watching-petey-1

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Subject: Watching Petey, chapter 1 Watching Petey, chapter 1 By: Boi_Luvver Gay, Adult-Youth, Watersports, M/b — If you enjoy this story or would like me to continue this story, you can contact me at boi_stories (at) tutanota (dot) com. I will try to answer all emails. Flamers will be ignored and blocked! Please consider a donation to Nifty to help keep the stories cumming. Donate easily and securely at https://donate.. Every little bit helps! — **Disclaimers:** – This work of fiction contains sexual contact with a minor. If this is something you’re not comfortable with, or it is illegal in your jurisdiction, don’t read any further. – If you are under the age of 18, don’t read any further. – I do not condone the actions of the characters and I do not necessarily agree with their views and opinions. Separate the art from the artist. — “Uncle Dick, I bet you can’t catch me!” called Petey as he sped down the hill on his bike. The 10-mile bike trail around Headland Park was a fairly easy ride, with only a couple of steep hills. I watched Petey as he flew down the hill. He nicely filled out the biking shorts I had given him for his 10th birthday just a couple of months earlier, which made watching his ass a really pleasant task. A week ago, his dad, my best friend, had asked if I could watch Petey so that he and Petey’s stepmom could get away for the weekend. As his honorary “Uncle Dick,” I agreed. It isn’t uncommon for me to be asked to “visit” not “babysit”, Petey when his folks are out for the evening. What is uncommon is that Petey will be staying at my place tonight. So, while planning how to keep Petey occupied I came up with the brilliant idea to put our bikes on my car and drive an hour into town so that we can ride the circle bike trail at Headland Park and then go swimming in the ocean at one of the public beaches. Since Petey had never been to the park, I figured the afternoon’s adventure would kill two birds with the proverbial single stone. It would provide something to keep us occupied until early evening and would hopefully burn off some of his hyper-active energy. When sitting for… oops… “visiting with” him in the evening, it was always a bit of a crapshoot as to whether he would settle down or be too hyped up to sleep. I was really counting on burning off energy so that he would settle down later. So, there I was, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in August, watching the ass of my buddy’s boy as he barrelled down a hill on his bike. I put a bit more muscle into pedalling my bike and took off after him. It really couldn’t get much better than this. A beautiful day with a beautiful boy in a beautiful setting… you get the picture. As I reached the bottom of the hill and swung into the gentle curve to the right, I found Petey had dismounted and was waiting for me, giggling madly. Is there a more beautiful sight than a boy who is wrapped up in the enjoyment of the moment? I got off my bike and leaned it against the tree where Petey had put his. His vibrant green eyes sparkled with amusement on a face that defines perfection. A button nose and two prominent dimples were underlined by a wide grin. “I knew you couldn’t catch me,” he crowed. “I’m still the champion.” It’s true that he had won all three of his impromptu races, but in my defence, racing ahead would have deprived me of the opportunity to perv on his body that I was taking full advantage of when behind him. And what a body it was. While Petey is not into organized sports, that doesn’t mean that he is not athletic. During the summer he rides his bike everywhere he goes in our small town. And if he isn’t on his bike, he is swimming most days at the public pool, climbing trees in the park, or running anytime that he doesn’t take his bike. All his activity means that is a wiry, whip-cord strong specimen of boyish good-looks. Watching from the back, his shirtless torso curves nicely into his muscular ass. His spandex covered ass just begs to be fondled, the smooth lines betraying the fact that he isn’t wearing anything under his shorts. Watching his thighs and calves flex while he rides show legs that could probably outride me, which is another reason that I don’t take him up on his race challenges. It is much easier to be the “adult in charge” when you don’t have to recover face after losing to a 10-year-old. “Need a break, old man?” he asks. I look around. “Old man? I don’t see no old man.” He just points at me and grins. He then pulls off his helmet and wipes his brow. I take a moment to do the. At 30 I am in respectable fitness for a desk-jockey… who abhors exercise for the sake of “fitness”. I carry a few extra pounds around my gut, due to the “occasional” doughnut and beer, but I try walk to work most days and when doing errands in town. “Who are you calling old?” I asked, grabbing at him in the age honoured fashion of older siblings, uncles, and pedophiles. “You-ou-ou,” he stuttered out as I started to tickle him. I