Date: Thu, 24 Jul 2008 18:20:11 -0700 (PDT) From: Matthew Templar Subject: Never Take Love For Granted - Chapter 37 All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. Every word of this story is fiction. Nothing within this tale happened to anyone I know. Any reference to anyone, anything or any place, real, living or dead is coincidental. If there is someone that has written a law saying that you can't read this story because of age or local laws or other such 'wisdom', then you haven't really gotten this far into Nifty to read this anyway, right! But write to me and tell me if you liked it anyway. * * * * Finally, no author with any wits about them is without a good editor. I happened to have one of the best. A lot of your enjoyment is because he has figured out what I wanted to say. So, there is not enough room to express my gratitude to my friend, Dwight Wilson, for his dedication to the editing of this work and encouraging me to continue. Read Brad's Idol (now completed), Second Time Around (his newest), both in Adult/Youth, and New Horizons in Authoritarian (it's really a beautiful tale about freeing boy slaves and is very anti-authoritarian, to say nothing of the emotions it evokes) to know the experience he brings to my story. You will not be disappointed! He has also recently been added to the Prolific Author's list. Email me, Matthew Templar at matemp1148@yahoo.com * * * * * * Never Take Love For Granted - Chapter 36 There was movement on my side, my Grant side. It woke me enough to make me realize that my bladder was telling me to get in there and empty it. Slipping quietly away, so as not to wake the little darling, was not a problem. I just moved out from under him when he got restless again and moved around. When he came down, I wasn't there to break the fall. Over my shoulder, as I walked to the toilet, I heard him. "Ow! Hey!" As I stood before the bowl, feeling the gentle rush of relief, I noticed that it was still dark out and the coolness of the morning was beginning to make its way into the little cabin. It felt refreshing. Beside me stood my little guy, in all his naked glory, except for two things. He didn't have his little woody with him and he wasn't sleepwalking. "I said ow, ya know." His indignation at my neglect for his welfare was evident in his voice. He was building his character to make a great teenager. He was staring at the bubbles my pee was making in the bowl in front of us. His intentions were, evidently, only to scorn me, not to relieve himself. "I know. I heard ya. How come you're up and so restless?" I tried to make up for my neglect with deep feeling in my words. I shook myself dry and turned to him, but he was already walking away. After flushing and washing my hands I joined him on the couch. He'd grabbed an old, thin quilt and tried to wrap himself in it. One butt cheek and one leg were hanging out still. I grabbed the quilt from him, and shook it until it was totally open. "Hey!" He was moping expertly. "Okay, Grant," said I, sitting as close to him as possible and letting the quilt flutter down to cover both of us. The little poop grabbed it all in a wad on top of him and, again, tried to spread it out on only him! "What is going on? Why are you being such a poop? What have you done with my little love, uh 'what's his name'?" He slapped at my shoulder half-heartedly. "Stop it. You know my name." But he was trying not to laugh. That's good. "I dunno. I can't sleep. I keep havin' dreams about stuff; icky dreams. But . . . ." I waited. And waited. I forced myself not to yawn; not because I wasn't concerned, but because I was still tired, exhausted. "Grant, can't you tell me anything that's buggin' you? If you share something with me, and you're honest about it, I won't be hurt. But if I thought you couldn't tell me something, I'd be crushed." "It's not that. I guess I miss us, I miss more of the feelings stuff, and I, well, I just like it with you; that's all." He lowered his blushing head into the quilt. Then, he turned just so his mouth came out of the quilt for him to add, "And I still stink too much for ya to do anything, huh?" Hadn't we just enjoyed our pleasures together? "What?" I made a big deal about pushing my head into him and snorting and sniffing. Actually, I was amazed that he didn't still smell. I still smelled it somewhere, but it wasn't on him. To make sure . . . , "He-e-e-y!" came his high-pitched cry. I grabbed his closest leg and raised it as far as I could. His head flopped onto the couch and the quilt covered his head. As his flailing arms and one leg tossed the quilt over the back of the couch, I stuck my head between his dimpled cheeks and sniffed really hard, long and loud. By now he was laughing like my Grant should be all the time. "Nope. Not a whiff of stinky varmint anywhere I can tell." Of course, while I proclaimed my results, I continued my investigation by sniffing and licking anything that came into reach. I finally let his leg drop. He sat up with a big grin and gave my chest a big push. Keeping in character, I threw my arms