Nifty Archive Story: Sam Under 18, scoot: this isn't for you, anyway. This story is Copyright 2014 by Soaringtoad. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission. Speaking of which: please donate to Nifty: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Sam
So I moved to Ecuador, having heard there was a lovely climate and a large ex-pat American community. I had enough money left from David's life insurance to set me up. Once I settled in, I discovered that there was also a large contingent of lonely aging widowers who could use some help, or needed minding to various degrees. Gradually, one favor led to another and I essentially became a full-time volunteer helping seniors, since I was a bit younger and didn't need to earn a living.
Mr. Samuels, who everybody calls "Sam," is a healthy 70-ish retired architect, who moved down here with Doris, his wife of over 40 years. She died suddenly of a stroke about 6 years ago, and he buried her here, since neither of them still had any family left in the States.
I used to take him into town on errands, since I had a car and spoke the language passably. At home, I'd help him with a few things, like getting in and out of his big soak tub, which was decidedly not senior friendly. As we'd gotten to know each other, I'd encouraged him to take a long hot soak a few times a week to ease the aches and pains of age. Somewhere along the way, the subject of losing one's mate had come up.
He knew I was bereaved, myself, and asked me about "her." I explained that I had been blessed with the love of my life for over 16 years -- I am grateful for every minute -- until David was killed in an aerobatic accident when the controls of his tiny red Pitts failed and his chute didn't open. It was sudden, shocking, and for David, blessedly quick. I brought some of his ashes with me when I moved, and speak with him regularly in long lucid dreams. His love and his advice remain as solid as ever.
So Sam already knew and liked me, by the time he found out I was gay. And he already knew before the first time I ever saw him undress, so there was never any hint of trickery. He didn't seem to have any major hang-ups about being naked in front of a gay man. I think he just ran the "we're all just guys, here in the locker room" script everybody uses, and studiously thought of other things. I certainly don't think he figured I could possibly find him attractive.
As it happens, he had a pleasant enough body, for an older guy. He had stayed in pretty good shape and had the kind of coloring for which I must admit I have a serious weakness: that reddish-ginger Scottish look, with the pale skin and light, even body hair. His package was on the generous side of average, with a truly fine pair of balls in a delightful, soft, wide scrotum, hanging well below the head of his fat cut penis. Those nuts of his give me a major mouth-boner every time I think of them.
Did I say he's bright, pleasant and urbane? One afternoon, after a couple of local beers and some wistful talk of our lost loves, I asked him if he ever missed the intimacy. He teared up instantly and said the longing -- he called it the "hole in my soul" -- was practically unbearable, sometimes. I said I suffered the same. A couple of beers later -- okay, quite a few -- I got around to saying that tenderness, intimacy and sexual pleasuring between men held no terrors or stigma for me. I assured him that all he ever needed to do was ask.
Then, a thought came to me: "Oh, and, umm, I'm sure you have always thought of yourself as straight. So, umm, asking another man -- even an openly gay man like me -- for a little, umm... touch... might... might not come so easy for you."
He nodded, unable to get any words out.
"So, I'll tell you what: I promise I won't ever pester you, and I promise not to ever try anything creepy, but if I suggest a back-rub or something, and you are at least a little open to things maybe going further, just bite your tongue and don't feel that you have to slam the door -- you know, say "no" to anything before the fact -- to preserve your manhood or something. You have been a man for 60 or 70 years -- that's real and nobody can take that away from you. But I think you've earned your freedom from... the need to prove anything to anybody. If I can ever do anything... offer you any tenderness... I'm not expecting you to be able to ask. Just don't drive me away out of reflex."
He nodded again, swallowing back tears.
The next week, when I showed up, he was in an obvious state of agitation. When I set out his bath stuff, he was red-faced and blurted, "Danny, I have a confession. I've had a boner for... what you said... all week and I have a boner now, and I'm embarrassed to have a boner for doing something queer and having you see me with it."
"Sam, my friend... see... umm... the only kind of boner I've ever had in my life is for doing something queer. Do you really think your boner will make me think less of you? If anything, I have to admire your daring."
