Petey was roaring into his fifteenth birthday with male hormones that were before his time. He could have been interested in girls at this point and gotten himself into a lot of trouble, as the girls certainly were interested in him. He was on the short side but was a trim championship swimmer, both for his high school and for his community pool teams, and he already was being scouted by some big-name college swim teams. The swimming had developed his chest, arm, and leg muscles so that he was really well put together in the body department. Beyond that, he was a handsome young man, sultry looking, with dark hair and eyes. He cut his hair so that an “oh my gosh” lock dropped down to almost his eyebrows.
He had a gold ring in his right ear. He’d read somewhere in the magazines he gathered surreptitiously and stashed away carefully that that meant something. Already, at nearly fifteen, he knew he didn’t like girls all that much. His raging hormones and the magazines he read told him he liked men. Not boys. Men. He wore a gold ring in his right ear to broadcast this interest, he hoped, having read that this meant that he was interested in being topped and was available.
Of course he didn’t understand what that was really all about. But boy was he keyed up to start in those kinds of experiences.
One such fantasy of Petey’s was being bonked by Mr. Monroe, who lived down the block from Petey’s family, which consisted now of only an overworked mother. His father had flown the coup when Petey was barely ten. Mr. Monroe was a former Marine in his late thirties who worked hard to keep himself in tip-top shape. He was a runner, and Petey frequently had seen him running around the neighborhood, wearing no more than skimpy shorts and running shoes without socks. He wasn’t muscle bound by any stretch of the imagination, but he was finely built and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere. His buzz cut and exercise regime screamed that once a Marine, always a Marine. He did have one thing that was oversized, though, and once Petey had seen that he began to obsess with being with Mr. Monroe.
It seemed Mr. Monroe ran past Petey’s house often when Petey was there and he’d slow down when he did and give Petey a friendly wave when Petey was outside the house, which he tried to be when Mr. Monroe was running by. Petey did some work for the Monroes--lawn mowing and trimming of bushes and such--and he always tried to do it just in shorts when the weather permitted, because this drew Mr. Monroe out of his house to watch Petey work. Petey would fantasize about Mr. Monroe pulling him into the bushes and fucking the stuffing out of him with that special, oversized thing Mr. Monroe had. He wished that Mr. Monroe had the same fantasy.
The first thing that started Petey to fantasizing about Mr. Monroe, though, was his wife. She was a cute little blonde thing who always looked so satisfied with herself and who popped out a baby every twelve or thirteen months or so. In his adolescent mind, this suggested to Petey that every minute Mr. Monroe wasn’t out running, he and Mrs. Monroe were in their bed “doing it.” The mere image of that turned Petey on. Mrs. Monroe was such a small thing and Mr. Monroe had such a big thing that Petey obsessed about how she was able to take him inside her--and he projected to the fact that he was a lot smaller than Mr. Monroe was too. To pop out babies as often as she did and smile about it as much as she did, Mrs. Monroe must like having Mr. Monroe inside her. So, in Petey’s mind, he probably would too.
As has been noted, Petey was suffering from raging hormones then, and found himself fantasizing about being in bed with the Monroes--for several weeks about being in bed with Mrs. Monroe, and then for a while with both of them, and finally, distressingly, as Petey got older and collected more magazines that turned him on, he fixated on being in bed with just Mr. Monroe.
The Monroes belonged to the same community club Petey’s family did, and in the summer before Petey’s fifteenth birthday, he found himself at the pool the same afternoon the Monroe clan was there. Mr. Monroe looked mighty fine poolside in that Speedo of his. He was in the shower of the men’s locker room soaping himself up when Petey entered the shower after his practice swims. A lump went to his throat. Mr. Monroe’s body was magnificent--all sinew and muscle in motion and rolling veins lacing his body, having been pushed to the surface by his muscle and lack of any fat in which to hide. He was every bit as sexy looking as the men in the magazines Petey collected. The boy’s eyes went directly to the man’s dick, which was the biggest and thickest he’d ever seen as it plunged out of a clump of red hair at Mr. Monroe’s groin. He was every bit as big as the men in the magazines. And he was here, real, not just in the pages of a magazine.
