It’s not often you see someone with “knock-‘em-dead” looks but just last month I spotted this guy in the “PlayStation” aisle and nearly walked into the pile of boxes on the corner! He was fucking gorgeous and I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was about 20, around 5’ 7”, slim and clean-shaven, with short dark hair, not black exactly but the colour of charcoal, neatly styled with a parting – in a modern but old-fashioned sort of way. He was ever-so-slightly olive-skinned, possibly Mediterranean extraction I thought, and he was a really smart dresser – totally overdressed for the Comet Store we were both in.
He wore a crisp white, open-neck shirt and a pale grey V-neck pullover. His stylish “Aviator” sunglasses were casually hooked over the “V” of his pullover. But what caused me to nearly walk into the pile of boxes was his tight-fitting grey trousers, in that slightly silky, shiny material; he was a “freeballer”, if ever I saw one – and I saw one alright!
As he moved along in front of the PlayStation display, I glimpsed the outline of something down the inside of his right leg. He stood still for a moment and as he shifted his weight from one hip to the other, I could clearly see his balls down his right trouser-leg. I even thought I glimpsed the slightly tumescent outline of a penis, ending in the neat but distinct mushroom shape of a cock-head. Phew!
I walked back around the PlayStation display to the end of the aisle to get another look at him from the front. My eyes were nearly popping out of my head. He seemed so brazen; but not in a vulgar way you understand; it was just that he was SO beautiful and SO inherently sexy!
Having nearly knocked over the pile of boxes at the corner of the display, I muttered the words “My God!” – under my breath, or so I thought. But he had heard me.
“Excuse me?” he looked up at me with a querulous expression on his face.
Caught out, tongue-tied and thrown, I was now standing directly in front of him and into his utterly gorgeous blue-grey eyes.
I hesitated; then I said, “Sorry, I was just so overwhelmed by your staggering looks!” and politely smiled at him.
As I heard the words leave my mouth, I thought “You stupid pillock! What on earth did you say that for! What if he thinks you’re being sarcastic?”
But to my amazement, he just stood there looking at me with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Then, slowly, a smile began to form and before I knew it, his face had broken into such a broad grin that I had to smile back.
“Do you know,” he laughed, “You’re the only person to have ever said anything like that me! You’ve made my day!”
“I can’t believe that,” I gushed – and then began to feel embarrassed.
“I suppose you’re just a lecherous poof then,” he said, in a resigned sort of way that seemed to say, “It’s a pity the girls don’t think the same as you.” I began to wonder whether or not he was gay.
I just shrugged and smiled apologetically. “Afraid so,” I confessed. He continued looking at me, weighing me up and down.
Now I have to mention, in case this is not obvious, that I was more than twice his age and old enough to be his father, so any notions of sex with this “Adonis” was clearly in the realms of fantasy-fiction. I didn’t even know if this guy was gay but that seemed hardly relevant; you can’t let it go, can you, even when it seems hopeless?
Still, he hadn’t walked off and he was obviously intrigued, not to say flattered that at least someone had noticed how much trouble he had gone to before making his visit to the Comet Store. Which is more than I had done; plain jeans, polo-shirt and an inexpensive blouson jacket. I suddenly felt quite shabby.
“So I suppose you’ll be hoping I’ll ask you if you want a drink next,” he said, raising his eye-brows. He was playing with me, rather like a cat does with a mouse, but I thought I’d play along with his game. After all, he hadn’t shown his claws yet and I didn’t have anything better to do!
“Would be nice,” I ventured, and I shrugged again, still grinning at him like a love-struck kid.
“Hmm. Yeah, well, it’s all you’re gonna get, mate!” He raised a finger at me, as if to warn me off. Then he carried on, “C’mon then; there’s a Starbucks next door. You can buy me coffee.” And with that, he walked off towards the store entrance, casually jangling his car-keys in one hand.
I was dumbfounded, to be honest. But I followed, of course, wondering what his game was. Walking behind him, I had the most fabulous view of his rear, clad in those shiny grey, tight trousers. The centre seam fitted snuggly between his buttocks, dividing his bum perfectly; a gorgeous, round, “bubble-but” kind of bum. And there were definitely no underwear lines.
