Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2005 16:40:43 -0500 From: Simon Taylor Subject: Dreaming As One Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance of people, places or events is purely coincidental. I write for boy lovers who genuinely love and respect boys and who dream of being positive, loving and caring lovers and friends to boys. I hope this story brings you pleasure. I welcome feedback. Other stories on Nifty by Simon 13greengrass (find them in the prolific authors section) Summer Camp Romance Sitting Jason No More Bananas Five Sessions with Francisco Therapy for James We'll Make More El Gato Sweet Gibberish Little General Dreaming as One I was the friend of a friend of Rose's father, who lived in Chicago where I had my construction and remodeling business. It was through this tenuous connection that I took on the job of remodeling Rose's attic. She wanted a nice place to rent out to college students as her house was quite close to the campus of Wayne State University, in Detroit. I was coaxed into it partly because of my friend, Rob, to whom I owed a lot of business, but partly because my business was failing and I needed a contract. I had been thinking of moving the business to another city and starting new, but I had found no prospects or attractive alternatives. "She'll put you up," said Rob. "She lives alone in that big house with her son. She says she can house you and feed you if you can lower the price of the work. You'll need to hire a crew there, in Detroit." "But..." "Shouldn't be hard to do. Lots of out-of-work carpenters and builders to pick from." "But..." "It will cut your costs, her costs and you'll get paid." "But...Detroit?" "Hey, it could be worse," Rob said. "Although off hand, I can't imagine what that might be." So I drove my truck to Detroit, wondering the whole way about Rose, but particularly about her son. Rob didn't know much more about him than that he was twelve or thirteen, the age of boy that I routinely lust after. I fantasized about him, making him more beautiful and horny than any boy could ever be. I figured I would show up and be introduced to a homely boy with bad skin and a surly temperament who hadn't yet figured out what to do with that appendage between his legs. That was more likely. That was my luck. Still, on the drive to Detroit, I let my mind run free and imagine the best. When I pulled into the driveway of the big house, there was no one in the front yard or on the wooden, wrap-around porch. I knocked on the door and a woman in her mid-twenties, very pretty with brown hair and eyes, opened the door with a broad smile. "Mitch?" she asked brightly. I nodded and pointed at her. "Rose." "That's me! Come on in!" I stepped into the house, which was furnished with a lot of natural wood and rustic furniture. Very well-kept, I thought--clean and organized and smelling of lilacs. A vase by the door held a spray of the purple flowers. "I appreciate your offer to stay here, but I don't want to be a bother," I said. Staying at their house, she insisted, would be easy, convenient and inexpensive for her, as she wouldn't have to pay for a hotel room while the work was getting done. "You like kids?" she asked me. She had no idea. "Sure." "I have a son, Isaac," she told me. "Twelve years old--he'll be thirteen in a week so I guess he's more twelve than thirteen." A ruckus on the stairway got our attention. The wood creaked and feet thumped and then suddenly, there appeared before me the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life. He was dark skinned. He looked Latino, but his full lips and slightly flat nose looked a little African. His mother was white, and while he resembled her slightly, he obviously had taken after his father. A picture of the three of them hung on the wall. Isaac was a baby of about two. There was Rose, and beside her, a very handsome black man. The resemblance was obvious. "This is Isaac," Rose said to me, presenting him proudly. "Isaac, this is Mitch." He smiled shyly and extended his small hand. For almost thirteen, he was very small. He looked closer to eleven. His hair was very curly and dark, his smile a little cock-eyed and his dark eyes had an intelligent light in them. I couldn't believe my eyes. "I hear you have a birthday coming up," I said to him. He nodded. "Yup, I'll be twenty five." He flashed me a smile and his mother laughed. I was smitten on the spot. All that and bright and funny too. I was doomed, fated to self-destruction from unrequited love for this little angel. "I was going to guess twenty three," I said, and he chuckled back at me with a wry grin. The phone rang and Rose turned to get it, calling over her shoulder to Isaac. "Honey, show him the room, please." "Got any bags?" he asked me. We went out to my truck and got my bags. Isaac was immediately amiable and friendly, strangely mature in the way he related to adults. This, I knew, was a common trait for a child who was chiefly raised around adults. He talked the whole time, asking me about my business in Chicago and my truck and asking if I liked sports. "Football," I said. "Not many other sports." "Are there any other sports?" he joked. I noticed for the first time the Detroit Lions football jersey he was wearing. He pointed to it and shrugged. "I'm a fan, but obviously not because they win games. They suck. But I hear this year they have a good chance." It was September, and the Michigan fall was in full swing. The leaves, ablaze with color, blew across the driveway. However, the weather was uncommonly warm, and so the air conditioning in the house was on, keeping it comfortable. I didn't much like air conditioning, but I liked less the stifling humidity that came during summers in this part of the country. Surrounded by lakes, Michigan was like a sauna in the heat of summer. "New Orleans of the north," Rose joked. I followed Isaac up the stairs to my room, my eyes fixed on the seat of his jeans as he climbed each stair. I couldn't help it. I was transfixed by that ass, small and even skinny in the baggy jeans. He talked the whole time, seemingly oblivious to my ogling. My room was large and comfortable with a double bed, a dresser and a small desk. Sliding doors on one side led to a terrace. "The terrace connects our rooms," he pointed out. "Like the bathroom." It was a sizeable bathroom between our rooms. I imagined Isaac stealing into my bedroom at night, slipping between the sheets and into my arms. I had just met him and I chastised myself for such fantasy. I simply couldn't stop looking at him, and he was noticing and not seeming to mind too much. He blushed and smiled from time to time, and stammered through a few sentences as if caught off guard. "How long you gonna stay?" he asked me. I shrugged. "As long as the job takes," I said. "Do you know if the building materials arrived?" "They're all in the garage," he said. I threw my bag on the bed and started unpacking. Isaac, I noticed, stood idly by, watching from a distance as if he wanted to say something more but didn't have the nerve. Finally, he said, "I hope you stay a long time." I turned to him in time to see him walk out of my room, through the bathroom into his own room. He showed me his room later, Rose trailing behind. Stepping into his private little sanctuary was a little titillating to me in my love-at-first-sight stupor. He had a series of Star Wars paraphernalia around the room, including curtains and pillow cases and sheets. There were some Star Wars figurines on a shelf near his desk and a Star Wars lamp on the dresser. "I used to like Star Wars more when I was younger," he said. "But I still have all the stuff." "I can see that." "He wanted everything Star Wars," Rose said. "Honey, where is you light sword?" "Light saber, Mom," he corrected her. "I don't know where it is." Rose looked around the room. "It must be around here somewhere." "It's not," he said quickly. I thought I heard some tension in his voice suddenly, and I think Rose heard the same thing as she looked a little surprised and then dropped the subject. The rest of the room was decorated with football posters, some from the Lions, but some from other teams as well. A Lions pennant hung on the wall and a stocking hat with the Lions insignia was perched on a bedpost. No posters of supermodels, I noticed hopefully. Such little things were potent fuel to my unbridled fantasies. He also tried to teach me how to play a couple of video games on his Xbox, which was a futile but friendly gesture. After several failed attempts to learn how to operate the controller, he took over and I watched him play a John Madden football game with incredible talent and dexterity. I met my crew the next day. We convened in the front yard of Rose's house. There were five of them. I stood on the porch and went over the general plan and told them to be here the following morning at 8:30 sharp, ready to work. Isaac stood at my side throughout the speech, obviously wanting to be a part of this colossally masculine endeavor, so I reached beside me and put my hand on his shoulder and announced to the crew, "This is Isaac. He's my right hand man." When the men chuckled and said hello to him he beamed and laughed and said, "Does that mean I get paid?" "No," I replied. "Assistants don't get paid. It's in the manual. Look it up." I was flirting with him, appealing to his natural tendency to identify with the work of men. Still, he struck me as undeniably worth it, as if there was something in him that was waiting to emerge, to come to life, and I might have the privilege of setting that free. By my third day in the house, Isaac and I had gotten to know each other. He spent a lot of time in the attic watching us work, jumping at every chance to help, even if it was just holding a flashlight or fetching some nails. We were making