up and back and plunged onto our makeshift bed, turning as I went, so that I landed on my stomach. I heard one happy squeal and felt a ten year old pounce on my backside. His giggle was music. It got me laughing until he put his hands over my eyes. I grabbed his hands and began kissing them as erotically as I could. He tried to pull them back, but I held on. I also began to get more serious and more loving in my kisses. It worked its magic on Grant. He began to calm down. "David?" Soft, high-pitched voice. He was my Grant again, it seemed. "Yes," Smack. "Little love." Smooch. "What's up?" Smooch, smooch. "He he he. That tickles. I still smell it. I can't figure out where but I still stink; at least to me I do. I doe wanna do that anymore. I wanna be normal and nice, he he he, for you." Hmm. I had to think on this one. Ah. "Grant. Go close the door. We left our stinky, smelly clothes out there. I bet that's where you smell it." "O-o-h!" He jumped up, without the need to plant his knee or anything sharp on my boys, ran to shut the door and ran back. He was now sporting his woody, too. "I'll be right back." I think he was back before the bowl started to flush. He stood proudly in front of my prostrate body, looked up, sniffed and raised his hands and arms. "Ha! I think you were right?" What were the chances of that? I noticed a drop on the end of his three inches of hardening boy stick and flicked at it. He swung his hips to avoid me. "Hey, you! Just for that!" Pounce! Not really, but he was back to laying on my back, his stiffening projectile nestling in between my butt cheeks, his head turned and lay on my shoulder blades, his legs on the outside of mine and his hands holding me in an arm hug. M-m-m-m-m. My favorite size of boy blanket and made out of my favorite materials: smooth, soft loving boy. How could I ever take a lover like him for granted? Never. Now, love is a wonderful thing. And, while mine had reached many new plateaus those last few weeks, there was also the need for other vital things that would certainly make my love grow stronger. Try to tell that to a ten year old humping you on your backside! He was doing kind of a wave, I've heard it called the worm, too, much like I could imagine a dolphin gliding through the ocean. First, his head would come up and, as it was going down, his tummy would arch up, then, though much stiffer, his legs would rise up and come down as he started with his head again. He was doing it very gently so it took me awhile to understand what he was getting out of it besides knowing he was keeping me awake. I had just settled my head down on my crossed arms, willing to wait out his display of energy, when I felt him rubbing at the gateway to my back door. His hardened penis had found its way between my cheeks and was chiseling its way, back and forth, as close to entering my doorway as I could imagine. He grasped onto a rhythm and concentrated on the parts that felt good to him, scooting his butt a bit to either side or forward until I heard him take in a gulp of air and then slowly let it out, having achieved just the right place to get the best feeling he thought he could. I tried not to chuckle out loud when I realized what he was doing. His head went down to my shoulder blades as he plunged in a little bit harder than before. I could feel his hard pencil slipping over my portal, causing some delight on my part. It was funny to think that all he had to do was line up perfectly and I'd be, "HUH?" He did it! "A-h-h-h. Oh, man, oh man. Aw-w-r-g-h. Oh wow. That's so . . . awesome. Can you . . . feel that, David? It's like, it's like, . . . oh man. Awesome!" He was silent on his downstroke, not able to concentrate until he pulled out a ways. It actually didn't feel too much bigger than a finger, except for being hotter. 'Hm-m-m, that doesn't feel so bad at all, I just have to . . . ,' As I thought it, I did it, but a little too fast. He'd moved his legs up onto my thighs as he began his pumping. I knew he could achieve greater depths if my legs were out of the way, so . . . , "Aw-w-H-a-h!" Whoa, it worked. He was short, thank goodness. But he was long enough to expand my limited knowledge of what the three teen boys were feeling the other day. "Oh my God, Grant! That's incredible. It feels so, so, so . . . ." He stopped! "David, I didn't even think . . . . I'm sorry. Does it hurt?" "Grant, Grant. Keep moving. Oh, you feel . . . m-m-m, . . . so wonderful." "He he, really?" I nodded and he slowly got into his cycle again. Just that little rest must have relaxed me because the shock and tightness that I'd enjoyed had worn off, though not enough so I wasn't still high on the incredible sensations he was giving me. Slowly, as I began to put these events into perspective, to realize who was on me and who was in me, the feelings spread to other places of my body, inside and out. Warmth, tingling, pulling and pushing; everything was getting so blurry and . . . so magnificent. He was just a little boy. Did he have any idea how much pleasure he was giving me? It didn't hurt that