GIVING RYAN A DRINK By Zachyboy M/b, oral, incest My nephew Ryan, who turned 11 last month, is still a big fan of Chuck E. Cheese, the pizza place, and I don't know how many times I've been in there with my sister, sitting at a booth eating cardboard pizza and breadsticks while Ryan and one of his school friends burn through about $40 worth of game tokens and spend God-knows how long cashing in tickets and picking out prizes, only to leave the place with about $2 worth of cheap trinkets. But hey, it's not about the prizes, it's all about the playing. And frankly, I'm always happy to come along, because while I'm sitting there at the booth sipping my caffeine-free Diet Pepsi while Ryan plays and my sister babbles on like so much chattery white noise in the background, I'm seriously checking out every little boy within viewing distance. It's a good thing when you bring a kid into Chuck E. Cheese they stamp your arm with ultra-violet ink, and they stamp your kid with a matching number, so when it comes time to leave, your number has to match the kid you came in with, otherwise left to my own devices, that place would be like Wal-Mart to me. Boys-R-Us. If I had one of those ultra-violet number-stampers in my pocket, I'd leave with a full load of groceries every time. Those kids are beautiful. I defy any boy lover to sit in that place and not be on ultra-high alert, senses tingling and imagination working double-time as a parade of beautiful boys passes in front of you, one after another. I often sit there listening half-heartedly to my sister Jen as she talks about the latest dramas at work, or her latest row with her on again-off again boyfriend Derrick. Meanwhile, I'm watching Ryan, who is blond-haired, blue-eyed, drop-dead gorgeous, or Benny, his little school friend du jour, who is equally desirable, and any number of anonymous little angels who pass by the booth. Sometimes I'll even sit typing on my phone – my sister assumes I'm texting or on Facebook – but really, I've got my note screen open, just jotting down little notes and memories of some of the boys I'm obsessing over – fuel for later jack-off sessions. What do they look like? What are they wearing? What games were they playing? Yeah, it's pretty obsessive, but that's life at the Big Chuck, the last great place in America where a kid can be a kid and a perv can be a perv. Take today for example. As Jen chattered on, I was typing down notes in my phone and enjoying the view and imagining all the pervy things I'd like to do with any and all of the following boys: "8-year-old. Blue loafers with a Superman logo. White ankle socks. Blue "Despicable Me" minion shirt. Brown shorts, knee-length. Brown, spiky hair. Playing Harpoon Lagoon and the Dead-Storm Pirates shooting game. Has a brother, a year or two younger. Same t-shirt, darker shorts, same cute, crisp, clean white ankle socks, only he has Batman shoes. I keep imagining the two of them kissing. Hugging. Tenderly falling asleep together in sleeping bags, little superhero shoes lined up next to each other by the door. Matching undies I'd love to investigate." "4-year-old. Mohawk boy. Light brown hair. Button-up, short-sleeve checkered shirt. Blue, grey and white patterns. Cute little cutoff blue jean shorts with fringes on the legs. He has a ring of keys attached to one belt loop. Huge collection of keys. They dangle straight between his legs like a big dickie he almost certainly does not own yet. Must be old, unneeded toy keys his parents gave him to play with. Why else would a 4-year-old have all those keys? He's like the school janitor! Only 4 and adorable. Green and white tennies. Red and black checkered ankle socks. Heartbreakingly cute. I don't want to do him, I want to adopt him! He's playing Sponge Bob Square Pants Bikini Bottom Bowling. No sexual thoughts at all. Just want to hug him and tickle him and buy him a new bike with training wheels." "9 or 10-year-old. Stocky, but not fat. Yellow flag shirt. Some soccer team I can't identify. Beige cargo shorts. Nice meaty ass. Not big, just cheeky. I bet it would feel good to slide into those cheeks. Half-Asian look. Close-cropped black hair. Not a buzz cut, just close-cut. Buzzed at the neck, longer bowl-cut on top. Chubby cheeks on his face. Surprisingly lean, long legs. Black flip flops. Toes I'd like to stuff in my mouth and suck while I cum on his ass crack. This boy is hot. I wish he'd go to the bathroom to pee. I think I'd go follow him, just hoping for