September 2025

In Plain Sight – Part 3

Caliboy1991 |

In Plain Sight – Part 3
by
Caliboy1991

Waking up without an alarm was cool. Waking up without some security guard checking his room at six in the morning was even better. When Asher opened his eyes, light flooded into the bedroom from the small crack between the curtain panels. Asher wasn’t sure if he wanted to get up just yet. The summer was his to do with as he pleased, at least until the beginning of the fall term. Provided he didn’t blow through the adequate allowance Brown had given him.

He rolled onto his back and felt his penis straining against his boxers. One thing he had plenty of time for was taking care of this. He lifted his hips and pulled his underwear down, and then grabbed his painful erection. Before long, his fist was flying up and down, as he felt the growing tingling spreading along his entire five inches. This time, he kept his eyes open as he watched the clear semen splatter against his belly. With no sperm in his semen, he wondered how long before it would thicken up and turn milky white.

He stepped across the narrow hallway separating his bedroom from the bathroom and wiped the goo off his belly before stepping into a smaller room containing the bathtub and toilet. The sound of his piss hitting the water in the bowl almost drowned out the sound of a knock at the front door. He flushed the toilet and headed over to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw the top of Tate’s head.

He glanced down at his boxers. They were modest enough, especially now that his penis had shrunk to its normal small size. Unlocking the deadbolt, Asher opened the door. The girl looked just as boyish as before in another oversized T-shirt, this one was white, emblazoned with the word Teamwork across the top of it. Below the word was a large snowball seemingly rolling forward. Below the image was another line of text. It read A few harmless snowflakes working together can unleash an avalanche of destruction.

First, the T-shirt poking fun at Vegans and now a shirt made for cynics. Asher said, “Nice shirt.”

He left the door open, and Tate came in, “Yeah, I got a stack of them from the bargain rack at Goodwill.”

Feeling the girl’s eyes on him, Asher realized he should have put on more clothes to open the door. “Give me a sec to get dressed. You always up so early?”

Tate tapped her wrist at an imaginary watch, “Early? Dude, it’s like ten o’clock.”

Back in his bedroom, Asher saw that Tate was right. He really had slept in. After pulling on the same cargo shorts from the day before, he returned to the living room, drawing on a solid blue T-shirt.

Once dressed, Asher thought he saw a flash of a frown on the girl’s face. But if he was right, it was gone before he could give it a second glance. “I hope you didn’t get in trouble for getting in late yesterday.”

Now he was sure she frowned, “No. I was already in bed by the time Mom got home. Anyway, did you want to play Battlefront again?”

Asher’s thoughts returned to the biking trails Tate had pointed when they’d been on the swings. He really wanted to go look at bicycles. Once he found one, then he’d be able to get out and go exploring.

“I’d like to, but I wanted to see about getting a bike this morning. Those biking trails sound fun.”

Tate seemed to deflate until he mentioned the biking trails, “Oh, those trails are pretty sweet. I could show them to you.”

Asher found the girl’s enthusiasm contagious. “I’d like that. What kind of bike do you have?”

She shrugged, “A Gravity. I got it from Mrs. Jenkins. Her son left it when he joined the army.”

Not knowing much about bicycles, Asher said, “Sounds cool. Maybe we can hit the trails when I get back.”

Tate’s face grew wistful, “I could help show you the bikes. I promise I wouldn’t be a pest.”

Asher was tempted to let her go with him. Still, her mom seemed like borrowing trouble. “I dunno, Tate. Your mom wouldn’t want you getting in a car with a stranger.”

Tate scoffed, “You’re not a stranger, Ash. So, can I come? Please!”

The girl’s plaintive whine sounded adorable, and Asher had to admit, at least to himself, he wouldn’t mind her company. She was the first person in a very long time that didn’t seem to want anything from him. Even the US Marshals wanted his testimony. Still, Asher worried about taking the girl with him.

“What about that Mrs. Jenkins lady? She watches you during the day, right?”

Tate doubled over in laughter, “Oh, yeah. Right. As long as I pop in a couple of times a day, she couldn’t care less. Sometimes even less than that. She couldn’t do anything the last time Ron and Dwayne picked on me.”

Ron and Dwayne? Those must have been Acne Face and Fatso.

“Tell you what, you tell her where you’ll be, and I guess I’ll let you come, okay?”

Before he could reconsider the offer, Tate was out the door at a run. By the time Asher collected his keys and wallet, she was back, out of breath, but wearing a huge smile, “All set.”

As he headed toward the Taurus, Asher said, “What exactly did you tell her?”

Skipping along beside him, Tate said, “I don’t know that she paid me any mind, but I told her I was hanging out with you.”

Asher pushed the key into the ignition, “And I’m sure you mentioned that I’m eighteen. And taking you out bike shopping?”

Tate grinned, “I didn’t want to bother her with too many details. She is awfully old.”

Shaking his head, Asher said, “Hmm, well, buckle up, and we’ll get going.”

There was a Sporting Goods store a few miles away. Between his inexperience behind the wheel and the lunchtime rush hour, it took twenty minutes to go four miles. Asher was a basket of nerves by the time he pulled into a parking space.

Tate glanced over at him, “You don’t like driving, do you?”

Asher pulled the keys from the ignition, “Dunno. Only got my license like a month ago.”

He hadn’t enjoyed the driver’s education course he had to take the last month before his birthday. But even the US Marshals weren’t willing to give him a driver’s license or a car without it. Maybe with more time behind the wheel, he’d learn to enjoy it.

The selection of bicycles ran along one side of the store. There were more than a hundred different models—kids’ bikes, ten-speeds, fat-wheeled bikes masquerading as mountain bikes, and then the real deal. Of the dozen mountain bike models, Asher kept coming back to a Schwinn model. While he was no expert, the bike’s specs seemed better than the other mountain bikes.

After going back and forth between several choices, Asher finally growled, “Hell if I know which to get.”

“I like the Schwinn. It’s about the same size as mine,” Tate said, her shoulder rubbing against my elbow. It was three hundred dollars and some change.

About that time, a sales associate came over, “Can I help you boys?”

Boys? Asher bit back a response. It really wasn’t the sales associate’s fault. There was a good reason Tate once thought he was only thirteen or fourteen. And an equally good reason he’d first thought she was a boy.

He felt something brush against his hand, and before Asher knew it, Tate’s smaller hand was in his larger one as she said, “Yeah, my brother likes this bike. Can we see it?”

While the sales associate pulled a keychain from his pocket and unlocked the bike rack, Asher stared down at the girl, holding his hand. Tate simply grinned back up at him until the sales associate pulled the bike down and said, “Here you go. Not the top of the line, but the best mountain bike we carry in the store.”