He went straight into Starbucks and chose a comfy chair in the corner by the window and sat down. I was still standing when he gave me his order – as if to a waiter; I had to laugh! Then I went to get the coffees, and the plain chocolate chip cookie he had ordered, as his “price” for the pleasure of his company!
We spent the next half hour chatting casually. He was remarkably laid-back and not at all phased by my obvious interest in him, not to mention the more than 20 years’ age difference. He told me his name was Alex, he was 20 and had just finished at College, doing Media Studies and Graphic Design. He still lived with his parents, had an older sister, married with 2 baby boys, twins. As he stirred his coffee, I noticed his hands, soft and quite delicate, and his finger-nails were immaculately clean and trimmed. When we talked about music, he mentioned a load of band names I had never heard of and I was reminded of our age difference. But he was a really nice guy. I never asked him if he was gay – it seemed impertinent somehow – but he admitted that he had been flattered by the forwardness of my remark about his looks and he seemed genuinely quite modest. But I couldn’t figure out why he was encouraging me. “Even if he IS gay,” I thought, “it couldn’t be that he fancies me, surely?” I decided that he probably wasn’t really as modest as he made out and that what was going on was a sort of boost to his ego. He took a lot of trouble with how he looked, that was certain; even to the expensive “Aviator” glasses, hooked casually over his pullover. So I figured that vanity was probably his weakness.
So I mentioned that I was into photography and that I had in the past done some amateur photography of models and guys of his age and that was why I was taken by his looks. I told him, “I think you’d look good in front of a camera.” To which he replied,
“Actually, I could do with some decent pictures – for my Facebook page ‘n stuff. The only recent ones I’ve got are at weddings and christenings, or stupid ones when I’ve been drunk at parties and such like.”
At this point, I was thinking more along the lines of IN-decent pictures, rather than decent ones but quickly spotting an opportunity, I said, “I’ve got my camera in the car. I could take some of you now, if you like.”
“What, here?” he said, taken aback.
“Yeah, why not,” I replied. “It’s nice and sunny today and you look so smart. I could take a few pictures here in the window.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Not here. People will start looking. I’d get embarrassed.” And there was a pause. I thought the opportunity had escaped.
Then, finishing-up his Moccachino, he looked up at me and said, “Tell you what though. My parents are away at the moment, celebrating their 40th Anniversary. We could go back to my place; I’ve got friends coming round this evening but I’m free this afternoon.”
I was stunned – but tried not to show it. “OK,” I said, “You lead the way and I’ll follow.” And as we went back out to the car park, he turned to me and added,
“No funny business, mind. I’m not taking my clothes off for you!”
“Fair enough,” I said, putting my hands up in mock surrender. “You’re the boss.”
Now I should mention that, in my experience of the young guys vain enough to want their photo taken, this reaction is common. However, more often than not, once they see the first lot of results, they are sufficiently pleased that they get a bit more ambitious and are happy to try something a little more daring. It sometimes takes a session or two to get their confidence and you have to be very careful about any physical contact, otherwise you can frighten them off, but needless to say, I had high hopes that this invitation might lead somewhere.
I followed his smart little silver Toyota out of the car park. From the number plate, I could tell it was two years old. “Daddy” was obviously well off and the car was probably an 18th Birthday present. As we drove, I began thinking – and worrying, “What if he’s contacting his mates on his mobile from the car and this is all an elaborate trap?” Even so, I carried on, reckless as ever.
When he turned into the driveway of his home, there was no sign of any other cars and what I saw was a large detached house, set well back from the road, a separate triple garage block to one side and a beautifully manicured lawn and flower-beds out front.
He showed me into the house and through the marble-floored hall, into the main lounge, decorated in pale creams and white, with thick carpet and 3 huge cream leather sofas. To one side, double doors led to a sumptuous dining room, while towards the garden, the view led through a conservatory. He asked me if I wanted a juice or a coke and when he came back from the kitchen with 2 cokes, I complimented him on the house.
