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For Your Eyes Only 1
The
following story is for adults and contains descriptions of sexual
contact between adolescent males. If you are a minor, then it is
illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject
objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and
settings are the product of my over-active imagination. I hope you
like it. moore_eliotyahoo.ca
For
Your Eyes only
by
Eliot Moore
One
(July 2001 and June 2004)
It’s
hard to pick a place to start. Sometimes I think thumbnails preteens it all began when I
was maybe nine and Kevin Stonechild invited me over for the night. We
were only passing friends. Star Stonechild was my mother’s
friend; apparently their shared adolescence was legendary. My father,
who only heard the stories second hand from my uncles, liked to tease
her illegal preteen hentai with them over dinner. My older brothers and sister must have
been particularly attentive to the stories, because they became
convenient riposete in animated preteen nudes
the verbal fencing over their own dubious
behavior. Kevin and I were therefore obligatory friends as it were,
thrust together by our mothers. We got along well enough. The dancing
was Kevin’s idea.
We
had been shuffled off to Kevin’s room in some vain parental
hope that proximity to beds would result in sleep. By ten thirty, two
pillow fights and a wrestling match had been preteen model topsites quelled and we were at
loose ends exchanging views on the starting line for the St. George
Warriors. Kevin’s younger brother Spencer peered at us from his
top bunk. He would echo Kevin’s remarks while we ignored his
presence. Our knowledge of the local junior hockey team was just
sufficient to confirm our chan preteen imgboard
male credentials. While we talked, Kevin
toyed with a lavender scarf. He ran it through his fingers and veiled
his face. This last gesture caught my imagination and I suggested he
looked like a belly dancer.
Kevin
giggled at the suggestion, but it prompted him to rummage through a
few drawers. I watched as he produced an assortment of costume
jewelery. Kevin draped chains of pearls around his neck and twined
tarnished links around his wrists. He produced heavy rings. He candid preteens
looked
something like rap artist Litefoot going through a bad bling phase.
The rapper effect vanished when Kevin dropped his blue cotton pajama
bottoms. I remember watching with a growing excitement as Kevin
turned his black briefs into a thong slung low on his hips. When he
pulled his pajamas up, he rolled the elastic waist down so that it
hugged his hips and rested on the small mound of his crotch. I
remember absorbing the jeweled neck and the curved back ending in two
prominent cheeks exposed above the fabric as Kevin turned his back to
select preteen whore videos a song. When the music began Kevin began a provocative scarf
dance in the heat of his bedroom. I admit I was an appreciative
audience. Kevin and I laughed together as he boldly experimented with
vaguely lewd poses. Spencer watched for a while before preteen magazine fashion
slipping out
the door unnoticed.
The
exhibition ended abruptly. Kevin and Spencer’s father poked his
head in the door, took in his eldest son’s gyrations and
quietly called his son out of the room. I recall the sense of guilt I
felt. While Kevin was away, I turned the music off and slipped into
the sleeping bag on the floor. Spencer came back first and climbed up
to his bunk without comment. A subdued Kevin returned stripped of his
costume. He also slipped into his bed silently. His father checked to
see if we were settled and then left the room. Kevin and I never
spoke about the incident again. I was left with two indelible
memories: the oppressive guilt following discovery, and the unusual
excitement that coursed through my belly as I watched Kevin’s
jeweled body dance for my pleasure.
Jesse
Dietrich comes to mind. The summer I was turning twelve I was finally
recruited into combat. Our St. George neighbourhood flanked a shallow
gully park. A minor branch of the CPR main line cut a path straight
through the center of St. George and bluffs of shrubbery and trees,
long narrow ponds and fields of brittle crabgrass provided a buffer
on either side. I lived in The Heights near where the crest of the
larger valley slopes down to Lake MMsocpiskan [MOH so TSAA
pis GUN]
the
glorified slough created during preteen videos xxx the depths of the Great Depression.