slow but sure progress. His mother worried that he was bothering us, but I assured her that such wasn't he case. He just sat there on a stool, watching, talking, asking me questions. "You got a wife?" he asked me on the second day. "No." "Why not?" "Don't want one," I shrugged. "You got a girlfriend?" He wrinkled his nose. "No." "Why not?" He chuckled. "Don't want one." When I took off my shirt in the heat of the attic, Isaac stared blatantly. I was dirty and sweaty and so I tried to keep my distance from him, but he took that opportunity to come up behind me as I was working and lean on me, his slender body against my bare back, his fingers on my shoulders. I would have thought he would have been repulsed by the odor of six hours of hard work, but he showed no sign of it. He leaned over my shoulder and talked to me. "Do you work out?" he asked. It was a hetero adult pick up line and I wondered if he knew this. The other guys in the attic didn't seem to hear him or, if they did, they didn't think of it that way. I sure did. "Naw," I said. "My job is pretty physical. I don't need to go to the gym." His fingers stroked my bicep. "Make a muscle," he said. I bent my arm, flexing my muscle for him, and his eyes bulged. He smiled and stroked it. "Wow," he said. "That's cool!" I didn't have a sculpted build. I had a bit of gut on me. But my upper body, due to my work, was well-developed and I was strong. He stroked my bicep for what many people would have considered to be too long. I was aware of the presence of the others in the attic and pulled my arm away before they noticed and went back to work. Isaac sat down, cross-legged, next to me and prattled on. His loquaciousness should have bothered me. He seemed to be desperately pulling subjects out of nowhere, making mundane, even silly observations about mundane, even silly subjects. He asked me questions about myself, my work, my tools, my favorite music, sports, TV shows...he was a fount of conversation that seemed to have no "off" switch, and I was blithely happy about it. When the day was done, we would say goodbye to the other workers and he would help me put the tools away or trail behind me as I went down to shower. He stopped short of following me into the bathroom, but there was a pregnant pause at the door as if he really wanted to ask me if he could join me. I wished he would and was happy that he didn't. I was there as a professional and was taken into this family as a courtesy. I didn't want to screw that up. When I was showered, Isaac seemed to be waiting for me in the hallway. I emerged, clean and refreshed, my hair still wet, and he beamed at me as if he were saying hello for the first time all day. On the first day, he invited me to shoot some basketball with him, and Rose told him to leave me alone, for God's sake, and she apologized for how he was pestering me. I assured her that I enjoyed his company and our basketball game quickly turned into a game of chase, me running him down and wrestling him to the ground, tickling his ribs and lifting him up above my head. After those first three days, we were inseparable and I was aware that I was falling in love with him. On the second day, after a particularly rambunctious wrestling match in the back yard, we lay panting on the grass. "I had dream about you last night," he said, smiling. I thought about my own dreams, awake as I was, about him last night. "Really?" I said. "What was it about?" "You and I were superheroes," he said. "We beat up these guys who were breaking into the bank. I was driving a Ferrari and you were driving a Porsche. We arrested the bad guys and then the bank gave us rewards. A million dollars for each of us!" "A million?" I marveled. "For doing our jobs?" "We were already rich," he said. "We didn't really need the money." "Cool." "You and I lived together in a big, huge house, and I had a Super X-Box and a motorcycle and a whole virtual reality room!" "Amazing," I said. "Is there really such a thing as a Super X-Box?" He shook his head and chuckled. "No," he said. "I invented it, in the dream, and that's really why we were so rich!" He rolled over and climbed on top of me, straddling my chest, and pinned my arms to the ground, ready for another round. "Go ahead," he said. "Try to get up." I knew that he was making this up as he went along, that this was just his way of telling me what he wished would happen, what he wished were true. Kids do that, I knew. They have these fantasies swirling around in their heads and they want to give life to them, so they say they had a dream. Then they get to tell their story and then shrug and say, "It was a dream. I have no control of it. It just happened to me." Real dreams were rarely symmetrical and so detailed, unless they are detailed with obscure and seemingly meaningless symbolism. In a real dream, he might be driving a Ferrari, but I would inexplicably be driving the car from The Munsters or maybe something from a soap box derby. Dreams work like that. People morph into different people inexplicably, and strange, incongruent items appear in places where they don't belong. In a real dream, the robbers would have more likely been robbing a voting booth or a grandfather clock. No, what Isaac was telling me by "reciting" this "dream" was what he wished was true. He wished that he were my crime fighting sidekick, driving a Ferrari, busting criminals. I could accept this expression of affection from him in that vein. On those first few nights, I lay in my bed thinking of Isaac in the next room. I intuitively believed that he was lying in his bed thinking about me. Maybe he wasn't thinking the things I was thinking, namely about our naked bodies melding together in a passionate embrace, but I believed that, as he lay there in his bed, he wished that he was laying there in my bed with me. Maybe he fantasized about wrestling matches or whispered conversations until the wee hours of the morning, but I believed that, had he had his way, he would creep quietly through the bathroom and into my room and into my bed. On the fourth night, my curiosity, my desire, got the better of me, and as I went into my room to prepare for bed, I had a notion. I opened the terrace door quietly and slipped out through the curtains, my bare feet on the cool tile. The night was quiet and chilly and the crickets chirped loudly. I saw the light was on in Isaac's room. I tiptoed to his window and searched for a gap in the curtains. When I peered inside that room, my heart seemed to explode in my chest. There was Isaac lying naked on his bed. His hand was working furiously on his stiff little cock, his balls bouncing in their sac. He was just drawing his knees up, spreading his legs, bringing a wet finger from his mouth to his asshole. He poked roughly, plunging his finger inside, in and out. He worked on his hole like this for a while and, until he reached for it, I didn't notice that, on the bed beside him, lay his Star Wars light saber. The handle glistened unctuously in the light of the room. He took the toy and nudged his anus with it, then slowly, as I stood agog on the terrace, he pushed the handle into himself. His eyes were closed dreamily, his head back on the pillow, his small feet in the air. As he started moving the sword in and out, his feet flapped above him. His mouth hung open slightly and he frowned with some discomfort, but he continued to plunge the handle in and out, stroking his cock manically as he did so. My cock was rock hard as I watched him, and just as I reached into my pants to take hold of it, Isaac's body convulsed, his head jerked on the pillow, and I heard a very soft moan escape from his lips. He was cumming. His whole body was jackknifed and shuddering, his small chest heaving, and then just as suddenly, he was lying still, legs still spread, hand still on his cock, the sword protruding from his hole. After a moment, he pulled out the sword and straightened his legs and searched his bedside table for something to clean up with. I retreated to my room, the images of him permanently seared into my brain, where I yanked out my cock, fell on my bed, and with a few quick jerks, came all over my belly. The next morning, I found him at the breakfast table, smiling broadly as I entered the dining room. His foot swung absent-mindedly and he chewed quickly as if he had something to say. "Hey, Chief!" he said. He had heard one of the hired workers call me that the day before. "What are we working on today?" he asked. "The bathroom," I said. "The plumber is supposed to come today to put in the pipes at noon. It ought to take most of the afternoon and much of tomorrow." "Cool." He was an aspiring contractor. After seeing him through the window of the terrace the night before, I seemed to pop a hard on every time I looked at him. It was ridiculous. If I looked at his hands--the small, slender fingers--I thought of them wrapped around his cock or penetrating his hungry little hole. If I looked at his legs, peeking out of his baggy shorts, I thought of them spread on the bed, accommodating that light saber. I just couldn't get the image out of my mind and, indeed, knew that I never would. He seemed to notice me looking at him, perhaps even recognized the lust in my eyes. He smiled shyly at me, watching me eat my breakfast, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, his pinky inserted into the corner of his mouth. Looking back, we were both obviously lovesick. We were blatantly staring at each other, embarrassed even though we said nothing and did nothing but gaze at each other. However, at the time, I couldn't quite believe it--that he was in love with me. How could it be that one so perfect, so extraordinarily beautiful, could be in love with me? As I started up the stairs to the attic, he leapt onto my back and enjoyed a piggy back