a look. I'm obsessing over him, as he stands there playing, all cute and excited and happy. I can't help wondering if he's cut or uncut. Come on kid, let's go take a pee together." "4-year-old. Brother of the stocky kid. Tiny. Scratching his butt and squeezing his little peter all the time. He definitely has too pee, but he's a little out of my age range. He's eating a bread stick, shooting at subs, playing Sea Wolf. I can tell he's the brother of the stocky kid because their shoes and socks match. When parents have two boys, they shop in pairs, no matter the age difference. Want to see brothers in a crowded room? Look for the shoe colors." "7-year-old. Slim, and award-winningly beautiful. Just a tiny, perfect boy. White t-shirt, light blue border. Repeating square pattern of cartoon motorcycles on his shirt. Dark grey shorts. "Aiden!" his mom keeps calling after him. Hello, Aiden. I'm Chris, and I love you today. Chuck E. comes out and the kids all sing "Heads and Shoulders, Knees and Toes," (Knees and Toes!), and Aiden bends over to touch his toes. I shiver in appreciation. He is perfect. His shorts are way too loose for his tiny little butt. Such a shame. Kids, let's please go back to the days when you all wore tight shorts, not these loose monstrosities of 2014. Later, Aiden rides the plastic carnival horse with the white plastic body and black plastic mane. "Ken Chuck E. Derby," the horse ride is called, too clever for its own good. Aiden rides and laughs and bucks on the horse, pretending. I can't take my eyes away. I'm pretending too." "Hello?" my sister says, annoyed. "Earth to Chris." "Huh?" I say, clicking off my note screen. "You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?" she grins. "Always lost in Facebook land." "What can I say?" I shrug. "It's way more interesting than you." She crumples a napkin and throws it at me, playfully. I tuck my phone in my pocket. An inventory of boys to dream of and jack off to later. "So, I was saying, please, please, please can you come over tonight and watch Ryan and Benny? I told Benny's dad he could stay at our place tonight, but then Jaycee's baby got sick, so I told her I'd take her shift. Please?" "Oh, huh? Sure, whatever." I stayed over at their house all the time anyway. It was two blocks away from mine. Not like it was a big deal to sleep there instead of at my place. Plus, I always enjoyed a little extra time perving on my cute little nephew Ryan, sneaking peeks at him in the tub or the shower, even getting lucky and helping him change into his jammies once in a while, where I could sneak a peek at that lovely little hairless package of his, and that tight, amazing bubble butt. He was the fuel of many fantasies over the years, believe me, though I'd never touched until tonight. Or rather, vice-versa, which is closer to the truth. Everything was purely chaste up to this point. A little pervy, but completely hands off. After Ryan went to sleep, I'd help myself to his hamper, and enjoy a good long sniff of the undies he wore that day – fresh, ripe and exceedingly fragrant – before jacking myself to a full day's conclusion and settling down for sweet dreams in the guest room. "No problem," I told my sister. "Happy to help out." "And it's okay that Benny's staying over?" she asked, wincing a little, like it might be too much. (Ha! If she only knew). "They're good boys together. They never get wild." "The more the merrier," I smiled. And boy, did that turn out to be true. # # # # # # # # # # So, put yourself in my shoes. She was wrong about the "never get wild" part. Ryan and Benny have known each other since babyhood, gone to school together forever, they both just finished 5th grade together and they head to middle school together in the fall. When you arrive, they're already wrestling in pajamas on the floor. Crazy blurs of color. Ninjago and Spider-Man and flannel and heat flying everywhere. Your dick gives a lurch, a respectful salute, just watching them. Benny is a pretty little boy. You met his dad at a school play once and you sensed a co-perv in your midst. Something about the way he stood there with his arm around his Benny, lightly rubbing his shoulder, sometimes bending down to plant a kiss on his head, subconsciously, like he did it all the time at home and was forgetting he was in public now and probably shouldn't. Or maybe you read it wrong. Who knows. Ryan said Benny's mom died when he was little. Maybe you were just watching a dad and son in the