TIM'S JAR OF CUM
By Zachyboy
(t/b, romantic, facial, anal)

When I was about 10, there was a 15-year-old boy who lived across the
street from my grandma's house. My grandma babysat me a lot, so I was
always there, and he was always home, so I always went across the street to
play with him.

I was sexually active then with younger boys in my neighborhood, but never
seemed to get anything going with Tim, even though we hinted and danced
around it all the time. He liked to talk dirty to me and I liked to talk
dirty to him. He talked about fucking girls all the time. I assumed he had
because he was 15 and "worldly." He assumed I hadn't because I was 10 and
"just a kid." Turns out we both had it backwards.

He used to save up all his cum in a jar in his room. He would jack off and
shoot it in an old Miracle Whip jar and he'd show it to all the neighbor
boys. He talked about girls all the time. He talked about girls while he
messed around with boys, which was standard for a lot of my friends.

His cum-in-the-jar wasn't white anymore, of course. The acidity of air did
it's duty and what remained after months of storage was just thick and
clear and slimy. But he took great pleasure in showing it off. He loved to
show kids in the neighborhood his jar full of cum. And he always said
someday he was going to give it to Chelsey, a girl he obsessed over. She
was two years older than him, a senior in high school, and somehow he must
have thought the way to a girl's heart was through a shitload of cum,
because as far as we knew, that's who he was saving all that slimy old dick
juice for. And I have to admit, it was a pretty full jar. He kept the lid
on tight so it wouldn't evaporate or crystallize.

But he never really showed it to Chelsey, he just showed it to a whole LOT
of boys. I think it was his way of judging if they had any sexual interest
in him. And quite a few did. Show a little 10-year-old boy a jar full of
the magical, mysterious dick juice they can't even make yet, and then have
the 15-year-old who made it all put his hand down the front of your pants,
and yeah, a jar full of cum is a massively good aphrodisiac. It's sure a
hell of a lot more creative than "how big is yours?" "Wanna compare?"

So, that's what he did to me of course. Showed me his cum, got me all nice
and boned by rubbing my little dickie through my pants, then asked me to
eat his cum.

Well, not exactly eat it at first.

First, he just wanted me to touch it. He wanted me to stick my little hand
in that jar of slimy cock sauce, and squish it through my fingers.

Then he lifted my shirt up and off my skinny chest.

"Fuck," he said, looking at my little nipples. "So fucking hot."

Then he asked me to take his cum and rub it on my tummy. Rub it on my belly
button. Rub it on my nipples. And then rub it on my lips.

And I did.

And he unzipped his pants, took out his monster-hard cock, and started
stroking it, right in front of me.

"You like that cum, baby boy?" he teased me. "Does all that hot cum feel
all sticky on your titties?"

I didn't know what I was supposed to say, but I knew I liked it. I knew I
liked him talking dirty to me.

"Uh-huh," I said innocently. "I like your cum, Tim. I like your cum a lot."

"Because I'm getting ready to give you some more cum, baby boy," he grunted
hoarsely. "You think you want that, Zachy baby? You think you want some
more of my cum now?"

"Oh yeah," I whispered, really turned on. "I want more of your cum. Lots
more. Make more for me."

"Get on your knees," he hissed urgently. "Get on your knees now."

I complied by mere seconds before his fat cock was exploding, bursting,
firing off cum directly into my face, into my hair, onto my nose, into my
mouth. He shoved that fat fuck stick right into my lips, where I opened
instinctively, taking him inside me, sucking the salty bleach load off his
thick mushroom head. My own 10-year-old cock was about to burst.

It was so good. So hot, being fed that way. He didn't even have to help
me. As he finished his cum, I was already scooping his jizz from the side
of my face and feeding it to myself. Eating every bit of him I could
find. God I loved the taste of him. I took him deep into my mouth and
cleaned his cock for him. I wanted every last drop he could give me.

Afterwards, he was embarrassed.

He helped me get dressed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that. Please don't be mad."

I didn't understand. I liked what he did. Mad? I was throbbing hard. I
wanted more.

But he didn't suck me off. We were just done. Inexplicably done. It would
be two weeks before he tried anything again.

Two weeks later, he was talking dirty to me again. Telling me how he wanted
to fuck me. (Thank GOD, I thought, he's FINALLY going to do something else
to me!) and he did! He tried anyway. But it didn't work out. He tried to
fuck me in a storage shed in his yard. But it was in the middle of the
summer, it way too dark, it was way too hot, it was way too humid, and he
was way too nervous. It was like trying to fuck inside a steam iron,
worried about being caught.

And we had no lube at all, so he just couldn't get it in me, although God
knows I wanted him to. Frustrated, losing his hard-on, he turned around and
told me to fuck him instead. But I was too little. He was too tall. I
couldn't even line my cock up the right way. We were dripping with
sweat. It was a total, miserable failure, and I was so sad. I was so
frustrated. We just gave up.