wrapped him in a bear hug with my left arm while my right was performing precision strikes against the appropriate, and “inappropriate” tickle targets on his torso. Holding him against me, I luxuriated in the feeling of his silky-smooth skin as it slid around with his struggles to free himself. As I always do when tickling him, I take the opportunity to enjoy how smooth his skin is. The only hair, that I know of, on his body other than that on his head is the light cover of very fine, sun-bleached hairs on his fore arms. As his struggles slow down, he leans his panting body back against my chest. Somehow, we have ended up with me sitting back against a tree with him now sitting between my legs, leaning back into my embrace. “That was fun. We should do it again,” he declares once his panting slows enough for him to speak. “That’s what you always say,” is my response. “That’s `cuz it’s always fun,” we both finish as we have done many times before. Running my hands lightly down his sides, I comment as they reach his hips, “No underpants today?” He blushes slightly and ducks his head. “She always complains about panty lines when she wears tight pants.” When Petey says “She” like that, it means he and his stepmom have been at it again. “I didn’t want to have any either.” Then in a quiet voice he almost whispers, “Besides, Uncle Dick, I thought you’d like the view better without them.” Squeezing him tightly, I ask, “Where did you get that idea?” “Remember when we saw the junior triathlon in the park in June, and those guys were running out of the water to get to their bikes?” I made a gentle noise of agreement. “And you saw the one boy who was wearing a jock strap under his spandex shorts? Then you laughed and said that when a boy wears spandex cycling shorts with a … a …” “Chamois in them he doesn’t need an extra layer of `protection’.” I finished. “And then you gave me these shorts with a chamois in them, so I don’t wear anything under them,” he finished. “But that doesn’t explain why you think I’d like the view.” He pulls away enough to partially turn and look at me. “You always look at the boys in spandex and have to…” he points to his crotch and mimes a male adjusting his tackle. It is abundantly obvious that I haven’t been as discrete as I thought I was. Wanting to get off this topic, I was happy to oblige when he turned and leaned back into my chest and then quietly asked, “Can we not talk about this anymore?” Relaxing back against the tree, I pulled him back with me. It was one of those perfect moments that life seems to dole out so sparingly. A beautiful day, with a beautiful boy in my arms with his ass nestled against my crotch. I bent my head forward and sniffed his hair, luxuriating in that intoxicating scent of a boy who has been exercising hard. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes before he snaked his head around to look at me. “Remember when we were watching the triathlon?” I nodded. “Do racers really just pee in their pants when they are running or riding their bikes?” I thought back to the race where we were about a mile back from the finish line, watching the boys riding their bikes. Petey had noticed that the crotch of a couple racers was wet, which led to an interesting conversation about sweating boys and where do racers go to the bathroom in the middle of a race. “Some do,” I replied. “Why are you asking?” “Cuz I have to pee, and I want to see what it is like to pee on my bike. Can I try it?” “That’s up to you,” I said. “Do you want to ride in wet pants?” He looked at me a little sheepishly. “If I tell you something, will you keep it a secret?” I nodded. We have had many “secret” talks, mostly typical growing boy things that would be too embarrassing to ask his dad or stepmom. “Sometimes when I go to the river to etiler escort fish, if no one else is around, instead of pulling my dick out of my pants to pee, I just wet my pants. It’s sort of fun.” This was very interesting. One of the things that his dad warned me before I agreed to have him over for the night is that sometimes Petey still wets the bed. Which really wasn’t news, as I have put him to bed often enough to recognize the sound and feel of a plastic mattress cover under his sheets. Of course, the news that Petey will at times deliberately wet himself was something that excited me, as I have been known to do the same thing when the mood strikes. As we got back on our bikes, I asked, “Do you want to pee before we get back to the car?” Fuck it was so hot asking an 10-year-old if he was going to wet himself. The only thing that I could think of that would be better was if he was offering to piss on me, which while I really wanted to have this happen, was something that I was not ready to suggest. He just nodded and started to ride in front of me again, going much slower this time. I pulled up beside him and watched as a dark spot formed in the front of his lycra shorts. It was so erotic to watch as that spot grew larger and eventually a small trickle started to run down his leg. It was