“You have a lovely home,” I said, trying not to be too effusive, “You are very fortunate.”
“Hmm. I guess I am, yes. Glad you like it.” Then he added, “It’s a bit OTT for me though; this is my Mum & Dad’s taste, not mine. Well, Mum’s really; Dad just likes what he’s told to like!”
I laughed politely and nodded and we then went on to discuss the pictures I would take – a few sitting on the leather sofa nearest the window and then a few in the conservatory. Everything went very well; I was only using available light but the house was so bright and sunny and he was just a joy to work with. He had such a cute, almost blemish-free face along with a button nose and highly kissable lips; his one imperfection was that his teeth, though well-kept, were slightly uneven and I found that rather endearing, especially when I made him smile, and throughout the entire session, my heart was going “like the clappers”, as they say. However, it was all I could do to not keep looking at his right trouser-leg – though I made sure I got a few pictures which included it in the shot!
When we were done, he said, “We can download those now on my computer, see the results.” And he gestured for me to follow him upstairs – to his room.
His “room” though, was more like a small hotel suite. It was L-shaped, with its own en-suite bathroom, approached through a fitted dressing room. The whole space was decorated in grey, black and maroon, with shiny acrylic tops and cupboard doors everywhere. I was envious. His study was to one end of the L-shape and he had a huge desk and computer with a 22-inch flat-screen monitor, which was already switched on. I took the memory chip out of my camera and he inserted it into the front of his computer. We reviewed the pictures on the screen and I offered technical criticism here and there but generally I was quite pleased with the results and he seemed pretty surprised at how good they were. But he remained quite modest at his own good looks and when he complimented me on the pictures, I thanked him and added,
“Of course, having a good looking model helps,” I said. He smiled, his slightly crooked smile and there was a pause. I couldn’t resist the opportunity.
I said, “Judging by your dressing room there, you have some really nice clothes. Why don’t we try some more photos – but you know, different outfits?”
Then, looking around the room and thinking of him changing out of those trousers, I added,
“This would be a nice room to photograph you in too.” Meaning his bedroom – I was thinking of the bed, actually.
He looked at me for a few moments, thinking. Then he grinned and said,
“You just want to see me get undressed, don’t you.” He was reading me very well, unfortunately!
“I can’t deny it,” I admitted, “but it’s up to you.” But I could tell, he was interested.
I persuaded him to do a few upper body shots first. Stripping-off his pullover and shirt, he revealed his chest, smooth and bare except for a few dark wispy hairs in the centre, but I wasn’t prepared for the Polynesian design tattoo on his shoulder, nor the steel stud in his left nipple. Also, my stomach did that “flip-flop” thing when I saw his little treasure-trail of wispy hairs from his navel down to the waist-band of his trousers and as I photographed him against the window, my heart was racing. His olive skin was so smooth, I couldn’t resist touching it; so as an excuse, I touched the tattoo on his shoulder and asked him if it was real. As I did so, it was as if an electric current passed from him and through my whole body, sending a tingling sensation up and down my back and through my stomach, until it came to rest in the depths of my testicles.
I stood in the doorway of his dressing room as he started opening drawers and pondering, standing just in socks and his clinging, shiny grey trousers. My eye caught a rather flash pair of California Board Shorts and I decided to try my luck.
“How about those,” I said, and to my amazement he just turned his back, undid his trousers and dropped them to the floor. I saw the dimples at the base of his spine and his perfectly rounded bottom as, momentarily naked, he stepped out of his trousers with the shorts in his hand. But in that moment, I also caught sight of his reflection in the mirror opposite and for just a couple of seconds, I saw his neat bush of dark brown hair, his soft, uncut cock and some lovely “low-hanging” balls, nicely uncovered by hair. Then it was gone, as he caught my gaze in the mirror.
“Like what you see?” he taunted, as he pulled the shorts up and adjusted his tackle – down the right leg, I noticed.
I smiled, “Hmm,” I said. “Hmm,” he repeated.
