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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
LENDING A HELPING MOUTH
By anonymous.a
As I opened my car door to leave for work, I glanced down the street.
"Excuse me," I should have said to anybody passing by at that moment. "Those are just my eyeballs rolling at your feet. They fell out of my head after I spotted that beautiful, beautiful boy down the street."
I use the term "boy" figuratively. Obviously he was not a child, and to make sure this is understood, I have no interest in underage males. Give me a fully matured man – hairy, smelly, and physically strong – any day of the week.
He was working on his car, an older model Japanese sports car. It was in pristine condition, probably because its owner took such good care of it. The window featured a sticker from an in-state public college, one of the big football powerhouses that'll suck $100K in tuition out of your bank account every year. But it didn't seem like the boy's parents were hurting for money. Their house was a three-story brick McMansion with several pricey cars and pickup trucks in the driveway – heck, that F-150 must have set them back $40,000. Surely they could afford to educate young McDreamy.
And that's what he was – McDreamy. You ever see a guy who is just too damned pretty to be a guy? That was this boy. He looked to be about 20. I'd guess his height at 5-9, and I'll bet he didn't weigh a pound over 135 sopping wet. He was fit, not skinny – what I'd call small-statured. His features were very fine, almost delicate, his slim nose feminine in its fragility, his arms and legs toned but not muscular, his short brown hair combed perfectly into place. He could have been a model – not for Abercrombie & Fitch, because those boys exude sexuality. Nope, this boy was more of a JC Penney, wholesome and sweet.
And God, was he fine looking.
I stood there staring at him as he bent over the radiator of his rice-burner, doing some kind of mechanical work. His shorts hugged the contours of his ass, and even slipped into the crack, and I praised the fashion gods for bringing into style the slippery nylon basketball shorts all the young guys seemed to wear today. It sure made imagining what they were packing beneath those shorts a hell of a lot easier. I really could have just walked over there, planted my hands on his hips and plunged my face into that fabric-covered crack. But most people object to that kind of brazen sexual overture. So instead I got into my own rice-burner, an erection painfully tugging at my pubes, and drove to work.
It was a long day. I thought of him over and over, and my cock got so hard I thought it was going to cause a "fashion malfunction" in the form of a ripped seam in the straddle.
Over the next few days I kept my eyes peeled for young McDreamy and was rewarded time and again with the sight of him either working on that car, or arriving and leaving in it. He had no idea how good looking he was. If it had been me, I would have been standing in front of a mirror, jerking off at my own image, every 15 minutes. The boy stirred an ache in my loins that would not go away.
I took to going for walks around the block. Truth is there were other fine boys around the corner, young 20somethings with minimal facial hair, shaved heads, driving modded pickup trucks. Another frat god down the street from there, his pricey BMW always garaged, his tank tops and sweat-whickering shorts always looking brand new. A young executive who lived with his wife in a modest house.
But my pulse always quickened a little when I looped back and neared McDreamy's house.
And then one day it happened.
I was passing by on a lazy Friday afternoon, the sun filtered through massive oak and elm trees, the air barely moving the tree branches so that the shadows seemed to drift slowly across the grass and asphalt and concrete driveways. As I neared his house, I heard a voice proclaim, "Dang it!" The tone was that of a young male, not an older man or a boy, but somebody who had enjoyed puberty for a few years but was not anywhere close to middle age. I looked up the driveway and there was McDreamy's rice burner, up on ramps. A pair of very sexy legs protruded from underneath, and there was a hand feeling around the concrete for something. Off to the side I saw a socket wrench.
You will never get another opportunity like this again, I told myself, and walked up the driveway. I approached him and knelt down, admiring the view. He must have heard me because he said, "Could you help me please. I dropped that stupid socket wrench and I can't find it."
"Sure," I said, and picked up the wrench. I placed it in his hand, savoring the warm, smooth touch of his flesh. His fingers curled around the wrench and accidentally wrapped around my fingers, too, for just a moment. Then he sorted it out and pulled the wrench under the car.
"Thanks! I've got five more of these bolts to put on and I'll be done."
"Need any help?" I offered.
"No thank you," he said politely. He paused a moment, then asked, "Who is that out there?"
I laughed. "I'm your neighbor down the street. With the red car in the driveway."
"Oh yeah," he said, "You just moved in. Right?"
"Yup."
I could hear the socket wrench scraping against metal. "How do you like it here?"
"So far, so good," I said. And then, feeling a moment of daring, I added, "Lots of good-looking guys."
A loud clang boomed out from under the car. I wasn't sure if it was in response to what I said or the wrench had slipped off the bolt. I heard him mutter something that came close to being a curse word, and he shifted his position, bending one knee for leverage and, unexpectedly, causing those filmy shorts to fall open.
My God, there it was. The object of my dreams.