such a turn on thinking about his boy cock with warm piss streaming out of it. Thanking every boy-loving, gay deity for giving me this unexpected show, I was also cursing, as riding a bike with a 7.5 inch boner is rather uncomfortable. It was obvious that Petey was aware of my predicament as just a couple minutes after peeing himself, he looked over to me and grinning widely he once again mimed adjusting his junk. Petey’s eyes widened as I deliberately grabbed myself and followed his mimed actions. It was a calculated risk, but I figured he started it. About twenty minutes later we were back to the car. We made quick order of securing the bikes to the bike rack. Reaching into the cooler in the back of the car, I grabbed out a couple bottles of water. Throwing one to Petey, I said, “Drink up. You don’t want to get dehydrated in this heat.” He looked at me, smiled and made quick work of chugging down the bottle and asking for a second. Grabbing our respective bags, we headed to the change hut. When you entered into the men’s side, the first thing you noticed was the pervasive smell of stale urine in 80-degree weather, the second was that the whole building looked like it was probably built in the 1950s. To get to the changeroom you passed through a small room with a single trough urinal that ran the length of one side of the room, with two sinks and three shitter stalls missing their doors on the other. The changeroom only had the one door and was in pretty sad shape. There were two benches ran down opposite sides of the room with the remains of hooks attached to the wall above them. Petey looked around and the stared at me as if to say, “What have you gotten me into here?” “It’s a place to put on your bathing suit,” I responded to his very pointed look. “At least you don’t need to change out in public.” “Okay,” he said, “but this place stinks.” I shrugged. “It’s only pee. I’m sure you know what that smells like.” I pointed to his now dry shorts. He just rolled his eyes at me, turned his back and skinned out of his spandex. “Damn!” I thought, “I was hoping to see his bits.” I admit that I had planned this moment. By parking at the one beach where the changeroom facilities had not been updated I knew that there would be no “privacy booths”, or toilet stalls for him to change in. For all that I “visit” Petey on a semi-regular basis, I have yet to see anything more than a quick flash of skin when he moons me and runs to his bedroom to get ready for bed. While he is VERY cuddly, his stepmom is constantly on him about being decently dressed. After she came on the scene, he could no longer run around in just his cute little Y-fronts. She didn’t even like him to go around the house without a shirt on. So yeah, I would take any opportunity I got to see more of the boy that I had been perving on for years. Though I didn’t get to see his cock and balls, I will admit to perving on his very pretty boy ass for the few seconds that it was exposed. It looked as smooth as I dreamed it to be, creamy white skin framed by very distinct tan lines. As much as she didn’t like him to show skin, it was obvious that when he was outside, he ran mostly around shirtless. Pulling myself together, I deliberately waited a moment and didn’t start to take off my bike shorts until he was turning back to me. The look of surprise on his face was priceless. More so, was the deliberate way in which he tried to look like he wasn’t interested but couldn’t help staring. Pulling up my trunks, I made a show of tying the drawstring and my cock and balls settled comfortably. Without bragging, I will just say that I am a “shower”, not a “grower”, and as such tucking my 7 soft inches into my trunks does take a bit of doing. Once changed, I grabbed my gear and stopped at the piss-trough as Petey headed back towards the door. “Hey,” I called, “do you need to pee before we go swimming?” Petey just looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you dumb, or what? I just went on my bike, remember?” He once again mimed adjusting his tackle. Then pointing out the door he continued, “Besides, ocean, water, it’s not like peeing on the pool.” “Round two of manufactured moments ruined by the smart-ass kid,” I thought and turned back. Grabbing our towels and following him out the door I once again was struck by his good looks from behind. Of course, he would look better if he were in something like a speedo. I am convinced the worst abomination to be committed by a boy on a beach or near a pool is to wear the abomination known as board shorts. Once again, I cursed the moralistic do-gooders who convinced North American boys that it was proper to cover up your assets, as opposed to displaying them in a speedo. And yes, I realize how much of a double-standard I set as I was wearing a of bathing trunks. However, since I am not in the habit of perving on males over the age of 14, I really don’t care what adult men wear to the beach. My choice in trunks was all the more necessary today, as I knew we would end up horsing around, and