Petey hadn’t thought of Mr. Monroe as a red head; his buzz cut was just too short to tell from that, and the rest of his body appeared smooth and hairless from a distance. Petey could see now, when Mr. Monroe was soaping himself all over, that he had tufts of red hair at his pits as well. His cock was half hard from him spending extra time soaping it up, and Petey’s own cock came to quick attention at what he was seeing. Petey could go hard with just the pure mention of anything sex related.
Mr. Monroe obviously saw Petey staring at his package as well as what the boy’s cock was doing in response.
“Hey, hi there, Pete,” the man called out in a pleasant tone, not bothering to stop soaping around his dangling dick. “Like what you see?”
“Yeah,” Petey managed to burble out, and followed up with a lame, “I see you running in the neighborhood sometimes.” Like Mr. Monroe didn’t know that.
“Well, how old are you, again?” he asked straight out.
Petey told him.
“When’s your fifteenth birthday?” Mr. Monroe then asked, which seemed a strange question at the time.
Petey told him that too.
“Not much time then. You been looking me over real good,” he said. “I think you want some of this.” He was fisting his soaped-up cock, which was in full erection now. “Tell me if that’s not right.”
“Petey’s tongue felt three times as big as it was and was keeping him from answering.” If he did answer he was tempted to say that Mr. Monroe had been looking him over real good too and that he thought Mr. Monroe wanted a piece of him. But it’s what Petey had been fantasizing about, so he went dumb and looked sheepish.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Mr. Monroe said. He made a move toward Petey, but just then someone entered the locker room just beyond the showers, and Mr. Monroe moved back to his side of the chamber.
He smiled at Petey, though. “I like ‘em young. Fifteen’s pushing it for me. You decide you do want it, it should be before your birthday. Just let me know. Until then, keep yourself clean, ya hear? When I run, after I’ve gone by your house, I run into Henderson Park. Thought you might like to know that.” He winked at Petey, and then said, “And you could stand to do some running of your own.” With that, he rinsed off and left Petey and his boner alone in the locker room shower.
Petey started running after that, and he continued fantasizing about Mr. Monroe.
A couple of weeks later, Petey looked out of the window of his house and saw Mr. Monroe slow down and look at the house as he was running past, just in shorts and running shoes. Petey had been watching for that. He was just in shorts and running shoes too, and after Mr. Monroe had past, he came out of the house and started running too--back from Mr. Monroe, but within sight of him. Both were moving toward Henderson Park, a heavily wooded area.
Somehow Petey lost sight of Mr. Monroe, but he continued running into the park. As he was steaming down the trail, he heard another runner coming up behind him, someone who was opening it up a lot faster than Petey was. When the runner came up level to Petey, he boy saw that it was Mr. Monroe in his skimpy shorts and sockless running shoes. The man had gone off the trail and waited for Petey to pass him before resuming his run.
“How’s it going, Sport?” Mr. Monroe called out to Petey in a voice that showed no signs of breathlessness. “Happy not yet your fifteenth birthday. Today isn’t your birthday yet, is it? Your birthday is August 15th, right? I remembered right, didn’t I?”
Petey was surprised. He’d remembered. It was July 29th now. Petey confirmed that.
“I see you took my advice on running,” Mr. Monroe said with a grin. “Lookin’ good, Sport. You ready for it? Decided you want it? Time’s getting short. If you want it, follow me.” And then he was off in front of Petey, leaving the boy in his dust as if he weren’t even flat out running himself.
Neither of them misunderstood what “it” was.
Petey followed Mr. Monroe as the man veered off the path and ran into the dense woods. When Petey reached him, Mr. Monroe was sitting on a thick fallen tree trunk that time dead had stripped off the bark, leaving a hard, smooth surface on the trunk.
He said nothing as Petey approached. He just stood up from the tree. Without fanfare, he pulled Petey into his chest and into a lip-lock kiss. He took the boy’s right hand by the wrist and dipped it down between their bodies and laid it on his basket. Of course he was hard. Petey could feel him hard and massive through the flimsy running shorts and jock strap.
.... There is more of this story ...