The shorts were dead sexy, of course, and I took a few shots of him standing and then sitting in the chair. Sitting, the soft material stretched tightly over his tackle and I was sure there was something happening down there. He was getting horny.
I got him on top of the bed, took a few more shots, and then I said,
“Ok. Now undue the waist, and make as though you are teasing the camera.” He did as I told him. And he was definitely getting horny.
“Now,” I said, “get inside the bed, with the covers just pulled half over you.” He did that too. He was starting to look more and more seductive in the way he looked at the camera – and me.
“You can slip the shorts off now, if you like,” I said and he stared at me. His eyes were a beautiful greyish-blue and his pupils were heavily dilated. I wasn’t sure if that was because he was horny or just nervous of me. But then he pulled the duvet back over himself and began wriggling out of the shorts under cover of the duvet. Eventually, in a move not unlike a scene from an old strip-tease act, the shorts reappeared from under the duvet and I laughed as he produced them with a flourish. He grinned at last, “Oh well, here goes nothing!” he laughed, as he tossed them over my shoulder.
“Right,” I said again, “tease the camera; go on, tease me.” And he began pulling the duvet back a little at a time, while I kept shooting, until he had revealed his treasure-trail right down to the very top of his pubic hair. There was a slight tan-line. My heart was racing again and I was blessing the fact that my camera had “image stabilization” because I was shaking much more than usual! And I was getting rather warm.
“Mind if I take off my top?” I asked him, “It’s getting rather hot in here! Actually, YOU’RE getting rather hot in here!”
He shook his head in agreement but he didn’t smile at my quip. Instead, he paused and then said, hesitantly, “Actually – we, er…. we seem to have a problem.”
I was suddenly worried. “What’s the problem?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, and pulled back the duvet to reveal the most wonderful erection I had seen in a long while. Released from the duvet, it now flipped up and across his soft tummy. When I had briefly caught a glimpse of his nakedness in the mirror earlier, his cock had seemed quite average – even small – especially against his low-hanging balls. But now I saw him in all his glory, fully erect, with his organ lying up across his stomach, alongside his lovely treasure-trail of wispy hairs. It wasn’t that long, as erections go, maybe less than average, but it was quite thick; and I was struck by how much darker his penis was than the rest of his skin. But gosh, it was lovely!
“Well,” I said, “that’s no problem. Just do what you usually do when that happens. I’ll carry on taking pictures, if that’s alright.”
“No,” he said, and my heart sank. But then he murmured the words I longed to hear.
“I want you to suck me off.”
I was kneeling at the side of his bed, in just my socks and jeans and there he was, half-sitting up against the pillows, completely naked, with the duvet pulled back and sporting an erection I could see throbbing slightly against his stomach. His expression said nothing. He just looked at me with those lovely grey-blue eyes.
I put the camera to one side and moved forward to the edge of the bed and slid my left arm behind his shoulders, cradling him against the pillows, while with my right hand, I slowly and gently took his tool between my fingers and closed my hand around it. Our faces were just inches apart and I could feel the heat, and the sex, radiating from his body. His lips were dry and parted and he was breathing quite heavily. As I moved my face closer to his, I made as if to kiss him but he turned his head away and I realized I had him at his limits. He may or may not have been gay, but he wasn’t ready to kiss a guy more than 20 years older than himself; he just wanted – he just desperately needed – relief. As he turned his face away, I just kissed him lightly on the soft nape of his neck and I felt him inhale sharply.
I lowered my face towards his erection, still throbbing gently against his stomach and as I did so, my right hand gently pulled back on his shaft. The pink tip of his cock-head appeared and as I pulled his quite tight foreskin back, its full helmet suddenly popped clear and he gave a gasp. He smelled divine. I was inhaling his after-shave and his pheromones and was myself getting quite high. My own organ was oozing pre-cum for all it was worth into my already damp underwear but I didn’t dare undress, for fear it would frighten him off.