there was no way that I wouldn’t bone up while touching and grabbing at Petey in the water. “Wait up a second,” I called to him, “I need to put our clothes in the car.” It may be a quiet beach, but with no rental lockers, I never take chances and always lock my clothes in the car. while at the car I double-check the locks on the bike rack. Carrying our towels, with the key to the car zipped into my pocket, I race past him to get to the water first. I drop the towels on the sand and run to the water. When I get in up to my knees a torpedo in the shape of an 10-year-old Petey hit me from behind and taking me down. I grab at him, to wrestle him under, but he has disengaged and is standing just out of reach, laughing his fool head off. “You thought you could beat me,” he panted out between laughing breaths. “But you still lose `cuz I took you down. I’m still the champion.” I stand up and make a grab at him. He rushes out into the deeper water. I follow and catching up to him grab his arm, pull him close to me, and then rather than pulling him in for the tickles he expects, I lift him and heave him into the deeper water. He hits the water with a satisfyingly large splash and pops up immediately. “That was great. Do it again.” I grabbed him and threw him a few times. Each time I would pull him close, grab him at his waist, slide my hands up his torso to his arm pits, bend my knees and heave. He splashed down and surfaced with laughter bubbling out of him. Every so often, to catch my breath, I would hold him close, propped on a bent knee in the chest deep water. Of course, my hands were never still, as I rubbed his back, or his tummy, like always happened when we cuddled up to watch tv when I was “visiting” him. After one of these breaks, I tried something new. I moved a little deeper and squatted down in the water. I got Petey to float on his back, and then balancing him with my hands on his shoulders and ass, I sprang up, thrusting hard with the hand supporting his ass so that he flipped through the air, ass over tea kettle to land feet first with a giant splash. Moments later, he surfaced and begged for more. “Again!” he shouted in my face. “That was awesome!” So, we got ready again. Each time, as I balanced him on my hands, I made as if I needed to catch my breath. Now, the only reason I was delaying was because I had finally manufactured a legitimate reason to etimesgut escort hold his ass, and I wasn’t about to cut that short. His ass was pleasingly plump, yet firm. Each time I balanced him in a slightly different way, allowing me to map out every contour of the ass that I had been watching all afternoon. After five or six throws, I finally got me hand positioned so that my thumb was nestled between his ass cheeks. I paused a second to appreciate what I was feeling. The next time he got into position, he asked if I could throw him backwards. I looked at him, obvious confusion in my eyes. “If I turn over, and you push on my chest and my legs, I would spin backwards,” he explained. Not one to pass up the opportunity to get my hands on the front of his body, we gave it a try. The first time didn’t go so well, as with my hands on his legs, I couldn’t get proper leverage to throw him. At least, that’s what I told him when we lined up to try again. “The problem is that when I threw you before, I was pushing your butt, which doesn’t bend. I need to push something on your front that won’t bend, like your hips.” With that, I got him balanced with my left hand on his chest, and my right hand on his hips. “Ready?” I asked. Getting an affirmative nod, I pushed again. As I lifted him up out of the water for the throw, the palm of my right hand was positioned so that it cupped his boy cock. He was obviously enjoying the activity, as while not hard, he was definitely chubbed up. Each successive throw once again had me waiting longer times after he was in position, and each time, his cock gained a little more length and a little more rigidity. After about five throws, he swam back to me and grabbed me around the neck and hugged me tight. Breathing heavily, I announced, “I need a little break. I’m not used to throwing bags of cement around all day.” “The old man needs a break?” asked the smart-ass. “Okay, then I’ll just wait here,” he said, wrapping his legs around my waist. This, as well as all the touching I had been doing had me chubbed up. He laid his head on my shoulder and just hung on for a while. If you have never done so, I have to tell you that holding a pre-pubescent boy in the ocean is an experience not to be missed. I moved us a little closer to shore so that I could squat down a bit and provide a seat for Petey on my knees. Petey turned to sit on my lap. He wiggled around a bit and started to giggle. He then took my hand and placed it on his hard little cocklet. “Mine is hard too,” he said quietly. As I took that in, I realized that my hand was getting warmer. The little brat was peeing on me. Is it possible to get harder than hard? I mean, having a cute ten-year-old boy rubbing