my own penis was rubbing against the blankets under me. "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh, David. Uh, . . . uh . . . oh man, oh-h-h-h-h. Arhgh! A-ARGRH! Ah-h-h." His body rutted and slammed into me of its own will. I could feel Grant's body twitching wildly as his cock plunged into me for more. That was all for me! "Ah, . . . Auh . . . AUGH! Oh! OH! MY! GOD! Auhhgh!" It wasn't going to end! I was cumming so hard and so much that I almost immediately felt my cock overheating beneath me. In seconds I was getting sensitive and tried to raise my hips. By then, my little guy was lying totally motionless on my back, his heart pounding against my back, his breaths short and hard, followed by a small jerk once in awhile. Finally, I came to rest in about the same place where I'd taken off. I felt a funny little fart sensation and realized that Grant had slipped out; accompanied by his gasp confirming it for me. We lay wasted together, breathing together, welded together by something totally new to us. Our breathing became synchronized for a few breaths then his smaller lungs sped up his breathing. If I hadn't been tired before, I was certainly exhausted by then. Grant's arms came down to hug me as best he could from that position. "M-m-m-m. That was so perfect, David," he said as though he had no energy to put any volume to it. "It felt so good. We should tell Clayton and Grampa 'bout what we found out, huh? What do you s'pose we should call it? M-m-m-m." A little, innocent, high-pitched voice; one that I had assumed came from a young girl when I'd first arrived in Euphoria. But this precious warmth on me, my favorite blanket, was surely no girl. I moved my hips around a bit and heard a soft giggle. Then more breathing, heavier and deeper; the unmistakable sound of a sleeping angel. 'What shall we call it?' Thank god he was asleep before he demanded an explanation. 'Well, little soon-to-be ex-innocent ten year old, whose only goal is to bring everyone together in love, it's called fucking(1)! What a joy to introduce you to such a word.' Honestly, it made me angry that the word was so abused by so many callus peoples, mostly males, adults and children alike, for the sake of . . . I don't even know anymore. It was abhorred by the very people who abused it and their peers. The term 'making love' could never be construed as an adjective or adverb. So where do people . . . Never mind. They're all fucking(1) idiots if you ask me. However . . . Grant will learn, at least from me, that what we did was combine our bodies and souls in one of the most wonderful acts, most marvelous moments that two lovers can ever have. If it needs a tag, what the fuck(1), call it love-making. I hope I made my point, because he will never know the word if I have anything to say about it, at least not for years. Too bad, too, because it is a good word, just abused most of the time. * * * * * While I was enjoying the closeness, and the sounds coming from my little topping, I was feeling the moisture build up between our heated bodies, even dripping in ticklish tears down my side. I got really concerned when I felt him slipping. I reached beside me to gather up as much of the covers as I could to make a soft landing for him. Then I pushed up with one arm to slide him off of me. Still, he clunked his head a little; through the covers it wasn't so bad. He kept sleeping as I rearranged our 'bed' on the floor and rejoined him. My mind was going a mile a minute by that time. I couldn't get over how much I felt, the sensations, the sensitivity of my portal back there. I gasped out loud when I thought of the damage that Clayton could do. Of course, with remorse, I thought of the damage 'I' could do to my little hottie, with my tool, probing and pushing into such a delicate flower as he was to me. I was really warm by the time those thoughts made their way through my empty head. They bounced around for a bit, making me hotter and stiffer. So, to ease myself to sleep, I turned to my guy and spooned him, my rigid tool laying in his perfect valley. I heard myself moan at the feelings it invoked. My hand wrapped around him and cupped his silky smooth sausage. It didn't take any time for it to grow to its hardened length, finally splitting my fingers apart to poke through them. His gasp was so sweet. But that was nothing compared to his next sounds. He moaned softly and I'm sure I heard him say once more, "Wow." It was almost too soft to hear. * * * * * "They's still sleepin', Grampa Russ. We can play with 'em till they wakes up, wanna?" "H-m-m-m. Well, what would we play, little punkin?" "H-m-m-m," said Petey, copying his rented grampa. But his voice was far too high to imitate the baritone that had come into our little nest with the scamp at his side. "We could poke 'em? No. Well, when I was with David, I liked to play with his penie. It's pretty big, ya know, but, ah, it pulls back in a lot when he isn't usin' it. How come you s'pose that is, Grampa Russ, huh?" Russ' answer was broken up, at the beginning, by what I took for stifling