yet, but it was a definite option.

"What are you looking for?" I asked, smiling, trying not to appear like I was a threat.

"Nothing," he answered, the invisible chip on his shoulder was evident in his tone of voice.

"Then why are you digging through the trash?" I kept my voice light with humor.

He looked at the trash can, then back at me. "I don't know," he answered, looking suddenly embarrassed by the situation and moved away from the can. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, he started walking away.

"Are you hungry?" I called to him, hoping to continue our excellent dialogue. He was so beautiful and young I feared for him. He turned to look at me over his shoulder. "You are hungry, right? I'm not the best of cooks, but I can make you something to eat."

Turning toward me again, he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder into the direction he was walking. I didn't blame him. He was probably used to people having ulterior motives, and I was a stranger to him.

"Come on," I coaxed him, waving a hand for him to follow. As I made my way back up the alley to my back gate, I looked back just once to see if he was following. He was. With his head downcast and his hands buried deep enough in his hoodie to stretch the fabric, he was slowly catching up with me. By the time I made it to the gate, he was right behind me. I held it open and gestured toward the house, then closed the gate and followed him across the lawn, admiring the view of his backside that those baggy jeans couldn't completely obscure.

Inside, I led him into the kitchen and sat him at the breakfast nook with a glass of orange juice and a taller glass of milk before preparing a fresh batch of scrambled eggs. There already was bacon, from my own breakfast, because I always cook the whole pack in case I want a BLT sometime later. After the eggs were finished, I loaded up the plate with bacon and biscuits then joined him at the table with a cup of coffee. He watched me sip my coffee.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I told him, "Do you want some coffee? You probably have a chill with the weather being what it is this morning." I said as I mentally kicked myself for not realizing he might drink coffee. He just looked so young, I didn't think he was old enough to drink coffee. I poured him a cup, then returned with cream and sugar. "It's chilly for this time of year. I guess there must be something to that climate change I'm always hearing about."

He sat quietly, eating his food like he was starving to death. He may well have been. He was small and a little on the skinny side, in my opinion. I couldn't take my eyes off his face. It was angelic he was so beautiful.

"I'm Callum," I said, introducing myself.

"Ant," he said with a full mouth of food.

"Did you say 'ANT'?" I asked, sure I heard him wrong.

"Yeah," he answered swallowing hard, "It's short for Anthony."

"Oh, I see. And am I right in believing you're homeless, Ant?"

"Yeah." His eyes fell, and I thought my heart would break. "I have been since my dad threw me out when I was eighteen."

"And how old are you now?"

"Nineteen."

"So, you've been living on the streets for a year now?" Ant nodded, filling his mouth again with food, his face taking on a happier glow. "That's impressive. I don't think I would have survived that long. I'm too accustomed to my creature comforts." I half laughed at my own silliness, and he smiled a smile that lit up his face, completely transforming it from that of a homeless youth to that of a happy teenager.

I watched as he inhaled the food, drank the orange juice and the milk. Sitting back, he loaded his coffee with cream and enough sugar to put me into a diabetic coma. He held the cup with both hands, sipping it as he looked around at the spartan décor of my white and chrome kitchen.

"You live here by yourself?" he asked, pinning me with his eyes.

"I do," I told him, "I used to live here with my boyfriend, Mathew, but he died about three years ago." I felt a familiar lump forming in my throat. Even though it had been three years since Mathew died, I still hadn't moved on. I no longer dated, and only socialized with the most loyal of my friends, friends who didn't eventually fall away when I didn't snap out of my mourning when they expected me to. You don't just move on from a fifteen year relationship.

"That's sad," he said, watching me try to suck a tear back, "I'm sorry about that."

"You look a lot like him," I said, absentmindedly.

He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I noticed him shiver. "Are you cold?"

"Not really. It's warm in here. I guess I'm just chilled from sleeping out last night."

I couldn't begin to imagine where he might have slept, or how cold he must have been. All I could think was how unfair life sometimes was. Then I determined that I would make a difference in this kid's life. I would see to it his suffering ended then and there.

"How would you like to take a nice hot shower?" He looked at me wide eyed, like I had just promised to buy him a Porsche. "I could find you something to wear and wash your clothes too."

"That would be great. I can't remember the last time I had a hot shower."

"Good. It's settled," I smiled, "I'll take care of the dishes while you shower."

I led him from the kitchen to my bedroom, then into the secondary hall that passed between my room and Mathew's. The bathroom entrance was between the two rooms, so we entered, and I got him all set up, then excused myself while he showered, puling the door shut.

Excited about having a house guest, I rushed back downstairs and washed the dishes I messed up feeding Ant, then returned upstairs again to find him something to wear.

I stopped to look at myself in the mirror above my dresser. There I was, looking younger than I felt, but considerably older than Ant. Despite the years I had on him, I was still ruggedly handsome, if I do say so myself. My black hair was still full and free of gray hair, although I could see where it was starting to recede a little. There were crow's feet at the corners of my brown eyes, but not much more in the wrinkle department. I was still fit, and well-toned, maybe a bit more muscular now than before Mathew's death, due to my working out in the gym I built after I started putting on a few pounds with my isolation. I wondered what someone Ant's age saw when they looked at me.

