"Sweat! (1)" contains male-to-male oral sex and is pornographic in nature. It is unsuitable and probably illegal for minors to read it.
Copyright remains with the author. You may freely transmit and distribute this story UNALTERED.
Author's note: "Sweat! (1)" is a stupid name for this story which doesn't have much to do with sweat, unfortunately. It contains sex between a 17 year-old and an older man and has been categorised by the author 'M/t' and 'M/M' because the 17 year-old is technically a teenager, but not a child.
I would love to receive feedback and comments. I intend subsequent episodes to explore many different types of situations, both light-hearted and grim, with the 17 year-old hero. Please let me know what you think, and whether there should be more sweat. Thoby Johnson.
thobyj@yahoo.co.uk
"SWEAT! (1) : In which the story begins."
He was new to the city, new to the scene - and who isn't new to everything at seventeen? Real things anyway. He was old enough to have a job, live by himself and wear what he wanted. But young enough to be pretty - and pretty confident. Young enough to know everything.
Have a job? Sure. There were a multitude of construction sites in this town and all of them needed labourers. Developers were throwing up cheaply built residential shitboxes in all directions in the tail-end of a housing boom. It paid for the one-room apartment in Darlinghurst and gym membership - and a nice, new racing bike, his most expensive possession. The apartment? Just as you imagine, a fetid, teenager's bedroom of a place, festooned with smelly socks and horrible magazines. Still, it was a place to keep his stuff. His clothes, hanging from various objects in the room, were mostly of the ill-advised, provocative gayboy ilk. Small, tight lycra things that looked fantastic on Oxford Street on a Friday night, fantastic in one of the bars or on one of the dance-floors, or just fantastic in broad daylight flaked out next to a dustbin in Green Park. Fantastic anywhere, in fact. But only if worn by someone under twenty with the waist and backside of a ballet dancer.
His name is Marmaduke and, in accordance with his existing forum, his purpose is to entertain us with his adventures. And adventures is what he intends to have. And so we will adopt the accepted protocol of past-tense from here on. Certainly, in the past he'd been sticking his dick in places he shouldn't. Now, he wanted to seek places where he definitely should stick it. Imagine Marmaduke as you think him best. For example; he may have trendy, stepped, shining blonde hair, brown eyes like two mud-pies, and pouty, kissable (but somewhat susceptible to drying out and chapping) lips. Then again, maybe it would be best if he had liquid dark hair and twinkling eyes, pinpricks of bad attitude. Whatever. Some details work - some are best left for the reader. Specifically though, Marmaduke is tall and athletic, slim as a reed, and with smooth, cycler's thighs. Thighs, in fact, that are the envy of anyone laying eyes on them. Thighs from another planet, as his aunt used to say.
No real stranger to low-key cruising, Marmaduke cycled to Centennial Park and sped around and around the long bike track. Then he rested picturesquely under a tree, his winsome, gleaming limbs folded casually, waiting for something to happen. Of course, that something did happen.
A new, expensive sedan glided to a stop on the narrow, shaded road that wandered through the park. The electric window descended. Marmaduke had thought, perhaps, he might find himself another boy, for furtive sex, dog- style, on the grass. This man, however, was older, but seemingly well- moneyed. He had what we will call a 'pleasant' face.
"Do you want a shower, son?" the man asked. "Why? Have you got one?" came the cheeky reply. The man smiled. "Well, yes I do, at my house." Now, Marmaduke smiled. "That's a sensible place for it."
He saw the man's eyes dart to his crotch. His penis twitched in his spandex bike shorts. Marmaduke got to his feet, wanting to be in this guy's car sitting down before an erection came on. It was a mistake not to wear any jocks. His irresponsible member was uncoiling itself, stretching, and laying itself out flat, obviously and embarrassingly, sideways across the top of his right leg. He moved to the car window, bike shoes clattering on the road.
"Where's your house at, Mistah?" the boy asked playfully. "Up north. Dee Why." "That's a long way." "I'd be happy to give you a lift." "Do you have a pool?" The man laughed. "Yes, as a matter of fact."
A hand extended from the car and was placed on Marmaduke's flank. It was a friendly grip on the boy's ribcage. Hardness felt through the slightly sweaty T-shirt. Their eyes met.
"Will you get in the car?" "Can I put my bike in the boot?" "Yeah. Sure."
Marmaduke clattered around to the back of the car. The man got out and they both managed to fit the boy's awkward, two-wheeled vehicle into the back - with the front wheel removed. A spandex encased backside was soon ensconced in the sumptuous passenger seat.
