Danny's Incest Tales 19: Do You Like This, Grampa?
Written by DannyR
Author's Reminder: Don't forget that inquiring authors want to know -- what did you think? So when you're done, put your fingers to a dried-off, cleaned-up keyboard and start by typing: dannyr@.
THANKS: To "charlie the drifter" who wrote a M/g story with this general plot (sorry, no spoilers) and got me so turned on I had to do a M/b version...which kind of got expanded. So to the extent you like...and cum on/over/because of...this story, you have Charlie to thank.
"Grampa, do you like me doing this?"
Well, fuck, like my moans and holding his head still with my hands so I could fuck his little slut mouth couldn't give him his answer. Timmy is worse than my Rottweilers when it comes to needing praise! With John and Holmes (yeah, yeah, I know, but together they've got him way beat) some ear scratching, or head or belly rubbing would do the trick. But Timmy needs to hear it.
"Yes, baby boy, grampa loves what you're doing to his dick with your pussy mouth. Now start sucking grampa's meat again!"
My own damn fault, actually. I was too verbal when I trained him. But shit, Timmy's my first. Well, not my first little boy. I got my dick buried in a young boy's ass when I was thirteen. Johnny was six and I was babysitting him. I'd figured out I was queer about four years earlier, but never got to do anything about it. That was back in the "olden days" when there wasn't any internet, so my chances to see naked men and boys were pretty limited. Occasional toilet views when my dad or grampa or uncle took me when we were out somewhere and one of us just had to go. Changing rooms at the public pool. Changing rooms and the pool at the Y. I fucking loved the Y. Naked men and boys changing and swimming together. I was giving myself dry cums all the time, whenever I could get a moment alone.
All I was doing, though, was jacking. Little boys are generally pretty good at figuring that out for themselves without any instructions. But I didn't have a clue that there was anything else you could do. And my family (the male part) sure as hell wasn't doing any show and tell. Everything changed when I was eleven. At the Y.
I was old enough to go alone, but it wasn't like I could just stay there all day in the pool area (the only place you could be naked) storing up cock images in my head for later jacking, so I had definite time limits. This particular day it was getting close to the time I had to leave, and it wasn't a good idea to be late getting home since the later I was, without a very good, very believable excuse, the more my butt paid the price.
Anyway, as I got out of the pool I noticed the two naked "red" brothers leaving. My name for them in my mind. No idea who they were. Both redheads, the really bright kind, they looked a lot alike and they were always there at the same time, and always left at the same time. So they had to be brothers, with big brother looking out for little brother. The older one was maybe fourteen or fifteen. Bright soft pubes around a nice cock, with a bit of bright pit hair, too. The younger one was maybe five or six. So on this day they were walking ahead of me down the hall from the pool to the changing room, apparently not noticing I was behind them.
And the older one turned left at one of the two cross halls you passed, which was definitely not the way for two naked boys to get to the changing room. Or he tried to. The little one sort of yanked, and halfway struggled to get his hand free from his brother's and whined, "Brian, I don't wanna."
Hey, I recognized that whine. I'd used it myself. Of course, only when I was a little kid, like him. The whine that says you don't want to do whatever it is you're complaining about, but acknowledges you've done it before and probably enjoyed it, and might even enjoy it this time, but you were in a mood to be a little shit and cause problems. Brother Brian predictably dealt with it much like my dad would have...a hard hand yank back that made the little one stumble as they turned the corner and went out of sight.
I was going to just walk on by and ignore them, but when Brian started a harsh whisper I got curious, and stopped, and quickly edged up to the corner. "Look, brat, he's waiting and you know how pissed he gets if we're late."
"But it hurts."
"Jesus, kid, you know it's only for a little bit. And then it gets all better and you like it a lot. Right?"
They were meeting a man who'd be pissed if they were late? Something would hurt but then it would feel better?
"But, Brian...." The kid's voice was getting louder, and then there was a little grunt. I recognized that one, too. The kind of kid-grunt you give when your relative is irritated and shakes you to make that point. Which is pretty much the point at which you shut up.
"Look, how about this? I'll give you one of the dollars."
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Saturday, January 30, 2010