ride. I was more aware than ever of his lithe body, pressed against my back, and his slender arms around my neck, his strong little legs wrapped around my waist. I reached back to boost him up, taking a firm hold on his thighs, feeling them through the long baggy shorts. I was stiff by the time I reached the top of the stairs and struggled to conceal it as I put him down. Strangely enough, he didn't notice as he quickly adjusted his own stiffie in his shorts, turning away from me as he did so. After noon, the other guys left for lunch and I was left waiting for the plumber to arrive. I sat on the steps of the front porch, filthy from working, and Isaac sat beside me, leaning against my arm, seemingly oblivious to the sweat and stink of me. We watched the driveway, waiting for the plumber's truck to pull in. "Damn plumber," I muttered, looking at my watch. He was twenty minutes late. "Gonna set me behind in my schedule." Isaac thought about this, then said, "I hope he never comes." I looked at him. "What?" "I hope he never comes," he said. "That way, you will always be behind schedule and then you'll never leave." He linked his arm around mine and pulled his face up against my shoulder. "And then you'll have to stay here forever and wait for the plumber." "Who will never come." I added. We looked at each other and laughed. I was definitely falling in love. The plumber arrived late and left late, and Isaac and I were putting things away for the day when Rose called to us. She had cooked a pot roast for dinner that night and it was ready. Now. "I really should shower first," I called down to her. "I'm a mess!" "It'll get cold! Come on down and eat. You can shower afterwards." She put a towel on my chair for me to sit down in my dusty pants and we all ate heartily, Isaac across the table, watching me as if I were a rare animal in a National Geographic documentary. He seemed to be studying the way I cut my food and forked it into my mouth. I, in turn, was captivated by his attention, and while Rose talked to me, I scarcely heard her. Isaac piped in suddenly. His voice rang like a clarion in my head. "I had a dream about Mitch a couple nights ago!" He was smiling brightly and I, for some reason, was suddenly embarrassed. "Really?" Rose asked, genuinely interested. "What was it about?" He recited the dream to her with so many mistakes from the original that I was surer than ever that it was made up. Rose listened with a smirk, seeming to understand also that this was more wishful fantasy than an actual dream. When he finished, she shook her head and smiled at me. "You're quite the crime-fighting dynamo!" she said. "Yes, well, I try." "Dreams are funny things," she said. "Who knows where they come from?" The phone rang and Rose jumped up to get it. As she rushed from the room, the fact that Isaac and I were once again alone seemed to leap out at me, as if, with her departure, Rose had sucked out anything extra, anything that did not have to do with Isaac and me and us alone together. The clinks of silverware on plates were suddenly amplified and he looked at me with a softness that wasn't present when his mother was in the room. He smirked, and when I didn't respond to that, he chuckled. He chuckled again and smiled broadly at me. "What?" I finally asked. We could hear Rose talking on the phone in the other room. He gave a very deliberate snicker, poked at his food and shook his head. "Nothin�." I went on eating, but watched him as he performed for me, looking at me shyly, smiling, eyes twinkling, goading me to ask again. He was so handsome. He laughed a few more times until I finally asked again. "What?" He looked bashful and embarrassed, but he looked me in the eye, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I had another dream," he said. "Last night." "Is that right?" He nodded and poked at his potatoes, eyeing me expectantly, grinning. After a long pause, I put down my fork. "Do you want to tell me about it?" I asked. He mustered up his most doubtful look and shook his head slowly, staring at his fork as he used it to chase his potatoes around his plate. "I don't know," he said finally. "It was pretty weird." "Tell me," I said. He had a genuinely nervous smile, but his reluctance was disingenuous. He wanted desperately to tell me, but he needed desperately to look reluctant to do so. "Um...well...I don't know," he stammered. "I probably shouldn't tell you. You might get mad." "Mad?" I asked. "How could I get mad? It was a dream." He poked more, smiled more, stuttered more. He was trying to be patient as he set this up, but he didn't want to lose the opportunity either. He gave a heavy sigh, then giggled. "I don't know." "Just tell me," I said. "If you want." His voice turned conspiratorial and he glanced around the room, even though we could clearly hear Rose in the living room, engrossed in a conversation on the phone. "Well," he started slowly. "See, I was in my room, right?" "Uh-huh," I said. "And you came in," he said. "Into my room, right? Just walked right in." "Okay." I liked it already. He looked genuinely reluctant all of sudden but I knew that he wouldn't retreat. He had gone too far and he had an agenda. "And you didn't have a shirt on, or socks or shoes. Just your pants." He looked as if an idea had just struck him, which, indeed, it had. "Those black jeans that you were wearing yesterday." The tell tale signs of a fabricated dream were unfolding as he spoke. I listened to him as if he were telling me exactly what he wanted. "And you go, `Isaac, you wanna see my...you know...?'" He blushed handsomely and watched me for a reaction. I just nodded with a smirk. "And I go, `Sure'." He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "I don't know why, but I said, `Sure'. So you came over--I was sittin' on my bed--and you...ya know...undid your pants and..." He gave a throaty chuckle. "And showed you," I said. He nodded and laughed, then lowered his voice. "Yeah," he said. "And it was all hard and stuff, right? A boner." He was pretty obviously into the story now. He leaned forward, his voice a whisper. "And then you go, `touch it', right?" He looked incredulously at me. "That's what you said. `Touch it'." He said this as if attributing all responsibility to me. "And so...I did." He studied me, smiling, eyes swimming with mischief. What would I say? It was, after all, just a dream. "And?" I asked, not because I thought there was more, but because I wanted more. "And," he went on, looking more confident now. "And then you go, `suck it'." I felt my cock growing in my pants. It was like bear stirring from sleep. "And?" I asked, when he didn't go on quickly enough. "So I did," he said. "I sucked it until white stuff came out. A little got in my mouth, but..." He looked suddenly surprised at his own candidness. "But the rest got all over my face." He wrinkled his nose in pretend revulsion, but this story was his invention. I nodded slowly and twitched my eyebrows at him. "Well," I said. "That was some dream!" He shrugged and nodded and shook his head and went back to poking at his food. "Weird, huh? I have no idea what that means. So weird!" He gave me a serious look. "You won't tell anyone, right?" "Of course not." He put some potatoes into his mouth and chewed quickly, speaking as he did. "Dreams are so strange." "Yes," I agreed. After dinner, I headed straight for the shower. I undressed and dropped my clothes in a heap on the floor of the bathroom. In the privacy of the shower, under the engulfing hot water, I could think more deeply on Isaac's "dream" and on the sight of him on his bed, working the light saber in and out of his anus. This produced a sizeable erection, which bobbed in the spray of water, laced with soap suds. It took some time to wash the grime from me and the hot water felt good on my tired muscles. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something. I had left the medicine chest slightly ajar and, at the precise angle, in the mirror on the medicine chest door, I could see the door of the bathroom that led to Isaac's room. It was slightly open. I knew it was closed before I got into the shower, and yet there it was, open just a crack. It was then when I saw the one brown eye, peering in at me. Isaac. He was staring at me intently with that one eye, unaware that I could see him in the mirror, as I ran my hands over my body, soap sluicing down over my hard on. My whole body was suddenly electric with the realization that he was watching me, as I had watched him the night before. I turned so that he could see my cock and I ran my soapy fingers over it a few times, making it throb with arousal. I hummed low in my throat, trying, apparently successfully, to look oblivious to Isaac's attentive gaze. He watched silently and I performed for him, masturbating slowly as the last of the soap trailed off my body. Meanwhile, I watched him in the mirror as he pushed the door open a little more, daring to be seen, so that he could get a more unobstructed view. I quickened my pace on my cock, which had labored under my thoughts of Isaac all day and, now with the boy so present, so attentive to it, was ready to pop. A minute of hard pumping and I let out a groan that echoed against the tile of the bathroom. My cock exploded and sperm went flying a good three feet onto the floor and wall of the shower. My knees buckled slightly and I threw my head back, peering with one eye at the mirror, at that beautiful face in the doorway. When the orgasm was over, I slumped forward and squeezed my dick, forcing the last of my cum out onto the floor of the shower. In the mirror, in the doorway, Isaac was still watching, and I wondered if he wanted me to notice him there--if he were waiting for me to turn and see him. Then, very suddenly, he closed the door silently. I didn't even hear it click