Scotty and Mike

Scotty and Mike - 1

A first attempt, a total fantasy. I dredged it all up from a fertile imagination, i.e. I've never done what follows and never would. Not appropriate for under 18. Hoping what I'd like to read is what you'd like to read. Let me know what you think - linden-Mike@proton.me

So, I'm Mike. Just another eternally horny 30-something perv in love (I think) with Scotty, my sister's kid. Just shy of ten. It was the first weekend in September and Eileen and Bailey-the-Second-Husband were going away for the weekend. Their regular babysitter, Traci (yeah, with an "i" that she dots with a little heart) wasn't available so Eileen calls me up and asks if I can stay with Scotty for a couple days. "You wouldn't mind, would you?" You know, assuming I've got nothing better to do. Truth is, I didn't, so I said yes.

The other truth is, as long as we're getting all truthy, I had kind of a crush on Scotty. I knew it wasn't right and I'd be going to Hell and all that... but there was something about him. He was definitely all boy, cute as a fuckin' button Ð big, wide green eyes, with a mop of silky red hair and a little gap between his two front teeth. Sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his turned-up nose and cheeks. Loved soccer and Marvel Universe movies. Small for his age, I'd say, and while he played a lot of soccer and did pretty well in gym, from what Eileen said, he still had a kind of softness around the edges. And there was something else.

Whenever I'd visit, which wasn't often Ð I always thought Bailey the Second didn't like me much -- we'd be in the den having drinks, or at the dinner table or out back on their deck grilling, and Scotty would catch me looking at him. I'd get lost in thought, especially if the weather was warm and he was wearing his soccer kit (he insisted on using the British term and called soccer "football", which he learned from his stepfather who was British Ð Surrey, I think). He'd be kind of sweaty and glowing, and there'd be a few curls stuck to his forehead and the next thing I know I'm imagining him naked in the locker room at his school, naked among a sea of likewise naked boys, talking too loud, taking showers, their smell just... making me hard. I remembered it from my school days and I was sure it hadn't changed much.

Anyway, there I'd be, staring, and all of a sudden Scotty would turn around and catch me and meet my gaze, real serious, as if to say "I know what you're thinking, you dirty pervert". Then he'd do something silly, cross his eyes or stick out his tongue and I'd do the same and he'd crack up. But, boy, I sure thought there was something in his eyes when they met mine. And hoped.

And, damn, was I right.

So, I'm the uncle, right? Early-30's, tall, fairly thin, dark blond. I keep myself in pretty good shape Ð (I've always thought my legs were my best feature) Ð and on a good day I can look in the mirror and be okay with what I see. Chest and abs with the proverbial light dusting of hair. And endowed just fine, thanks. So, there you have it.

Summer still wasn't over that weekend, when Eileen and Bailey drove to the mountains to his cabin in the woods. She asked me to pick up Scotty from soccer practice and take him home to their place. She didn't want him sleeping in an unfamiliar room, she said, he has his special sheets and his night light, blah, blah, blah. And there he was, out front of the school in his sweaty T-shirt and shorts, hair damp, left knee skinned, beat-up kid's cleats muddy like his shins. Dang, a hot, dirty, sweaty little kid! When he got in the front seat next to me, he smelled so damn good! I swear I could hear the hormones racing through me.

He didn't want to go for a burger, like I suggested, just wanted to get home and take a shower, so I drove to his house and I got him and my overnight duffel bag inside.

He bounded up the stairs to his room and started getting undressed, throwing his shirt, shorts and cleats to one side, along with the damp, dirty socks and his youth jock strap, complete with a little cup. Totally, unabashedly naked he dashed out of his room and into the bathroom. I went into his bedroom to pick up.

Typical boy's room, I guess. Unmade bed with Spiderman sheets, posters from three of the ninety-seven Avengers movies. A small desk with a chair, a bookcase. And the clothes. All over the place, thrown helter-skelter. I started picking it all up and threw it into a hamper right inside his open closet. And finally, I had the soccer "kit" in my hands. It was still miraculously warm and damp.

I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and lifted the boy's dirty clothes to my face.

It made me high. Honest to God, my head swam, thinking about who had just torn these dirty clothes off his smooth, perfect, sweaty little body. I took deep whiffs of the underarms of the shirt, and the socks. The socks! Which had been worn several times before today without a wash. I pushed the toes into my mouth, just for the hell of it. Tasting his feet. His stinky feet.

Then the shorts.

