Byzantine Beaux
Enjoy
He was so sweet. Milk and honey, step back, this boy gave me cavities. He kissed me with the passion of Beethoven writing his music. I started crying because I was so overwhelmed by emotion. He pulls back and looks at me. We don’t need words right now. I nod my head. But he doesn’t kiss me again. “You should be kissed often, and by someone who knows how.” He kisses me again, scorching my lips. He kisses his way down my neck; my breathing becomes shallow. His lips sizzled as they chasséd down my stomach. He looks up at me. “Hey, André, what a penis’s favorite river?” I’m so shocked that he would be joking at this moment that I can only shake my head.
“The Penile.” I can’t help but laugh at him. He’s so absurdly, adorably not serious that I can’t help but love him. I close my eyes and he shows me what a real man can do with his tongue. He wraps his tongue around my pole more artfully than a stripper, more skillfully than a snake. His green eyes flash up in feline ferocity, ready to attack. He kisses his way down my leg, licks his way down the back of my thigh. He has me spread wider than a fat kid’s mouth for cake, torturing me sweetly with his tenacious tongue. He caressed me naughtily, such to make Bettina and Casanova blush. I swear, you’d think he knew what he was doing. But my shameless strapling was working on intuition only. He was knocking at the door, when, again! he stopped. He looked me in the eyes, sobriety reigning, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m gonna make you feel beautiful.” Tears weren’t very far from my eyes, but I couldn’t help but ball. He entered and kissed my tears away. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here.” His hips worked on me like smooth jazz, calming my nerves and opening me to the Soultrain he was going to unleash.
Now, I’m not a missionary, so I just couldn’t stay in that one position. I let him howl at the moon, be my horse, and use me as his London Bridge. We’d been going for hours, I had no idea where my parents were; but frankly, I didn’t give a damn. We were back to missionary, my legs were wrapped around his lower back, pulling him deeper and deeper; harder and harder; more and more. He pulled out all of the sudden; I tightened like a pair of skinny jeans on a pregnant whale. He looked down at me and I said, “I can shoot straight if I don’t have to shoot far.” He put his head near my crown and opened wide; I shot straighter than I ever had. He shot all over my stomach, reaching my chin. I screamed his name; he gasped mine. I crashed his lips to mine, all of my senses on fire, smiling through his kiss. I pushed his head up and stroked his face, his beautiful, mesmerizing, astonished face. “Thank Heaven, I’m not that modest.” He laughed, a single tear trekking his cheeks to fly away, still rocked to his core.
“I love you so much.” I wiped away his single tear and kissed him again.
“I love you too, darling.” Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. It was May 17th, 2009, five PM, and I knew that I couldn’t live without this strange, beautiful, wonderful boy in my arms.
“The Penile.” I can’t help but laugh at him. He’s so absurdly, adorably not serious that I can’t help but love him. I close my eyes and he shows me what a real man can do with his tongue. He wraps his tongue around my pole more artfully than a stripper, more skillfully than a snake. His green eyes flash up in feline ferocity, ready to attack. He kisses his way down my leg, licks his way down the back of my thigh. He has me spread wider than a fat kid’s mouth for cake, torturing me sweetly with his tenacious tongue. He caressed me naughtily, such to make Bettina and Casanova blush. I swear, you’d think he knew what he was doing. But my shameless strapling was working on intuition only. He was knocking at the door, when, again! he stopped. He looked me in the eyes, sobriety reigning, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m gonna make you feel beautiful.” Tears weren’t very far from my eyes, but I couldn’t help but ball. He entered and kissed my tears away. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here.” His hips worked on me like smooth jazz, calming my nerves and opening me to the Soultrain he was going to unleash.
Now, I’m not a missionary, so I just couldn’t stay in that one position. I let him howl at the moon, be my horse, and use me as his London Bridge. We’d been going for hours, I had no idea where my parents were; but frankly, I didn’t give a damn. We were back to missionary, my legs were wrapped around his lower back, pulling him deeper and deeper; harder and harder; more and more. He pulled out all of the sudden; I tightened like a pair of skinny jeans on a pregnant whale. He looked down at me and I said, “I can shoot straight if I don’t have to shoot far.” He put his head near my crown and opened wide; I shot straighter than I ever had. He shot all over my stomach, reaching my chin. I screamed his name; he gasped mine. I crashed his lips to mine, all of my senses on fire, smiling through his kiss. I pushed his head up and stroked his face, his beautiful, mesmerizing, astonished face. “Thank Heaven, I’m not that modest.” He laughed, a single tear trekking his cheeks to fly away, still rocked to his core.
“I love you so much.” I wiped away his single tear and kissed him again.
“I love you too, darling.” Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. It was May 17th, 2009, five PM, and I knew that I couldn’t live without this strange, beautiful, wonderful boy in my arms.