Asher took the bike from the young man and straddled the seat. He closed his eyes and for a moment and was eight years old again. That bike was much smaller, made for his small body. He was riding on the street in front of his childhood home, the wind blowing through his short-cropped hair. Then he blinked, and he was back in the store, Tate looking up at him.

“Whatcha think?” she asked.

Asher liked the feel of the bike as he moved it backward and forward in the aisle. When he put one of his feet on the pedal, it just felt right. “I like it. Just need to see if we can get a better seat.”

Thirty minutes later, with the sales associate’s help, Asher had the bike crammed into the back seat of the car. They’d taken the front tire off, but the bike came with an Allen wrench, so putting it back on would be easy. Or so he hoped.

There was a McDonald’s on the other side of the busy intersection. Asher nodded toward it, “You hungry?”

Tate fidgeted in the seat, “We can go on home. Mom’s got food for me there.”

The girl’s words and her body language were wholly at odds. Curious, Asher said, “When was the last time you ate at McDonald’s?”

Tate looked away, out the side of the car, “Dunno. A while ago, I guess.”

“Your mom ever bring home takeout?” Asher asked. One of the treats at the government facility was weekly pizza parties and burgers from a nearby fast-food joint. One thing Asher had learned since the FBI raid was that regular people ate fast food more often than they ought to.

The girl shrugged, “Sure. For herself. Mom says that she buys me food from the grocery store, so why should she buy more food for me when she stops to get something for herself.”

Asher knew he didn’t know much about healthy family dynamics. How the hell could he? His life had been pretty fucked up. But if what the girl said was true, then Tate’s mom was a self-serving bitch.

When the road had cleared, Asher punched the accelerator, and the car zoomed across six lanes of traffic into the McDonald’s parking lot, “Well, I don’t care if you’ve got something back at your place to eat. I’m hungry right now, so let’s go see what they have.”

As Tate started to say something, he was out of the car, walking toward the restaurant. A few heartbeats later, the passenger side door swung open, and the girl ran over to him with a toothy smile. “Thanks, Ash. You’re awesome.”

A bit later, Asher sat across from Tate, biting into his Big Mac. The girl had smeared ketchup around her mouth when she’d tried taking a big bite from her own burger. He’d never seen the girl with a happier look on her face, which was more than worth the few dollars he’d paid for her meal. After all, Asher still had nearly all the cash Brown had given him a couple of days before.

When he swallowed a bite, Asher said, “You want to show me those trails when we get back?”

He hadn’t meant to, but he asked the question just as the girl took a bite. Instead of talking through her food, Tate just nodded. Once she took a sip of soda, she followed it up with, “One time, I went so far down one of the bike trails, I got onto the city’s official bike trail. And I went all the way downtown.”

“How long did that take?”

Tate flushed, “I was so late getting back. Mom grounded me for a week, and that was after giving me a spanking.”

Asher shifted around in his seat at the notion of getting a spanking. A couple of the guys in the Syndicate hadn’t hesitated to lash out if he made a mistake or stepped out of line. His ass had been tanned more than a few times. The more he learned about Tate’s mom, the less he liked her.

“She grounded you and spanked you?”

The girl nodded as she munched on a fry.

Asher shook his head at what he’d learned, “What time’s your mom get home? We’ll make sure we’re back by then.”

Tate frowned, “That’s the hard thing, Ash. She’s supposed to be home by six. But sometimes she doesn’t get home unit seven or even eight. And if it’s on a Friday, who knows?”

There wasn’t much he could do about it. “We’ll just make sure we get you home before Maleficent normally gets home.”

The government facility warehoused kids like him, and Disney movies were an everyday staple in the common rooms. In the two years he’d stayed there, Asher was pretty sure he’d seen just about every Disney Cartoon a half dozen times, no matter how much they bored him. But the name struck home, and Tate nearly fell from her chair, giggling. “Ohh, s-she’d k-kill me if I ever called her that!”

When he was through, Asher wadded up the wrapping paper his hamburger came in and tossed it in the empty French fry box. “I’m dying to try my new bike on the trails. Just give me a couple of minutes. Gotta go.”

Tate put their trash on the tray, “Yeah, the way you drive, it might be a couple of hours before we get home. Me, too.”

Asher was taken aback when Tate followed him into the men’s restroom. Thankfully, it appeared empty when he turned around and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Tate shrugged, as though her presence was enough of an answer. Then her eyes were drawn to the wall mirror over the sinks. “Wow, Ash. We really do look like brothers.”

Their reflections staring back, Asher saw how the girl might think so. His hair was just a shade darker brown than hers. Even their eyes were the same chocolate color. Beyond that, though, even their chins and cheeks were similarly shaped. But without Tate saying something, he likely would never have noticed.

Then he felt it again. Tate’s small fingers snaked through his, and she gripped his hand for only a few seconds before she headed for the lone enclosed stall. Uncertain what just happened, Asher peed into one of the urinals.

Tate was wrong. The drive back to the apartment complex took less than twenty minutes. Before long, Asher had reassembled the front wheel, and they were ready to hit the trails.

Continued in Part 3

Copyright 2020 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

1

In Plain Sight – Part 3 Read More »

In Plain Sight – Part 2

Caliboy1991

In Plain Sight – Part 2
by
Calyboy1991

Asher ran a wet hand through his hair, trying to tame the cowlick sticking up in the back of his head. Once most of it was down, he gave up on a few errant strands and headed for the door. It was, he realized, the first day he could recall when he hadn’t been someone else’s mercy. He’d only been eight when his parents had died in an accident. He’d stayed with a foster family for less than a year. His life hadn’t been his own there. That was the first time he’d been fucked in the ass by a man. He’d had no idea when he ran away from there that he was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

He’d been on the street for less than a week when the Syndicate had kidnapped him. Seven years of misery passed until the FBI freed him. But that hadn’t felt like freedom. The government facility had been its own sort of prison, although it was designed to keep its occupants safe from outside threats.

Grabbing the doorknob, Asher squared his shoulders, this really was a whole new life, and he would make of it what he could. The first thing he wanted was to see what kind of place the Marshals had put him in.

There were upwards of thirty apartment buildings, each with eight units. At ten in the morning, the parking lots were less than half full as Asher made his way over to a large clubhouse. At the front door, a sign pointed to the right, mailboxes and washer/driers in the utility room. Feeling the keys in his pocket, He veered to the right and followed the sidewalk around to the side of the clubhouse, where another entrance led into a spacious utility room. Washing machines lined one wall, dryers another, and on the third were stacks of mailboxes embossed with the apartment numbers.

