This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be used without his express permission. Private persons and no others are given permission to have one (1) electronic and/or one (1) printed copy of this work. Nifty Erotic Stories ArchiveTM is given permission to archive this work.
All the usual disclaimers that are usual apply here. This is a work of fiction involving sex acts between consenting persons of various ages and conditions of life. If you can't handle that or if you are not of the legal age or mindset, go no further but remove this material from your possession forthwith.
If you have faggot sensitivity, you ought not read this story. I'd really like to hear from some of you with either positive or negative comments. I have no idea really if I'm bringing any of you pleasure or what it is you'd like me to write about. I only hear from a few people on each story. I'd really like to hear from YOU so I'll have some idea how I'm doing and what it is you like to read. Thanks.
I used two returns between paragraphs to simplify formatting for you. This is a hyphen -. This is an en-dash --. This is an em-dash ---. Other high-ascii characters that PC's can't understand have been stripped.
Try to keep in mind that while 42 is the meaning of life, it is not the only possible solution and that sexual dimorphism is Mother Nature's excuse for being kinky.
Enjoy!
Jon
Buff Boy I
The Meeting
by Jon Hold
M/t masturbation enema
I had the most extraordinary thing happen this weekend. An out-of-state woman had arranged to rent the studio apartment I had in back of my house. Her son was starting college and, as he had graduated early from High School, she didn't want him living in the dorms. They showed up Friday and she helped him move in. They worked late and I invited them to have dinner with me. Nothing special. I just ordered pizza and made a salad. Mrs. Green was a non-stop talker and told me all about her brilliant son and what a wonderful boy he was and how she hoped he wouldn't be any trouble and how I should call her with even the slightest problem. I looked at the boy, a nice looking kid, over his mothers head and grinned at her babbling. He just turned red-faced and shrugged. Thankfully, she left right after dinner as she had "some very important matters to take care of, I'm the Assistant Chairperson of the Garden Society, don't you know."
After she had driven out of sight I smiled at the boy and told him not to hesitate to ask if there was anything he needed --- and to not worry about me, I had no intentions of telling his mother what he was doing unless he actually burned the place down. He just blushed and excused himself --- almost running back to the apartment. I just laughed and shook my head. I didn't think I'd ever seen anyone so shy.
I didn't see or hear a thing from the boy until Sunday evening when there was a knock at the back door. I yelled, "Come in," but had to go open the door before he'd come in. Blushing, hanging his head, obviously ill-at-ease, he stuttered something and I had to ask three times before I figured out that he wanted to borrow the phone to call his mom. He asked me how to place a collect call to his mom I told him to not worry about it and to go ahead and dial direct. Obviously relieved, he went over to the phone and started dialing on the kitchen phone. I went into the living room to give him some privacy.
A few minutes later, quite flustered, he came part-way into the living room and thanked me for the use of the phone. I asked him if his mom was OK. He said he hadn't been able to get her on the phone, that she must be out doing something. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help him with his problem and he blushed bright red and shook his head and then darted back into the kitchen. I got there just in time to keep him from running out the back door. I got him to sit at the kitchen table and put a glass of milk and some just baked chocolate chip cookies down in front of him. If you think the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, you ought to try it on a growing teenager.
By being gentle and patient I finally got him to admit that the reason he'd tried to call his mother is that he was constipated and didn't know what to do. I told him that wasn't any big deal and asked him what his mother usually did when he was constipated. Blushing like a steam furnace, he said that she usually gave him an enema. I said that was a good way to take care of the problem and asked him if he wanted to borrow my enema set. He blushed and finally admitted that he didn't have any idea how to give himself an enema. I offered to give him an enema and thought he might have a heart attack. I finally got tired of his evasions and just told him to follow me to the bathroom, I was going to give him an enema and eliminate his problem. He turned totally meek.
"Yes, Sir."
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but the kid was built, of age, and obviously an athlete, so I guess I just sort of expected him to be a lot more assertive. He followed me into my master bathroom. I told him to strip naked and went into the cabinet to pull out the new enema set that had laid there unused for years. The kid pulled his loose sweatshirt off over his head and exposed an absolutely stunning torso. Not a hair to be seen, under his arms or anywhere else. Hard, six-pack belly. Rounded mounds of bulky pectoral muscle. Powerful shoulders and upper arms. The kid was obviously a swimmer, and probably a gymnast as well. I boned up instantly.