aftermath of survival. Overly familiar because they were all they had left. But tonight, babysitting, you take one look at Benny's slim little ass and his sweaty little neck, and you're more than willing to move him up two notches on the benefit-of-the-doubt scale. You can almost picture his dad giving him a little roll in the hay before they call it a night. And from your standpoint, you're hoping Benny changed undies before he put his jammies on tonight, because then there'll be a dirty little treasure in the backpack you see tossed casually next to the couch. Those backpacks are fun to explore when Ryan has a sleepover and the boys go to bed. You've played a few rounds of backpack before. Clean or dirty, there's always at least one pair of undies inside to admire and enjoy. And your nephew Ryan truly is a creamy little dream. His blond hair is tousled and sticking up in funny places, his cheeks are cherubic, his turquoise-blue eyes light up the room. He makes eye contact with you and he holds it. You admire his confidence. Then showing you how entirely unimpressive you are in the grand scheme of boyhood, he nods, he smiles, and goes back to his wrestling. That's okay, Ryan. It's an honor just to look at you. Jen leaves, and frankly, you're not quite sure what's going on with these two boys. They're clearly way too grab-assy for a couple of 11-year-olds, not that you're bothered in the least by that random show of familiar line-crossing. You never quite know how to read "humpy" boys, when they're being goofy with each other and rubbing dicks on each other's legs, or pinning each other down and doing that giggly, silly, dry-humpy butt thing. Boys of that age are just starting to figure out what the parts do, and homoerotic usually has a tiny bit to do with it, but usually not too much. At that age, it's still, mostly, just being stupid. They vaguely know that grabbing a little too fast or rubbing a little too hard in certain spots comes with certain tingles, so they keep it up and they do it again, but it's really still without purpose at that age. They're brand new guitar players trying to strum like Knopfler, or Harrison, or Jimi. They know some of the notes, they just haven't run all the right riffs yet. At 11, thank you Jesus, boys are dumb, boys are giggly, boys have hormones. It's a little bit of wrestling, it's a little bit of "rub my dick here and I'll rub yours there," but it's all fun and games, and as you sit down on the couch to take a few surreptitious cell phone pictures, pretending you're on Facebook, Ryan and Benny are certainly holding nothing back in the tickly, giggly show they're giving you. For an hour it seems, they wrestle in their pajamas on the floor in front of you, getting you all kinds of hard. At one point, Benny catches Ryan's head in a scissor lock, right between his hot pajama legs. And he holds him there. And there's a look of pure bliss on his face. Seriously. For a moment there, he closes his eyes, holds his best friend's ass between his legs and looks exactly like he knows what he should be doing down there. Benny might be getting something at home, you think. Maybe that dad of his is teaching him the ways of the world after all. But it's getting late and you're getting hard. You'd like to just put these two little Spike-TV wrestlers to bed so you can slink off into the guest room, hopefully with some sweaty cloth in hand, to have a good cum and call it a night. After all, by this time, both boys are coated with a shiny sheen of sweat, and it's all you can do not to dive in there between them and give the whole shooting match a good hard lick for luck. They're wet and glistening. Benny looks worldly. Ryan looks adorable. You can practically smell their heat from across the room. But honestly, they seem oblivious to your lust. The fact that there's a grown man sitting on the couch, with a hard-on showing through his sweats the size of a banana, doesn't even register on their radar. They just keep wrestling and tickling and grabbing each other's dickies and ramming them, fully clothed, up against each other's legs and butt cheeks until they're all tired out and ready for bed. So, bed it is. # # # # # # # # # # After they brush their teeth and hop into Ryan's bunk bed – Benny on the top and Ryan on the bottom – (and don't for a minute think the words "top" and "bottom" don't make your mind wander) – you go downstairs and help yourself to a generous helping of Jen's Malibu rum. Not your