Asher made his way along the wall lined with mailboxes, looking for his number, when he heard something behind him.

All the years of living in terror came back to him at that moment, and Asher spun around. His adrenaline surged through him, his body’s fight or flight survival instincts kicking in. Leaning against the door was the same kid from the previous day. He smiled and said, “Do you like it here?”

Asher relaxed and let a sigh escape, “Dude, don’t you knock?”

The kid just grinned wider, “Sorry ‘bout that. Well, do you?”

The kid wore the same blue shirt from before. But now, a pair of red shorts poked out below the T-shirt’s low hanging hem. It was all Asher could do to keep his body from responding to the cute kid. He stuttered, “Uh, I d-don’t know yet. Haven’t really got a chance to look around.”

The kid let the door close and came over, “Trying to find your box?”

Nodding, Asher resumed scanning the mailboxes. The kid said, “Oh-eight-oh-two, right?”

He pointed toward a mailbox close to the floor. Sure enough, it was the one for which Asher had been searching. The young man used the key to open the little door. As he’d expected, it was empty. Still, he felt the smallest bit of satisfaction knowing where to come and check for mail.

“If you want, I’ll show you around,” the kid said as Asher closed and locked the mailbox.

He didn’t want to creep the kid out, but without meaning to, Asher ran his eyes up and down the kid’s short, narrow frame. He was about a foot shorter than Asher, with a long, slender neck that disappeared within the overly large shirt. Instead of sneakers, a well-worn pair of black and white flipflops adorned his feet.

The best thing for Asher to do was to tell the kid to get lost. He didn’t want to get tangled up with another kid. He’d come so close to getting into a shit-storm of trouble when he’d been in the government-run facility when they had caught him with Peter giving each other blow jobs. Of course, Peter had only been twelve, and Asher had just turned seventeen. He was lucky the government was willing to overlook a lot when someone has evidence they want badly enough. Still, the head shrink had read Asher the riot act, and they had relocated Peter to another facility halfway across the country.

Then the kid smiled up at him, “I don’t mind.”

Something broke inside Asher, and he felt himself returning the smile, “Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

He nearly jumped as the kid grabbed him by the hand, “I’m Tate. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Ash- uh, Clay,” Asher stuttered as the kid led him out the door. They turned to the left. A few paces later, they faced a green-painted wooden fence. Looking up at him, Tate said, “Well, Ashclay, it’s nice to meet you.”

Asher disliked the need for letting his name – his very identity slip away. Even as he replied, he knew he was being recklessly foolish, “My name is Clay, but my middle name is Ash.”

Tate shrugged, “I like Ash. That’s a cool name,” then he pointed to the keypad, “The lock’s been broke since last year.”

He pushed the green gate open and pulled Asher into a large, enclosed area, stopping a few feet short of a swimming pool. The water was cloudy, and a few bugs floated on the surface. “I know it’s not much, but sometimes I like coming over here and swimming. Do you like to swim?”

Asher took an involuntary step back. One of his last memories of life before his parents’ death was a first lesson at the local Y. he’d not done very well. In fact, he’d never learned to swim. But there was something about Tate’s friendly expression that disarmed Asher’s fear, “Um, I don’t know. Never really learned how to swim.”

Tate’s eyes fell, clearly disappointed at the news. Then his head swung up, and he said, “I could teach you – if you want.”

The idea of getting in the pool with the kid caused a twitch in Asher’s pants. He tried to ignore the feeling, reminding himself he didn’t know how to swim, and maybe it was too late to try. He murmured, “I dunno. We’ll see.”

Tate’s head cocked to one side as though trying to read Asher’s mood. Then he shrugged, “Come on, there’s more to see.”

Asher followed Tate back the way they’d come, then across another large parking lot. At the far end was an open space with playground equipment. There was a large swing-set with four swings, monkey bars, and in the middle of a grassy area sat a large wooden platform with plastic crenelations designed to make it look like a castle. Several slides of various lengths provided quick egress to the ground. Ladders offered easy access to the platform as well.

The closer they came to the playground equipment, the more apparent it became the plastic was cracked, and the wooden platform had seen better days.

Tate sat in one of the swings, rocking his legs back and forth, swinging back and forth. As he rose higher, he said, “Come on, Ash, it’s fun.”

Asher eyed the swing skeptically. After all, he was eighteen. This stuff was for kids. Seeing the wild grin on Tate’s face as he flew by on the swing melted the young man’s heart, and even though his mind was telling him no, his butt sat in the swing next to Tate, and he started kicking his legs back and forth. Before long, the hot summer wind swept through his hair, and sweat rolled down his cheeks as he kicked himself higher. It took him back to a much happier time in his life. He envied Tate his carefree life.

When the kid reached the apex, parallel with the top bar spanning the length of the swing set, he called out, “Hey, behind us is a bunch of trails. Do you have a bike?”

Asher snatched a quick view of the tree line beyond the grassy playground. Sure enough, he glimpsed a couple of dirt trails that disappeared between the trees. It had been a decade since he’d ridden a bike. Still, he liked the idea of riding through the trails behind the apartment complex. He shook his head, “Not yet. But I’m gonna get one soon. How far back do the trails go?”

Tate was slowing down, his legs not swinging with the force they had. “Pretty far. Go back far enough, and you’ll hit the city’s official biking trail.”

Tate waited until he swung forward, about half as high as the top bar, and then he flung himself forward. He flew through the air a good half dozen yards before landing in the grass on his bare feet.

When the younger kid jumped back up and yelled, “Come on, Ash. Jump!” Asher felt he had to show the youngster he could go even farther. He pushed a bit harder with his legs and gained a bit more elevation before jumping out near the height of the arc. The feel of flying through the air sent his heart racing even as he landed less than a foot further out than Tate.

The kid jumped on his back, pushing him to the ground, “No fair! You went higher!”

Even as he complained, Tate laughed as he tried to knock the older teenager to the ground. Between the thrill of leaping from the swing, sailing through the air, and now, being tackled by the young preteen, Asher had never felt more alive. Despite the feeling he got from being around the kid, nothing felt more natural than letting the youngster climb on top of his back. Laughter bubbled up in him as he wiggled his way so that Tate sat just above his hips, gazing down on him.

Asher couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed like that. He reached up, dug his fingers into Tate’s armpits until the youngster tumbled off in a fit of giggles. As the teenager climbed to his feet, the youngster backpedaled. That’s when Asher noticed a couple of older kids coming toward Tate.

He recognized the sort. The taller boy was probably about Asher’s height but probably outweighed the eighteen-year-old by fifty pounds. The shorter boy’s face was covered in acne, and his expression looked like he hated the world. Especially Tate.