I kicked off my sandals and shucked my shorts in solidarity. "See, I have a boner for you, too. It's for touching and pleasing you. For sucking you and tasting your cream. That's what my boner is for. I'm honored you'd trust me to see your own... eagerness."
Looking at my package, his eyebrows went up: "Danny, that's... quite a..." he sort of trailed off.
"Boner? Tally whacker? Piddle, Pee-pee, Tinkler, Cock, Prick, Penis? Unit? Wang Dang Doodle?"
"I prefer 'boner.' "
I laughed. "Huh, me too! And... I know that's not what you were saying. Let's get your soak done and I'll give you a back rub."
And he did have a boner. A nice thick one.
I helped him out of the bath and gently dried him, led him to his bed and laid him down on his tummy. Running my hands from his waist to his shoulders, I kneaded out the knots, worked down to his lower back, kneaded and pummeled and dug into his butt muscles a while, and had him spread his legs a bit, as I began to lightly caress him where I had just been massaging. I had a lovely, private back view of his luscious nuts, as I gently started in on his feet. As my fingers slid above his knees he got goose bumps, gave a little shiver, and his sack scrunched up. He rolled a little to one side for a moment, to arrange things.
Feeling myself ooze with anticipation, I finished with the thighs and sensuously ran my fingers lightly along his crack, tickling the hairs, and across his buttocks, up his sides, then wordlessly urged him over onto his back. As he rolled over, I could sense his trepidation. He made a half-hearted motion to cover his boner. I pushed his hands back to his sides and teasingly ran a finger feather-light up the head. "You're gonna get sucked, remember?"
His cock bobbed in response. It was absolutely beautiful: wide and cut, with a big flaring head, pressed up along his belly and hard as hell. Ruddy and fat and eager and begging. Delicious looking. Therapeutic just to see it. And those nuts...
"Very nice! What a great looking man you are." He relaxed a bit and his dick bobbed to his heartbeat.
I tenderly ran my hands over his face, easing away the worry lines, running my fingers gently across his eyes, across his lips, till they parted softly. Cradling his cheeks, I leaned in and planted a feather-light trembly kiss on his parted lips.
He let out a little "Mmm," smiled and blushed. "You know," he said, "I asked Doris and she gave me her blessing."
I smiled, "David told me the same thing."
He smiled and pursed his lips for another kiss. Cradling his face, I kissed him again, more tender than passionate, not to freak him out. He grabbed my head and the tongue dance was on, much to my... further bonerization. I probably moaned, 'cuz he kissed me strong and sexy and good. This was a real man, beyond a doubt.
I ran my hands down his chest as we kissed. His nipples were not particularly responsive, so I moved on, proceeded to caress his body, down his smooth sides to his hips. Breaking the kiss, I sat up and did his feet and calves, then ran my hands gently over them, up the outside of his thighs, then lifted his knees and spread him, to touch his inner thighs and send his lovely balls scurrying for cover. I could almost feel the ache of his need. His nipples hardened and his dick bobbed with his heartbeat, as I ran my fingers slowly and tickly through his sex fur, tenderly parting it to reveal the magical root, where his penis leaps free of its origins, to become the sacred pillar of his manhood. Beckoning me, a glimmer of liquid appears at his tip.
I drag the back of my hand up across his beautiful bag, our tender skin sticking together and lifting them. Softly cupping him, his sack tightens again, still a handful, now a happy furry treasure. Thrilled with his trust, I reach to softly take his fat cock, gently squeeze it, pressing out more liquid proof of his arousal. I feel him pulse and make another clear dollop, a tender confession of his need. I can feel him letting go, giving himself to the sweetness. Giving himself to me. He makes a barely perceptible thrust into my hand.
I lean forward, opening softly, as my lips approach to know him. His warm scent invades me, sends my heart racing, as deep need fills me, burns, even aches, deep in my loins. My lips strain for contact, needy for that first taste, my tender communion with this man, with his arousal, with the giving place: the place where he'll give me his cream.