his ass all over your cock should definitely make a guy hard, right? And it certainly did make me hard. But to have that same ten-year-old pee in my hand… it made my pee-loving, pedo cock harder than I think it had ever been. I have no idea what he expected me to do, but I am quite certain that he didn’t count on my pressing my hand tighter against his cock and saying nothing. We stayed there, quietly with his pee warming my hand on his hard cock and my hard cock pressed against his ass crease, only a couple of thin layers of cloth keeping us from skin-on-skin contact. Taking a chance, I slowly, a little bit at a time, started to release my bladder. As my piss collected between us, I felt Petey stiffen in surprise and then settle back against me. I let my stream flow at full force and emptied my bladder against his back, stopping when he stopped. When I finished, I hugged him tight to me and nuzzled my nose in his hair. For just this one moment in time, everything in the world seemed just right. After sitting quietly for a short while, Petey turned to look me in the eye. “That was fun,” he said softly. “I really liked it.” After a short pause, he continued brightly, “But I don’t think you should throw me anymore.” Surprised by the sudden change of topic and falling for his clever trap, I asked, “Why is that?” “Well,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I wouldn’t want to tire you out too much. After all, old man, you still need to drive us home, and I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.” With that, he pushed away from me and started swimming in to shore. I was momentarily shocked, first at the sudden departure of the spike that had been so happily resting under my hand, and second that he had slipped in another “Old Man” reference and thought he would get away with it. “Old Man?” I bellowed. “Old Man? Who are you calling old?” I chased after him and caught him where he had stopped in the waist deep water bending down at the knees to be mostly submerged. As I reached out to grab him, he sprang up with when sand in his hands and rubbed it on my chest. To quote the immortal rabbit, in my best (read pitiful) Bugs Bunny voice I declared, “You realize, this means war!”, reached down to grab some sand myself, and got a handful dolloped on the top of my head. Somehow the twerp in front of me either didn’t care that Bugs Bunny always got the bad guy and got me again with sandy hands on my back. It was an all-out war. Handful after handful of fine, white beach sand was spread over vulnerable exposed skin. Except for our faces, we soon had sand everywhere. As we wound down, I observed that we should go a little deeper and rinse the sand off, as it was everywhere. Now, Petey is not a stupid boy, but there are times when he, as many boys do, acts without any thought of the consequences. “Not quite,” he said reaching down, and gabbing two large handfuls of sand. He stood up and shoved his hands down into his swim trunks, one in front and one in back. “Now it’s everywhere,” he declared. I rolled my eyes. “You do realize that is going to be really hard to clean up, don’t you?” He shrugged and waded deeper into the water. “It was funny, right? Besides, I’ll just rinse it out.” I just shook my head and as I followed him out into the deeper water to rinse off the sand. We both moved out into the deeper water to rinse away the evidence of our sand fight. Trying to rinse the sand out of my hair, I realized that we would both need showers once we got home. Shampoo was definitely going to be needed. Having rinse off as much sand as we could, we walked up the beach, grabbed our towels and headed back to the car to get our clothes. Normally I would just wear my swim trunks home, but with all the sand that was still in them, I really wanted to change. So, change of clothes in hand, we headed back into the change room. Once there, I pulled off my trunks and started to wipe away at the sand. While I was doing so, Petey looked around and asked, “Where is the shower?” I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes, and just said, “Back at my place.” “But… how am I supposed to get the sand off. It is itchy.” He sat down on the bench, a pitiful look on his face as the reality of the situation sunk in. “Use you towel to rub it off. Then get into your clean clothes, and we can shower at home.” At this, he looked like he might start to cry. I opened his bag to get out a clean change of clothing for him and found that he didn’t have anything other than his bike shorts. Resisting the urge to berate him for not bringing a change to put on after swimming, I put his bag down and said, “Okay, let’s see about getting the sand off of you.” I took his towel to a sink in the other room, wet one corner of it, and took it back to him. I was about to hand it to him when he sniffed loudly and looked up at me with watery eyes. “Can you help me?” he whispered. There was no way that I would say no to his request. “Stand up on the bench,” I said, hanging his towel over my shoulder. “Let’s