A bit damp, like I said. I brought them up to my nose and sniffed long and hard. Especially the crotch and the seat, the seat! Where his peachy boy butt had recently been nestled. I pinched together the point in the seat where the seams all came together, the part that had probably been rubbing up against his perfect (I imagined) little rosebud of a butthole. It was pretty ripe. Lovely. Sweat. Pee. Poop.

Head still swimming a little, I took long whiffs of the jock and the little cup which had yellow stains on it. More pee there, stronger. And the juncture of the boy's jock, where the straps came together and got real close to that perfect (I imagined) poopy pucker, was stained brown. Scotty's poop stains. Still almost fresh. It smelled pretty good, although I might have been imagining it was hotter than I thought. But I didn't care. I licked the stain, then stuck it in my mouth and got it good and wet with spit and swallowed whatever flavor I was able to suck out of it. I was getting totally boned, tasting him, smelling the dirty jock, the boy's socks and sweat, sucking the boypoop stains.

Then I realized I had to take a piss and had to wait a minute for my boner to go down enough so I could. When I was more back to normal, I adjusted my nuts in my cargo shorts, then dropped the dirty soccer stuff into the hamper and headed to the bathroom. As I got closer, I heard the water running in the bathtub. I guess he had decided against the shower. The door was open and when I stepped in, I saw him. He was still butt-perfect-naked, standing at the toilet, pissing. The beautiful boy dick held between his fingers was squirting a good, healthy pee stream.

"Oh, sorry!" I said and took a step back.

"It's okay, Uncle Mike. I'm just pissing," he said.

"Yeah," I said, mouth suddenly dry, "you are." And instead of stepping out and letting him finish, I just stood there, gazing raptly as he pushed his hips forward, flexing his plump butt and rising up slightly on his toes.

I wanted to say something, to get the hell out, to not seem so fucking interested in a pissing 10-year-old. But I was glued to the spot.

Then, real slow, he turned his head and looked at me, as if to say "You are one weird fuckin' dude!" Then cutting off the flow of his warm, yellow piss, he walked over to where I was standing, the hot hooded boycock still dribbling. He got real close and, with a slight grimace as he got things going again, he shot several spurts of his hot piss onto my bare left shin. The kid was pissing on me! I gasped, breath caught in my throat, but I still couldn't move. Then he smiled a little and looked up at me, took aim, and pissed on my right leg. And not just a spurt this time. This time he squeezed out a good four or five seconds of hot, pale yellow pee. My cock started tenting out my shorts. Fucking warm, stinky boypiss was dripping down my legs. I'd say this was beyond my wildest dreams but trust me, this was just the start of my wildest dreams. But I sure as hell didn't expect it.

"What'd you do that for?" I asked. I wasn't angry, far from it. It was just a question.

"I dunno," Scotty said. Then he looked up at me, crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

After a couple seconds I laughed a little and did the same.

Then Scotty went over to the tub and, leaning over, turned off the tap. He was up on his toes a little again, and that delicious butt flexed again.

"I'm gonna take a bath now. You wanna watch?"

"No," I said, "heck no!" As if it were the most unthinkable, ridiculous idea in the world. Fact was, I did want to watch. To see him get all slick with soap and water, farting bubbles, maybe pissing a little more in the bathwater. Which I then would happily have drunk. But instead, I turned and walked out of the bathroom and back into his room, where I sat on the edge of his bed. I dragged a couple of fingers up my left shin, through Scotty's piss, collecting some on my fingertips, and sucked the result off my fingers. I was tasting Scotty's piss. Would have liked it right from the tap, but you take what you can get. I did it again and again until I had wiped up all the kid's piss and swallowed it down.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of men Ð of all ages, types, whatever. Dads. College boys. Jocks. State troopers in tight pants and tall, black boots. Even Bailey-the-Second-Husband had something going for him. But the boys! The young ones, the littles, oblivious to how beautiful, how hot they are. Don't know where this began for me Ð the boys, the raunch, but it's in my DNA, you know? And Scotty! Fuck!

As I sat on his bed while he took his bath, I rubbed my crotch, thinking about that hot little dick, how it would feel in my mouth, getting him stiff, swallowing whatever piss there might be for me. I'd be on my knees, sucking him, grabbing his ass cheeks and pulling him closer, my fingers sinking into that steamy, smooth butt crack, slipping deep on the smears of his last ill-wiped shit, until I touched the sticky starfish of his 10-year-old anus. Fingers I'd then pull out, studying the light brown streaks on them, before jamming them into my mouth to suck them clean.