Looking at myself in the mirror, it occurred to me that Ant was closer to Mathew's size than mine, so I entered his room and opened the closet. While we slept in the same bed, the closets in the bedrooms were tiny, so we each chose to keep our things in separate rooms. Sometimes we would switch beds, but we always slept together.

I opened the closet for the thousandth time and looked at Mathew's clothes. I meant to clear out his things many times over the years, but I just couldn't find the strength to let go of any more of him. I hesitated, knowing damned well that I could set Ant up with a pair of my sweats and an undershirt. Sure, it would fit him loosely, but it was only for as long as it took to wash his clothes. Still, something in me saw Ant as a second chance, a way of shaking things up. The boy was homeless. Maybe he wouldn't be opposed to staying the night, or maybe even longer.

I found a few pairs of sweat pants, T-shirts and sweat shirts, then thought better of it and put it all back where it was. As I debated with myself over the fate of Mathew's things, Ant opened the bathroom door.

"Hello, Daddio?" he called to me.

I'm in here," I called back.

He entered the room wearing nothing but a towel. He had shaved the peach fuzz from his face, his hair was combed, and his teeth brushed with the supply of toiletries I kept on hand for unexpected guests I had never had the occasion to use. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. His smooth skin glistened from his shower in the light of the room.

"This was Mathew's room," I told him, my voice breaking with my grief, "I never got rid of his clothes, or anything else, and you're closer to his size than mine. He was taller than you, but lean like you. I thought I would just let you choose what you wanted to wear."

"You wanted to lay out my clothes, like I'm a little kid, didn't you?" he asked me point blank, moving to sit next to me on the bed, "You changed your mind because it was too much for you." He draped an arm over my shoulder and I melted into a puddle of tears. Ant held me close to him and let me cry it all out. No one, not even my closest friends had ever just been there for me, allowing me to cry. It made them uncomfortable, but Ant had probably seen plenty in his short life to cry about. He understood.

Once I was finished embarrassing myself, I stood up and opened a few of the drawers of Mathew's dresser, showing Ant where to find boxers and socks, if he wanted them. In one drawer, I found a cigar box Mathew had decorated with little photos of naked men he cut from old porn magazines. I pulled it from the drawer.

"Whoa, cool!" Ant said with delight as he looked at it, "It must have taken him forever to finish."

"That was his only art project," I told him, "He swore it was a masterpiece."

"It is," Ant giggled, "And so is that guy. Look at the size of his dick!"

Until that moment, I hadn't really considered whether or not Ant was gay. Sure, I had my own little fantasies going on, especially when I was looking at his angelic face, but I never really considered his sexual orientation important. It's not like I would have a chance with a guy so young, so beautiful.

He took the box from me and examined it closely, then set it aside before moving toward the closet, stripping the towel from his waist as he did. I watched him, my cock growing hard. His ass was perfect. It was smooth and round with muscle. It was the cutest little bubble butt I had seen in a long time.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked, turning to show off what he had up front. His cock was average in size, by the look of him flaccid, with a tight, hairless nut sack and a small patch of dark pubes. Other than the thick patches of dark underarm hair, he was virtually hairless. He noticed me checking him out and smiled knowingly at me. "Like what you see, Daddy?"

"How could I not?" I asked, a little embarrassed that I was caught leering at the boy.

He walked to me, standing in front of me naked and perfect, his young skin smelling of soap. My cock grew harder with hopeful anticipation. He raised my face to his, and kissed me, deeply, passionately. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, massaging his in our exchange. I ran my hands down his smooth body and gripped him by the ass, pulling him into me. He climbed into my lap, his legs straddling mine.

"Feels like you have something for me," he moaned in our kiss, "Do you want to make me your boy?"

I flipped him around, tossing him onto the bed, then stripped off my shirt and worked out of my pants. Naked, I lay next to him on the bed, enjoying the feeling of a naked body next to mine. He ran his fingers through my chest hair, seemingly delighted. I toyed with his cock, realizing he was better hung than I thought, maybe seven inches in length.

We kissed a while longer then he slid down my body, taking my hard cock into his mouth. He shifted his body, so his ass was within my grasp and slid his warm, wet mouth down my cock, swallowing as much of my eight inches as he could. It had been so long since I had such a wonderful feeling wrapped around my cock, I was sure I wouldn't last long if I weren't careful. I played with his smooth nut sack, so smooth and soft.

"Do you like it, Daddy?" Ant asked, letting my hard-on slip from his lips with a slight pop.

I have to admit I was taken back at his calling me Daddy. I had never thought of myself as a Daddy type, but it wasn't hard to place him in the role of my son. At nineteen, Ant was still very much a boy. When he once more took my cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head, sucking on it like a lollipop, I moaned and eagerly fell into my role as his Daddy.