shut. That night, I crept out onto the terrace again and crouched by Isaac's window, peering through the gap in the curtains. He was naked on his bed, pulling on his cock, stroking his balls and thighs, while he inserted the light saber into his ass. I noticed the jar of Vaseline next to his bed. His eyes were closed as he pushed the plastic rod in deeper, then he pulled his knees up to his ears and released the toy. It protruded absurdly from his ass like a strange flower. He reached to the table beside him and grabbed something, some sort of cloth, which he held to his nose and smelled, inhaling deeply, eyes closed in pleasure. I squinted to see what it was, but until he laid it over his face so that he could inhale its aroma while he simultaneously masturbated and worked the light saber in and out of him, I couldn't make it out. Suddenly, it was obvious. I recognized it immediately. The boxers I had removed before my shower, that I had dropped on the floor of the bathroom. They were draped over his face. I could see his chest rise with each inhalation, then fall softly, his hands working deftly to pleasure himself. I hadn't thought it possible, but I was even more astounded, more aroused, than I had been the night before. I dropped my pants on the spot and my cock nearly broke the window as it bounced up in delight. It throbbed in the moonlight as I wrapped my fingers around it and pumped. Meanwhile, Isaac pumped his own cock and fucked his own ass with that silly toy, all the while smelling my boxers. It didn't take either of us long to erupt. He came first, after some steady and concentrated coordination of his hands, plunging the sword in deeply as his penis spilled droplets onto his taut belly and his body was racked with pleasure. As his orgasm subsided and his legs relaxed, falling open on the bed, I grunted and came, splashing the terrace at my feet with my second orgasm of the day. I took me a while to recover and I hadn't noticed that Isaac had pulled the boxers from his face and was in the process of cleaning himself up. If he had glanced at the window, he probably would have seen me there, shaking the last drops of cum from my cock. I ducked out of view and used my tee shirt to wipe up the puddle from the floor, then I snuck back into my room. In retrospect, it should have been obvious to me then that Isaac was ready for something to happen between us. He had sent plenty of signals, many of which he was not aware. There should have been no doubt. But I am a wee bit dense when it comes to these sorts of things, and at the time, I worried that I was making faulty connections. "Maybe he likes me and maybe he's horny, but maybe he isn't horny for me," I reasoned. He was the son of my hostess and client. If I read him wrong, it could be disastrous, not just for him, but for me and my business, which depended upon referrals from satisfied customers. My acute desire for him, I figured, may well be warping my perspective, making me see things that I wanted to see, believe things that I wanted to believe. He was not yet thirteen. What could he know about these things? I know that it seems ridiculous now that I was given such a string of obvious clues and that I still second-guessed my instincts. The "dream", the peep during my shower, the inventive use of a light saber, and, perhaps the most powerful sign, the boxers--it all seems so absurdly obvious in retrospect, but sometimes things happen that seem too good to be true. Laying there that night, I decided that I would make a move if there was one more sign--one more signal from Isaac--that he was asking for it. The following day was a Saturday and the workers only came for the morning so that the plumber would be free to work all afternoon. Isaac was there at the breakfast table waiting for me when I came downstairs, a warm smile on his handsome face, those incredible black curls wet from his morning shower. He was impossibly attractive, dressed in a dark blue tank top that revealed his smooth, thin chest and arms. I practically stopped breathing when I saw him, struck immediately by the memory of him from the previous night. One signal, I said to myself, just one more, but don't fabricate it. Watch for it, but don't invent it. As usual, he accompanied the workers and me all morning in the attic and we got a lot of work done. A bit before noon, Rose told Isaac to wash up and eat his lunch. They had an outing planned for that afternoon. Moments later, the plumber arrived, freeing us up for the rest of the day. When Isaac finished his lunch, he found me in the garage where I was inventorying my supplies. Several items hadn't yet arrived, which was going to set me back in my schedule a bit and make it necessary for me to stay longer at Rose's house. This didn't displease me, so I appeared quite patient with the delayed deliveries, even if my coworkers regarded them as bothersome. "Nothing we can do about it," I shrugged. "Where did you get such patience all of a sudden?" they asked as they left. I was alone when Isaac entered, making notes regarding the missing supplies. I was, as always, elated to see him and his handsome, beaming smile. He was dressed in very clean dress pants and a white button down shirt. He wore a pair of very shiny black shoes that looked uncomfortable on his feet. The way his dark eyes sparkled made me wonder if I wasn't hallucinating, seeing something that I only imagined. "Hey," he said cheerily. "Everyone's gone?" "Yup," I said. "The plumber is doing his thing now." He blathered to me a while about random things--football, in particular, and how good he was at it. School would be starting in a couple weeks and he was on every sports team. After playing with him, I knew him to be a good athlete, and as handsome as he was, he was probably quite popular, with girls and boys alike. He told these stories to make himself sound like the star of a movie, his own movie, his own life, where he was the director and the star. I listened intently as he talked, nodding and raising an eyebrow at the appropriate times, eyeballing my list distractedly. When he suddenly became silent, I looked over at him. He seemed very thoughtful all of a sudden, and I could tell that he has something to say. He spoke in a hushed tone. "I had another dream about you," he said, smirking. "Really?" I said. Music to my ears. Was this the signal? "What happened?" He smiled and looked like he was changing his mind. He shook his head and said, "Never mind." He was baiting his hook with an acute lack of subtlety, but I was determined to bite. He hardly needed a lure. "What?" "Never mind," he said, trying to look coy. "It's embarrassing." "Embarrassing?" I asked. "How so?" "Naw," he said. "I can't tell you." I played along. "C'mon," I said. "You can't just tell me that you had a dream about me and then drop it. What happened?" I tapped him on the head with my pencil. "You told me your other dreams and I never told anyone." He looked down, still smiling broadly, attempting to look indecisive. "It was only a dream," I said. "Nothing to be embarrassed about." Magic words, as much so as "abracadabra". There was the out for which he was looking--the built in disclaimer for what he was about to tell me. It was my tacit agreement that I would be a co-conspirator in this game of deception. "Okay," he said, and I thought I sensed some relief that I hadn't abandoned the issue. At the same time, he was blushing and looking very nervous as he searched for the right words. "Okay," he repeated. "Okay. In my dream, we..." He blushed deeply and smiled more broadly, closing his eyes and looking away. "...um...well..." "What?" He looked at me as if apologizing. "We...did it." "It?" He giggled nervously and nodded. "Uh-huh." "It?" I repeated. The word never sounded so sexually stimulating before. He gave a grimacing grin. "It was weird." "What did we do, exactly?" His eyes betrayed his excitement at the subject. His mind was engaged in the fantasy, gears turning and pistons pumping. I couldn't wait to hear what would come out of those sexy lips next. "Well," he said. "I was in my bed, at night." He jerked his head toward the house. "I was in my underwear, and then you came in and..." He snickered lasciviously, wrinkling that handsome nose, his eyes sparkling. I felt a little dizzy and sat down on a pile of two by fours. He snickered a little more, acting as if he wasn't sure he wanted to continue, all the while studying my face to gauge my reaction. I have no idea what my face was telling him. I only knew that my brain was like a machine that had suddenly gone haywire. "What?" I asked. He snickered again and shrugged. "You were naked. You didn't have nothin' on." He rubbed his face with his hands as if trying to wipe away the smile. "...um...and you came over and, like, put your...ya know..." "My cock." He nodded. "Yeah...in my mouth." He pointed as if that needed clarification. "I see," I said. "Then, after a while, you reached down and pulled my underwear off me, and pushed my legs up, ya know...? "Uh-huh." "Way up." "Uh-huh." "And then...you...licked me...you know...down there..." "Your cock?" "No," he said quickly, and he jerked his backwards meaningfully. "Back there." My cock twitched. For that matter, my whole body twitched, but then my whole body felt like one huge cock. I nodded and smiled. "Ah...back there." He chuckled again. "Yeah. Weird, huh?" That was his disclaimer. "Anyway, you made it...back there...all wet and slippery, ya know? Then you...um...put your you-know-what in there." My you-know-what was growing rapidly as if it heard its name called. He looked away, then back at me, then he gave me his best it's-only-a-dream shrug and continued. "You moved it in and out, in and out, and then you shot your sperm into me." We both looked at each other for a silent moment. Then we