favorite beverage by any means, but poured in a big old plastic cup four fingers tall and mixed with a Coke from the fridge, enough to get a little buzz on, it'll do just fine. It's a present prelude to what you're hoping to go upstairs to do; grab some undies, grab some lotion and call it a night in the next room. But when you get back upstairs, life has other plans. "Uncle Chris," Ryan whispers. "Can you help me pee?" Not a biggie. Ryan's afraid of the dark hall, still, at 11. You walk him to the loo many-a-time. "Sure, Sport," you whisper back. "But let's be quiet, okay? Let's not wake Benny." "Nah, he's asleep already," Ryan says. "He goes out fast and sleeps like a log." Speaking of logs, you think, adjusting the big one in your pants, which still hasn't gone quite back down into dormancy. Ryan hops out of his covers, and he's no longer in his jammies. Now he's just in a t-shirt and undies. Little Faded Glory briefs, with electric guitars on them. Sexy, you think, as you notice the way they're molded to his ass crack. You'd like to see what's underneath. You'd like to touch what's underneath. Someday, you dream. But not tonight. You walk down the hallway, with Ryan leading. He seems uncomfortable, like there's something he wants to say to you, but he's not quite sure how to get the words out. Reaching the bathroom, he flips on the light, lifts the toilet seat, completely un-shy, takes his little peter out, a marvel to behold, 3 when soft, 4 when hard, and starts shooting a firm and noisy stream of golden yellow boy piss into the bowl, all with the typical careless splatters and splashes of an 11-year-old at work. "Benny says his dad licks his butt sometimes," Ryan blurts out. "That's why we were playing dicks and butts when we were wrestling tonight." Good God, you think. So much for a segue. "He licks his...what?" you sputter, not expecting that one at all. "His Dad licks his butt hole," Ryan repeats like you're dumb. "All the time. He says his dad likes to smell his undie stains and licks all over his butt crack and balls. And his dick too," he giggles, "Only they call it a pee-cock." You're stunned and silent. A pee-cock? You don't even know how to respond to this. "Well, I..." you try to regain composure. "Is it weird or gross to lick somebody's butt crack?" your nephew asks you. "Well, no..." you say, choosing your words carefully. "I mean, it's a pretty grown-up thing to do, but, well, a lot of people do it, a lot of grown-ups probably...but I mean, it's not something a dad is really supposed to do to his son..." "Yeah, that's what I figured," Ryan says, squeezing the last few drops of piss out of his dick. "But Benny was teaching me how to lick butt cracks anyway. It's actually not too bad," he says, matter-of-factly. You're about to jump out of your skin. "Are you scared or mad about it?" you ask, trying to play the concerned adult, when really, you'd like to go back to the bunk bed and duplicate Dad's handiwork and have little Benny teach you what he's learned, too. Shit, the kid's already had his back door slurped on. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Nah," Ryan says. "It's kind of tickly. I mean, it tastes like a butt, but whatever. You can't have everything." "Wow," you say simply. "So, he licked yours, or you licked his?" You're still trying to do the math in your head. "We both licked each other's," he shrugged. "It's easy to learn. He also showed me how to suck dicks. He says he drinks the squirty-stuff that comes out of his dad's dick when they do it. He says his dad calls it "giving him a drink." Now your boner is definitely awake. "Giving him a drink, huh?" you say with a grin. "Wow. That's a pretty good description of it." "We don't have our squirty-stuff yet," Ryan says. "But his dad makes tons." "Whew!" you whistle softly. It appears your son's BFF is pretty informed on anatomy and juices. Ryan's still in cum-detective mode. "How much comes out when the squirty-stuff comes out of a guy?" he asks. "I guess it depends," you shrug. "Some guys make more, some guys make less." Holy shit. You have to put an end to this line of questioning, or you're going to make the squirty stuff in your pants in about two minutes. "Let's get back to bed, okay Sport?" "Okay." "And let me know if anything Benny does is uncomfortable to you, okay? Otherwise don't worry about it. Just be kids. Enjoy." "Okay." "And, uh, don't tell your mom. Moms usually don't get this stuff at all." He giggles. "Okay," he