get you out of your shorts.” He stood up and started to untie the drawstring on his trunks. I could see he was close to his breaking points as he struggled with the knot that had formed. Wanting to head off the tears, I reached forward and said, “Let me try to get that for you.” He glanced up at me and smiled a little watery smile. After he dropped his hands, I leaned in to work at the knot. It wasn’t that tight, nor that hard to untie, but I wasn’t about to say anything. While the large part of me was focused on calming him down and getting back my happy-go-lucky little pardner, I can’t lie and say that there wasn’t a small voice in the back of my mind gleefully singing, “Gonna see his penis, gonna see his penis.” I looked up to him, and slowly pulled down his shorts. There he was, in all his ten-year-old glory, standing on the bench in front of me, with his swim trunks pooled around his ankles. Taking the towel off my shoulder, I handed it to him, stepped back to give him etlik escort room to clean himself, and turned to find my underwear so that I could get dressed. “Uncle Dick,” he said plaintively. “I can’t get the sand off.” Looking around at him, I could see that his attempts to clean himself were largely ineffective. “Can you help me?” Though I knew that I would never I intend to try, there was no way that I was never going to win against those puppy-dog eyes. “Sure, Petey. No problem.” I took the towel from him and turned him around to wipe down his back. As much as I had learned about his body while throwing him around in the water, it paled in comparison to seeing his naked body in front of me. Using his towel, I brushed the dry sand off his back and legs. “Is that all the sand back here?” I asked. He shakily shook his head. “There is some in my bum,” he said. Any other time, I would be jumping for joy at the chance to spread his ass cheeks, but my boy was uncomfortable and unhappy, and all I wanted to do was make it better. “Okay,” I said. “I need you to turn sideways on the bench and bend over a little so I can get to the sand.” He not only bent forward, but he grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled them apart. Sometimes in our humdrum lives we get a small glimpse of heaven, and this boy’s ass was just that for me. But contrary to my expectation, cleaning the sand from between Petey’s cheeks did not make me bone up. After brushing out the majority of the sand, I used the dampened end of his towel to wipe away as much of the rest as I could. Then with my thumbs, I gently brushed down the crease that they had visited in the ocean, smoothing away the last of the sticky beach sand. By this point I had sat down on the bench behind Petey which put his ass right at eye height. I knew I shouldn’t but I leaned forward and gave his left ass cheek a small kiss, then patted his bum and he stood up. “Do you need more help?” I asked. Turning around, he presented me with his cock and balls. “There is some between my legs and my penis hurts.” More concerned about any pain that he was in, I asked, “What do you mean? Where does it hurt?” “Here,” he said pointing to his foreskin. “It hurts in there.” Being circumcised, I have played with many foreskins, but I am obviously not versed with first-hand knowledge of the proper care and cleaning of a foreskin. It looked like I was about to learn something knew. Reaching out, I caught his eye as I paused and then looked down towards my hand and then back up to look him straight in the eye. This was going to change things between us, and I wanted to know that he knew that as well. Getting a nod, I grasped his penis gently in one hand as I gently wiped some of the sand that I could see from the end of his hood before gently starting to pull it back around his rapidly growing hard-on. As this happened, I could feel him shake as he started to cry. “I’m sorry, Uncle Dick. I didn’t mean for it to get big.” He started to pull back. “Petey, it’s okay. It is a normal reaction. Besides, it will make it easier to clean,” I said as I started carefully wiping it. Pausing a moment to reach up, I wiped the tears from his cheek. I pulled him close, hugging him with my cheek against his belly. “We’re gonna fix this. Okay?” I looked up. Her met my gaze and, with a watery smile, he nodded. Pulling back, I returned to my gentle ministrations on his penis. Somehow in my mind, it was no longer a sexual cock, but an anatomical penis. Though, focused as I was on relieving his pain, there was still a small part of my brain doing a happy dance and crowing, “I’m holding Petey’s cock.” Gently pulling his foreskin back, I continued to wipe it off until there was no more skin to unfold. I looked at his delicious looking two-and-a-half-inch nail, looked up at him and smiled. “How’s that?” I gently rubbed the length from belly to tip and back on the underside to his balls. He giggled a little as his cock bounced out of my hand. “That feels good.” he said, so a removed my hand from his cock. “No, don’t stop. That feels good.” My heart went into