Fuck!

We had Marie Callender's frozen pasta for dinner (lousy, by the way), watched a movie (one of the "Thor" sequels, which confused the hell out of me), and then to bed. I was camped out in the guest room, but I stayed up after Scotty went to bed to watch some reruns. Finally, I locked up, turned out the lights and went upstairs.

I tossed and turned for a while and thought about going back down to watch more TV till I fell asleep, but my mind kept going back to Scotty: Scotty all sweaty in his soccer kit, Scotty's damp, stinking shorts and jock, Scotty pissing on me. It didn't take long before I was half hard and trying to stroke myself full hard so I could just cum already, visions of that dirty, beautiful, stinking kid down the hall dancing in my head.

I had tossed back the covers and was really getting into it, when I was suddenly aware I wasn't alone. I opened my eyes and saw Scotty, highlighted from behind by the night light I had left on in the hallway. He was in his little tighty-whiteys and a baby wife-beater, just standing there.

I sat up like a shot and tried to cover myself up, at the same time trying to be all nonchalant and casual. "Hey, uh--- Scott! Hi. Scotty. What's up?" It was instant loss of boner. I raised myself up on my elbows.,

"Um... I just... you know..." His voice was soft and he sounded a little nervous.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, um... you know, before? When I peed on your leg...?"

"Oh... oh, that!" I said, trying to sound as if I'd clean forgotten. "What about it?"

"Well, I'm sorry. I mean, if you didn't like it. It was kind of stupid, I guess."

"Forget it. You were just trying to be funny."

"Well, yeah... but... I thought you might, you know, you might like it."

I had to pause for a second. "Why would you think that?"

He paused. "Well, you know, when you walked in while I was pissing... you kind of... You had this look on your face? Like you were, you know, turned on or whatever?"

I tried to assure him he was wrong, that he had totally misread me, blah, blah, but there was more.

"I saw you, before, when you were, um, sniffing my soccer stuff. And you put my jockstrap in your mouth."

Busted!

I sank back down on the bed, grinning at myself, even snorting a couple of laughs through my nose.

"You can't tell your mom, right? I mean I was just being..." I couldn't come up with anything.

"You were just being horny, huh?" Scotty asked.

I paused, then figured it wasn't worth coming up with some lousy, tortured lie so I simply said, "Yeah, Scotty, I was."

There was a moment of silence before he stepped into the room. The light from the streetlamp outside caught the shine of his hair, the perfect contours of his smooth body.

"Yeah. Bailey likes it too."

"Bailey? You mean...?

"Yeah, him. He really likes it. Smells my underwear and jock and everything. And he likes it when I pee on him, so I thought you would too."

I was still processing this information. "You mean Ð ?"

"Yeah, I mean! Geez!"

"Does he ever... I mean, do you ever... with him?"

"Do I what...?" Poor kid was confused.

"Do you and Bailey ever have, you know... sex?"

"Oh, that." Scotty shifted his weight to his other leg. "A couple times. I put his penis in my mouth and sucked on it till it got real hard, and then he jerked it off for me and made me open my mouth so he could shoot his stuff in my mouth. Then he put my penis in his mouth and told me to pee so I did and he liked it, `cause he came again and shot his stuff all over my feet."

"Wow," was all I could say.

"And then... well, I don't know if it's sex or not. I mean, a couple times when I had to poop he asked me if he could watch, and so I said yeah', and he got down on his knees in front of the toilet and smelled my farts and watched me while I pooped. Then he told me to stand up and turn around before I wiped, and he looked at my butt. He told me to bend over, and I pulled my butt cheeks apart and he said, Oh-fuck-look-at-that-hot-dirty-little-asshole." Scotty ran the words together as though the whole thing had bored him senseless. "`Hot-dirty-little-asshole.' He kept saying it over and over and his face got real close to my bum and I could feel him breathing on it. So, is that sex?"

"In a way," I said.