both started laughing. He shrugged again with great effort, as if the size of the shrug might more completely express that this was just a dream, after all, and wasn't that strange? "Any more?" He gave out a little laugh. "Well," he said. "Yeah." I waited for him to go on but grew impatient with the nervous silence. "What?" "While you were...ya know...doing it," he said, he squirmed uncomfortably. "We were...um...kissing, on the lips, like men and women do, ya know?" The kissing part seemed to be the most embarrassing part for him, which completely confused me. Perhaps it is what made him, in his eyes, gay. I looked at his lips and imagined kissing them. "And did you enjoy this?" I asked. "In the dream, I mean." He didn't look prepared for that question. He shrugged several times and smiled, abashed, then said, "I don't know." "How could you not know?" I asked incredulously. "It was your dream." "I guess so," he said, then more definitely, "Yeah." I looked down at my list as if shifting my attention to it, as if I was a little bored with the pedestrian nature of our conversation. In reality, I saw nothing on the page. My head was embedded deeply in Isaac's asshole. He gave a few consecutive snorts, chuckles that were designed to be casual and dismissive, but his eyes were swimming with the imagery that he had created. He shifted on the boxes on which he sat and I could see that he was erect again. I continued to look blindly at the paper in front of me. "Quite a dream," I said for lack of anything else to say. "Weird, huh?" he said, shrugging again. "I don't know where that came from. It's...weird." "Isaac!" It was his mother calling and Isaac jumped, startled, as if she had caught us at something. He jumped to his feet, forgetting his hard on, which poked out in the front of his jeans. Then he quickly turned away to conceal it and went to the door. "What?" "Come on! It's time to go!" He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Gotta go see my grandma," he said. "Will you be here when we get back?" "Sure," I said. "I've got nowhere to go." Isaac the director. He had given me a script and a storyline, a character and stage direction. He had handed me a blueprint of his sexual desires and fantasies. I finished up with my inventory, shaved and took a shower, then I put on my black jeans--the ones from Isaac's fantasy. A few hours later, the plumber came downstairs, wiping his greasy hands on a rag and telling me that the work was done. I checked the work and at six o'clock, the plumber and his assistant left, and I went to my room to relax and read. I couldn't concentrate on anything all day, thinking only about Isaac. He had certainly given me another signal and, true to my word, I was ready to make my move. I decided that I would literally make Isaac's dreams come true. I was unbearably nervous as I waited for him to come home. When I heard the car pull up into the driveway at seven o'clock, I kicked off my shoes and socks, and as I heard Isaac's footsteps on the stairs, coming up to his bedroom, I removed my shirt and stood nervously in the middle of my room. "Change out of those clothes before you do anything else!" I heard Rose calling to him. "I know, Mom," Isaac replied. "I'll make us some quick dinner." "Okay, Mom." I heard him go into his room and close the door. I walked through the bathroom and to his door and stopped short of grabbing the doorknob. I was suddenly paralyzed with nerves and I took a deep breath. I didn't knock. In his dream, I hadn't knocked, so I just opened the door and stepped into the room. He was sitting on his bed having just removed his shoes and socks. His shirt was unbuttoned, his small nipples staring at me. He looked startled to see me there. His mouth hung open and he looked at me, up and down, beholding the vision from his own dream, suddenly come to life. I stepped closer to him. "Isaac," I said. "You want to see my cock?" He was thunderstruck, and his momentary inability to speak or respond unnerved me. I needed to hear something from him to reassure me that I was on the right track. Instead, his lips moved but nothing came out, and his body seemed suddenly immobile. He stammered and sputtered as I stepped closer, an arm's length away, my crotch, bulging slightly, level with his beautiful face. "Do you want to see my cock?" I asked again. It was an attempt to shake him out of his stupor. "Um...sure," he said. He remembered his line. Slowly, I undid my pants, one button at a time, and then reached inside my boxers and pulled out my cock. It was already half erect in anticipation. When it plopped out of my pants, Isaac's eyes grew wider. He was hypnotized. His fingers twitched like they wanted to grab hold of it. I manipulated it before his eyes and he watched, rapt, as it grew thicker and longer and stiffer. At times, the tip of my cock nearly brushed against the tip of his little nose, and he crossed his eyes to follow it. "Touch it," I said. Isaac suddenly seemed to snap to attention, looking up into my face and smiling suddenly. This was his game. He had invented it, and wasn't it fun? He reached up and took a hold of it and it was suddenly fully erect, stiff as steel in his little hand. I moaned at the contact. He tugged on it like I saw him tug on his own, with long, slow strokes, and with his other hand, he cupped my balls, running his smooth fingers over them gently. He held me in his hands, staring at the head of my cock. I thrust my cock closer, moving it nearer his lips, and said, "Suck it." There was that smile again. He licked his lips and focused on my dick, then leaned forward and opened his mouth, engulfing the head and wrapping his lovely lips around it. The sensation made my head spin and he bobbed up and down on it, sliding it in and out of his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. I looked at his face. His eyes were closed dreamily, as if he were rapt, as if he were ecstatically happy. He slurped noisily at it and I guided it in and out with my hand on the back of his head, gentle and encouraging. He worked diligently on it, and even after ten minutes, he was still as engrossed as ever. His own cock was tenting up his pants and I wanted to reach down and pull it out, but I was trying to stay true to the script--to the fantasy. There would be time enough for that later, I supposed, and Isaac seemed entirely satisfied with his handful and mouthful of manhood. The room was silent save for the slurping sound of my cock in his mouth, slipping in and out, and the sounds of our breathing--mine heavy and lusty and Isaac's, labored and through his nose. When I felt my orgasm rising, I quickened my pace. "Here I come," I whispered lustily. "Here I come." I released his head. How much he wanted in his mouth would be up to him. This was, after all, his show. I grunted and moaned and then it was upon me, rippling through my body from my feet to my head, causing me to buckle at the knees. The first spurt came directly into his mouth, and from what I could tell, it was a copious amount. He pulled my cock out of his mouth and held the tip to his face, and jet after jet of my semen splashed his nose and cheeks and lips, dripping down his chin. At the same instant, I heard him cry out slightly. At first, I thought he was responding in disgust to the mouthful of milk, but I saw his shoulders shudder and, looking down at the front of his nice dress pants, I could see a dark stain grow from within. He pressed his face up against my dripping cock as his own orgasm shook him, and then he was still. There was no script for what would follow this encounter, but that turned out to be unnecessary as Rose's voice suddenly rose from downstairs. "Isaac! Mitch! Dinner!" Then, "Hurry, while it's hot!" He and I were suddenly rushing around--he to wash the sperm from his face and change his now-soiled clothes and I to clean up and get dressed. The whole time, he was smiling at me. His smile was infectious. "Is that how your dream went?" I finally asked him as I tied on my shoes. He laughed. "Yeah. Well, actually...it was better." "Well," I said, fully dressed. He was just pulling on his clean pants. I leaned over and practically bumped noses with him. "Tonight, we'll get to that other one, hmm?" I kissed him lightly on the nose, then lightly on the lips, and he smiled broadly at me. "When?" "Tonight." "Yeah, but when tonight? After dinner?" "Bedtime." "Bedtime! But that's hours away!" "Patience." "Patience, bull shit," he said. "What about seven?" It was the first time I had ever heard him curse. "Bedtime," I said. "See ya downstairs." Before he could object any further, I turned and left the room. Dinner was full of innuendo and Isaac and I caught every one of them. Rose made hot dogs--regular and large. We were laughing as we sat down at the table. "How many hot dogs do you want?" Rose asked Isaac. He looked me in the eye. "Just one," he said. "A big one." "Just one?" she asked. "Yeah," he nearly whispered. "Do you want it in a bun?" she asked him. He snickered lasciviously. "Definitely." She handed him the hot dog and turned to me. "You?" "I'll have a little one," I said. Isaac giggled and inserted the big hot dog into his mouth. "Milk?" she asked Isaac, the carton poised over his glass. He licked his lips. "Lots," he said, eyeing me. Rose poured the milk and caught our exchange of looks. She shook her head in the weird silence. "You two up to something?" she asked. I immediately grew nervous, but Isaac just smiled and chewed. "Up to something?" he asked her, not taking his eyes off me. "Like what?" She smiled at him and looked at me. "He has always loved hot dogs," she said. "When he was younger, if he was ever sad, I would make hot dogs. He always felt better once he got a hot dog in him." "He sure seems to take to them," I observed. "He would hardly