My tongue touched his organ first. I licked lightly at the exposed underside of his dick and then up and down the shaft. His pubic hair was a thick nest of dense dark curls but it didn’t extend far “from base-camp” and instead quickly gave way to the clear olive-skin of his soft tummy. And those beautiful low-hangers were now rising and churning in their capacious sack, which surely seemed to be tightening around them as I watched.
I took his tool fully into my mouth at last and he let out a groan of pleasure, “Oh, God, that’s good,” he said, “That feels so good.”
As I licked and sucked at his manhood, my right hand maintained a slow but firm and steady action up and down along the shaft. Every so often, I would tease his testicles in their shrinking sack, playing with them as I lowered my lips fully down over his shaft, so that my nose was buried in the sparse hairs around his balls.
Drifting into his own pleasure-zone, his head back and his eyes tightly closed, he spread his legs slightly and as he did so, with my hand still on his balls, my finger teased down into his ass-crack, hairless, hot and sweaty, to find his tightly closed anus. I pressed gently and I felt him breath-in deeply. I pressed harder and the tip of my finger entered his dry hole, as he inhaled a slightly shocked breath of pleasure.
Quickly wetting my finger with my own spit, I went back to teasing into his hole and this time, I pushed fully inside, right up to my knuckle. He let out little yelp of joy, as I found the little nut of his prostate, hard and aroused, and I began rubbing back and forth across it.
He began groaning, almost pleading, “Oh yes – don’t stop – please don’t stop,” he stuttered, in-between short, sharp breaths, “That’s so good – please don’t stop.”
Now lying back against the pillow, his face and chest were now flushed and his body began shuddering and shaking. He was panting for breath, my face buried in his pubic hair and his cock deep inside my throat. His anus gripped my finger as it still played across his prostate. Then, as I lifted my mouth briefly from my deep-throating of him to take some air, my right hand felt his balls retracting into his body and those “low-hangers” had almost disappeared. I knew he was getting close but even so, I was not prepared. Suddenly, he let out a deep gasp and without warning he shot his first jet of jism randomly into the air. Who knows where it landed, for it was quickly followed by a second stream of thick white semen, up across his stomach and onto his chest, as he let out another deep gasp of relief. The third jet of cum hit me in the face, as I quickly put his tool back into my mouth. His whole body was shuddering and shaking, his legs thrashing about and his ass, groin and balls throbbed in my hand, as he pumped load after load of his pent-up sexual frustration into my eager mouth. My right hand felt the pulses of his juice, as time after time, it seemed to surge from his groin and through his balls, into the warmth of my mouth. He howled and whimpered in pleasure as his sensitive organ still pumped his cum over and around my tongue, as I swallowed every last drop of his remaining ejaculations.
As I finally felt his body relax in my arms, I released his still partially erect tool from my mouth and laid it gently against his stomach. He was breathing heavily – but he was sated, relieved at last. He quickly recovered his composure though and I sat back on my haunches on the carpet beside the bed as he sighed.
“Thanks,” he said, “that was fantastic.”
“My pleasure,” I replied, and smiled softly at him.
But I think he was a bit embarrassed now. He threw back the duvet and jumped off the bed, grabbing his shorts and quickly putting them on again.
“Can we download the rest of those pictures?” he said, changing the subject. And I gave him the memory chip out of my camera.
As he downloaded the pictures, I knew that my welcome – and my usefulness – had been exhausted, so I made my polite excuses and made to leave. He showed me downstairs and just before opening the door, he paused, as if suddenly realizing the part I had played in his free afternoon, and as I held out my hand to shake his, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. I felt my insides dissolve.
“Thanks again,” he said, and this time I knew he meant it.
When I got home, I went to download the pictures from the camera. The few that were already on the chip before were still there but there was no sign of the dozens of pictures I had taken that afternoon. Somehow, without my realizing, he had hit “Move” instead of “Copy” when he had the chip in his reader and they’d all been deleted. Was it an accident or did he do it on purpose? Probably. All I had was a damp pair of pre-cum soaked briefs for my afternoon’s efforts.
“Oh well,” I thought, “Just do what you always do!” And I sighed.