When the boy lowered his baggy pants, after I insisted, it quickly became apparent that the kid didn't have hair one other than on his head. What he did have, and what apparently embarrassed him hugely, was about two-thirds of a boner. He stood there, holding onto his baggy drawers with both hands. He had pulled them down so that the top elastic ran around his hard butt and hips and across where his pubes should have been. An arch in the front of the dark cloth clearly showed the size and shape of his interesting cock. I pointed down and, blushing again, he pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them, proving for the world to see that he was completely shaven and turgid. I just laughed and flicked his pecker with the end of my forefinger. "Don't sweat the small stuff, Kid. Guys your age bone up all the time." Then I turned to the sink and started filling the enema bag to give him a chance to regain his composure.
When I turned back around I almost gasped with pleasure. His sweet round face showed concern, but his lovely hard body showed capabilities I suspected the boy had never envisioned. My hands were shaky as I hung the bag on a coathook and sat down on the closed toilet lid.
I motioned for the boy to lay down across my lap, and then had to order him to do so.
"Yes, Sir." he meekly said, laying down with his boner as far from touching me as he could get it.
I gently grabbed his tight, hard butt in one hand and pushed him up across my lap into a more comfortable position. "You might as well get used to this now, boy. This is how you'll be getting your enema's from now on, and any spankings you might need."
His pecker, which had wilted in terror when I put my hand on his butt, smacked against my leg as it surged to attention. Well, I have to admit that seriously interested me. Here was a fatherless boy who apparently, shy or not, was very eager to have a dominant male in his life. Well... we'll see how it goes.
Rubbing his butt and his back to help calm him down and relax him, I smiled and warmly said, "It feels great having a boner, doesn't it!" He just hunkered down and stayed quiet. Giving him a playful swat and then rubbing his butt again, I asked, "Well, doesn't it?" He barely shrugged, as if to say, "I don't know." I'd felt his dick stiffen the last time so I gave him three or four pretty good swats and slid my hand down his butt crack and between his legs. I jiggled his balls between two of my fingers and leaned down so I could whisper in his ear, "Feels great, doesn't it?" A moan from deep in his chest was my only answer besides the flush of heat from his body. I fingered his butthole and asked, you ready for your enema now?
"Yes, Sir. Please, Sir." he moaned.
Instead of using the nozzle, I lubricated my finger and, using my other hand to spread open the powerful muscles of his ass, I wiped his tiny hole with my finger until it was quivering under my ministrations, and then gently slipped my finger inside of him. Arching his back and moaning, the kid shot his wad in one long, continuous stream against my leg, almost as if he were pissing. Two or three minor aftershocks and dribblings collapsed across my lap, limp, the back of his neck and ears burning red in embarrassment.
"Good! Excellent!" I said, trying to sound approving. "You keep doing this well and we'll have you relaxed in no time!" I just held him there for a few minutes, rubbing his back and gently pumping his butthole with my finger and letting him enjoy the afterglow of his cum. Hoping that he'd get the idea that he wasn't with his mom now, but with another man, who was treating him like a man, and accepting of the fact that men got horny and that men sometimes bust a nut. No condemnation or moralizing. Just happy for him. I think the kid was getting the idea, in general at least, but I don't think he knew how to handle it. I gently worked a second finger into him, keeping up the rhythm of my slow, easy finger fucking. He moaned and I felt his boner pushing against my leg again. I worked his butthole until he was comfortable having two fingers working him, and then let my fingers slowly slip out of his pretty little pink pucker.
Moaning, the kid tried to reach my fingers with his pursing lips, so I gave them a little rub with my finger before inserting the nozzle and opening the stopcock to let the warm, soapy water softly flow into him. Moaning again, the boy accepted the entire bag of water. I slipped the nozzle out of him and helped him turn over and sit up in my lap. I cuddled him and he very naturally just curled up in my lap and tucked his head under my chin. I massaged his belly and we both giggled when the water inside of him gurgled. How wonderful it was to have my arms full of this powerfully built man-child. Many years my junior, hard bodied and loaded with testosterone, this kid was trusting me and I knew that I needed to be careful with him. I had a feeling that he was very vulnerable. My goal was to build a man, not to destroy the child.
I felt his gut tense. "You need to go now?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You need to hold it as long as you can you know."
"Yes, Sir. I know. But I've really got to go bad, Sir."
"OK. Let's get you taken care of then, son. I just said that as a general phrase that I use in an offhand manner. But, even as I said it, I realized that I was holding this naked boy in my arms, and that it felt good. That, somehow, I really wished that he were my son. He was a nice kid. Painfully polite. Short, but very well built and obviously active. I liked him too. Somewhere under that bashfulness was a lively sense of humor and a really nice person. I realized that I wanted to bring both out into the open. For now though I just helped the kid out of my lap and up on his feet. Without even asking he reached down with both hands and braced himself to help me get up. So! Not only was he polite but alert. He'd already noticed that I had bad knees and that it was hard for me to get in and out of a chair. I lifted the lid for him and turned to leave, to give him a little privacy, but, as he turned and sat, he took my hand and looked up at me like a puppy that didn't want to be left alone.