Meanwhile, as the boy talked, as he told his perverted, dirty story, I was getting hard again, imagining the scene. Bailey, truth be told, isn't bad to look at. Had been an athlete in Australia somewhere, I think, and his dad bod still held hints of what he must have looked like in high school. They have a pool and I've seen him more than once in his board shorts, patch of hair between his pecs, nice treasure trail, good legs. Nice ass, and I mean a NICE ass. Kind of cute, with his pouty lips and heavy-lidded eyes and red hair. And there he was in my mind, kneeling on the floor of the bathroom as his 10-year-old stepson bends over to display his freshly dirtied little butthole. Bailey leans in and sniffs hard and he's so close he could probably lick it. He's groping his groin, where his not inconsiderable dick is raging hard, leaking, thinking about what that kid's poop would feel like, taste like, on his tongue. "Look at that hot, dirty little asshole. Hot dirty little asshole..."

"Hey!" Scotty said.

I looked up at him, snapped out of my fantasy, and he was smiling and pointing at my stiff dick, which I was stroking absently.

"So you liked my story, huh?"

"Yeah, Scotty," I muttered. "Yeah, I liked your story."

He took a few more steps into the room, almost next to the bed. I didn't let go of my cock, which was leaking like the faucet in a cheap motel. Scotty looked at my dick.

"Bailey's penis makes that stuff too," he said.

"Yeah? When?"

"When he watches me poop. It gets real hard and he starts to play with it and then that stuff comes. He calls it `cock slime'. He smears it all over his big dick and plays with it and..."

"And...?"

"I told you! When I'm done pooping, I get off the john and show him my stinky poop hole and he makes it shoot."

"He cums," I said.

"Yeah," Scotty said. "He cums. I told you. Geez!" I closed my eyes, bringing up the hot, perverted scene again: hunky Bailey on his knees in the bathroom, stroking his thick, dripping cock as the kid turns around and presents him with that hairless little buttcrack, sticky smears of kid shit surrounding the tiny anus, longing to get his tongue in there to lick and clean and swallow it, his mouth to latch onto Scotty's shitlips, sucking on it as Scotty pushes and he shoots five or six volleys of thick cum onto the floor, writhing and moaning into the kid's ass.

I'm stroking faster now and Scotty steps up to the side of the bed and says "You wanna watch me poop, Uncle Mike? I've gotta go and you can watch if you want. You wanna?"

I hesitated and tried to turn down the invitation. "No, thanks Scotty... no, youÑ"

"Oh, c'mon! You wanna? I want you to."

"You do?"

"Yeah, man," he says, smiling. "You wanna watch me poop, huh?"

"Yeah, Scotty," I say in some kind of trance, "I wanna watch you poop." I sit up and as I stand, he takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom down the hall, lit only by a seashell nightlight. He pushes down his little tighty-whities and starts to sit on the john, but I stop him. I kneel and without thinking I just take his three or four hard inches between my lips. "Pee," I mutter. "Pee, Scotty. Give me some boy piss..." He says nothing but I hear his breathing and a little grunt from the back of his throat tells me he's pushing hard and then I feel it: the hot, sharp stream of his pee. His boy pee. This hot, dirty little boy is pissing in my mouth. It's warm and it tastes pretty much like I thought it would. My dick throbs. Hell, it never went down. When he's done he doesn't wait but gets right up on the toilet and proceeds to poop. I move closer to the john, between his fucking, oh-so-smooth thighs and, as he shoots another couple jets of piss, I hear a soft fart and I can smell the turds.

"I'm pooping, Mike," he says, real serious, as if he knows how serious this is. How hot he is.

"You're shitting, Scotty. You're shitting for me, huh?"

"Yeah, Mike, I'm... I'm shitting for you."

"Boy turds."

A pause. "Boy turds."

"Hot little boy turds."

He's clearly getting into the dirty talk. "Hot little boy turds," he spits. "It's my shit, Mike!" I moan and take in deep lungfuls of the foul air coming up from the bowl. Scotty is fiddling with his stiff little boy cocklet, hard from all his talk. I take my hand off my dick which is ready to unload any second and I reach into the toilet, between his thighs, past the tiny ball sack and rub a fingertip on his greasy hole. Fuck, I'm touching his shit! I pull my hand out and look at the finger and the tip is brown with a thick coating of boymud. I bring it to my nose and sniff, long and hard and it's enough to knock me out.

"You smell my shit, Mike?" he asks.

"Yeah, baby boy, I smell it."

"Mmmm, baby boy shit," he whispers. This is coming from somewhere, someone else. He hops down off the commode and steps close to me, his little stiffie right in front of me. "You wanna taste it, huh, Mike?"

"WhaÑ ? No! Oh, no, I don'tÑ"

"Yeah, you do. Bailey does. He says so."

"Has he...?"

"Nah. Maybe he will someday. But you do, too. You can if you want, Uncle Mike."