his amusement at the be'littling' I was, defenselessly I might add, taking from a five year old. "Well, Petey, maybe he's just cold or sumpin'." "Naw! He's sure not cold now. His penie reaches all the way up from the bottom of Grants's bottom to the top part. See? Where the crack part stops. Wow! It's all gooky, like when I gots to play with it." I could feel my arms begin to shake, first a little bit at certain words, but soon, I was being vibrated as Grant's laughter started to bubble over into the room, to be enjoyed by our two visitors, too. "He's awake! Looky, Grampa Russ. Our Grantza . . . Wake!" Humph! I didn't even know there was such a thing as an awake dance. Pee dance, famous throughout all mankind. But an Awake Dance, new! It wasn't my favorite. "Morning, Grant!" sang Petey, to the tune of the dance music playing in his head. "Good morning to you, my favorite grandchild." "Grampa, I'm your only grandchild, aren't I?" Grant began to sit up. He nestled back into my middle, though I'm sure it wasn't to hide my embarrassment for me. I looked in time to see his fists rub sleepy from his eyes. "We came over to bring you boys breakfast, but from the smell of things, you ought to come back and be with us again, if you've a mind to." "Yeah," said Petey in his very high, squeaky, wake the dead or David voice. "You gots to mind, too, and you gots to come and play stuff with me and Clayton. We gots a school and do stuff. 'M'on! Let's go!" Petey reached his hand out to Grant and tried to pull him up. Instead, his feet slid to the blankets and then fell out from under him, landing him, plunk, onto his butt. "Ouch," he said solemnly. "He he. You need to have David kiss your owie like last time, Petey." My little traitor was giving the lips made for him, to a naked five-year-old butt! "Nu-huh, Grant. I fell pullin' you, so you gots to kiss it and make it all better. You gots to." Petey was nodding his head like a bobble doll with ADHD. He was as cute as a pin, too. Grant looked a little lost. He looked over at me for salvation and I just kind of smirked like, what's a guy to do? His disappointment at my lack of help was apparent. We both looked over at Petey who had moved to stand in front of Grant, showing his backside, looking over his shoulder. Grant began to get his mischievous look again. His smile was growing as his hands pulled the thin hips toward him. After telling Petey how sorry he was and hoped that there was no permanent damage, he pulled himself between Petey's cheeks and began to do circles as deeply into the valley before him as he could. Petey yelped then whimpered. Finally an 'awe' left his lips over and over again as he succumbed to the attention that Grant was giving him. At last, Grant came up for air and Petey came down from tiptoes, though still lost in the feelings he was given. Just as Petey started to slump forward, Grant laid a huge sloppy wet kiss on Petey's left cheek, just at the inward curve where it became the start of the drop into his treasure trove of wonderful feelings. But I wasn't jealous; much. "Wowee. Grant, youse the bestest fixer-upper there is, uh-huh. I like it when you get to hurt me and then kiss me better." "That's because you're the bestest little lover around, Petey. You get everyone's lovin' cuz you're so special to us," Russ told him. "He he. Yeah." Petey walked over and put his arm around Russ' waist, waiting for his great big hero to cast his next edict. "Okay you two hooligans. Let's get you boys back up to the house to enjoy our whole brood together, again." Sounded good to me. Except . . . "We'll be right up, Russ. We need to talk a bit first." Russ and Petey walked out hand-in-hand. Petey slowed a little to turn and smile at Grant, his finger hooked on his mouth, as though enamored by the one who gave him those feelings. * * * * * We started to get our stuff together to take back with us. As we moved around I started to talk. "Grant, you are sure the best lover I could ever imagine having." "M-m-m-m. Thank you, but, how come?" He stopped what he was doing, stood up straight and looked at me. I set down the blankets in my arms and knelt in front of him. "Well, there is more to good loving then just feelings, but you got the best grade ever in the feeling department. What you did; what we enjoyed just now, it was so wonderful. It was a special thing that made me love you more than I already do." "It all just happened though. I didn't even know I could do it like that. But it sure felt neat to me too. Uh, David?" He was blushing and nervously playing with his hands in front of me. "What, little munchkin? You know you can ask me anything." I held him by his thin hips. He raised his head to meet my eyes and smiled for me. "Can we do that again some time? It was sure awesome. I shook out my feelings so much. Wow!" "Grant, some people never get to have that feeling, ever. I was so lucky that you like to lay on me. Some people plan and plan for the time when they can do what we got to do. But we just slipped right into it, didn't we? We must have been meant to