Holding his swollen pecker down he started to pee at the same time as the water started coming out of his butt. The flow suddenly shut off and he groaned, and then strained and I heard a big log hit the toilet, quickly followed by the rest of the water. I grinned down at him and squeezed his hand. He smiled back and carefully squeezed my hand. I suddenly realized that not only was the boy built, he was hell for strong! He was very accepting as I rinsed him out with two more bags of clear water. As he was expelling the last of his triple enema, I got the shower started for him.
I was proud of the bathroom, which I had remodeled myself, and especially of the shower. Three walls open to the rest of the bathroom enclosing a space four by eight feet with two showerheads at each end (one at the usual level at either end and one other lower, waist height at one end and below groin level at the other), and two high up on the long wall. There was also a separate pipe that came down from the ceiling that terminated in two arms in the shape of half an ellipse. When it was running and you stepped into the focus you were enveloped in a cloud of water that was exhilarating.
He came over and looked at the shower and then at me, "You're coming in with me, aren't you? I'm afraid of the deep water."
I looked down at the 1/8" or so of water flowing across the white tiles and then up to the gleam in the bright eyes set into that solemn face. I laughed and shook my head as I started to peal [OK? I put that one in for you so you would have something to crow about!] off my clothes. "You're hiding a real scamp under that solemn demeanor, aren't you, son!"
"Who? Me, Grandpa?!" he said in an astonished voice, one hand to his breast and a shocked look on his face.
"I'll give you 'Grandpa'!" I said, hamming it up as I took a swing at his butt. He just laughed and jumped out of the way. Then I got to laugh as his feet came out from under him on the wet tiles and he landed on his behind. I helped him up and checked his butt with exaggerated care for any permanent damage. We were both laughing by the time I picked up the soap and started washing his body. He just relaxed and went passive, letting me do whatever I wanted to do with his body. When I got to his groin his only reaction was to spread his feet a little to make it easier for me to wash his crotch.
He put his hands on my shoulders to balance himself when I lifted his strong, well shaped feet to wash them. I moved around behind him and worked my way up his legs. He bent over and pulled his cheeks apart so that I could thoroughly wash him back there. I washed the rippley muscles of his back and then spent considerable time washing, rubbing and just plain enjoying the feel of his shoulders, neck, underarms and chest.
When I started on his chest he just moaned in soft satisfaction and leaned back against me. The feeling of my erection in the small of his back didn't deter him at all. He just relaxed and leaned against me like I was a barn door on a warm summer afternoon. My fingers played with his tiny titties and he just purred deep in his throat with a sound that meant nothing but pleasure. My hands wandered down across his belly and sides, marveling in the slick smoothness that covered the hard muscular plates of his torso. My fingers followed the lines that separated his hips from his belly, marveling at the total smoothness where I knew he should have a heavy growth of pubic hair. I loved it. I loved the feeling. I loved feeling down between his legs and all over him. He just groaned and pushed back against me in pleasure as he lifted his hips so I could get to his cock and balls and down between his legs more easily. I couldn't find a single hair or bit of stubble anywhere. Not between his legs or up the crack of his ass or anywhere else. He must have shaved just before he came over. I started feeling his now super-sensitive cock and the balls that were so tightly drawn up against its base. He rolled his head to the side and moaned, "Oh, Grandpa!" I took hold of him and he fucked upwards into my doubled fists, shooting cum completely across the shower.
I held him firmly against me as he orgasmed and suddenly my old loins burst forth against the heat of his back. I held us together and upright until we had both calmed down. Still gently milking the last of his cum out of his limp dick, I asked, "That must be difficult, shaving yourself all over like that."
"Yeah!" he grinned drowsily up at me. "Sometimes I cut myself."
"Well, anytime you need help shaving, or anything else, you just ask me. OK?"
"Sure, Grandpa." After a few moments, he asked, "You don't mind if I call you 'Grandpa', do you, Sir? I know you're not, or anything like that, but it sure feels nice thinking about you like that."
"Do you mind me calling you, 'Son'?"
"No, Sir. I like that!"
"Then... there really isn't any problem, is there, Grandson?"
"No, Sir." he said happily, sleepily content as he cuddled back into my arms.
I dried both of us off with big, fluffy towels and tucked him into bed in my guest bedroom. He was sound asleep before I got him covered up properly. I looked down at him. He was such a beautiful child once the worry and pain left his face. I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"Nite, Grandpa" he mumbled as he rolled onto his side and I turned to leave the room.
---EOF--- 3009 words
To see what is right and not to do it is cowardice. It is
never a question of who is right but what is right.
---John Buchan