Note: This story is intended for adults. It is erotic in nature. If you are underage, you are advised not to read this (or at least not get caught). If you are offended by male/male adult/youth intimacy, I suppose you would be revolted enough now that I mention it so as not to read any further.
This story is copyrighted by the author. So much as placing this story on a commercial website without the author's permission is a violation of that copyright (but I'll forgive you). Comments, questions, constructive critisism and other intellectual bric- a-brac can be mailed to gandharva_pipa@hotmail.com.
Dedicated to all the dreamers.
I'm Kevin. A boy, just turned 18 about a month ago. I'm supposedly Chinese, but I look like I'm of a mixed race. Many people mention Indonesian-Chinese, Thai, Japanese, and some even say I look a bit like a Caucasian. I am half Hokkien, about a third Cantonese, and the remaining part Teochew, but I can speak none of these dialects. That's because I am encouraged to speak Mandarin where I live, which is namely, in Singapore. If you have been there, or are a resident, you may have seen me. If you have, I might have made more of an impression than most other youth. You may have even thought I was a girl at first, thanks to my androgynous looks. And I do dress strange, with more than my fair share of jewelry and bohemian-ethnic clothes that make me look like I had arrived from Nepal or Bali.
It will now probably comes across as less of a surprise that I am an Art Student. But the bit that people don't expect at all is that I am under psychiatric counselling. What for, you may ask. It all started when I attempted suicide in my school. Did cause quite a ruckus, but you probably didn't hear about it. The police decided to record it as an accident, a mishap. But I have been marked. And being labeled as unable to cope with too much stress, I will probably be exempted from National Service, or just made to be a clerk at a desk. That's good, I suppose.
Aside from that, I am also being treated for an 'overactive imagination'. I always feel like I'm being watched, I hear voices, and think 'strange' things that no one else will think about. Or at least they think it's strange. People can't appreciate the fun of it. But what do they know. A little over 5 years ago, when i was 13 or so, I was preparing to make a giant leap to another dimension. I packed up my most treasured belongings and carried them around with me wherever I went. I knew that anytime, anywhere, a vortex will open and suck me into it. Never happened, though. The aliens had decided I wasn't ready. But I think the aliens are still waiting. And they have been watching me. Occasionally they slip up, and they let themselves be noticed by me. Like that time I saw a man nearby saying something like, "Yaaaaagh, Yaaaagh" in a quacky voice towards the glass wall of a hallmark gift shop. I know he was an alien in disguise communicating through a hidden holographic interface on the wall to record my progress. Even at 18, I have been known to think that anyone who was late for an appointment was probably taken hostage by terrorists or mugged in the toilet by a malicious balloon-monster on the way to meet me.
The most recent thing that my psychiatrist became aware of was my homosexual orientation. I had admitted to him that when I was 15, I had been with a man who was 35. Joey, tanned and muscular, had picked me up at a mall one day. He really loved me, or so I thought. He took me to motels and even his house once, and we whiled most of our time together away in sweet lovemaking. I enjoyed giving him blowjobs, and he liked to take photos of me, fully clothed, sitting by a fountain,or clad only in underwear lying on his bed, or naked and exposing myself for the professional camera that he carried around with him. I loved it when he felt and caressed the bare flesh of my delicate young body and swept me away with his 'loving' masculine administrations on my submissive self. Imagine my shock when he ran away from me. I thought we were so happy together. All I had done was tell my parents, and my parents, although upset, did not make any moves to press charges. But he was gone, along with his cellphone number and email address. He had promised to be there for me always. And what about the photos? He had promised they were for his own personal 'consumption', but how would I know if he was actually part of a child-pornography circle and had just been using me? And all that time -over a year- I had spent waiting for him to return. Unknown to my parents and psychiatrist, I had tried a few more boyfriends after Joey. But it never really worked out. And it was hard to meet gay men since, even with recently turning 18, I have never stepped into a club, gay or straight, and am too afraid to try. I had been single for a very long time, but now I have Rupert, my biggest secret and the most perfect manfriend a boy could imagine.
As it was with Joey, I didn't find Rupert. Rupert found me, or maybe he had been watching me and making plans to nab his prize. He had one day somehow managed to slip pass the locked and bolted door of our house and made a beeline for my room. I was half asleep when i felt the bed sink and heard it creak. Then i felt a strong hand touch and caress my shoulder. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and a bare, sweaty chest rubbing against my dry back, scrubbed clean in the shower about an hour earlier. I tensed, yet i felt relaxed. Then his hand on my shoulder wandered down to my nipple and played around with it. Further down it went, along my ribs and waist, making me twitch in ticklishness, and then pulling down my shorts and bikini briefs. Then my bare bum nestled against denim and a metal belt buckle. I could feel his erect penis pushing insistently into my crack through the denim. I felt hard, chiseld hands that undid the buckle while their knuckles kept brushing against my bumcheeks. Then I felt the denim go down and gather around the back of my knees. I could feel his hard, hard penis push against my crack much more now, seperated by cotton briefs. Then i felt the cotton being pulled down and I could feel warm, loose foreskin and flesh throbbing regularly against my bum. He felt rather large, maybe 8 inches compared to my own 6. I was getting groggy from the sexual high and fatigue of approaching sleep. Then i heard him whisper, "I love you Kevin." and he was rubbing his cock up and down along my crack. I could also feel his large, slightly hairy testicles and generous pubic hair. I could also feel the liquid coolness of precum coating my young, virgin bumcrack, and then his cock nestled against my hole. I sighed and pushed back. It didn't go in.