do it." I chuckled and Grant blushed and giggled. "Yeah, it was the funnest accident I ever had. I got to tell Dad or someone. I'll bust if I can't." "Yeah, well, you see, Grant, that's why I wanted to talk to you before we went back. I wish you would only tell one other person for now. Is it okay if you don't tell your dad just yet? Like maybe tell Clayton or your grampa?" "Oh. How come?" He put his hands on my shoulders. I couldn't wait. I pulled him into a hug. There's no waiting with my love for him and he was so darn huggable. "Grant, your grampa and Clayton know about what kinds of things you and I do to show our love and to feel really good together. But your dad, well. . . ." "Oh, like you doin' me in your mouth and me lickin' you and lovey-dovey stuff? And until we both have those feelings? Yeah, so? Doesn't Dad know about that stuff?" "We-l-l, yeah, but he likes to just be with a lady, a girl. He probably did those things with your mommy. They loved each other so much." His eyes kind of drifted for a minute, then came back to me. "I got hugs from my mom but they never felt like what you do to me. I've had baths with my mom but they never were like ours. You just treat me special or somethin'; I don't know. But I sure like it." "Do you think we're lovers, kinda like your mom and dad were?" He was quiet for a time, thinking I suppose. His eyes never watered so I was glad that it wasn't hard on him. "I suppose they did stuff but I never knew. I did go into their room some and Dad would be leaning over my mom like he was kissin' her. But he always got up when I came in. We can be lovers even if we're guys and not a girl and a guy, huh? He he. We just can't do the baby makin' stuff, right?" "Ha. Yes, that's right. So promise me that this particular time you won't talk it over with your dad. We need to ease him into this, and he might think you're a bit young to be doing such lovey-dovey stuff. Okay?" "Well, okay. I s'ppose so. Maybe my new friends at school?" As he asked, a bright, shiny smile on his face, I, sadly, shook my head. "Oh. Okay. Dustin?" Shaking head. "Huh? Oh, he'd wanna be doin' it too? Okay, then, Grampa." I nodded and grinned at my angel. We'd moved to arms length from each other. His face glowed. He was the epitome, just then, of a rosy cheeked kid. He looked like one of the proudest boys there ever was. His aura reached out and swallowed me up. I think I loved him more right then than all the rest of the time I'd known this beautiful boy. He was the poster boy for love and cherish and warmth and snuggle. Hell, any words that go together to make loving words, he was a fountain of all of it. After a little more hugging, just as Grant was about to open the door to carry our stuff out to the truck, I said to him, "Grant, thank you for getting in the skunk's way." He turned and looked at me like I'd truly lost it. I just stood there with what must have looked like a pretty pathetic grin. "Yuck, David. Why would you be . . . ." My guy looked around the little shack we were about to leave. As the memories of the time here gathered in his mind, his smile grew proportionately. "Oh, yeah. He he he. Yeah, I guess so, huh? And we can have some more time on the way back huh?" "Well, to talk maybe," I said, as he pulled open the door. "Oh looky! It's me-e-e-e - Petey!" So much for the quiet time driving back! Footnote: (1) fuck: The only word in the english language that is referred to as the "F" word. Comes from the German word freichen (pronounced: Fry-kin) which means "To Strike". Urbanly has various Definitions: As a transitive verb, pain, pleasure, hate and love. Is also a Transitive verb, Intransitive verb, Adjective, Parts of an adverb, Adverb enhancing an adjective, Noun, Parts of words, almost every word in a sentence, Describes the words fraud, dismay, trouble, Difficulty, Inquiry, Dissatisfaction, Incompetence and dismissal. Transitive verb: John fucked Shirley. Intransitive verb: Shirley fucks. Adjective: John is doing all the fucking work. Part of an adverb: Shirley talks too fucking much. Adverb enhancing an adjective: Shirley is fucking beautiful. A noun: I don't give a fuck. As part of a word: Abso-fucking-lutely or in-fucking-credible. As almost every word in a sentence: Fuck the fucking fuckers. Fraud: I got fucked at the used car lot. Dismay: Aw, fuck it. Trouble: I guess I'm really fucked now. Aggression: Don't fuck with me, buddy. Difficulty: I don't understand this fucking question. Inquiry: Who the fuck was that? Dissatisfaction: I don't like what the fuck is going on here. Incompetence: He's a fuck off. Dismissal: Why don't you go outside and play go fuck yourself. End of Chapter 37 To be continued Comments on the story are very much appreciated. Thank you for the emails you've written. Each one is an encouragement. I will answer all of them. Please don't stop. If there is a chance that you may emailed me and you didn't get an answer, please let me know. I hope it's because I never got it. I would never knowingly neglect answering one. Matthew Templar at matemp1148@yahoo.com