Confession of a Boy Lover – Chapter 1
I stretched, leaning back in my office chair, listening to the creaking of the metal hinges. I grabbed the mouse and clicked on the save button. I’d look at the trades tomorrow morning, like usual. Working out the math is easier when I’m fresh.
I was about to close the laptop when I noticed the little icon on the desktop. My finger itched to click on it, to enter the password to decrypt it and go back online. I let out a frustrated sigh and closed the laptop harder than intended. I would not go back down that road. Not now. Things were going well for me and there wasn’t any reason to fuck it up, again.
I rolled the chair away from the desk and headed into the kitchen. My fridge looked like most other bachelors’ fridges. There was Chinese takeout and a pizza box mixed in among the beer bottles. I grabbed a cold one and a cold slice of pizza and went into the living room. The spartan room held my TV and a La-Z Boy recliner. Not much to show, but my needs weren’t very high either. I planned on adding furniture when needed. After catching a half-hour of Dr. Phil, I still had most of my beer left, although the pizza box could be thrown away. I grabbed it and headed toward the front door. I stored the Water and Sewer Co-op’s garbage bin on the side of the house. As I walked across the driveway, I saw a moving van parked in front of the house across the street. It had been empty since I moved in a few months earlier.
I frowned as a guy with platinum gold hair climbed onto the back of the van and opened the sliding door. A few years before, I’d have called him a yuppie. Now, he looked like most of the folks who lived on the street. Comfortably middle-class. A woman with red hair, dressed in the same designer clothes, yelled, “Wes, we’re paying good money to have the movers carry this stuff in. Can’t you let them do their job?”
The yuppie said, “They’re taking too damn long, Donna. We’ve still got to unpack everything tonight.”
Donna, it seemed reasonable to assume that was her name, said, “Fine. Whatever. Just make sure they put the bedroom furniture together first.”
A kid came up beside Donna. I didn’t give him a second look, until the woman said, “Dammit, Jem, please stay out of the road.” With that, she turned away from her husband and shooed the boy back into the yard.
I dropped the pizza box in the trash bin and with an unhappy sigh, walked back toward my front door. I stopped when Donna waved. I really wanted to ignore them. Pretend the house across the street was still empty. I wished I had finished that beer as I woodenly responded by waving back. Donna was halfway into the street, “Hi. We’re the Nelsons. This sure looks like a friendly neighborhood.”
I plastered a wooden smile onto my face and ambled down to the street, I offered my hand, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Mrs. Nelson. I’m Jack. If you’ve gotta work in Boulder, this is as nice a place to live as you could want.”
Donna shook my hand. For a woman, she had a good handshake. Confident. “Wes, he’s the lovable goof-ball over there, works for U of Colorado.”
The kid had followed his mom into the street. Donna swiveled around, “What did I tell you, Jem, about coming out into the street?”
She grabbed the boy’s hand. I tried to hide my frustration. With the boy standing right in front of me, he was hard to ignore. I was an expert at gaging a boy’s age. Jem was probably seven. Maybe four feet, perhaps a bit less. I doubt he weighed fifty pounds, soaking wet. His hair is what you’d expect if you mixed platinum blonde and red together. It was a strawberry blond color that came to just above his collar.
He looked up at me with expressive emerald eyes and gave a timid wave.
Donna said, “And this is Jem, of course. He’ll be in the second grade when school starts up in a few weeks.”
My instincts told me to ignore the boy. Still, I hated being needlessly rude. I bent over and said, “Hi Jem. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
When he blinked, I noticed the long, feminine eyelashes as he said in a cherubic, high-pitched voice, “Hi. Do you have kids my age?”
I shook my head, “Sorry to say, no.”
Donna said, “Once we get settled, maybe we can stop by and say hello to you and your wife.”
I shook my head. She added, “Husband?”
I chuckled, “Sorry to say, I’m single. Now if perhaps you have a single-sister, I’d be happy to have you guys come visit.”
Donna laughed, and we parted company. Once the door was closed and chained, I took my bottle back to my room and finished it off. I turned the light off and fell into my bed as my memories came back and haunted me.
Seven years earlier, I was a recent college grad, working my first job in Atlanta. I was happily working as an investment broker. I had been lucky enough to get hired by a guy who had been in the industry for twenty-five years. He hired me because even in college I had been a whiz at numbers and had head for reading trend lines and market research.
I was living in an apartment complex near the downtown area. It was in a neighborhood trying to gentrify itself, and our complex was a mixture of upwardly mobile single people like me and section eight vouchers like Bev and Mark. Mark was twelve when we met, and as a boy without a father, he was quick to befriend me. Of course, that was his biggest mistake. How could this twelve-year-old boy know I was a boy-lover? By the time I was twenty-three, I had fooled around with five other boys since turning eighteen.
And when Mark latched on to me, I was smitten. His brown locks and gorgeous brown eyes drew me in like nothing else. When I wasn’t honing my skills in the market, I was doing everything I could to manipulate things at home to see him and to have Bev trust me. It was easy. Mark worshipped the ground I walked on. Within a month of me moving into their apartment complex, Mark was spending Friday evenings over at my place, playing on my game console.