One thing i would say about Rupert, he was sometimes tender, sometimes rough. Sometimes he swung between both moods. So far he had been gentle, but the sexual high and anticipation must have been wearing his patience thin. He grabbed me by the hips and jammed his cock into my hole. I gasped, unable to scream due to the shock. There were no tears, but there was pain. Lots of it. I gritted my teeth and bore it all for dear life. He was pumping madly, working my body and violating me for all he was worth. I suddenly realised i was beginning to enjoy it. I started panting and moaning softly. Then without withdrawing, he turned me over onto my back and moved my legs to lock him while he raped me with enthusiasm. I was crying now. Crying due to pain and joy. I had been deprived for so long, now i was letting it all out. I held on to his neck and he held onto mine. I couldn't see his face because my eyes were closed, but he bent down and smothered my face in kisses and my neck in rough lovebites while he continued to pump into my helpless body. I began to orgasm, and my semen shot out and coated out bodies. My muscles then clamped down onto his marauding erection and milked it, finally making it shoot man cum into my boy body. Then he collasped and we fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up, he was gone. He had even helped me back into my clothes while I was asleep. I was beginning to regret letting myself be taken advantage of again like that. I should have learned my lesson with Joey. Now this faceless and nameless man had taken something much more precious than my photos. He had taken away my virginity. I needed my virginity to stay immortal. Now i had no idea what i was going to do. Yet I felt a sense of completeness and fulfillment. I didn't care that I would now probably age and die like everyone else. And i knew i was going to see much more of him...
I have never looked at Rupert's face, as it would be disrespectful, but I do know what he looks like. His face reminds me of this math tutor I had once, minus the excess nosehair, and he may have slightly more angular features. He is very tanned, like he spent his day working in wheatfields, a startling contrast to my porcelain skin, and muscular, but not to the point of being grotesque. Just right for me, in fact. My slim, boyish body fits perfectly into the embrace of his tough, manly arms.
They say that love is the ultimate beautician. I don't look like I have aged a day since I met him. In fact, I probably look younger, with a radiance and serenity at the feeling of being loved, bringing about a more positive outlook to life. Now i truly felt immortal.
Rupert is as much a master figure as he is a lover. He does make the occasional demand and sets requirements for me too maintain my body for his pleasure. He expects me to shape my eyebrows and keep my body, especially underarms and legs, free of hair, which I have been doing even before he arrived and is just a basic routine for me. However, he is very understanding. He knows plucking off my hair from my pubic region is a pain in more ways than one and very tedious, so he allows me to slacken a little in that area.
Rupert enjoys foreplay and performance very much, probably as much as I do. He seems to know when I am in a certain mood, sensual, horny, or just romantic. He will make an appearence in my room and set his expectations for each night accordingly. It is as if we are so well tuned to each other and feel the same way for each time. Sometimes I will dance for him. He likes that very much. I will dance sensuosly, slowly, wearing only a pair of amber-red bikini briefs, twisting and turning to an exotic asian groove. Sometimes he watches, with a tent in his pants, sometimes he will reach out and grope me as i dance, but I must never slow, flinch or hesitate when he does so. After a few minutes, I will move closer to him, then he draws me towards him my grabbing my bum and pulling me forwards, and with grace and fluid movement, I will sit on his lap, facing him, and we will engage in a slow session of kissing and fondling, while I will undo his pants and slide them and his briefs off, and he does likewise with my bikini, in a tortureously slowly manner. Then I position myself over his erect boy- stretcher of manhood and ease myself down, and we make passionate love, for as long as one hour. It would be a heady, dizzy moment of sensuality and passion, with a chorus of soft moans and kissing, coupled with the sandy sound of rough and smooth skin making intimate contact, as well as my gasps if he decides I could take it a little rougher and starts to grab me by the hair in his animal lust. Oh, yes, and the inevitable orgasm, when he growls and shoots his abundant semen into my willing body while he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, and I silently ejaculate my own seed onto his abdomen, my rectum simultaneously milking his prick for more man-juice. Then he will leave, although I never actually see him get up and walk away, probably because I am too busy recovering from the post-coital bliss, and maybe he will return in the morning for a short while, if i am awake and just laying in bed, waiting to muster enough energy to get up proper. There he will tease me and whisper sexy, romantic words into my ear while gently caressing my body, calling me things like 'kid', 'honey' or 'babe', but he hardly ever uses my name. We have been seeing each other for a good while now, longer than any other relationship I had before. I will never need anyone else. Only him. I need never question our relationship, as I know he will always be there until the end. I don't think it strange that we have been meeting only in my room, that I don't know his number or where he lives. Or how he seems to magically disappear when we are interuppted by someone coming into the room or as soon as we are both sexually satiated for the moment. In my world, it still makes perfect sense to me. He loves me, I love him, and that is all that matters.
Last night he didn't come, he hadn't for awhile. He knew I was too tired due to my vacation job. Like I said, he is very understanding. But i missed him, and so I wished him to return, and there he was again. When i woke up this morning, facing the wall, I felt the mattress sink down again, then i felt a cool, tanned, muscular arm on my shoulder-again, and heard a whisper in my ear...
"I'm back, babe."
I smiled to myself, and that magic feeling is inside me once more. Today, we spent the morning in bed, where he takes me yet again in a long, slow session of love.
"The imagination is a powerful tool. It can paint a world so vivid it could entice, or terrify."
Once again, comments, questions, constructive critisism and other stuff can be mailed to gandharva_pipa@hotmail.com.