"Nice car." "Thanks." "What's your name, Mista?" "Eric. What's yours, sonny?" "Marmaduke." "Wow!" "That's what most people say." "Do you like having a name like that?" "Yeah. It's okay. I like it." "Are you a bicycle courier, Marmaduke?" Marmaduke laughed. "Nooo. Nooo. Nooo. Actually, I'm a labourer. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He wriggled with pleasure in the leather seat. "Gee! I hope I don't mess up your car. I'm a bit sweaty! Can I take my shoes off? They'll stink, though." "Do whatever you like, sugar plum," said Eric, somewhat preoccupied with city traffic.
Eric's hand crept onto the boy's upper thigh. "You're a fit, young thing, aren't you, Marmaduke?" "Yes, sir." "What sports do you play?" "Cycling mostly. And swimming."
The hand took a sudden, firm grasp of Marmaduke's hefty crotch-package. The youth's cock went hard, swinging from 9 o'clock to 12 o'clock. Eric stroked it through the spandex, breathing steadily through his nostrils, and driving. Marmaduke looked over at him. He was maybe forty, wearing casual weekend clothes. Obviously a professional. Meanwhile, Marmaduke's throbbing, banana-shaped rod had pushed its head up above the waistband of his tight shorts, seeking air. It was purple and dribbling ooze.
"I'm going to lose my load right here, Eric," said Marmaduke, tight-chested. "When we get to your place, I'll do something nice to you . . . Okay?" "Yeah. That'll be really great, Marmaduke. Just relax, kiddo!"
Before Eric had finished his sentence, Marmaduke's straining organ jerked, pumped, and fired. Hot jism squirted with audible force into the boy's belly. Eric tried to stroke the frantically twitching cock in the right places, at the right speed. "Aaaaaahhhh!" Marmaduke voiced loudly within the confines of the car, lifting himself, with his hands pushing down into the seat.
"How's that, kid?" said Eric good naturedly. "I'm a bit sorry you didn't save it, but maybe we'll get you off again later." Marmaduke slumped and breathed out, a large blob of white jelly cooling in his lap. His shorts and T-shirt were wet with the stuff. "There's some tissues in the glove box," said Eric, inevitably. Marmaduke scooped up the white gobs and threw sodden tissues out through the window. "It's hard to control yourself at your age. I know how it is," said Eric in his cheerful tone.
Marmaduke, lovely boy that he was, remained chirpy. "Shit! I've dribbled come everywhere!" he said, churning hyperactively in his seat. "That's a nice big cock you've got, son," Eric said, choking on his incredible good luck. The beautiful boy in his passenger seat with the craning neck and the flashing, inquisitive eyes was too good to be true. "Thanks, Mister," said the kid. Christ! The loveable youngster had just shot his energetic, big wad in the front seat of his car! Please, God! let the boy stick around for a little while! "Do you want a swim when we get there?" he asked. "Sure." "My pool's fairly secluded. You can get your kit off." "Great."
The house was a normal looking house in a normal looking beachside suburb. Years of salt air was just starting to eat away mortar between the red bricks of many of these 1930s houses. The 1950s fibro houses were faring better, but who could tell in what condition they'd be in years to come? Eric led Marmaduke through the house to the back yard. The boy, barefoot and beautiful, came padding softly on the carpet.
Beside the pool, lit by a halo of sunlight, Marmaduke stood with one knee out, like Michelangelo's David. Eric noticed the adorable, soft lay of muscle just above knee of the straightened leg. The boy looked skywards, like some other classic statue. His khaki, cotton T-shirt, sticky with dried sweat and a bit too small, raised and twisted on the flaring torso, exposing bare midriff above the bike shorts. Tummy muscles moved slightly under soft, brown skin. Eric fell in love. Don't move! Stay there, looking up at the sky, looking at the little clouds . . . forever!
A gull squawked. A moment occurred outside of time.
"I think there's a fucking skywriter up there!" Marmaduke exclaimed. Eric, idiotically, looked. "Do you have many friends, Marmaduke?" "Naw. Not here. I haven't been in town long. I just came down from Brisbane." "Did you do much swimming in Brisbane?" "Oh, yeah. I competed in triathlons." "Really?" "Yep. I was pretty good too." "Are you going to enter any triathlons . . . here?" "You need training for that kind of thing, Eric. I'd need someone to motivate me to do the work." "Well," said Eric, finally. "You certainly look like a good strong young lad. I'm sure you'd do well." "Mind if I get in the pool?" Marmaduke said. "Certainly I don't mind." "I haven't got any jocks. I'm going in naked. Will the neighbours mind?" "They can't see anything. Don't worry."
