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Date: Fri, 29 Aug 2014 14:17:09 -0500
From: Scott <ftl_s1214@hotmail.com>
Subject: Remembering Russell [Gay / Young Friends]

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Rembering Russell

I awoke this mornining thinking of Russell B., a boy in my 10th grade PE
Class. A late blooming 9th grader who was rather short for his age. A 14
year old who was pale skinned, fair haired and devoid of any hair below his
head. A boy with a plump ballsack and a pastel-hued penis that, although
absent of any surrounding hair, was developing the length and girth of
puberty. A boy with a body that was both childishly slender and mannishly
firm.

I always looked forward to those few brief minutes following our showers
when I could see him naked, standing in front of his locker, quickly drying
himself. So exciting when he would plant one of his feet on the locker room
bench and lean over to dry his foot and lower leg, and repeating the
process with his other. Loved how it would offer me such an unfettered view
of his boyish genitals. His scrotum had the rounded appearance of a small
plum, the hue of the skin the palest, most muted shade of lavendar
pink. His flaccid penis would jiggle ever so slightly as he dried
himself. The length and thickness of his penis was about that of my
thumb. The glans, the shape of a boy's head covered in a knit beanie.

How I would jerk-off after school imagining my tongue swirling around that
tip with me seated on the locker room bench and Russell standing before
me. My hands molded around his creamy pale ass cheeks. His penis completely
limp in the beginning, but quickly growing into full upright extension. My
fingers registering quivers of tension in his ass cheeks as his slumbering
boyhood would awaken with upward lilts. Hearing his soft almost inaudible
gasps of excitement. His graceful downward curve rapidly transforming into
an angular jut and then into a pulsing verticle spear. The transformation
occuring in a matter of seconds.

Proud and pink.

The powdery smooth skin covering his cap taking on a glossy, glass-like
sheen with his engorgement. The two semipheres at the front of his tip
somewhat buttressed, puggish. The heightening of color in his tip now
resembling the saturation of color in his lips. His clean scented skin with
that subtle undertone of his burgeoning pubescence.

My flickering tongue and puckered lips mapping every subtlety of his tender
tumescence, committing it to long term memory. The bliss of knowing what
until now I've only been able to imagine. His soft skin so pleasantly warm
to my touch. The sexual heat of his excitement inside my mouth. His coos of
pleasure sounding above my oh-so-slowly bobbing head.

Moving one hand and then the other from around his twin globes of flesh. My
left hand gripping his outer thigh, my right hand cupping his nebulous sac,
feeling the moist surface of his thinning scrotal skin, cradling the
spongey round cherry-sized testes contained within, being careful to not
grip too tightly.

Hearing his breaths sounding more apparent. Mewed whimpers punctuating
deeper and louder inhales and exhales. The correspondence of his rigid boy
spike quivering in tension as I feel that muscle flutter against the ladle
of my tongue. My lips only very slightly pressing into the rubbery give of
his shaft, slowly and rhythmically gliding up and down his full length. At
times, wanting, needing, desiring to focus my oral attention on his
flared-lipped, circumcized glans. Delighting in the way his body responds
with weak shakes. My immediate view encompassing the expanse of his flat,
tight tummy sucking in with gasps.

My gently cradling palm feeling his plum-shaped scrotum contracting, the
two boy cherries, somehow feeling more apparent as they draw up closer to
the base of his fuzzy, pubeless groin. Seeing a tremor of muscular tension
pass over the baby-soft confluence of his puffy pubic mound, followed by
another, and then without any warning, to myself nor apparently to my dream
lover, tea-tepid bursts of salty sweet ejaculate cascading across the
darted surface of my tip-tickling tongue. Russell's sweet cum grunt having
the surprised quality of a boy being sucker punched in the gut on a
playground.

Removing my puckered mouth from his erection as I see it spitting a final
volley of his wet joy onto the surface of his pelvic skin. His tumescence
making stiff outward kicks, temporarily straightening out the slight bow
curving the length of it. Feeling his hands suddenly and tightly gripping
my shoulders as his knees threaten to buckle.

Looking up into Russell's sweet face with his almost sad looking grey-blue
eyes looking down at me, his still uncombed hair damp from his shower
framing his face, an expression of bashful embarrassment written there. His
apologetic, "I couldn't stop it...," concerned I might have not wanted to
taste the boy honey I still hold in my mouth, wanting to keep his taste
there as long as I can. "That...that never happened to me before." Not
clear on whether he means he's never had a blow job, or that he's never
ejaculated, and hoping upon hope that he means both.

Ah, Russell B. If only life could be as perfect as a teenaged boy's
masturbatory fantasy.