Before Asher could raise his voice, the shorter boy’s hand darted out and slapped Tate in the back of the head. The look of pure dread on the youngster’s face told Asher all he needed to know about the new arrivals.

“What the fuck, Tatum O’Twat-face? I told you this is our fucking spot. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here before I rip you a second pussy! And take your girlfriend with you.”

Then the taller boy grabbed Tate by the shirt and pushed at him. The youngster tumbled to the ground, leaving the fat bully holding the ripped blue shirt in his hands.

They were chortling at the younger’s cries as Asher came to his senses. He stormed over to them, and without saying a word, his fist flew forward and caught fatso in the mouth. His other hand drove forward, catching the same boy in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground, stunned.

Asher spun on the other boy, and while the youth was still trying to process what happened to his friend, Asher kicked him between the legs.

What had started as a couple of thirteen or fourteen-year-old bullies picking on a preteen ended with them both on the ground writhing in pain.

Asher stood over them, “Alright, you dipshits, Tate’s my friend, and if you fuck with him, you fuck with me.”

As the two young teenagers rolled into sitting positions, there was a shared flash of confusion on their faces before Acne-face grimaced and nodded.

Asher yanked the ruined T-shirt from fatso’s hands and then wrapped an arm around Tate’s shoulders, “Come on, let’s make sure you’re okay.”

Asher didn’t know what to do or where to go. He hadn’t gone far with Tate when he said, “Your parents home?”

Tate’s head shook as tears flowed, “N-no. M-mom won’t be home until t-tonight. And Mrs. Jenkins is p-playing bridge w-with her friends.”

Not knowing who Mrs. Jenkins was, Asher did the only thing he knew to do, he guided the youngster back to his apartment. After they were inside, he took Tate into the bathroom and said, “Sit on the counter. Let’s make sure you’re not cut up or hurt.”

He didn’t know what to do. He had a half-naked boy sitting on his countertop in the bathroom. Even though he did his best to ignore it, Asher felt his penis pushing against his underwear and shorts. Instead, he dusted some grass from Tate’s knees, one of which has a small scrape. Then he looked at the kid’s flat, narrow chest.

Even though it wasn’t necessary, Asher brushed his hand along the youngster’s shoulders and then across his chest, “There you go, little man. You’re tougher than you look. Just a little ointment on your knee, and you’ll be like new.”

Tate’s eyes were still full of tears, and he wouldn’t look Asher in the face, even after the young man opened a small first aid kit that had been left in the bathroom and put a bit of topical ointment on the youngster’s knee.

Worried something more was wrong, Asher gently took Tate’s chin in his hand and swung it so he could see the kid’s eyes, “Hey, big guy. What’s wrong?”

More tears slid down Tate’s face before the kid stammered, “Y-you t-think I, I’m a…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes stared down at the floor. Asher didn’t understand. He had the cutest boy he’d ever met going to pieces in his bathroom. Worse, he didn’t know what to say or do. He simply gazed at the kid. His delicate chin had a teardrop dangling from it. Another drop splashed onto his bare chest, running down immature nipples before sliding down the rest of his front until absorbed by the hem of his red shorts.

Asher’s eyes drank in the shorts. Under that bit of fabric was a small penis, just waiting to be explored. But wait. Asher couldn’t help but stare. There wasn’t even a hint of a little bulge in Tate’s shorts where he’d expect to see one.

Then the bully’s harsh words came back to him, and with a dread fascination, Asher asked, “Um, Tate, are you a girl?”

The youngster nodded, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Asher realized his fingers had just touched her chest. Holy fuck! I just touched a girl’s boobs!

He had no idea what to do. In all his years, Asher had never seen a half-naked girl, even one as small as Tate. Since his capture a decade earlier, the young man’s entire experience had been with boys and men. It’s not that the Syndicate didn’t own women; it’s just that those two worlds were kept distinctly separate.

A part of him, some part from his childhood, realized a girl shouldn’t be exposed, and he grabbed a bath-towel from a rack behind him and held it up to her.

For the first time since the assault by Acne face and Fatso, Tate giggled, even if it was through a hiccup. “What’s that for?”

Why couldn’t she have just taken the damned towel? Flummoxed by the girl, Asher said, “To cover your boobs.”

Tate took the towel as her giggle turned into brittle laughter. She wiped at her eyes before setting the towel next to her. “Thanks, Ash. Um, when I get them, I’ll keep them covered.”

What could Asher say to that? Tate’s chest had less definition than his own. Even his own nipples were bigger than hers, and his were still smaller than a lot of other young men his age.

That didn’t keep him from blushing. Everything he had assumed about Tate was out the window. Asher didn’t know how to treat the young girl sitting on the bathroom counter. One thing he strongly suspected, though. Her parents wouldn’t want her sitting half-naked in his apartment.

“We should probably get another T-shirt from your place before your parents get home.”

Tate shrugged, “It’s just me and Mom. And she won’t care. She’ll just say I got what I had coming to me for not dressing like a girl.”

Okay. No dad to kick my ass, Asher thought. Still, he was worried about the appearance, “Well, we should still get you a T-shirt, right?”

Tate said, “Can I borrow one of yours? At least until your parents get home.”

Asher rocked back on his feet. “Parents? Um, how old do you think I am?”

The girl, eyes puffy, moved her head around his for a long moment, “Um, thirteen? Maybe fourteen.”

He drew in a sharp breath, “Hmm, actually, I just turned eighteen.”

It was Tate’s turn to lean back, her eyes widened in shock. “Really? You’re not just pulling my leg?”

Shaking his head, Asher fished his wallet out of his pocket and showed her his driver’s license. Granted, the only thing right about the license was the bad DMV portrait. All the rest of the details on the license supported the identity of one Clay Jones. But it was close enough to his real date of birth as to make no difference to Asher.

Tate held the license up to her face, “Oh-five, sixteen, nineteen ninety-nine. Oh, man, you really are eighteen!”

Smiling ruefully, Asher took the license back, “Yeah. Good to know I’m not the only one here who gets things wrong. So, is your name really Tate?”

The girl nodded, “Tatum.”

“How old are you?”

Tate flashed a smile at him, “How old do you think I am?”

Asher’s eyes glanced down to the girl’s narrow, flat chest. Apart from her quick wit and clever tongue, the girl seemed impossibly young. “I don’t know, maybe eight.”

Tate stuck her tongue out, “Almost ten.”

She grew serious, “So, you thought I was a boy, and that’s why you were hanging out with me?”

Asher didn’t know how to answer her. He couldn’t imagine telling the girl the truth. Yep, Tate, I like tween boys. Had hoped we’d become friends so that one day before long, we could fool around, maybe even suck your little cock.