says again. You walk him back down the hall. He hops into bed, pulls the covers over himself and says goodnight. "Goodnight," you say, looking at him from the doorway, really appreciating how beautiful he is. Really appreciating all the things you'd really like to say to him. Or do to him. Squirty-stuff. Jesus. You shiver a little. How badly you'd like to teach him about squirty-stuff. # # # # # # # # # # You've been in the guest room for 45 minutes now. You've finished your first rum and coke and made yourself a second. Then a third. You're pacing. In heat. You're not quite sure what to do. You have an 11-year-old boy in the top bunk next door who is fully experienced at being licked by a man and swallowing his father's load. You wonder if he'd take care of you too if you woke him up and explained that Ryan told you what he knows how to do. And then you have Ryan himself. Beautiful. Perfect. Willing to talk. Willing to learn. Would he tell your sister? Would it be your little secret, the two of you? Was he coming on to you? Asking you to teach him? Or was he just innocently filling you in and asking puzzling questions? You have no idea. But your dick is rock hard and leaking pre-cum. This is crazy. You should just jack off and go to sleep. You almost do. But you're half drunk, wound-up, and then before you know it, there's a voice from down the hall. "Uncle Chris?" it calls. Oh God, you think. Don't make me go back in there. Your heart is pounding and your head is reeling. You've had way too much to drink now, and you're not quite sure you have the self-control to stop something from happening if you go back in that bedroom. But you do. You're too horned-up at this point to ignore what you need. It's Ryan you need, and please, God...you're really hoping he needs you, too. # # # # # # # # # # "What's up, Sport?" you whisper from the doorway. You think your speech might be just slightly slurred, but Ryan doesn't seem to notice. "I can't sleep," he whispers back. "My thing is all hard from when we were talking about Benny and I can't get to sleep." With that, he pulls down the covers, and he no longer has his underwear on, or his shirt. He is completely naked, fully erect and deliciously inviting. You moan a little in spite of yourself. "Oh, Ryan," you whisper. "You really need to put your jammies back on." "Can you lick me a little," your nephew says pleadingly. "Just a little bit, like Benny's dad does to him? I just want to know what it feels like." "Oh, Ryan," you say again. "I really can't be doing anything like that. I really can't be..." "Right here," your nephew interrupts, and he reaches down, spreads his legs apart, and touches the very tip of his index finger to his now open rosebud, which you can't see from the angle you're at, but you can imagine all the same. "Oh, God," you moan. "I touch it sometimes when I jack off," he admits like it's nothing. "I even put it inside sometimes. I can get it really far in now. It feels neat." "Oh, Ryan," you groan. "You don't know what you're doing to me." "Uncle Chris?" he whispers innocently. And this time he looks up at you with those big blue eyes, and you know for a fact he's flirting with you. He reaches out ever so lightly and runs his finger across the hard dick inside your sweat pants. He smiles. He looks up at you and looks you right in the eye. "Will you please give me a drink?" You don't say a word. You just stand there, staring at his hard little cocklet. His finger in his ass. His beautiful eyes. He licks his lips and you just about lose your mind. But you haven't moved, so he says it again. "A drink," he repeats, quietly. And it almost looks like his eyes are misting up. So sweet. So sincere. "Please just give me a drink like Benny's dad gives Benny." You walk over to his bunk bed quietly, like you're on autopilot. You don't know what to do, but it seems he already has it figured out. "Pull your pants down," he whispers. Your dick lurches at the thought. You tug them down and it springs free, just inches from his face. He gasps. He's awed by how big it is compared to his. "We have to be quiet," he whispers. "I don't want Benny to wake up." He pauses. "This is my drink. Just mine." "Oh, God," you moan again. With a movement so fast and subtle it could have been a magic trick, Ryan reaches out quietly and takes your leaking dick into both of his little hands. He holds it there, just for a second, mesmerized by its size and its power. You don't have the biggest