Across the shallow gully park lay Sunnyside, a marginally newer and
more affluent neighbourhood and the territory of our natural rivals.
The park ground between Laurier Street on the south and Meighen
Street on the north was no man’s land. It was a good natured
rivalry fought on the basketball court, diamond and outdoor rink
between us. Halloween dwarfed everything and from time out of mind,
summer nights were given over to Flag Tag.
It
was a boy’s game mostly since the rules tended to discourage
the girls. They said the games were massive in the sixties and
seventies. I think the fathers who remembered those times thought us
an effete lot. By the time thailand porn preteens I was allowed to join, the popularity of
the game had dwindled. A plethora of gaming platforms and the
internet made strong inroads. Even so, on any given night the
adventurous were out searching for one or the other of the bases that
mushroomed along the gully preteen naked girles slopes. Lest all this lurking and chasing
seem too pussy, we dispensed with the niceties of socks and rags. Our
Flag Tag was full contact. You took your opponent with a flying
tackle and after that you worked for a wrestling pin. That tended to
discourage the girls.
Jesse
Dietrich slinked across the tracks and into our territory at
twilight. I caught his profile before he slipped down our side of the
railway embankment. It must have been my third game and I took it
very seriously. Jesse was likely fourteen that year. He was a bit
more than I could hope to manage but we younger boys tended to move
in packs. It was early in the game, but one of our boys apparently
gave the flag’s position away in exchange for a turn at Tony
Hawke’s Underground.
Sunnyside’s prisoner of war camp included Xbox and free sodas
in Fred Stenson’s garage. It was a form of psychological
warfare that we found hard to resist. With our flag’s position
compromised Sunnyside was pressing in. Three of us moved in on Jesse.
He was a swift antelope dogged by three skinny coyotes. He tossed me
off his shoulder before my companions were able to wrestle him to the
ground ten meters from where our flag lay hidden in a stand of aspen
and poplar. I joined the pile. The three of us worked to turn Jesse
on his back so we could make the pin. He was strong and came over
slowly. I straddled his hips finally and pushed at Jesse’s
shoulder while one companion sat on the fourteen-year-olds left arm
and the other wrestled with his right arm. Jesse tried to buck me off
before he collapsed. My companions fell away laughing and panting. I
was left across Jesse with my hands pressing his shoulders into the
grass.
I
became conscious of the bulge of his groin pressing into my bottom.
It precipitated a tightening in my own crotch. At close to twelve, I
think this was the first time I associated this new feeling with
physical contact. It was something of a revelation to me and the
smile we shared seemed to acknowledge a shared response. I sat back
on Jesse’s hips letting my hands casually trail down his chest.
“You’re my preteens 3d sex prisoner.” I was sensitive to the
movement of his body preteen whore videos against my flesh. I remember feeling reluctant
to get off him. Jesse relaxed on the grass and watched me. My
companions finally broke the spell. It was time to take our prisoner
to the prisoner of war camp.
When
Jesse made it to his feet he looked at me and challenged us, “I
know I’m a prisoner, but I bet you three can’t catch me a
second time.” We took his challenge and gradually brought him
to his knees again. He collapsed more quickly the second time and
once again I ended straddled across his hips with a triumphant grin.
He allowed me to hold him pressed against the earth as I felt him
through the stretched fabric of my shorts. Jesse taught me something
new about myself: I loved to press him down and feel his body and he
liked it too. Jesse and I faced each other a number of times before
he drifted out of the game. I caught many boys and many boys caught
me, a few girls too, but the feeling never returned.
I
find a lot preteens extrem of what you know about yourself comes from looking back.
At the time these things happened, I am not sure I would have
recognized the significance as I do now. So I guess Kevin and Jesse
simply foreshadowed what would unfold. I guess it really begins that
late August evening the summer I turned fourteen, a week before I
started ninth grade at Central, and the day I met Pino and Glyn. The
day Pino and I started our private war.

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# by opyholuku | 2012-07-11 15:32