chew," she went on. "It was as if he was trying to shove the whole hot dog into his mouth at once! He'd make a terrible mess." He still does, I wanted to say--make a terrible mess, that is. Ten minutes ago, he had sperm dripping from his face. His eyes glinted at me. Oh, those eyes. "Aooofa tah autahass," Isaac said. "Don't talk with your mouth full," she said, sitting down and putting food on her own plate. "You just work on the hot dog for now and leave the talking for later." "There's an idea," I said. Isaac chewed, swallowed, chewed some more, than swallowed. "I said I love the taste of hot dogs," he said brightly. "Well, they're good for you," Rose said. "They make you happy and that makes me happy." She reached over and stroked his hair sweetly and he smiled angelically. I planned on making Isaac very happy that night. She held the milk carton up to me. "What about you? Milk?" I proffered my glass. "A little, thank you." We all gathered in the living room to watch a movie after dinner. At first, Isaac said that he didn't want to watch a movie--that he wanted to "play a game" with me upstairs--and I will confess that I was terribly tempted, but at eight o'clock, it was too early to lose ourselves in anal paradise in Isaac's bedroom without risking intrusion from Rose. "I rented `Tarzan'," Rose informed us. "The Disney cartoon!" "I love Tarzan," I confessed. Isaac looked disappointed that we were not ready for bed already, but he smiled at me and said, "Me too. Didn't Tarzan have a son?" "Boy," said Rose. "That was his name." She put in the DVD and settled in her recliner. I sat on the couch, which was against the wall behind the recliner, and Isaac leapt up beside me. "Tarzan," he called me, whispering. "Boy," I replied. He snuggled in beside me. The room was comfortable. It was comfortably cool in the air conditioned house, but Rose always over did the AC and it never seemed to bother Isaac. Now, however, he gave a phony shiver and said, "I'm cold." "Get a sweater," Rose suggested, not looking back at us. "You cold?" he asked me. "No," I said. He elbowed me in the ribs. "Yes," I recanted. "I'll get the afghan," he said. He tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over us. Rose turned around and looked back at us. "I could turn down the AC," she suggested. "No, don't bother," I said quickly. "We're comfortable." We settled in to watch the movie, or rather, Rose watched the movie while Isaac's hands wandered around inside my clothes. He stuck one hand up my shirt and rubbed my chest, staring inconspicuously at the TV the whole time. His fingers found my nipples and scurried around my torso, into my armpits, into my navel, down to my belt buckle. He groped me through my pants and, finding me hard, regarded that as an invitation to go further. Tarzan, meanwhile, careered through the jungle and talked to the animals. Isaac's hands undid my belt, and when he pulled my zipper down, he coughed out loud to hide the sound. I sat submissive to all this, my arm around him gently. He fished inside my underwear and came up with a whopper. It was hot and throbbing as he stroked it deftly. I was nervous that Rose would, at any moment, look back at us and wonder what that movement was beneath the afghan. Isaac curled up against me and I allowed my hand to fall down onto his bottom and massage him through his jeans. I was only slightly aware of the movie, even as I stared at the screen and saw the images fly by like a disjointed dream. Real life was happening beneath the afghan, in between my legs where Isaac's hands were working so diligently. The movie suddenly stopped, the screen going blue. "Bathroom break," Rose announced, standing up. Isaac let go of my cock very suddenly and sat up straight, looking innocent. I tried like hell to regain my composure. "I'll be right back," she said, and she hurried from the room. As soon as we heard the bathroom door shut down the hall, Isaac dove beneath the afghan and plunged onto my cock. It slid in, nearly to the hilt, and he hummed pleasantly as he bobbed up and down on it. This was risky. We would surely hear Rose coming long before she was in the room--the toilet flush, the door open, her footsteps in the hallway--but when she entered, would the looks on our faces betray us? I wouldn't have time to put my cock away and do up my pants. If she wanted to remove the afghan, we she would find out what the true focus of Isaac's attention has been, and it won't be Tarzan. However, at that moment, with Isaac's warm and hungry mouth on my cock, his hand cupping my balls, I didn't care. In fact, the element of danger was oddly exciting. I took hold of Isaac's head and thrust my cock in and out of him. After all the stroking and touching, I was very suddenly ready to blow. I couldn't help groaning. "Mmmph grrrph onnnca," Isaac murmured. "Don't talk with your mouth full," I whispered. He took my cock out of his mouth. "I said stop making noise," he said, then he plunged back onto my dick. He was working rapidly, obviously trying to bring me off before Rose got back into the room. It was working. My orgasm was rising quickly, and with a few more thrusts into Isaac's talented mouth, I came violently, my whole body trembling under the afghan, and this time, Isaac downed the full load. Perhaps he was intentionally avoiding the mess, but I got the feeling that, after getting a taste of it earlier, he had become rather fond of the taste of cum. He held his head still as I shot it into his mouth, and he swallowed it dutifully. It all happened so fast. I became very suddenly aware that I had been oblivious to all sounds around me and I turned quickly to see if Rose was standing there, watching her son's head bob in my lap. I then heard the toilet flush. With my cock still in Isaac's mouth, I squeezed the shaft and coaxed a few more drops onto his tongue. By the time we heard Rose's footsteps in the hallway, we were sitting upright on the couch, looking very patient and innocent. "So my couch says that, if I practice, I can start on offense," Isaac said out of nowhere. "Cool," I replied. "Sorry," Rose said, coming in and settling into her chair. "Thanks for waiting." "No problem," we said in unison. Having just had my second orgasm, I was quite sated for the time being, even as I looked forward to the planned activity for later that night. In fact, my cock would get stiff when I thought about it, and Isaac's warm body pressed against me, his fingers often reaching over to touch me there, put me in a continuous state of arousal. A couple of times during the movie, when Rose was safely distracted, I leaned over and kissed Isaac gently on the forehead, and he smiled up at me with such beaming affection. While these innocent gestures seemed to appease me, they had the opposite effect on Isaac, who was getting more and more aroused at the idea of what was to come that night. To be fair, we had had sex twice now and neither time had he had an orgasm. His balls, I imagined--ah, those soft little balls!--must have been ready to burst. When I touched his ass beneath the afghan, he readjusted himself so that I could have better access. He busied himself down there for a moment, and it wasn't until I felt the slack in his jeans as I touched his lower back that I realized that he head unsnapped and unzipped his pants in the front, making it easy for me to insert a hand. I slid my hand in and down over his soft, smooth ass. He maneuvered on my lap, eyes still blindly fixed on the TV screen, and I found it very easy to reach down and find his little hole. When I touched it, he held his breath. I pulled my hand out, put a load of spit on my finger, and went back in. I coated his asshole with my spittle. My finger slipped around on his bud, and when I slowly and gently inserted one finger, he lost all composure and dropped his head back, eyes closed, and sighed heavily. This wouldn't do. If Rose looked at us this way, it would be all too obvious what was going on. I nudged him with my other hand and he looked at me with eyes that looked drowsy and sleepy. I gave him a stern get-your-shit-together look and he straightened a little and looked at the TV, but when I slid my finger in and out of his hot behind, his head lolled back again and his eyes closed. It was like a magic button that controlled his head. I had to withdraw my hand, much to his dismay, and he looked pleadingly at me. "It's almost done," I whispered, indicating the movie. I tugged on his belt, a signal to him to do up his pants, and he reluctantly obeyed. He nestled in beside me again, his beautiful head of curls against my chin, the smell of him rising into my nose. Two orgasms, and I was ready to go again. When the final credits were rolling, Isaac sat up on the couch, stretched languorously, and said, "I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to bed." Rose gave him a curious frown and looked at her watch. "It's only nine thirty," she said. "Do you feel all right?" He nodded. "Just tired." He was trying to rush things along, but I had chosen bedtime as the time for our rendezvous for reasons. Rose went into the kitchen for something and Isaac yanked on my arm. "C'mon!" "It's too early;" I said. "We have to wait until eleven...when your mother goes to bed." "No we don't!" He could tell by the look on my face that I was not going to relent. He looked nearly tearful with frustration but he laughed miserably. "That's like ten hours away!" "An hour and a half," I said. "Let's play video games to pass the time." "But..." "Isaac," I whispered sternly. "Once we...ya know, start, do you want to be interrupted? Caught?" "No, but..." "We need to wait until your mother is in bed." "But she never goes upstairs!" "She will if she thinks you're sick," I said. "And both of us going upstairs at nine thirty? Very suspicious." He scowled