And after that failed attempt in the storage shed with me, he never tried
anything with me again, even though we still hung out and remained friends
until he moved a couple years later. No more sex, no more beautiful
cum-covered facials, which was weird and frustrating to me, because he
talked about it all the time, he just never did anything to me again.

I would have allowed him free access. Open season. No limits. I did
everything with other boys. Everything. But he was five years older than
me. A big kid. A leader. I had no idea of how to ask him for it. I thought
it was out of my realm of request. I just kept waiting and waiting and
hoping he'd hit on me and want to try to fuck me again. But nothing.

Childhood ended. Life moved on.

I caught up with him just three years ago when he came out to visit me. He
looked me up online, and spent a couple nights in our guest room. We talked
a lot about childhood, and he said he'd had many bisexual experiences since
then, in youth, and in adulthood, and he was glad I was gay and happily
married now, and he thought gay sex was incredible. For instance, even
though he considered himself primarily straight most of his life, he'd had
lots of gay one-nighters, and he had to say, in all honesty, pussy was
pussy, but he really loved sucking a guy's cock and eating a guy's load.

We talked about all the kids we fucked around with when we were little. And
who did what to who, and what we did and how far we went. And it turns out
a lot of the little boys I was sucking and fucking with were the same
little boys he was sucking and fucking with. Yet we were both perplexed we
never did more with each other after that one hot cum shot, and that one
failed mating.

I said, when we were kids, after that time in the shed, why didn't you ever
make any more moves on me? Why didn't you ever try to fuck me again?

He said -- and this blew my mind -- he said, I felt so wrong for trying to
fuck you that day. I felt bad enough for cumming on your face that time,
but trying to fuck you, too? I just felt horrible about myself. He said, I
was just so old and you were just so young. And plus, I was just too
overwhelmed and in love with you back then.

He said, you were just this perfect, beautiful little boy, and I was just
this lusty, always-horny teenager. You were so completely high above me,
you were like an angel. I was just so filled with complete awe and
reverence for you, I didn't ever want to hurt you, and I didn't want to
take advantage of you or force you into anything, and I hated myself for
cumming on you, and I hated myself for trying to fuck you in that shed when
I held you in such high esteem. I was just ashamed of myself and I was just
overwhelmed with love and protection for you anytime I was near you and I
never wanted to try anything on you again. Other boys, yes. But not
you. You were just too perfect in my eyes. I couldn't make you into ME.

Make me into YOU? I just looked at him with my jaw hanging open and said,
MAKE ME? Do you have any idea how much I WANTED you back then? Just to hold
me and cuddle me and kiss me and feel me all over and sex me up and do
anything to me? Do you realize how much I wanted you to try it again? To do
ANYTHING you wanted? I worshipped you, Tim. Worshipped you! I just didn't
know how to tell you that. God, what a wasted opportunity, because I adored
you. I craved you. I would have done ANYTHING for you back then. You could
have done anything to me. Anything you wanted.

And we both just stood there on my patio, hearts pounding, just staring
into each other's eyes, and for a minute I didn't know what was going to
happen. Were we going to kiss? Fuck? Go inside and go down on each other?
It was just this breathless moment, suspended in time.

He looked so little. So shocked by what I'd just said. So tiny and sad.

So, I just moved up to him and engulfed him in my arms and hugged him, and
he just burst out crying, this 6'3" massively tall man, this man who had
been through Afghanistan and Iraq and God knows how many bar fights and
run-ins with the law, and I just held him and hugged him and he just wept
and sobbed in my arms, for, I don't know, five minutes? Ten? There was no
time that night. Just his heartbreaking sobs for opportunities lost, and a
time we could never go back to.

I don't know what happened that night. But it was incredibly painful and
incredibly sweet. And it was very powerful. And we didn't have sex. It
didn't end in a patented Nifty trademark ending where the guys both cum and
everybody's happy and we all move on to the next story.

But it was a beautiful moment, standing there in the dark night on my
patio, hugging him while he cried for what we never got to be for each
other as kids. What we absolutely could have been if either of us would
have been able to articulate the deep, powerful love we had for each other.

I think about him a lot and I hope he visits me again sometime when I can
see him privately. I hope he reads this and recognizes himself and reaches
out, even though I've changed his name.

I think we still have a lot of unfinished business. And I don't even mean
that in a wink-wink lusty, leering kind of way. I mean, if I do ever see
him again, I think we really will have sex this time. There's no question
about that. I really do want it. But I want him to take me lovingly,
quietly, tenderly. I think when we do wind up loving each other physically,
it's going to be achingly tender and a beautiful kind of closure we never
got to have as children.

I love you, Tim.

Thank you for my childhood.

I hope to see you secretly, and soon.

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Love,
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com