dick in the world, not by any means, but to an 11-year-old boy, it must seem massive. To your little nephew, whose own hard cocklet is barely four skinny inches on the best of days, your rock hard six or seven must feel like a tree stump. And Ryan, who doesn't say another word, holds it for just a second in limbo, grasping it reverently in his tiny, shaking hands, almost like he wonders what do with it. He's contemplating, you think, in the grand scheme of his little life, just what exactly this incredible temptation is for and what happens once he starts doing what he really wants to be doing with it. And then slowly, almost methodically, he begins to figure it out. Just like he's stroked his own little willy so many tingly times before, he starts to do the same for you. Ryan's hands are fumbling at first. Unsure and unsteady. But little by little as he hears you catching your breath and realizes the things he's doing actually feel good to you, he gains confidence and speed, and rhythm and purpose. "Spit on it, Ryan," you whisper with a low growl. "Can you make it wet for me, baby? Can you make it more slippery?" It's almost like he doesn't hear you at all. He does nothing to heed your request. Just keeps stroking steadily at your rock hard prick, staring straight at it. His eyes not moving for a second. His own little dick is rock hard, and he's on autopilot and he doesn't quite understand what you're asking him. Doesn't quite understand what his spit has to do with this...this...whatever magical thing he is doing to your dick right now. You take the matter into your own hands and his. You grab his hands from the center of your shaft and you bring them up to your mouth. You spit in his palms. You let your saliva drool into the cups of his hands. You lick his palms. They taste like salt. You wet him in a way he's already wetted himself when he jacks off alone. You know he does, because you've heard him before. And lubrication delivered, you place his hands back around your dick like he had them before. He resumes his stroking quietly and purposefully, as if he never stopped. "Wait," you whisper. "Let me do you too." You reach down to try to take his tiny cocklet into your hands but he shakes his head. "Nuh-uh," he says. "Just me. Me first." And he pushes your hand away. "But your butt," you whisper. "You wanted me to taste your butt, right?" He giggles. "Okay, but just touch it a little and then lick your finger." Oh, God. Your cock leaks even harder when he says that. "Touch my butthole and lick my finger?" Who says that? Who dares? This must be death, and heaven. Reaching down with one spit-soaked finger, you search for his tiny rosebud. You're having a hard time finding it. He's so small. Christ, where is it? If you don't find it soon, here in the dark, you're going to lose your mind! Or your load! "Uh-uh," he giggles. "It's right here." And he grabs your finger with one of his hands, and he zeroes it in right on target, and practically guides your finger into his waiting hole, which you're amazed to discover, is already dripping wet with his own tacky spit. He must have been fingering his own hole long before he called you back into his bedroom. "Oh my God," you moan to yourself, amazed, as your finger easily slides into his boy hole up to the first knuckle, then the second. It feels hot in there, and sticky, and tight. And the muscles of his sphincter are literally nipping at your finger, sucking it in. He giggles again. "Now take it out," he whispers. "Take it out and taste the flavor." You do what he says, entirely at his bidding now. Lost in a fog of wonder and lust. You bring it to your nose. Sniff deeply. Moan. It is rich, earthy, sweet, sour, sticky, all at once. All good. All boy. You bring it to your mouth, you suck it greedily. You moan when you taste him. Salty. Rich. Like vinegar. Like apples. It makes your tongue tingle. It makes you groan. You could suck this taste off your finger forever. You're hungry for every molecule. You could eat this all night. And Ryan goes back to stroking your now insanely-hard cock. You watch amazed, as this little 11-year-old boy, your beautiful nephew, strokes your pulsing fuck stick, not scared, not nervous, not fearful in the least, just giving you, hands-down, what is turning into the best, hottest, most unexpected, picture-perfect jack-off you've ever been the recipient of. And God, if Christmas miracles really do come true, the second you're about to come, Ryan opens