and crossed his arms. He knew I was right. "Shit," he said. Once we got into the video games, he was much more relaxed and patient and the time flew by. He taught me how to use the controller and we fought aliens together on a spaceship. I was beginning to think that he forgot about our date when Rose came into the room and announced, "Bedtime!" It looked as if someone had goosed Isaac, the way he jumped. He always argued with her at this point, wanting to play for a little while longer, and she stood in the doorway waiting, hands on her hips, for this little confrontation. She watched incredulously as he wordlessly turned off the game and pushed the system into its place beneath the TV stand. He stood up and looked at her. "What?" he asked. "Nothing," she replied. "No argument?" "Do you want and argument?" "Of course not." He shrugged and we watched him walk out of the room and heard him bound up the stairs to his bedroom. "He's acting strange tonight," she said, then smiled at me. "Goodnight, Mitch." "Goodnight." In keeping with the prewritten script, Isaac was in bed when I got upstairs to my room and stripped my clothes off. I went into the bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth, my cock half hard with anticipation. I was sure that Isaac could hear me gargling and running the water. It would be like a prelude--introductory music for our love scene. I knew that he was lying in bed in his underwear, waiting for me, probably impatiently. The idea made me woozy and excited. My little lover, waiting there in the dark for me. When I opened the bathroom door that led to Isaac's room, it was dark except for a Detroit Lions nightlight that was plugged into the wall near his dresser. It cast a yellowish glow over the bed where he lay. His bare shoulders were barely visible over the top of his blanket as he feigned sleep. I walked quietly to his bedside and pulled the blankets down, off of his beautiful, brown body. He was wearing Detroit Lions cotton boxer shorts, and as he lay on his side, his knee bent, they stretched over his slender ass. "Isaac," I said. My voice, although quiet, sounded loud in the silence of the room. He didn't stir. "Isaac," I repeated. He rolled over and pretended to be just waking up. He looked up at me, then at my cock, which was rising as I gazed at his perfect, slender body with its graceful and lithe contours and curves and angles. I had masturbated to pictures such as this. He gave me an involuntary smirk. The game was afoot. I knelt on the bed and straddled his face, lowering my cock down to his mouth, already open, neck craning up to receive. He took my balls in his hands and engulfed my prick, letting it slide past those perfect lips. I proceeded to fuck his face. He reached down with his other hand and slipped it into his shorts, grabbing hold of his stiff rod, yanking it. I noticed that the jar of Vaseline was on the table next to his bed. I wondered where he kept the Star Wars light saber, with its pungent-smelling handle. It was the third time that day that my cock was in Isaac's mouth and I was enjoying it as much as I did the first time. As I looked down at his face, he had the most serene look, eyes closed, mouth open and hungry, and from time to time, he would open his eyes and look up at me, with my own serene look, head lolling from side to side, eyes smoldering with pleasure and lust. I stood up abruptly and my cock gave a popping and slurping sound as it slid from his lips. He was watching me intently. It was as if I was his porn movie, come to life in his bedroom, and he lay on his bed, submissively waiting for the next thing to happen. I reached down and tugged on his boxers and he lifted his hips and allowed me to pull them down his slender and shapely legs. His cock was wonderfully erect and visibly throbbing. He bent his knees and spread his legs and stretched languidly, arching his back, smiling at me. I was enflamed. I climbed onto the bed and between his legs, bending over him to kiss him on the belly and the chest, to lick a nipple, to let my tongue travel up into his armpit. I kissed his neck and jaw, then looked him in the eye, our noses less than an inch apart. He was ready for the kiss, closing his eyes and opening his mouth, darting his tongue inside mine. His lips were indescribably soft, like the rest of him. When our lips parted, he gave a throaty little laugh. "I love the taste of hot dogs," he said, and I laughed in response. I walked my tongue down his body to his cock. In the script, in his "dream", I didn't suck it, but it was simply too irresistible, sprouting proudly from between his god-like thighs, moist tip gleaming in the dim light. I licked it at and flicked it with my tongue, up and down, and Isaac spread his legs even more and let out a low moan. I slathered his balls and he lifted his legs slightly, inviting me to move lower, but I went back up to his cock and took it in my mouth. I took hold of his legs behind his knees and pushed them up and out, making access easier. Isaac was suddenly swimming in pleasure. He arched his back and threw back his head and made a loud gurgling noise. It wasn't loud enough for Rose to hear from downstairs, but if she had chosen to listen outside the door, it would have been easy to hear. I plunged up and down on his cock for only about a minute when he bucked his hips and squirmed and shot out a small spray of semen into my mouth, making a high-pitched squeal that half-startled me--like a mewling kitten with its tail stepped on. I held on to his hips as he spasmed in my hands, and when he finally settled onto the bed, he gave another of his throaty chuckles. "Got milk?" he asked. We shared another laugh. He was good-natured about everything, but in bed, that would prove to be an aphrodisiac--his sense of humor and love for laughing. It was both melodic and lascivious. Being a boy of twelve, almost thirteen, I knew that he wouldn't be slowed down by one orgasm. He was probably up for a couple more. I sucked the last of the milk from his little spout and let it slip from my mouth. He was looking down, watching with an amused smirk. "That was awesome!" he whispered. I was glad that he appreciated it. I pushed his legs up farther and trailed my tongue down over his balls, following the path of his perineum to the treasure that was his anus. He knew what was coming, of course, and he held his breath, eyes fixed on me but looking like they might roll back into his head. When my tongue made its first dart against that little slit, he gave a little squeak and a giggle and said, "There's a worm in my hole!" "With a snake soon to follow," I remarked, and he laughed the most sexy and lewd laugh I had ever heard. I proceeded to lave his hole with my tongue, poking inside, kissing and slurping and spreading it wider with my hands on his ass cheeks. He hooked his arms behind his knees and pulled his legs up higher, craning his head down, trying to see my tongue in his ass. His asshole, it would turn out, was his button, like that spot on a dog where, when scratched, will make its foot thump on the floor. Isaac's delicious and glorious asshole was that magic button that sent him into uncontrollable spasms of lust and ecstasy. He threw his head back on the pillow several times with great force, then made a long, drawn out groan that sounded a little like singing. When I inserted one finger, he bit his lip and grunted and said, "Ahhhh, yessssss." He reached clumsily next to him and grabbed the Vaseline, thrusting it toward me with some aggression. "Here," he said. "Here, here, here..." He was in some hurry. I took the jar and opened it, stuck my fingers inside and came out with a glob. It wasn't my preferred lube--KY is so much better--but it was apparently his and I was more than happy to be flexible. I slathered some on his moist hole, and then on my raging hard on. My cock was like a rocket between my thighs, ready for take off, start the countdown. The sight of him there beneath me, legs pulled up to his chest, tugging on his still-hard cock, panting and looking at me with a harried frown of impatience, was making me crazy. I wanted to fuck him all night, all the next morning and into the afternoon. I wanted to fuck him while he was eating hot dogs for dinner and fuck him while he was watching TV and playing video games. I wanted to fuck him forever for the rest our lives. I angled my cock down and pushed the head against his hole. My cock was about the girth of the Star Wars light saber. I knew that it would fit perfectly, without the hard plastic edges, and that Isaac was going to be one happy camper. Knowing that only heightened my passion. I pushed in and he grunted back, pulling his asscheeks apart, stretching his hole. His face was bunched together with a mix of pain and concentration, and when I stopped to give him a chance to adjust, he looked at me quizzically and reached behind me, grabbing my ass and pulling me forward, sinking more and more of my cock into him. It slid in effortlessly. His Star Wars dildo had served us well. When my balls bumped against his ass and I was completely embedded inside him, I leaned forward and he wrapped his arms around my neck. This simple gesture, his slender arms snaking around me, moved me deeply, both emotionally and sexually, and as I started to fuck him, I covered his mouth with my own and he pulled me closer. Once we got our rhythm, the little bed started to creak softly in the dark and our bodies moved like a single animal. He fit my cock perfectly, as if made for it (and later he would insist it were true--that I was made for him, including my cock). His eyes were half opened and staring, but not seeing. His mouth was open slightly, and every so often he would say my name--"Mitch"--so softly and tenderly in my ear that it drove me crazier, made me even