"You're doing good, son," I praised him, "Would you like Daddy to eat out your little boy pussy?"

"Oh yes, Daddy!" he moaned.

"What do you say, Ant? What's the magic word?"

"Please," he moaned, looking back at me hungrily, "Please, Daddy, please eat out my boy pussy."

I pulled him to me, and he straddled my chest. Leaning forward, I licked up his taint and worked at burying my tongue in his tight little pink hole. I twirled my tongue around his ring, licked at his hole, pushed into it hard, trying to penetrate him. Ant moaned around my cock, sending vibrations through me. I closed my eyes against the sudden urge to shoot my load in his mouth.

I distracted myself by reaching for the drawer of the bedside table, fumbling around blindly for the bottle of lube I knew was there. Finding it, I poured a little on his hole, then slicked up my finger as I worked the slippery substance into his soft flesh. Slipping my middle finger into him, he stopped sucking my cock and lifted his head as he arched his back.

"Oh, God, yes!" he moaned, pushing his ass back against my hand, driving my finger deeper into him. I searched for his prostate, then began rubbing it in small circles. Ant's breathing became erratic, his moaning increasing as he took my cock back into his mouth. His sucking had lost its momentum as I slowly finger fucked his prostate. He let me fall out of his mouth as I pushed him closer to the edge of his own orgasm. His head rested in my lap, my hard cock pressed against his face as I felt the warm rush of his cum slap across my stomach.

Once he regained his composure, he took my cock back into his greedy little mouth. I continued to work his little joy button pressing a second finger into his tiny hole, knowing that his next orgasm wouldn't be far away.

I closed my eyes against my certain orgasm and forced another digit into his hole, his sphincter clamping down hard around my fingers as I worked to spread them, preparing him for my thick cock. He was soon shooting another wad cum on my stomach, his moans becoming more of a scream. I with drew my fingers and kissed one of his ass cheeks before pushing him off me. Ant rolled onto his back as I moved above him.

"Are you ready for Daddy?" I asked him playfully.

He nodded, his big blue eyes heavy with lust and satisfaction. I imagined the kid could go on like this all day.

I mounted him, with his legs resting on my shoulders and slipped into his stretched-out hole. Still, he winced at my intrusion. I held still, feeling his ass ring stretch around my cock, bearing down on it instinctively. I waited until his ass gave up fighting the inevitable before slowly sliding deeper into him. Once I was completely buried, convinced I couldn't hold out against what his ass was doing to my cock, I lay across him, letting him wrap his legs around my waist, I fucked him deep, grinding my cock into his tight hole. I looked in his eyes, watching blissfully as his eyelids fluttered closed, washed away in bliss.

I fucked him slowly, enjoying his body as I gave him mine. He grabbed my shoulders, running his hands down my hairy chest, gripping my thick biceps. He moaned, then laughed. Once again, I felt his cock twitch between us, followed by another volley of semen. My lust rose like a fever and I pushed into him hard, pumping my cock deep in his ass with the urgency of my climax, then emptied myself into him.

We separated after I continued to fuck him until I was just pushing rope, not wanting to pull out of him. I rose from the bed and retrieved a damp cloth and a clean towel and returned to clean us both up. Slipping back into my clothes, I watched him watch me dress, smiling and delirious.

"Get dressed," I ordered him, "We'll discuss the terms of our arrangement downstairs."

I went downstairs and paced the floor of the living room, failing to collect my scattered thoughts. I didn't know the first thing about being a Daddy. I knew there were financial obligations, and there was an expectancy of discipline, but I didn't want to be Ant's master. I just wanted to help him become a good man and find his own way in the world.

He walked down the stairs by the time I had settled down and took a seat on the couch. He joined me there, curling up next to me.

"I'll be your Daddy, and you'll be my son, but I want you to live your life, too. So, we'll treat this relationship as any other normal father and son relationship."

"But we'll still have sex, right?" he interrupted, looking up at me urgently.

"If that's what you want, yes."

"I definitely want that to happen again," he smiled mischievously.

"Okay, outside the bedroom, we're just a normal father and son. That means you will have chores around the house, and I want you to get into school, maybe even college, or a trade school. I want you to have a dependable way of making money, in case anything happens to me."

"I don't want to go to school," he whined, "I have another idea I'd like to try out first."

"Alright, we can discuss that later," I said, trying to sound authoritative, "I also want you to embrace your life. You're young, and I don't want you to miss out on opportunities that present themselves, especially when it comes to exploring your sexuality. If you get lucky with someone closer to your own age, you have my permission to go with it, so long as you use condoms. I'll make sure you have plenty at your disposal."

Silence fell on the room as I tried to think of what I might be missing.

"You are your own man, Ant. I don't own you. This relationship is built on trust, so I need to know I can trust you. However, I will be getting you a phone, so I can check in on you, and you can let me know where you are going so I won't be worried about you lying in a ditch somewhere. Do you have a driver's license?"

"Yes, Daddy," he moaned, like the teenaged boy he was.