I look up at him, his eyes big and questioning, a slight smile on his beautiful, young lips. There is what seems like a long silence between us, and then the boy nods and smiles wider. Slowly I straighten my legs out, my feet on either side of the commode, and I lie back on the shaggy, blue bathmat and I tell Scotty to put his dirty ass on my face.

Without a word he steps forward, standing over me, then turns to face the toilet and begins to squat. I groan and start to close my eyes, but I want to see it all, I want to watch that heavenly, perfect butt spread slightly as he squats deeper and it gets closer to my face, my mouth, and I can see the little hole opening slightly amid the smear of light brown, little boy crap. I'm jacking furiously as it touches my lips, the sticky, warm smear of little Scotty's crap and without thinking about it I stick out my tongue and taste it, pull a morsel of it into my mouth and suck on it and swallow it, then lick again and Scotty gasps, feeling my tongue on his anus, licking him.

"Oh! Oh... Mike!? Hah! Oh, hah! That feels soooo... good!" He's half-laughing, half gasping for air at the strange sensation of my now-dirty tongue on his little anus. "Oh, God! Eat me, Uncle Mike, swallow it down and we can show Bailey how you eat my boy turds...ah!" I feel his body spasm and he farts and a spray of wet soft serve explodes out into my mouth. I gulp it down, then go back to kissing his hole. Tonguing Scotty's anus, sucking the little 9-year-old anus, tongue fucking it, sucking. Sucking the boy's shit lips, drilling my tongue inside him.

He must have been playing with himself like crazy, because I know he's having his kid's orgasm at the same time as I swallow down the flecks of turd he's blown down my throat. Then his hole opens and squeezes out a hot, soft little dollop of the boy's delicious crap that slides onto my tongue. I start sucking on it, and Scotty is shouting "Eat my turds, Uncle Mike! Eat! Hot boy turds....!" and I cum. And cum. And cum. I'm moaning making crazy, guttural noises into the boy's slimy ass crevice.

Scotty stands up and looks down at me. "That really felt good," he says.

"You liked it, huh?"

"Yeah, like when you licked my... you know, hole. That was amazing!"

I stand up, woozy and a little stiff. I regain my balance and wipe my mouth off with the back of my hand. "Yeah, amazing all right," I say.

I step toward the toilet to pee, but Scotty puts the seat down, then gets up and, leaning forward, kisses me on the mouth. He pulls back and wrinkles his nose. "Not bad," he says, hopping back down.

The kid is amazeballs.

"Now, Scotty," I say, "Bailey doesn't have to, you know, know about this. This was just once, okay? I just went a little crazy, right?"

"Right," he says, going to the sink to wash up.

"I mean it, Scott."

"I know. It's okay. Just this once, okay." He sounded supremely annoyed. "Anyway, that's what Bailey said the first time. And Eric, too."

Eric. Eric. I couldn't think whoÑthen it hit me.

"You mean Eric, Traci's boyfriend?!" I said, incredulous,

Scotty nodded. "Yeah. He liked it once and then he liked it another time. He's real dirty, too."

Without waiting for him to finish washing up, I go to the tub, turn on the tap and begin washing my face there, with special attention to my mouth. I don't say anything else. I don't know what to say. But, Jesus Christ, Bailey and Eric Nelson? The 16-year-old Traci is so crazy about, that Eric Nelson? With the dark hair and the dimples and the chest, and that ass that looks so good in his baseball uniform pants? The boy who looks like the young Nick Jonas. Not dumb, but not the brightest bulb, but who the fuck cares? He's an eyeful. And now to find out...

"Scotty, when did you and Eric...?"

"Oh, Traci was s'posed to be watching me but then she had to go `cause her grandmother's heart got sick and she had to go to the hospital, so she got Eric to come over and we were playing catch out back and got all sweaty and stuff? So we came in to take a shower and he was lookin' at me the way you did and he was getting all sexy and everything, but then I had to goÑJeez, do I hafta tell you everything? We did it and he liked it when I got dirty and then he got dirty too."

"Did you like it, Scott?" I asked.

"Yeah, it was cool for the first time and all. I really like the way he smells." He finished washing up and dried his face on a hand towel, then walked out of the bathroom toward his bedroom.

"I mean it, Scotty!" I called after him. "What I said. About just this once. I really mean it!"

"Okay!" I hear him call.

Yes, this has got to be just the one time.

Just the once.

Yeah.