Please be aware that this story contains material of a sexual nature and sexual acts between males. If your mother, municipality, morals, or medication dictates that you should not be here then good-bye.I hope that you just enjoy the story knowing that any apparent similarity of characters to real people is coincidental. The best part of writing this is hearing from you. Thank you.
Part One Peter Cross
It's a partnership. My younger brother does the delivery and I pick up the payments. He hates the payment part, because he feels like he's begging, even though he worked hard to deliver the papers, I guess its the way the people make him feel.
I don't mind at all, actually I like it. I sweet talk the old ladies and call the men Sir and make some good tips just for a smile.
My brother likes to ride his bike to deliver, now that I'm sixteen and have car I park it at one end of the street and walk up and then back to get the job done.
Maple Street is where I take it slow and with some luck enjoy the view. That's where the hottest kid in High School lives, Maple Street.
Peter Cross with his shiny brown hair, is so popular, he is cute and funny and nice to all his friends. Problem is he doesn't even know I'm alive.
Peter runs track, he is the Vice President, of our class, King of Homecoming and dresses like he is fresh from a teen magazine. I'd just like to see more of him, like all of him.
I guess I'm gay. How would I know I've never had the chance to find out? I think all boys beat off, so that doesn't make you gay. I do like looking at guys, some girls, but mostly guys. I think of Peter when I, well you know.
Sometimes as I walk down Maple Street I can see him in his room. His is the front one up stairs in the gray house second from the end. When his light is on I take my time and usually see him walk across the room. It's easy to see that he has removed his shirt, I wonder what else? Sometimes he comes to the window without his shirt and looks out as if in search of something. Once I could see skin below the navel and I swear he looked down at me before he stepped back. I had to run to the car with my dick ready to explode just from that moment.
When he's not in his room I imagine me being there, just looking at his stuff, smelling his underwear. I wonder if he wears briefs or boxers? Man I'd love to know. I'll never know, never see him in his underwear or less, never get the chance. Oh well.
Last Street of collections is always Maple giving Peter plenty of time to get home. No luck today, looks like the place is empty. I'll leave the payment envelope and they'll mail it in. One more house and I'm done for the day.
Up the front walk: Tap on the door: It pushes open: That's weird. Most of the time Peter's younger brother is there and answers the door to pay me, but never has the door been left open. I wonder if everything is okay? I wonder if Peter needs help?
Get real Ryan; Peter Cross doesn't need anything from you. I sort of yell, Hello. No answer; the door moves open wider with just a small push of my hand. Nice place. The living room is furnished in greens and gold's. Oh boy, I'm playing "Design Star", I must be gay.
I should just leave the envelope, close the door and go right? But what if Peter has been kidnapped and is being held in his room completely naked, waiting for me to check him out?
Stop Ryan. You're getting weird.
Don't do it. Don't do It, Don't do It!
I do it.
I justify to myself that I'm only going to take a quick look around and make sure there is nothing wrong. I tell myself everyone would do the same thing.
Yeah, Right!
Moving through the living room I find myself at the bottom of the stairs. I think about yelling again, but stop. I don't hear anything. If I can get up the stairs and just peak into Peter's room, I'll be happy. Then I can run back down the stairs leave the pay envelope and no one will ever know.
Am I Crazy?
Moving up the stairs, the first one creaks, and my hands are moist, I don't know why. I round the corner on the flat and three more steps I'm outside a bedroom, it must be Peter's
I open the door slowly. If he's in there I'm dead, I tell myself.
You have nothing to live for anyway loser. I hear my mind telling me
Damn the door creaks too, I'm holding my breath, and I feel like I'm about to behold a place that has only existed in my dreams. It's a little dark, but light enters the room with my view.
Peter?
Small pink head, blond curls, ruby lips matching the stylist ski apparel. Yes, it's none other than Barbie. The room is full of her, a hundred damn dolls, the Barbie bed, the Barbie drapes. Not the ones I spy on Peter through. Wrong room.
The next-door down, it must be his. I move forward, now totally forgetting that I not where I belong. This door is open and I see the window as I draw nearer to the entrance.
The window where Peter was shirtless and looked back at me; I move forward; There, the edge my Peter's bed; Gosh this is so hot. I'm at the door and push the door back. Peter's room is clean. Not like mine, very clean. I wonder if he's gay?
Don't be silly, that's not a sign of being gay!
What is?
His room even smells nice, gosh he is so nice, so cute and good to people.
Okay, Okay look around and get out of here.
I open his closet and it is like shopping at Ralph Lauren, he has everything and it's neat and on hangers, color-coded.
I wonder! Stop it!
His dresser. I move to it and open the top drawer.
Does ever guy keep his underwear in the top drawer?
Wow! He goes both ways, I mean both briefs and boxers. Each pair is neatly rolled and aliened in its proper place. One pair looks very soft and silky, briefs. I lift them out and move them to my face.
I need a hobby.
They are so soft and the smell of Peter is there. I wonder what it would be like to slip them on.
No don't do it, get out of there, don't do it.
It won't take but a minute and then I'll leave.
First I kick my Vans off and then my Dockers slide down my butt along with my Joe Boxers, my polo shirt skims over my head, don't ask me why I need to take my shirt off I just do Okay!
Now naked except for socks,
Guys just don't think you need to take socks off, have you noticed that?
The feel of silk brings every hair to attention as I pull Peter's briefs up my legs. That's not all that is at attention. I can't recall being this hard ever. I might not be able to get completely in the briefs, but I'm going to try.
They're on!
Peter, I am in your briefs. I wish you were here in your room in your briefs.
I close my eyes and think that I am removing the briefs from Peter. My hands to the rear and I push them in and feel the hairless skin moving down the cheeks. The crack is warm and almost moist. My index finger moves in and pushes against a tight hairless hole. I push the briefs down, they hang on a hard dick and I move my hands around and meet it, now slick with pre-cum. The head screams to be touched, but it is so sensitive that a tickle will be returned by a purple flare and more pre-cum. My hand warps slowing around the heated pole where wild rivers of blood demand more girth. I feel the softness of the ball sac now drawing up in a heated basket of balls and sperm. I dream that I have Peter and fold him into my palm. I stroke, once, twice, Bam!
I can't stop Peter, no, I am shooting everywhere; I see a glob fly to the dresser one lands on the mirror in front of me; the briefs are suddenly soaked with cum. Peter is hot; I am Peter.
I come back to reality and all too quickly and realize the room is no longer so neat. I have made a mess and it is all too obvious. I have to clean up quickly
I push the sticky silk down my legs where droplets of cum glue my hairs together.
I drop the briefs on the floor and look for a towel. None to be found, but I noticed a bathroom across the hall from Peter's room.
Quickly, now naked (except for sock of course) I run out the bedroom closing the door behind me to find a towel or something I can use to clean up.
Okay I find one in a linen closet and head back to destroy the evidence of my intrusion.
I head back to the room, twist the handle of the door.
It's locked.