his mouth as wide as he can, he opens it insanely wide – you can see his tongue, his throat, his uvula, his sweet, pearly teeth...you can see everything...and pulling your dick down toward his own sweet lips without missing a single, perfect stroke, he opens wide, wider than you can imagine, wider than you thought possible, and directs your pulsating cockhead right into his gaping boy mouth. "Oh, Christ! Oh, Ryan! Oh, shit! UNNNGH! UNNNGGGHHH!" you grunt, as your whole body tenses and every muscle contracts, and a million volts of electricity shoot through your being as you freeze and groan and unleash a gasping load of streaming jizz into the depths his hungry mouth chamber. He shudders and takes it. He doesn't miss a drop. The transformation is amazing. He looked like a boy at peace and at play, intent, but unconcerned, but the second he saw you tense up, about to cum, his eyes became hungry and wild, like an animal, like a hunger you don't even understand, and he opened up for your load like a starving flower. And you feed him, and feed him, and feed him. He gasps and he gags as his mouth laps and swallows and covers your cock head as you feed him the thick, oozing semen a second ago you'd have sworn would have shocked him. But he's not alarmed at all. He's hungry, he's moaning, too. And as your cum gushes out in wad after wad, he's eating it like a slut, like a pro, going down on your head and gobbling your gushing load like a full-grown man eating his last meal. You are stunned by the way he utterly devours you. His little lips and mouth around your cockhead are making your mind explode. His little tongue is flicking into your piss slit, trying to get it all before it comes out. He is not giving up anything. He is eating your wad with gusto. You have never had anybody eat your jizz like this, not ever. No grown-up man has ever done you like this. And your nephew Ryan is gobbling it. Loving it. Needing it. "Mmmm," he is moaning. "Good drink...good drink." You are losing every drop into your nephews warm and welcoming mouth, shaking, quivering, feeding him shamelessly while he mumbles, gratefully, "good drink, good drink." And in the midst of that mind-blowing cum, you look up at the top bunk, purely by chance, and there is Benny, eyes wide open, looking at you and smiling. "I told you he'd like drinking that stuff," Benny giggles. And down below, Ryan giggles too. It's almost too much. You stand there in wonderland, stunned and speechless. Your legs are shaking, your mind is reeling, and everything in your body is exhausted and happy, as these two co-conspirators watch you come down from the aftermath of your mind-shattering cum. "Thank you, Ryan," you manage to gasp. "And thank you, Benny, for teaching him how to do that." The boys just giggle, a secret camaraderie you may never be a part of. But as long as it includes moments like this, you'll never be sorry you live on the amazing, remarkable fringe of their lives. You tuck Ryan in. You kiss his forehead. You may have said goodnight to both boys, but you truly can't remember. You're too overwhelmed by everything. You walk back to the guest room, where you'll inevitably have dream after dream about what just impossibly happened tonight, and as you do, you're almost sure you hear the boys giggle, shifting in their bunk beds and joining each other. To finish each other off. To finish what Ryan started. To take care of those hard little pricklets of theirs and turn them into soft little pricklets once again before the night is over. Oh yes, you think, listening closely and hearing quiet little boy moans coming from the room next door. There's some real, wild exploring going in in there right now, the way little boys are supposed to enjoy each other when their friends sleep over. For a minute you want to go back and join them, but this is something you need to leave alone. For Benny, who learned from his dad and is sharing the knowledge with a friend, and to Ryan, who is sharing his newfound interest with his favorite uncle, this is a moment you can allow them to have with each other tonight, with respect, and distance, and silent admiration. There are lots of days ahead. Lots of sleepovers in the future. And lots more chances to give your nephew a nice big drink whenever he gets thirsty. You're happy to give it to Ryan OR Benny. And only time will tell who gets the next drink. Your squirty-stuff is available anytime. # # # # # # # # # # Love, Zachyboy z.blake@mail.com