No, maybe not that honest. Still, he didn’t want to completely lie to Tate. “When you showed up and offered to show me around over by the mailboxes, you seemed so friendly. Just like yesterday, just more so. Not having any friends in town, I was happy to let this cool kid show me around the apartment complex. I hope it’s not creepy, but I was kinda hoping we could be friends. So this place wouldn’t seem so lonely.”

Tate’s full pink lips turned downward, “What about now, Ash?”

The occasional flapping in his stomach was gone. Even Asher’s penis seemed to have settled down. Somehow the idea of hanging out with Tate, the girl, seemed safer than hanging out with Tate, the boy. The thought brought a smile onto his smooth face, “You’re still the same cool kid as before, Tate. Without a friend, this place doesn’t seem very friendly to me. If you’re cool with it, I’d still like to be your friend.”

The lips curled upward on the girl’s face, “Cool. Me, too.”

She climbed off the countertop and added, “You really live here all by yourself?”

Asher showed Tate around the small one-bedroom apartment. He loaned her a T-shirt, which she pulled on, and then they played on the teenager’s console until the young girl glanced at the time, “Oh, shit. I’m late. Mom’ll be home, and if I don’t have the living room straightened, she’ll flip out.”

She was up and over at the door before she turned back, “See you tomorrow?”

She was gone as soon as Asher nodded. Once the door was closed, the teenager leaned back on the couch and thought about just how strange and wonderful his first full day on his own had gone. He’d started the day falling for a brown-haired boy named Tate and finished it with a solid friend who just happened to be a girl named Tate.

Continued in Part 3

Copyright 2020 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

1

In Plain Sight – Part 2 Read More »

In Plain Sight – Part 1

General |

In Plain Sight – Part 1
by
Caliboy1991

“You’ve got my phone number programmed on your cell. Call me if you have any questions or see anything suspicious, Clay,” the older man said as he tossed the keys to the Taurus into the young man’s lap.

“It’s Asher,” the young man snapped.

Deputy US Marshal Brown climbed out of the driver’s seat and leaned down, “Yeah. He don’t exist anymore. Unless you want to wind up dead, it’s Clay Jones. Got it?”

Asher flung the passenger door open and took the keys. When he stepped out, he leaned against the car as a couple of men in coveralls hurried past, laden with a couch covered in a bland checkered pattern.

Brown came around and handed him a wallet. It was his wallet. He opened it and saw his face on the driver’s license, even if it wasn’t his name.

“How long do I have to put up with this bullshit, Mr. Brown?”

The US Marshal leaned against the hood of the three-year-old Taurus and lit a cigarette. As he took a drag through his full lips, Asher stared at the older man’s dark chocolate hand that held the cigarette. It was callused and weathered. The cheap Citizen watch was probably all he could afford on his government salary. After an indeterminant time, the agent said, “Until we bring down the Syndicate. We may have gotten your handler, Clay, and even a couple of low-level lieutenants, but until we get Demetrius Perdicaris into custody, Asher Moritz is no more. At least until we need you for the trial.”

Asher grimaced as the Marshal blew a ring of smoke which the wind carried into his face. “What about after that? Do I get my life back?”

Deputy US Marshal Brown laughed, “What life? Ash- Clay, you’re an orphan. You were a fucking sex slave for six goddamned years. Had your life fucked up by Perdicaris’s Syndicate. Not just your name, but you might have been dead already if the FBI hadn’t hit the syndicate house where we found you, what was it? Two years ago.”

Asher felt stinging in his eyes. He wanted to lash out and hit his government handler. Brown took another deep drag on the cigarette and blew it away from them, “Trust me, the life we’ve built for you is a lot better than anything you could go back to, Clay. In the fall, you’ll start college here. We’ll give you a place to stay until you graduate, cover all your basic needs, including school until then. After that, God help us, if Perdicaris isn’t in custody yet, we’ll even help you get that first job. And all the while, WITSEC will keep you safe.”

Asher shook his head. He hated to admit that Brown was right. He glanced in the wallet. In addition to the driver’s license, there was a social security card, a debit card from a local credit union, and some cash.

He said, “Do I call you when this runs out?”

The movers were finished and were climbing into the moving van. As they drove off, Brown’s eyes were drawn to another car pulling into the apartment complex’s parking lot. His eyes softened after a moment, “There’ll be a deposit around the beginning of each month. Try not to run out of money. Trust me, you don’t want the US Marshals Service picking up your groceries because you can’t manage your allowance, unless you like ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

The car pulled up behind the Taurus. Asher recognized the driver from the local district office of the US Marshal Service. Brown dropped the cigarette and used his boot to crush it into the asphalt before ambling over to the car. He turned, “Hey Clay, I know the driver’s license says your eighteen. You’ve got the whole summer until college starts. It’s not like anyone has given you a chance before, but go be a kid for a little while.”

He climbed into the car, and as he rolled always, he held up his phone and mimed for Asher to call if he needed help. Then Asher was alone. He shoved the keys into a pocket in his cargo shorts and turned back to the two-story apartment building he expected to call home for the next four years. The apartment complex was older than his own eighteen years, although it appeared well maintained. He headed toward his new home.

Asher jiggled the knob. The movers had locked the door when they’d finished. He doubted seriously that they had been anything other than government contractors or employees. As he fished the keys from his pocket, he caught motion off to his left. He turned and saw a kid coming up the sidewalk.

Asher stopped fiddling with his keys and studied the kid. He was young, maybe eight or nine, with brown hair. His blue T-shirt was a couple of sizes too large, and emblazoned across the front was the picture of a longhorn bull. Over the animal was the word “Vegetarian.” Below the image were the words, “An old Indian word for bad hunter.”

Below the shirt, Asher could make out the leggings of a pair of cutoff jeans.

Damn, he’s cute.

As the boy entered the covered walkway, Asher felt something stir in his pants, and he pulled out the keys and studied the half dozen keys on the ring. Except his eyes darted to the side, eyeing the cutie who approached.

In a high-pitched voice, the kid said, “Hi, you new here?”

Asher swallowed a sigh. Taking in the kid’s soft pink lips, the first word that came to mind was sensual. His soft brown eyes drew Asher’s attention, too. For the past couple of years, Asher had been in the custody of the US Marshal Service. He’d attended more than a hundred counseling sessions to help him overcome the trauma of his former life. But one of the things he’d never talked about with the government paid shrink was his attraction to younger boys; at least until he met Peter.

