Owned by a Neighborhood Kid
My whole life I knew I was different. I didn't understand how, or why, or what it would mean for me until I got into adulthood, but that little kernel of truth nipped at my psyche since I gained consciousness 31 years ago. I've always struggled to make friends. Others have it worse, absolutely. I wasn't a hopeless cause, mind you. Yeah, I wasn't in the popular group growing up, sure - but I was clearly ahead of the true nerds, outcasts and on-the-spectrum runts who hadn't yet realized their fate as victim's of the losing ending of life. The truth is I didn't have the first interest in dating. Partially because the thought of putting myself out there even to ask a girl out was truly terrifying but also because I just didn't have the same carnal desires other boys did. My friends would whip out Playboy magazines at sleepovers and ogle at busty tits like you're supposed to at 12, but I just couldn't convince myself I cared. I thought I was getting away with it, saying the things I supposed horny pre-teens would say in those moments. I now realize I wasn't fooling anyone.
I wish it was as simple as "preferring guys." Being a gay teenager in the mid 2000's wasn't nearly the social death sentence it would have been just a decade before, but that wasn't quite it either. Sex with another boy wasn't a turn off necessarily, nor was hooking up with a girl, but the hurdle to get to a point where either was possible seemed impossibly high. So while my classmates in high school would brag in homeroom of their budding conquests - fingering their prey, making them squirm, maybe even squirt - I would grow increasingly frustrated not understanding why it wasn't happening to me, or if that's what I even wanted.
Thus ended a sexless adolescence. Believe me, growing up I was subject to the same overwhelming lust and desire as everyone else. Shit, I discovered humping pillows at age seven to the point when four years later, I was shocked to feel a new liquid rush accompany the usual brief elation I was so frequently chasing. But for me, as the hidden porn folder on my Compaq desktop computer grew and grew, the videos of straight sex I convinced myself I should be watching were slowly dwarfed by photos of shirtless photos of boys my age. Workout inspiration I told myself at first. I didn't want to have sex with them, of course, I just wanted to be them. To be friends with them. To be cool like them. To be confident like them. To have effortless abs like them.
College was fun but equally chaste. I met tons of new friends but gravitated of course towards the ones that also never seemed to have girlfriends. Friends that would never let girls get in the way of days filled with beer bongs, video games, and endless cornhole. These years were earmarked for partying, right? Weirdly I never thought at the time I was wasting my youth. It never hit me even as my friends, and friends of friends, slowly got picked off - finding love, having kids, settling down. "Too early," I thought. We have our whole lives ahead of us.
So it should perhaps come as no surprise that by 31 I still hadn't made it happen - man or woman. Kissed a couple of drunk chicks at random parties here and there, but nothing so much as an HJ in my three decades of life. The societal guilt felt like a cinder block handing from my neck at all times. I instinctively lied to anyone who asked. To them, I had brief sexual encounters in college. Enough to throw them off my loser scent without providing tangible facts that could be easily verified.
What I did have going for me, more than most people I knew, was that I was smart. And I just so happened to be into computers and computer programming at a time when employers were more than happy to pay 100k plus for such a skill, and even let you work at home to do it. I wasn't "rich" by any means, but I was able to save up a few years to buy my first house - a starter ranch in the far suburbs of Austin, Texas where I settled down after school. It was my pride and joy. 1,600 square feet that I could call my own, and given how real estate in Austin was performing, it was maybe a golden ticket to retirement one day.
Ugh. I use the past tense like I still don't "live" there to this day, like I still don't have pride in the hours of grueling work, turning out the stellar code that bought this place. It's..., it's just not mine anymore. And it will never be mine again.
My life got turned upside down six months ago. As a runner, I love my quiet neighborhood's sprawling layout. A typical Texas suburb with wide streets you can draw endless unique 3.12 mile loops through. I feel safe running. Confident in a way I never do anywhere else in life. My friends respect me for my running. They say how they wish they didn't find it boring, so they could be in as good of shape as I am. Smoke up my ass, maybe, but I am objectively in better shape now than nearly everyone I know. 5'11''. 160 lbs. I now have the abs I jerked off to in high school, although they're more the "skinny" abs you just get from having low body fat.
It was late May, and I was already having to run before noon if I wanted any chance to avoid the brutal Texas sun. I didn't sweat much under normal circumstances but 90 degree temps and the humidity of the nearby creek will push anyone to their limits. In terms of my development as a runner, I've long since blown past the pedestrian 5k routes I started out at in my youth. 5-6 miles is my starting point now and on this day, I tacked on an extra two for good measure. Rounding the corner to the straightaway leading to my home, tired but not exhausted, I legged out the final quarter mile before the customary half-mile cool-off walk to the respite of my air-conditioned living room.
I've seen neighborhood boys on my runs before. The one with the uber-cute face that walks his dog in a couple streets over. The unbelievable skater boy on the far side I literally changed my route to run by after just one awkward glimpse at his shirtless body and bleached blonde buzz cut doing kick flips in front of his house. But this boy....this boy was new. 16, maybe? Not new to the neighborhood, for sure, but new to me. New to my street.