The boy peeled off clinging cotton and spandex, throwing the discarded items to the grass. In the raw, muscles tensed like a wild animal, he glistened brown and shiny. He smiled once at Eric and dived in with a ker-splash. Eric watched from a plastic banana chair as Marmaduke performed four fast laps, sliding through the water like an eel. He sprung out of the pool, wet and totally alive. A proud specimen of lean, prime boy-meat on the hoof, Eric thought. Marmaduke shook his head, exultantly dripping chlorinated water everywhere, his hair now darker and shaggier. His penis dangled between his legs like a vacuum-cleaner hose - thick and trunk-like - swinging as he loped across the grass.
In a moment, the dripping boy was between Eric's legs, unzipping him and getting everything wet. He took Eric in his mouth and licked him to hardness like a dog would, realising the substantial size of the man's swelled pole. Crouching, eyes afire with mischief, the boy grinned up at Eric, who was trying to stay calm.
"D'you want it slow or fast, Mister?" "Just however, Tiger," stammered Eric, biting his lip with anticipation.
Marmaduke began. His tongue poked out and toyed with the underside of the head, brushing lightly from side to side, making the dick wobble. "Ohhhhhh!" Eric breathed. His hand went gently to the back of the boy's head. Now, Marmaduke put his lips to the tip, his tongue flicking adroitly at the end-slit. "Ohhhh! Jesus, kid!" He took the whole head in his mouth, sucking away seeping fluid. Teeth nibbled gently around the ridge at the base of that engorged head. The naked boy shifted his position at the foot of the banana chair and moved up slightly, taking his weight with his arms on the chair's edge, allowing him to get his head down over the upright dick. He licked and slurped expertly down one side of the shaft - then back up to the head - then down the other side, his bobbing head flopping from side to side. "Ohhhhh! Geez, Kiddo! You're too fucking good at this!"
He drew his rough tongue up the underside of Eric's shaft, playing the ropy skin there. Eric's hand now grabbed the boy's hair. "Come on, Kid! Get your mouth around it!" he demanded desperately. Marmaduke took the whole prong, steadily sliding down onto it, his mouth forming a big 'O'. He took it to the back of his throat, puffing noisily through his nose, working quickly and skilfully with his tongue on the engulfed length, his mouth stuffed with swelled flesh. "Ohhhhhhhh! Jeeeeesus! Where the fuck did you learn this, boyo?!" asked the wheezing Eric.
Marmaduke backed off it, letting it pop out of his mouth with a wet smack. He took one deep breath and went down on the glistening meat-pole again. He pumped it in and out a few times. "Ohhh! Yes! . . . Yes! . . . That's it! . . . now suck! . . . suck! SUCK! . . . suck it in kid! . . . That's it! . . . SUCK IT!" Marmaduke sucked, slurping and gagging. He felt Eric begin to pulse. "Yes! . . . Now! . . . NOW SUCK! . . . Good boy!"
Eric unloaded. Marmaduke gagged, retched, and swallowed. Semen spilt from the side of his mouth and he copped one good squirt in the face as he withdrew. Eric lay back, catching his breath. Marmaduke fell to the grass, spitting. "Hooooooo boy!" said Eric, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Marmaduke sat up again and began licking the deflating shaft and testicles clean.
"That was good!" Eric said. "Fantastic!" "Mmmf," said Marmaduke in thanks, spitting out a hair. "You can get in the pool again. Or have a shower. Make yourself at home. Thanks for that. Great head-job! I think I owe you dinner tonight." They stood up. Eric ruffled the boy's hair, then blew air out through his cheeks. "Wheew! I'm feeling kind of drained!" "Can I have a glass of water!" the boy asked.
Marmaduke appeared after his shower, scrubbed clean and fresh. Eric decided he may as well find some clothes for him and bid him stay the night. His cycling gear could go into the wash and be ready for the morning. Thusly, the hungry youth was fed and bedded. Curled up in Eric's waterbed, looking like an angel. Eric snuggled up to the boy's lovely warmth, nuzzling his head and smelling his clean hair. He wondered; could it be possible that, someday, he would receive another act of sexual gratification from this darling?
We shall see.