Asher had first been molested when he was nine. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he found preteen boys attractive. And this kid was cuter than any of the boys he’d seen in the Syndicate’s large menagerie. Knowing he should just ignore the kid, Asher forced a smile onto his face, “Hi. Yeah. Just moved in. What about you?”

The kid smiled up at him, “Me and my mom live in twelve-one-two. It’s across the parking lot, over by the playground.”

Torn by the desire to keep the kid talking and the need to get away from the young tween, Asher said, “Cool.”

The kid flashed him a smile, “See you around.”

And then he was off, practically skipping along the breezeway between the apartments. Asher watched him go. Even though the cutoffs stuck out from beneath the oversized shirt, he could imagine the kid’s bubble butt.

“Get a fucking grip, man,” Asher muttered as he found the key and slid it into the door. A moment later, he leaned against the closed door. The furniture was simple, almost drab, as though it had come from a government warehouse.

Trying to ignore the bulge in his underwear, Asher chuckled. No doubt that’s exactly where the furniture had come from. In addition to the sofa, there was a battered wooden coffee table between the sofa and the TV stand. The TV was the only thing in the place that looked new, except for the PS4 next to it and the stack of disks. While he had been in government custody at a facility for kids like himself, the people charged with his healing and care had done what they could to give him a little bit of happiness, and new console games turned up in his room regularly.

The bedroom reminded him of the hundreds of hotel rooms he’d been in with the Syndicate’s myriad of clients. Asher closed his eyes as he felt the world closing in on him. Taking deep breaths, he reminded himself that he was free of the Syndicate’s clutches. They couldn’t reach him anymore. The moment passed, and he opened his eyes again. Now, the room simply looked like a bedroom. The bed sat in one corner. It was a queen bed, more than big enough for his five feet four inches.

Along the opposite wall was a chest of drawers. There were a couple of boxes of clothes stacked in front of it. Asher muttered, “I guess government service doesn’t include putting my shit away.”

Against another wall, they’d set up a desk. An old desktop computer peeked out from a large cardboard box. It had been a gift from the staff at the government facility he’d stayed in after his rescue. It was a combo going-away and eighteenth birthday present. Without internet access, there wasn’t much he could do with it at the facility. But now, WITSEC was paying for both the apartment and the utilities. Internet service was at the top of his to-do list. Next to the desk was a wood laminate bookshelf, with one small cardboard box next to it. Asher wasn’t a big reader, but he’d collected a few books over the nearly two years he was in protective custody. Before long, college textbooks would soon add their weight on the cheaply made bookshelf.

Asher collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes. He felt drained, at least emotionally. The past week had been a whirlwind of activity. The facility he’d been at had been for minors, and now that he was eighteen, he’d been assigned to Deputy US Marshall Brown. Being transported halfway across the country by plane, train and automobile was exhausting. And now, Brown had told him that Asher Moritz was no more. He was just supposed to forget himself and become Clay Jones.

It was all just too much. The shrinks hadn’t needed to teach Asher how to compartmentalize his thinking. He’d been doing that since the first time the Syndicate had whored him out, when not even ten years old. He tried to empty his mind. An unbidden image crept into his mind. The kid from earlier with his alluring brown eyes and brown hair filled his head.

And his pants. Asher’s mind filled with images of the kid shirtless. His erection strained at his shorts. He unsnapped the button at his waist and lowered the zipper. His erection nearly hurt as he yanked his shorts and boxers below his knees. Still, there was no relief even as he gripped his penis. His glans poked above his fist as he stroked his aching erection.

His other hand drifted downward, playing with the shrunken empty sack below his penis. Asher felt a twinge of anger. Anger at the Syndicate for surgically removing his testes when he was just ten years old. Anger at leaving him suspended in childhood for years longer than nature’s own demands.

The shudder he felt had nothing to do with stroking himself. How much worse would his situation be if he hadn’t been given testosterone treatments once he’d been rescued?

Asher had barely been five feet tall when he turned sixteen. And his immature penis hadn’t been even four inches long, and a thin four inches at that. To add insult to injury, the only hair on his body had been that on his head. But the perverts who paid the syndicate for his services had loved his body, even as he hated it. Smooth as a twelve-year-old boy, which is what he’d been told to tell those fuckers if they asked his age.

He had so many reasons to hate the Syndicate. Not the least of which was he would have to take testosterone treatments for the rest of his life. Two years into the treatments, they’d been uneven in how they’d benefited him. He’d grown an extra four inches in height since taking them. But the pediatrician who had last seen him had said that his bones were pretty much fused at their adult height, and he’d not likely get any taller.

He let go of his immature scrotum and ran his hand over his smooth cheeks. His body was still almost entirely devoid of body hair, although the same pediatrician said continued treatments would gradually result in a more physically mature body. For now, all he had were several dozen silky strands of short dark brown hair at the base of his penis. He still gripped his erection, sliding his fist up and down as he felt the tingling grow throughout. One thing had changed since his rescue. Erections had been rare occurrences after he’d been surgically emasculated. That had suited most of the perverts who’d been quite happy to abuse his ass. But since the treatments began, his erections had become every-day occurrences.

Of course, he knew how to take care of that. After all, he’d been doing that for years. Despite his lack of testes, there were plenty of times of emotional stress where his only release came from masturbation. Even without the sex drive from testosterone his body couldn’t make, he’d masturbated himself to sleep more times than he could count while the Syndicate’s prisoner.

The tingling increased as his fist flew up and down. That familiar urge to pee came over Asher, and he closed his eyes as his hips bucked on the bed, and his erection spasmed in his fist. As he let his hand fall away from his erection, his fingers found the thin line of watery semen trailing up his chest from his belly button. That had been one of the biggest surprises when he’d started the treatments. When he was younger, he’d assumed without his testes that he’d never have anything more than a dry cum. And even though he still hadn’t come to terms with the reality that he’d never father a child, there was something empowering seeing watery semen splattering his chest.

Feeling his urge satisfied, Asher cleaned himself up and spent the rest of the day unpacking. By the time he climbed into his bed later that night, he was hard again. He was still amazed at how the testosterone he was taking had changed his sex drive. It was like flipping a switch, and he felt like it was almost always on. Was this what other teenage boys went through?

After cleaning up his chest with some Kleenex, Asher finally drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t tormented by nightmares of the Syndicate. He dreamed of a brown-haired kid skipping along a concrete sidewalk.