He was on his own, walking the sidewalk just four houses down from me.
"Hey! Wanna race?"
I was completely taken aback. I don't like talking to adults my age let alone punk teenagers I don't know.
"I'm.. I'm sorry?" I stammered back.
"Let's race. To the sign at the end of the block."
"Nah, I'm good dude," I replied, trying so hard to sound cool in front of this youth. He wasn't conventionally attractive as boys go, maybe a little awkward looking actually, bug-eyed almost, but I was immediately taken aback by his incredibly smooth tan skin, and the access I was given to it by the small tank top and short shorts he was wearing. Not a blemish anywhere on his sinewy body. So lucky he is to be young. The heat had generated a shiny layer of sweat on him, glistening and making his tight physique look even more impressive than it surely did dry. Biceps, thighs, pecs all seeming popping out.
"C'mon man. Why not?"
Years of trying to teach myself to be social and approachable in public was telling me this is an opportunity to not look like a total dork. And as much as I wanted to do what I always do in these situations and deflect until I can leave and reach personal safety, I couldn't deny the fact that my lust was screaming.
"Sorry, bro. I'm just finishing my run. I'm fucking wiped."
Bro? I felt like such a fraud. I don't call anyone "bro", but here I am trying to endear myself to a teenager. Cussing in front of him like I'm the cool adult.
"I've seen you running around here a bunch, man. You're fast. I think you can handle it."
I was stunned. He's seen me before? Multiple times? He knows I run? My brain a flutter. I became desperate in that moment to not seem flustered.
"I...I mean, you look like you're gonna smoke me no matter what. But maybe just for f.."
"Yeah! Just for fun." He interjected.
And so we set up our amateur race, choosing a sidewalk crack as our starting point. The aforementioned street sign, the point at which my suburban block meets the road out to the nearest highway, our finish - maybe a football field away.
"You count to three," I stipulated.
"One.....two.....th"
I broke away immediately, taking the kid by surprise, unintentionally cheating a split second. But my head start was no match for his sheer athleticism and youthful gait. Within seconds, he had surpassed me, leaving me to watch his hamstrings shimmer in the sun as he grew distant. By the time he crossed the finish line I was 10 yards back, out of breath and feeling every minute of my advanced age. I walked up to him to give him the kind of dap I assumed he was expecting.
"Too fast for me bud. Do you run?"
"Yeah, I run track for school."
"No wonder," I chuckled. "Never stood a chance."
"Well take care man," I said awkwardly as I turned around to perform the short walk of shame back to my front door.
"Heeeey you live around here, right?"
I froze. Did he know that or was he just guessing? Either way I didn't feel right lying to him. I turned around slowly but deliberately.
"Yeah, my place is actually right here. Why?"
"Can I get some water maybe? I'm so fucking thirsty"
The sun was really hitting us hard now, just past noon. I didn't know where the kid lived and it seemed cruel to deny anyone water who needed it.
"For sure, man. Hang out here, I'll be right back."
I jogged the two houses down to my place and headed inside, secretly wishing this boy would leave me alone but also glad I now had enough masterbation material for the next month thinking about this boy's teenage body. I grabbed a couple glasses from the cabinet above the sink, filled them with ice and then water from the filter in the fridge. Two ice waters in hand I walked to the front door and ope.....
He was there. Right there. Now completely shirtless with his tiny tank draped over his left shoulder. It was clear he works out. Not going for any kind of overly jacked physique that frankly turns me off. He was covered in the perfect layer of tight, defined muscle. His pecs seemingly crafted by Adonis himself, with those sexy ripples lining the insides of them - and an eight-pack that put me to shame.
"Oh, hey," I said, caught off guard.
"Thanks man," he replied, grabbing the bigger of the two glasses of ice water.
He slowly but methodically downed the entire thing. I could see the liquid with each gulp moving down his throat and into his pulsating belly. I was so distracted I forgot to drink myself.
"Not thirsty?"
I realized my error and immediately course-corrected chugging the refreshing contents of my glass.
"Not anymore."
God, I must have seemed like such a dweeb to this kid. But what's done is done.
"Damn. I can feel the A/C pumping from here. Cool if I come in and chill out?"
I felt completely helpless in this moment. No I didn't want an underage kid to come into my adult house, but frankly, it's just a boy wanting to cool off from the early-Summer sun. I'm the one making this weird.
"Uhhhh. Yeah, sure. Come on in."
He pushed the door open and sauntered in. I took his glass and went to refill his and mine again. In the interim, he sat his sweaty, shirtless body on the one piece of seating I had in my living room, my $2,000 couch that was the pride of the whole home. I didn't blame him, there was no where else to sit really, but I recoiled in pain as I could almost feel his sweat permitting the cotton lining of my couch that would never be unsoiled again. But what was I going to say? I handed him his glass and went to grab one of the small chairs I used in the dining room since sitting next to him on the couch was clearly out of the question. I set it down near him but not too close and sat down, feeling diminutive having this tiny thing in clear need of replacement not even coming up to couch level.