overdrive as my brain all but short-circuited at the thought that Petey wants me to continue touching his cock. Yes, it was back to being a cock and I was returning to my native cock-hungry state of a boy-lover who has only ever been able to love in my own mind. I looked up to see Petey smiling down at me. “Can I tell you another secret?” I nodded. “Sometimes me and John go fishing we play “Pee-my-pants”. That’s a game where I put my dick in John’s fly and pee on him. Then he does that to me too. I want to see him pee, but he says that’s too gay. And he won’t play any other games that I wanna try.” As he was telling me this, I could see him getting nervous. I had a pretty good ides of why he was telling me this, but I needed him to say it, so I asked, “Why are you telling me this?” “Well,” he was avoiding looking at me now, but he hadn’t pulled away, “I know you like looking at my butt, and you let me pee myself on the bike ride, and you kept feeling my butt and my dick when you were throwing me, and you didn’t get mad when I peed in your hand, and you cleaned sand out of my butt, and you kissed my butt, and you cleaned off my dick, and your dick got REALLY hard when you were holding mine, and I want you to lick me and suck me and play `Pee-my-pants’ with me, and,” as he paused to gasp for breath I held up my hand to stop his litany. “You know that if I do anything with you, it is a BIG secret, right?” He looked offended. “Duh, I never told anyone about me and John, and we done stuff like that since forever.” “But you just told me about John. You can’t even tell John if we play games.” Looking very patient, he said, “Uncle Dick. I been reading stories on Nifty for a year, since John’s big brother showed him, and he showed me. I know that you are now gonna tell me that you could go to jail, and it is a big secret. I know that. It’s just that you done things with me today that you never did before, and I thought mebbe you wanted to play with me.” Pulling him into a hug, I lined his penis up with my face and rubbed it with my cheek. “I have wanted to play with you for a very long time. We really should go home though, before we start playing, just so we don’t get caught.” He grinned. “The door to go outside is closed, so if anybody comes in, we’ll hear them. Can you please suck me, just a little?” This is where I am supposed to say that I showed my maturity and that we went home… but that isn’t what you want to hear and isn’t what happened. Demonstrating a complete lack of self control, I turned my head and licked the little spike that had just been poking my chest before sucking it and the balls below it into my hungry mouth. The chant in my head was getting louder… “I’m sucking Petey… I’m sucking Petey”. Determined to make his first blowie from me memorable, I gently sucked as I ran my tongue up and down his length, occasionally teasing his little ball sack, but he was having none of it. “I wanna get my tingles,” he stated as he started in the ancient dance of the fucker. The first couple of times he pulled right out of my mouth, but as he developed a rhythm, his hips thrusting in and out of my mouth he started to moan ever so slightly. As the intensity of his thrusting increased, I sucked harder. The harder I sucked, the harder he thrust, and the louder he moaned, until all at once, he shuddered and went stock still. I know I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to tease him a little for taking over like that, so I continued to lick his little spike. After only a couple of licks, he groaned and said, “No more. Uncle Dick. It hurts when you lick.” Pulling back, I could see that his cock was bright red, and pulsing with his heartbeat. “That was so cool, Uncle Dick. I never got them before. I sometimes get close when I play with it at night or when I read a Nifty story, but I never felt like that before.” I stood up. “We really need to get dressed, and get home,” I said crossing the room to pick up my forgotten underwear. As I stepped into my boxer briefs, Petey was pawing through the contents of his bag. “Uncle Dick… I don’t have any underwear. I was gonna wear my bathing suit home, but it’s full of sand, and my cycling shorts are sorta stinky and still wet. I don’t have anything to wear.” I threw the T-shirt that I was about to put on over to him. “Put that on. It will hang down enough that nobody will know that you don’t have pants on.” “But…” “No one will see your butt. Besides, even if they do, it is a very good-looking butt. Almost good enough to eat.” He smiled, a little crookedly, but a smile none the less. As he packed his things back into his bag, I sniffed the shirt that I had been wearing earlier and as it smelled strongly of a ten-mile bike ride in August, I stuffed it back into my bag. If he was going to go bottomless, then I would go topless. Heading toward the door, he grabbed my hand, and we walked out the door to get in the car and drive home. — Other stories by fty//gay/incest/phillips-nephew

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