Two months in, and Bev came over one afternoon and asked if I could watch Mark for the weekend. Of course, I agreed. That Friday night, when he didn’t have to go home, he and I watched one of the Lord of the Ring movies on my TV in my bedroom. He didn’t question why watch a TV in my bedroom when I had a TV in the living room. If anything, he liked it as he cuddled next to me and watched Middle-Earth burn. He snuggled closer when I put my arm around him and pulled him into a hug and told me how much he liked being with me. When the movie was over, I offered to let him sleep in bed with me if he wanted. He did.
We stripped down to our underwear and soon he cuddled against me as both of us were nearly naked. Being what I was, I hugged him to me and it wasn’t long before I felt his little erection poking against me. When I brushed my hand at where he touched me, I felt him through his underwear and he jerked back, mortified I had noticed his stiffy.
I wrapped my arms around the boy and told him it was okay. In fact, it was entirely normal. Mollified, Mark resumed snuggling against my body. That night was hard for me, but intuition told me to not push. In fact, the next morning, Mark behaved as though he hadn’t poked me with his boner. The second night, when it was time to watch a movie, he didn’t blink about watching it in bed with me. He even let me take his clothes off. I think by then he knew I was into him, after all, I had breached his boundaries the previous night.
The second night, he was just as affectionate, snuggling into me. He didn’t flinch when my hand slid inside his underwear and rubbed his butt. From there, it was just a matter of sliding his underwear off and admiring his four and a half inches. The only time he protested was when I was sucking on his erection. I’d been sucking on him for a couple of minutes. He pushed on my shoulders, “Ryan, S-, stop! I’m about to pee!”
Knowing better than him what was to come, I redoubled my efforts and sucked on his throbbing stiffy all the way to his orgasm. He stopped trying to push me away, leaning into me while his stiffy shuddered and spasmed. He squirted a couple of blasts of his boy juice into my eager mouth. He was young enough his semen tasted as sweet as it did salty. None of that cloying bitterness that comes with latter adolescence was present.
By the next morning, he was mostly back to normal. By the next week, when Friday came around again, he was entirely back to normal. Even though he couldn’t stay late, that didn’t stop me from getting him into my bedroom where I stripped him and sucked him to another orgasm.
Things might have continued like that, except he bragged about getting a blow-job at school to one of his friends. Word got around and the inevitable happened. I was picked up on my way home from work by the Atlanta police department. Despite pressure from the state, neither Bev nor Mark cooperated with the prosecution. Of course, when it comes to illicit sex, the state will still prosecute. The state of Georgia offered me ten years of probation and a life-time on the sex offender registry.
Without a chance in hell of beating the charges, I accepted a plea that kept me out of prison. Unfortunately, I lost my investor’s license and my job. I was reduced to moving out and working temp jobs at call centers.
A year of this hell and I knew I’d never make it through ten years of probation. Using resources I found on the dark-web, I squirreled enough money together to buy a new identity. One night, I got into my still new BMW, the only thing I had held on to from my pre-arrest, drove it into the Chattahoochee River. I climbed out, changed into some dry clothes and caught a bus across town to the Gray Hound station. As far as I was concerned, Ryan Bennett died the night he drove drunk into the river. Jack Roberts was four states away before the authorities managed to pull the car from the river. Bottles of Whisky were the only suicide note I left behind. Still, it was enough. After dredging the river for a couple of days, the authorities began the process of declaring me legally dead.
I swore off boys from then on. Letting my predilections get the best of me would only net me more trouble. I read up on treatment programs and downloaded tools to help me manage my attractions, while steering clear of shrinks or others who were required to report.
Starting over was hard. Getting a job didn’t take long. There are always jobs in call centers and retail, but I lived like a beggar the first year, saving money and establishing a credit history for Jack Roberts. I opened a brokerage account under my new identity and gradually fed money from each paycheck into it, watching the balance grow month by month.
Within two years from leaving Atlanta, I moved from Dallas, from Des Moines and from Topeka. I arrived in Boulder at twenty-eight. After four years, I felt like my life was going the right direction. Through hard work, in-depth research and strategic buys and sells, I had finally reached a balance in my brokerage account where I was comfortable enough to draw a small amount each month while it still grew year by year.
Three years after arriving in Boulder, as I lay on my bed, I seriously considered selling my house and moving a fourth time. I have never touched a boy as young as seven, but the problem with boys that age is that they eventually grow up into boys that I find attractive.
Things might have turned out differently had I acted on that impulse. But this was 2009. The housing market had imploded, and I owed more than the house was worth. Also, I really liked Boulder. It was funky in a fun sort of way. Also, after being in this town for three years, I’d finally stopped looking over my shoulder, worried the state of Georgia was just jerking my chain and might still be looking for me. Normalcy was my friend, and so I vowed to ignore the family to the best of my ability. And to pretend Jem didn’t exist.
Copyright 2021 – Caliboy1991
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