"Give yourself to me, sweet man."
Legs lolling, he does, softly presenting his tender bag, his eager boner. As I cup him, he presses into my hand, giving himself to me. Touching him tenderly, as he gets harder than he has been in years, I can feel him melting, becoming more tender, yielding to being touched, giving himself to be taken, pressing, yearning to be fondled and held and possessed. Urgent to feel himself between my lips to suck him. His face alight, full of wonder at the tenderness, at being desired, at the sharp ringing arousal, the exultant joy he'd thought was gone forever. Since Doris. Since he'd stopped getting hard enough to properly penetrate a woman, stiff enough to feel like a real man. Still, she loved him and gave him... this. Stiff now, he was, like a teenage boy.
The oozing head touches my lips. I know his sweetness, his viscous eagerness, the firm tenderness, his lovely shape, the size of him. The ridge of him, hard, distinct, eager. Pulsing, his voluptuous liquid spreads across my lips. Sliding to take his shaft. Tender, prayerful. This penis a treasure, a sacred honor in my mouth, touching the portal of my throat. His shaky moan a benediction, a touch of heaven on my soul, the bigness of him filling and healing me. Having him. The taste of him a deep communion, a confession, a vow. I moan my joy, I moan my abandon, he echoes me as I impale myself sweetly on the big meat of him.
Desired, caressed, tenderly sucked, joyful, lips around his base, head ballooning in the warm, loving mouth, tender head pressing out, thrillingly confined, deep. His arousal is absolute. Pressing, his heart full and pounding, blood thumping and roaring in his ears, the power of his need rising, filling him, taking him; so hard, so hard! Sweetness rising, welling over, my tender mouth a gift, a treat, a shrill torment, his cream so full, so urgent, pressing, demanding escape. Wonder blossoms in him.
Craving my tender lips, pressing to be taken deeper, to deliver himself, to surrender to my lips. Giving his sack to be held between my loving hands, taken and felt, known. Syrupy tenderness, softness in his heart; giving, giving. I grasp his needy bag, holding, cherishing, in my loving hands. Giving, moaning, thrusting, he's starting to drown in his suck joy.
Gay man knows his boyish need, opens him, cups his gladness tenderly. I gently grip his big balls, surround them, gently squeeze the deep phallus through the softness of his bag. He pulses. Pain and longing gone; sweet fire rises, lifts and heals him. My lips move on the hard shaft of him, the huge head, his cream rising. Nuts grasped, full. Deep phallus tenderly known. Lips on the head, pursed, pressing. His penis breaks through the tender ring, enters, retreats against my sucking, presses again to break through, to slide the shaft home again, all of him. Sucked, he thrusts gently at first, then with abandon. His balls cupped, grasped in my tender hand, his penis breaking through my tender lips, entering, penetrating the soft wetness, penis going in, going in, tenderly forcing into the sweetness, burying to the base, he thrusts his hips, sucked, cream rising; thrusting, bury to the base, bury to the base, pressing, pressing, deep, sucked, sweet, cream rising. Tender fingers holding. His gay lover tenderly leads him, boyish, virginal, cupped, held, thrusting, sucked, into the sweet fire.
He freezes as his urgency shatters, riding the long exquisite pang. Unstoppable, his cream slides burning-sweet through the joy hole deep within, penetrating, a tiny dick of joy-fire, fucking him as his get-ready place fills with sweet cream and cum-certainty. Itchy full, he erupts! Convulsing: man cream jetting forth in glorious ropes of gladness. Joyous, thrusting, pumping completion. This man pumping, pumping, between my sweet sucking lips, into my grateful, knowing mouth. Exquisite, tender sucking, more creaming, creaming, feeding, feeding, cream given, taken, taken. Sweet sucking. Cream still given, cream sweet, savored. Completion. Completion. Completion. Blessed emptiness.
Having received his cream, I tenderly, reverently kiss his penis, kiss his balls and pull up the covers, as he drifts boyish, soft, downward to blissful stillness and healing slumber.
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