Continued in Part 2

Copyright 2020 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

2

In Plain Sight – Part 1 Read More »

Acamping We Will Go – Part 3

Caliboy1991 |

Acamping We Will Go – Part 3
by
Caliboy1991

I hit the ground running when Gavin and I got home. Monday morning, I was back at my desk, processing title changes and taking taxpayers’ money in exchange for their car tags. It wasn’t a difficult job. I knew most of the people who came in. Of course, a good chunk of the county showed up at Matt’s funeral because they knew him. He’d been the first sheriff’s deputy in the county to die in the line of duty since prohibition. On top of that, he’d been on the football team in high school. And as anyone in any small Texas town can tell you, our true religion is celebrated every Friday night in the Fall in the bleachers of a thousand football stadiums.

I liked my job. It kept me busy during the school year when Gavin was gone most of the day, and nobody bats an eye if I get back fifteen or twenty minutes late every day in the summer when I run home and check on him at lunch. Of course, a clerical job with the county doesn’t pay a whole lot, but after Matt’s life insurance paid up and the drunk driver’s insurance company settled with Matt’s estate, I didn’t need the job. It’s just that I wanted it. It kept me grounded in the community that raised Matt and made him the wonderful man I remembered. I craved the same for Gavin.

I’m not going to say that I forgot Chris and Ethan. No, that image won’t ever go away. But it felt good getting back into my regular routine. While Gavin talked plenty about Scout camp, it was all about the swimming, shooting, and other activities the boys enjoyed during the day. I’d been afraid I’d opened up a door I didn’t want to be opened when I had exposed myself to him that last morning in camp. But like me, Gavin settled back into his routine. I left chores for him to do during the day, although that didn’t keep him from firing up his PlayStation when he finished. Still, by the time Friday rolled around, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Scout camp would be like Las Vegas. What happens there stays there.

That night I’d picked up take-out Chinese food from the only Chinese restaurant within fifty miles. Come to think of it, owned by the only Chinese family in the county. When Gavin saw me carrying those familiar cardboard boxes, he ran and helped me carry the food in from the car.

I’d been on my feet most of the day, so I grabbed my food and said, “Enjoy your General Tso. I’m going to take my food back to my bedroom.”

My shoes came off as soon as I sat down. I hung up my blouse, figuring I could get another day’s use out of it before taking it to the cleaners and threw the torture device women call a bra into the walk-in closet before grabbing one of my loose-fitting T-shirts. I had lots of those. I never got rid of them when I had finally donated most of Matt’s stuff to the Salvation Army. I knew Matt’s smell had long been washed out of them, but wearing them made me feel close to him.

The shirt was still in my hand as I came out of the closet. Gavin stood in the doorway with his food. His eyes were fixed on my exposed breasts. I slipped the shirt on as fast as possible as he stammered, “I, uh, thought I’d, uh, oh, gosh, Mom, I’m sorry.”

I pulled the hem down and said, “It’s alright, Gav.”

I laughed nervously as I added, “Seems you’ve seen more.”

He giggled as his face turned as red as the Chinese chicken he carried. “Maybe. I wanted to see if you minded if I eat with you.”

“No,” I said, “Climb up on the bed and get comfy.”

Gavin didn’t seem to pay me any mind as I removed my skirt and put on an old pair of Matt’s boxers. And when I crawled onto the bed, I sat cross-legged as I opened up my carton and ate.

As I fired up the TV and pulled up Netflix, through a mouthful of noodles, I said, “How was your day?”

Gavin swallowed a bite of chicken before saying, “After I mowed Mrs. McClusky’s yard, I rode my bike to the library, like you asked me to.”

“Did you get any books?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I asked the librarian for some help. She got me one of the Percy Jackson books and an older one called Across Five Aprils. It’s supposed to be about a boy who keeps his family’s farm running during a war.”

“Good. Let me know what you think of them.”

I found a show I’d started a before camp and fired up an episode. I fluffed my pillows and lay against them as the show played, and Gavin ate. When my son finished, he said, “Thanks for letting me eat in here.”

“No problem,” I said. Before camp, I’d been pretty pedantic about eating in our bedrooms. Some of it was just practical. Boys are messy creatures, and if they can manage it, they’ll get crumbs everywhere, attracting ants. Now, though, I just wanted to rest, and if my boy wanted to spend some time with me, I’d enjoy it while it lasts.

Gavin scooted up to head of the bed and said, “If you want, I can go find something to watch in the living room, but…”

I glanced over at my beautiful boy and said, “If you want, but you’re welcome to stay and watch TV with me in here. Once you get the trash put away.”

Gavin laughed as he gathered everything off the bed, “I’ll be back.”

When he came back in, Gavin had one knee on the bed as he said, “Uhm, do you care if I get comfortable?”

Memories from the previous Saturday poured back into my mind. I’d thought I’d successfully locked them away and had hoped Gavin had done likewise. As I looked at him, gazing back at me, his open expression touched my heart, like always, and even though I didn’t know where his request would take things, I said, “Sure, Gav.

He pulled his shirt off and then slipped his shorts off before climbing onto the bed in just his underwear. And for once, his penis was behaving itself. As he settled in next to me, I said, “Your summer camp sleeping attire, I see.”

Gavin smiled and shrugged, “Yeah. I’m getting too big for pajamas. Didn’t Dad sleep in his underwear?”

I smiled at a memory. Most of the time, Matt wore only his briefs to bed, but there were plenty of other times when he’d slept next to me naked. I said, “Yeah, he did.”

When Gavin leaned his head against my shoulder, I put my arm around him and let him rest it against the top of my chest. As the show played on, he murmured, “That’s nice.”

When the show ended, I let it loop to the next episode. Despite my many reservations about the previous week, I loved having my little man resting beside me. I knew it wasn’t the same and could never replace Matt. Still, Gavin lying beside me, filled a space in my life that had been empty too long. I suppose the basis of my feelings was built night after night, sleeping near him in the tent.

In a way, this was a continuation, just better.

By the end of the second episode, Gavin had fallen asleep. I slipped out of bed and watched as he slid over onto his side, still sleeping. I needed a bath and managed to get cleaned up without any interruptions. Later, when I slid back under the covers, I made sure to pull them over Gavin, too.

***

It was dark when I awoke. At first, I was confused. The bed was more comfortable than mine, and then I remembered, I’d been watching TV in Mom’s bed and must have fallen asleep. While it wasn’t the first time I’d fallen asleep in her bed, it was, however, the first time in a very long time that she hadn’t waked me up and sent me back to my own bed. Instead, she snuggled against me, both of us on our sides. Her front pressed against my back and her hand lying across my chest.

While I liked lying beside Mom like this, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was this because of last Saturday? Just thinking about seeing her naked gave me a stiffy.

I moved enough to roll onto my back. Mom’s hand lay on my tummy as I thought about her boobs and the slit between her legs. I wanted more than anything to see her like that. Yeah, even more than getting a chance to hang out with Ethan again. A lot more, I realized as I reached into my underwear and touched my stiffy.