"So what's your name?," I asked curiously.
"Ian. You?"
"Chris," I meekly get out. "How old are you?"
"15"
"Cool, man. What are you into. Video games?"
"Yeah, a little I guess. Mostly sports. Basketball, track."
"Cool, man"
Fuck, I just said "cool, man" twice. I'm clearly nervous. Can he pick up on that? Does it matter? I can't stop looking at his stomach. It oscillates with every word he says. The A/C is doing its work, and the shimmer of his sweat has started to wear off leaving baby soft skin behind. It's fucking intoxicating and I realize my eyes haven't left his torso for over 10 seconds. I start to get hard.
"Hey, sorry. I need to use the bathroom," I informed Ian and got up to awkwardly head to the powder room just down the hall. I face the mirror like they do in the fucking movies, needing to psych myself up - or down. My heart is racing. I pace back and forth as much as I can in the small footprint of the bathroom, begging my five inch cock, now rock hard, to go back to a reasonable level. But shit, this is the craziest thing that's ever happened to me. It's like Ian knows exactly which buttons to push, and he's pushing them. I can't stay in here too long.
I flush the toilet despite not having used it and head back to the living room.
"So you live nearby, ri..."
I'm stopped dead in my tracks. My already beating heart picked up a completely new level. Joining his tank draped across the back of my couch is his boxers and shorts. His erect cock, at least six inches in length, is sticking straight up and pulsing. While the cool air has done its job on his top half, his member and the surrounding areas are still covered in a thin film of shine from the musky sweat protected by his shorts. He spreads his knees and buttocks in a way that seemingly claims the couch he's sitting on.
"Hey, dude... man, sorry. I think you need to leave."
Then he said the two words that forever changed my life. Two words that pierced my soul, and made me feel a hornier then I've ever felt before.
"Come here"
He didn't say why. He didn't even acknowledge what was happening. Just, "come here." My mind was swimming. Every instinct as a grown adult was saying this is how people like me get in trouble. Kick him out now. Tell him this is unacceptable. Find out who his parents are and tell them what their kid has done. But the rational part of my mind ceased working in this moment. My recently soft dick didn't stand a chance, pressing back against the soft shell of my running shorts. His words were like a mantra, hitting my very being and reverberating in my brain endlessly. Instinct and pure, unadulterated lust took over, and I walked towards him as he commanded. What was I doing? I don't know. It was and remains a complete blur.
I approached but wasn't sure what to do next. I stood awkwardly in front of him for a few seconds before he thankfully provided instruction.
"On your knees"
I complied immediately.
"Take it."
I lost track of who I was in this moment. My dick was on fire, better than any touch I've given myself. In my confusion I still was unsure of how to proceed but the boy made it easy. He grabbed my hair with his right hand and moved my head on top of his pulsing cock. I've never sucked a dick before in my life and it was almost an out of body experience realizing this was actually happening. I opened my mouth and began doing what came natural.
It tasted like sucking on a finger. Maybe a little stankier with all the sweat, but not unpleasant. The rhythmic pulsing of the ridges of his cockhead against the roof of my mouth felt foreign but incredible. It lasted all of 30 seconds I think. Me working his cock is my mouth. Him softly moaning in response. At some point, he abruptly drew his penis out, disappointing me.
"Close your eyes," he said.
I obeyed without the first thought. In absolute bliss. Within a few more seconds, I felt a warm liquid sensation on my face, and my nostrils were immediately inundated with the familiar smell of semen. I've always hated the smell of cum and this was no different. I started wretching.
A moment later I hear the familiar click of the iPhone camera app. I look up horrified. Ian had a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Where's your bathroom?" he asked.
Still in shock, I replied.
"Uh. Uhhh, first door on the left."
"NO. Where's your bathroom."
"Of course. Upstairs, on the right, inside the bedroom. You can't miss it."
And so I watched him get up, move past me and into my bedroom. The most personal space I've ever known. I use this opportunity while he's gone to pick myself up and wipe the cum off my face with the paper towels in my kitchen. He's gone for at least five minutes and I begin to wonder what he's doing in my Master bathroom. He finally comes back down, me still with a raging hard on, and trying to hide it.
I happen to be standing by the front door as he returns from the bathroom. Now fully clothed, at least as he was when he came in, he goes to leave. He doesn't say a word but just as he is about to cross the threshold to the outside world he takes his hand and grabs my hair haphazardly, just enough to cause a quick pang of pain. It's enough of a gesture to make me melt and I actually buckle just a little as he does it.
Ian leaves and I watch him walk up the street until I can no longer see him. I shower and use the opportunity to spray my cum all over the tile walls in front of me. I can't possibility hold it in. He left me with my head spinning. Little did I know my life would never be the same again.