His cock.
It was a very trim 5 inches, no thinner or fatter from base to tip, with a perfectly shaped head and tight little balls nestled to either side, all of it springing from a sparse and neatly shaved public patch. I can't imagine the thing would get much larger at full bone and somehow that was a turn-on for me – to think that such an efficient package could produce so much joy.
I stared at it longer than I should have, and I got the definite impression that not only did he know I was taking in the sight of his crotch but maybe he wanted me to see just how tasty and good his unit could be. I asked him again, "Are you sure there's nothing I could do to help you?" as I watched that cock shift slightly as he worked on whatever he was doing.
"I can't think of a thing you could do," came the answer.
"Well, I could take care of this," I said, and throwing caution to the wind, I reached into his open pants leg and wrapped my hand around his dick.
It was warm and smooth, with not a single hair sprouting from the base. It was so sleek and thin it resembled some of the starter dildos I had seen some guys use to loosen up their assholes and get them acclimated to having a dick inside. I formed my hand into a socket and went up and down the shaft, and it became hard within a few strokes. Better, young McDreamy raised nary a protest.
I worked on him until I began to feel a stickiness at the head. I dabbed a forefinger against the pisshole and was rewarded with a clear drop of juice, which I lapped up with the tip of my tongue. The taste was sweet and fresh, and it reminded me of something. I had to think, and then a memory surfaced. When we were kids we would pluck a honeysuckle blossom from a vine and tear off the very back tip, then pull the stamens out of the blossom. A drop of nectar would come with it and we would greedily lap it up. That's what this tasted like – a drop of honeysuckle nectar. I continued fisting his cock, hoping for more.
He opened his legs a little farther, which I took to be an invitation, so I leaned in and licked that delicious rod. It was now burning fiercely and my tongue did nothing to dissipate its heat. I ran it up to the tip, sucked on the head for more pre-cum, tasted the narcotic sweetness of it, then plunged his cock into my mouth. I was able to get the whole thing in because indeed, although he was fully hard now, his erection couldn't have measured over 5 inches ... but what an amazing, sexy 5 inches it was!
He tasted fresh and clean, as if he had just showered. The odor of his crotch was faint and reminded me of a traditional soap, like Dial, or Safeguard. Usually a man has a bit of funk down there, but not this boy. He was a sprig of mint in a glass of freshly made iced tea.
I swallowed his cock, working my tongue and throat muscles up and down the shaft, sucking hard. This elicited a moan from McDreamy, who spread his legs even wider. I allowed my tongue to travel down his shaft and to his balls. His scrotal sack was very tight and wrinkled, which I took to mean he was close to cumming. So a moment's reprieve from his cock seemed to be a good decision if I wanted to prolong this. I licked his balls thoroughly and then visited that spot below his balls, which led to his ass crack. It was smooth and hairless, like the palm of his hand, and my tongue easily collected a very thin film of sweat that had gathered there.
I used my fingers to pry apart his butt cheeks. I was rewarded with the sight of perfection.
You've heard people describe assholes as "rosebuds." That's an abstracted and, dare I say, romanticized description of what essentially is an orifice for the discharge of waste material – and probably the least alluring orifice on the human body, unless you're under the influence of a sexual frenzy of hormones. But McDreamy's asshole captured this ideal beyond my ability to describe it. The thing was beautiful, just like the rest of him. A perfectly symmetrical circle of muscle, pinkish in color, like a rose blossom on the verge of opening. Not a trace of hair. No blemish of any kind. My first instinct when I saw it was to stick my tongue in it and I did that. McDreamy sighed, his tone somewhere between boy and man. I gobbled it and slathered it and poked at it with my tongue. One part of me wanted to lube up my dick and plunge it into that hole. But another part. ...
Another part of me recognized and appreciated the perfection of that beautiful asshole, and what a tragedy it would be to plunder it with my cock. So in an act of supreme sacrifice, I gave it a final swabbing with my tongue and then gently returned his cock to my mouth and began sucking him.
Within moments he erupted. Semen squirted into my mouth in three or four jets of fluid that was neither thick and clumpy, nor thin and watery.
Christ. Even his cum was perfect.
I continued sucking on him until his cock stopped spasming. I swallowed his load, then cleaned up his cock. I heard him sigh as he straightened his leg. I positioned his shorts so that once again, everything was covered. Innocence restored.
It was at that moment I realized anybody walking down the road could have seen what we were doing. Apparently nobody did, but who knew if my exploits would someday show up on a Tumblr video?
I said to him, "If you ever need any help again, don't hesitate to ask. I'm just two houses down, on the right, with the red car in the driveway."
He said, "Thanks, neighbor! I'll do that."
And then I walked home, savoring his sweet taste and hoping that one of these days, I'd get the full course.
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