I dozed off for I don’t know how long. But the room was still dark, and Mom was still on her side when I opened my eyes. I must have turned over in my sleep. Now, I was on my side, facing Mom. There were only a few inches between our heads on the pillows we shared. Her arm rested on my right side. I draped my arm over her side and inched forward until my arm rested comfortably.

Mom’s breathing changed, and I closed my eyes, hoping I’d not woke her up. And if I did, hoping she’d not realize I was trying to get even closer to her.

After a long moment, her hand moved and rubbed my back. She whispered, “Gavin?”

I blinked my eyes and tried to sound as sleepy as possible, “Mmm, yeah?”

Sure, it was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see her eyes. She looked, I don’t know, I guess, happy. “How’d you sleep, babe?”

Some more sleep would have been nice. But I’d rather be even closer to her. My face lit up and I said, “Pretty good. Thanks for not running me off.”

She giggled, “Yeah. After last week, there doesn’t seem much point in that.”

My smile widened before I leaned forward and gave her a peck on the lips. It seemed only fair, given how she loved kissing me.

In the past, she would pucker up when we’d give each other our mother-son kisses, but other than the last time, there’d never been anything else in the kiss. This time, my lips tingled as she pressed her lips to mine. She even used the hand on my back to pull me closer. Both of us had to straighten our legs as our bodies touched.

And that’s when I felt my stiffy poke against her. It might have been what I’d been hoping for, but I didn’t know what to say. Even with all the fantasies, the idea that my stiffy would brush against Mom had remained that, just a dream, until right then.

Mom’s hand reached between us as she said, “Wonder what could be poking me in my belly.”

I giggled as her hand slid between us, “Dunno,” I managed to say as her fingers touched me through my underwear’s thin cotton.

Mom’s soft laughter made my whole body tingle as she said, “Let me see what I’ve got.”

She reached her hand inside my briefs, and I nearly shouted for joy when she touched my stiffy.

I said, “Holy crap, that feels good!”

Mom tried to push my underwear down, but holding my stiffy and pushing on the elastic was proving to be too difficult for her to manage with one hand as our bodies pressed together. Eventually, I had to help by pushing my underwear down below my knees.

After a couple of minutes rubbing me, Mom rolled me onto my back, and my little pecker pointed toward my chin, all three inches raging to be touched. She straddled me, just below my stiffy as her lips returned to my face. I was enjoying my tentative kiss when I felt her tongue poke against my lips. The only person I’ve ever kissed is Mom. And a tongue in my mouth was a new experience, although one I enjoyed once I got used to it.

When my mouth grew tired, she lowered her head and played with my little boy titties until she made them hard to the touch. It felt delicious as my tummy swirled with butterflies. It didn’t take long for Mom to go lower and tickle my belly button with her tongue. I couldn’t help laughing. It tickled and felt good at the same time.

But what brought my focus back to my body was when she kissed the head of my stiffy. I inhaled sharply at the touch. Mom pulled up, “Are you okay, babe?”

More slowly, I exhaled, “Oh, yeah. That felt good.”

Mom stroked my stiffy with a finger as she said, “Good. If you want, we can stop at any time, alright?”

I nodded, “Okay.”

But as she touched me again, I thought, No fucking way! I wanted to know what Ethan felt when Chris sucked on him. And Mom was about to make it happen.

The butterflies in my tummy felt like they were going to fly away with me when Mom’s lips slid below my head. Now my raging stiffy tingled like when you stick your tongue on a nine-volt battery, but really good.

I jumped a bit when Mom’s lip touched the base of my stiffy. She had all of me in her mouth, and she made me feel really good. It kinda felt like when you put your peter against the thing in the swimming pool that shoots water out of it, only a lot better.

That tingling sense grew as Mom kept on swirling her tongue around my stiffy. As the pressure built, it almost felt like I had to pee. I cried out, “Mom, it feels like I’ve gotta pee!”

She didn’t say anything but just kept on with her tongue on my peter as that pressure gave way. It was like there was a direct connection between my pecker and my brain, and that connection was on fire in the best way I could imagine. And as it fired off, my hips took on a life of their own as I jolted against Mom’s mouth. And my pecker spasmed and twitched in her mouth.

And she kept on sucking until I had no choice but to push her mouth away, “AHHH, it’s so sensitive,” I cried out.

Mom pulled back and gave me a shy smile as she said, “That’s what Ethan felt when his dad gave him a blowjob.”

My mind was reeling as I worked to catch my breath. Once my breathing had returned to normal, I said, “Oh, so that’s what they were talking about.”

***

I realized, as Gavin’s penis spasmed in my mouth, I had crossed a line from which I could never walk back. Still, I held his erection between my lips until his dry orgasm had run its course, and he eventually pulled back when his sensitive penis threatened to overwhelm him.

When Gavin’s eyes came back into focus, I said, “That’s what Ethan felt when his dad gave him a blowjob.”

It was like a lightbulb turning on in his head as he cried out, “Oh, so that’s what they were talking about!”

I moved off Gavin and lay back beside him. I needed to feel guilty. I was as bad as Chris. But if Ethan didn’t seem worse for the experience, why would Gavin? I asked, “What’d you think?”

Gavin rolled onto his side and threw his arms around my neck, “That was freaking awesome! Thanks for showing me.”

I hugged him back. His language was endearing. Matt and I had done our best to keep profanity out of our house. Even after Matt’s passing, I’d held the line. Normally, I’d even call him on the word ‘freaking,’ just because it was a substitute for fuck. But my mouth still tasted of Gavin’s boyhood, dry though his orgasm had been, and busting his chops over the word seemed, I don’t know, perhaps hypocritical.

Fears of Gavin taking this poorly seemed overblown as he lay happily beside me. Turning onto his side, my boy turned and faced me. He yawned as he snuggled closer. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand, and no wonder he yawned. It was half past five. And on a Saturday morning.

Yawns are the ultimate social disease. I was yawning as he said, “Can we do this again?”

What little temptation there was to tell him no evaporated when my leg grazed his penis as we snuggled close. After another yawn, I said, “Sure, babe.”

We both drifted back to sleep.

The End.

Copyright 2020 / Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

Yup! This is it! Caliboy abandoned this one. When someone asked him about continuing it, his reply was:
Maybe at some point. I’ve written myself into a tight spot on the story and until I can figure out how to write my way out of it, it’s on hiatus.
But I’ve got plenty of other sweat romances to pick from here. If you like boy/mom stories. I’d suggest Helpless for the Summer.

Sadly, he never continued…

1

Acamping We Will Go – Part 3 Read More »

Scroll to Top