more heated and lustful. At one point, as my orgasm approached, he reached down between us and grabbed his own cock, pulling furiously at it, running his tongue over my teeth and breathing heavily into my mouth. He made a serious of grunts and then said two words that put me over the edge. They were said with such a perfect mix of lust and tenderness that I exploded into his ass. "My Mitch." My body writhed and jerked and my legs straightened, pushing the boy back against the bed with tremendous force. He yelped and came on his own belly, making way too much noise, his jackknifed body twitching uncontrollably beneath me as he emptied his little nuts. It was my third orgasm in four hours and the finest one of them all. It seemed to last forever. I imagined that Rose would come into his room in the morning and find us just like this, still coming and trembling and twitching. But then suddenly, it was over, and I collapsed on top of him, my lips on his, holding his head in my hands. We lay forehead to forehead as we caught or breaths, my cock still crammed into his wet hole, his legs still pulled up to his chest. Slowly, he unfolded them and let them lay spread on either side of me. "Stay in me," he said softly, touching me on the cheek. "For a while." "No problem," I said. "Do you love me?" he asked. "More than anything in the world," I said. He smirked at me and stroked my shoulders. "I love you too," he said. "I just wanted you to say it first." I slept with Isaac in my arms where he seemed to fit so perfectly. In the middle of the night, I would press my nose into his curly hair and inhale the wonderful smell of him. I awoke in the morning to find him pressed against the side of me, his little hand grasping my cock which was, of course, throbbing from the attention. He was sleeping still but had sought it beneath the blankets in a moment of half-awake ness. When he stirred from time to time, he would give it a little squeeze as if making sure it was still there, and then drop back into deep slumber. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. I was the luckiest man in the world with the most wonderful and beautiful boy in the world in my arms. I dreamed that I was living in the attic that I had remodeled, although in the dream, it was four times larger than it actually was. There was a swimming pool in the shape of a musical note, installed on a patio that stuck out the side of the house. I was wearing a baseball uniform, sitting poolside, and Danny Devito, along with Todd Gruber (a kid from my junior high school on whom I had a terrible crush) swam in the pool, drinking orange martinis. This was typical dreamscape--nonsensical, even if it had meaning. I knew there was significance to it immediately upon opening my eyes, but I didn't have time to consider it as my cock was throbbing below the covers, wet and slippery, as it slid in and out of Isaac's mouth. What a delightful way to wake up. I grunted and spread my legs, raising my head to look down at Isaac. He was curled between my legs, cradling my balls in one hand, stroking the shaft of my cock with the other, while his lips slipped over, up and down, on the head of my cock. He looked up at me and smiled. There is nothing like the look of a smiling boy with a cock in his mouth. I was just starting to get used to his mouth there, settling into my bliss, when he abruptly pulled his mouth off of it and crawled up my body, straddling me and bumping his asshole against my slippery head. He looked down at me, his radiant eyes smiling, and grabbed hold of my cock, directing it to his target. I stroked him from knees to hips to ribs to shoulders while he bit his lip in concentration, trying to cram me inside his dry hole. I spat on my fingers and reached behind him. As I applied the spittle to his rump, he smiled broadly at me. "G'mornin'!" he said. "More than good when I wake up like this," I said. "Fantastic morning!" "Fantastic morning to you too." I stuck a finger in to the second knuckle and Isaac's eyes swam with pleasure. "Oooooh," he said, low in his throat. He pushed my hand away roughly and took a firm hold on my cock. As he sat down upon it, he looked deeply into my eyes, holding his breath, and as he engulfed me, I took hold of his hips and thrust into him to the hilt. With my cock in him, he lay down on my chest and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling my face to his. The look of lust in his eyes as I began to slide in and out of him made me delirious with heat and need. His lips found mine, his tongue darting out against my lips, and I began to thrust into him with smooth and languid strokes. He was panting and moaning as I fucked his sensitive hole. At one point, he sat up straight, back arched, head back, and gave out a groan so loud I thought he would wake the house. He reached behind and took my balls in his hand, and with the other, he stroked his own stiff cock, using two fingers on the delicate little instrument, his balls bouncing lightly on my belly. Looking up at this magnificent sight--this handsome angel, bouncing ecstatically on my cock, his smooth boy torso stretched back, his chest heaving--was enough to start my orgasm rolling. It tingled distantly in my thighs and sprang down my legs. I held him in the saddle and increased my tempo, thrusting more heartily into him, raising him off the bed. He fell forward on my chest, his cock still in his hand, and pressed his face into my collarbone. When I came, it was like a train barreling through the room. It roared in my head even as I heard Isaac's soft and rapid breaths in my ear, quiet in the morning sun that flooded over us. I shot into him, my legs twitching in random spasms that nearly knocked Isaac off of me. Wave after wave of me flowed into him. His little hand, working on his own cock, thumped against me in its fervor, and I could tell by the way Isaac was sputtering that his own orgasm was approaching. I felt nothing on my belly as his body shuddered and jerked against me, yet I knew that he was cumming just as the last of my sperm shot into him and my own orgasm started to ebb. Isaac writhed on top of me for several moments before suddenly falling limp, panting into my neck. My cock twitched inside him--aftershocks--and that made him chuckle. "Wow," I said finally, when I could speak. "Mmmm," he responded, nodding his head against my chest. "Wow." "How did you get so horny?" It was s serious question, even though I didn't expect him to know the answer. "Dunno," he said. I could hear his smile even if I couldn't see it. I purposely made my cock twitch inside him and he giggled again. "You like?" "I like," he said quickly. "I like a lot." "Better than that light saber, hm?" He sat up and looked down at me, brow furrowed, studying me. Then he looked over at the terrace windows, then back at me, putting it all together. "Yeah," I admitted. "I watched you. But only once." "Oh man," he said, embarrassed. "Okay, twice." "Oh man," he repeated, with more embarrassment. I found it odd that he would be embarrassed given that my cock was still embedded deeply and happily in his ass. He rubbed his eyes with his hand. "Oh man." "It was quite a show," I said. He thumped me on the chest with his little boy fist. "How could you do that?" "How could I not?" I asked. "I have the most beautiful boy in the entire Milky Way masturbating with my boxers and I'm not supposed to watch? I'm a man, not a superman." "You saw that too?" He thumped me again. I nodded and grinned. "I also saw you watching me in the shower," I added. "So turn about is fair play, as they say." He looked serious for an instant, as if he might try to bluff his way out of that, then he smiled sheepishly and settled down on me again, his hands folded beneath his chin, resting on my chest. He looked up into my face with those impossibly beautiful eyes. He looked like he was thinking about something. "I had another dream," he said. "About you." "Really?" I asked, interested in hearing what sort of sexual escapades he had for us next. At the same time, I thought that, with the ice broken, he ought to feel free to ask anything of me sexually, knowing that I would be completely compliant and game to whatever he had in mind. "Yeah," he said. He gave a heavy sigh and then went on. "You finished the attic, and you decided to stay here and live in it--with us, Mom and me. You built a secret tunnel with a ladder that led from my room to the attic, and only you and I knew about it, and every night, I would climb the ladder up to you and we would...fuck...every night." I remembered my dream. "Anything else?" I asked. He pondered this for a moment, inventing as he went along. "Yeah," he said. "Then Michigan passed a new law where boys and men could get married, and you and I got married and lived in the attic forever." We laughed, but I was so touched by the idea. His love was the most precious thing in the world to me, and he wanted to give it to me forever. Feeling his smooth, naked body laughing in my arms, hearing his melodic chuckle, seeing his eyes shine, I was in love and I knew that I would move to Detroit and make our dreams come true. I did. Once Rose and I agreed that I would move into the attic, I got permission to change a few of the original plans to better suit my tastes. I didn't build that secret tunnel with the ladder, but I did install a wooden deck that jutted out from the side of the house. And there was no pool, but there was a staircase that wound down to the terrace outside Isaac's room. I got permission from Rose to take Isaac back with me to Chicago to settle my business affairs, pack up my things and say goodbye to friends. Arriving home, unloading the rental truck of my furniture, Isaac and I beamed endlessly at each other, and we slept every night in each others arms, dreaming as one.