Boys who want love
from https://www.greek-love.com/fiction/fiction-poetry-pederasty
We laughed together in each other’s arms. It was the first time I had held the boy. He was still damp from the shower, but his compact body felt wonderful as he cuddled against me over my lap. Our laughter softened and diminished as I held him. I ran my hand down his sleek back and lowered my cheek to rub against his wet black hair. “You are like my father, Ajan Peter,” said Wichai softly. He pulled his knees up and curled into a ball on my lap. I cupped his small body, feeling love for the boy in a way I’d never felt love for anyone before. I couldn’t speak. The child was mystifying — he seemed so vulnerable yet energetic, so spirited yet so calm. I stroked his skinny shoulders and down his spine. Wichai shivered slightly under my touch and closed his eyes. Goose bumps formed briefly down his slim arms, then smoothed out again. We stayed like that for many minutes. I lowered my lips and brushed them across his thick mane of hair. We breathed deeply, evenly. I felt more alive than I had in years, holding the beautiful boy, allowing him to trust me. Wichai fell asleep in my arms. I almost cried. I felt silly about that, then dismissed the feeling as an old thought creeping back. I just let Wichai dream, his graceful body draped over mine. My eyelids felt heavy too. My fingertips feathered over Wichai’s neck briefly. We slept together, holding each other, and did not wake up till Wiboon creaked the door open. He beamed when found us like that, so happy that Wichai and I were becoming friends.
....
I turned and felt Wichai’s firm hands massage slick soap over my back. A tingling thrill ran down my
spine. An insect buzzing seemed to fill the air. The boy hummed as if purring as he rubbed over my pale
skin, reaching up to work his fingers into my shoulders. Tension flowed out of me, and a warmth
enveloped the air about us.
He stooped and I turned. Wichai’s pakama had slipped from his thin hips and lay in a soggy bundle at
his feet. The boy was totally, wonderfully bare. We stood there, dripping and sudsy, close to each other,
Wichai gently looking up into my eyes.
He was lovely beyond words, and more desirable than any fantasy I could imagine. He stood casually,
vulnerable, and exposed, his slender nudity open to my gaze, to my touch. I felt paralyzed. It was as if the
terrible power of love was leashed tight by a force of equal restraint.
I reach out to touch his cheek. He turned his head into my caress, rubbing his face into my open hand.
Tiny, shiny-colored bubbles slicked over his tan skin. Wichai hummed deep in his throat as I cupped his
face in my palm. It was an unaware dream come true, the boy naked and aroused, aching for my touch. I
felt tremors vibrate through us, and it reminded me of Ajan Prasit’s words, “like holding a small bird in
your hand.” I felt defenseless against the awesome powers tugging at my heart, sensed that Wichai was
equally defenseless under my caress.
I traced around the rim of his ear, pushing back his hair, then lightly held the rubbery little lobe of it
between my thumb and finger. I moved my hand over his forehead as though examining fine sculpture, his
wet hair brushing over my knuckles. I ran my fingers down between his wide eyes over the bridge of his
nose. I felt his soft lips with my fingertips, stroking over them back and forth. He let his lips open,
relaxed. His eyelids fluttered, then closed.
I looked down over the boy. Wichai was so thin, his ribs showed through his firm chest. His stomach
was flat, sinking in with his even breathing. He was hairless except for a slight furring around his small
erection. I brushed over his lips and his cheek again and the youngster quivered, his tiny toes curling
under. I realized that he may be on the brink of orgasm!
“You are beautiful!” I gasped. I was half-hard, throbbing in the confines of my pakama. A burning ball
of emotion churned in the pit of my stomach.
I pinched Wichai’s button nose and he sputtered, then giggled as I drew my fingers down over his
chest and sides, tickling him. I sucked in my breath deeply — feeling something in me stretched so tight, it
almost snapped. It frightened me. My senses seemed overloaded, bursting.
I bent down to grab the bowl, then swung up with it, spraying the boy with water.
Wichai retaliated, cupping up water in the palms of his hands and showering me in streams of it. It
was like we were buffalo boys, I thought. The whole village must have heard our shouts and laughter. His
penis softened some with our play
....
Finally, the boy flicked off the light and lay beside me. We talked briefly. I was aware of his slender body next to mine, drawing me toward it, tempting me with its boyish grace, available, waiting, inviting. Choochai reached for my hand and laid it on his groin. I felt his erection through the thin cotton of his pakama, throbbing and hard as a rock. “I love you,” he repeated. My fingers loosened the knot at his waist and opened his only garment, revealing his nudity. His young organ was vibrating stiff off his skinny tummy, just a few short hairs dusting his smooth pubes. A drop of lubricant gleamed at its tip. His testicles were small and very tight. Saliva gushed in my mouth and oily fluid pulsed from my own erection. I flung off my pakama and rolled over onto the boy, mashing my lips into his. I climaxed immediately, flooding out between our rubbing bellies. The boy’s tongue worked against my lips and drilled into my mouth as I swam in orgasmic delights. I responded, and our tongues twirled around each other, through the gap between his teeth. Choochai tasted sweet yet rich, innocent yet lusty. Our naked bodies moved together in our sweat and my juices as we kissed deeply. The boy bucked up against me in urgent spasms. I felt his bone-hard penis rub against mine, then felt the jets of his release mix with mine between our fevered bodies. I ran my lips down his neck and rested them against his lean shoulder as our energies subsided. I waited for the pang of guilt to hit me. It didn’t. Instead, wonderfully, I felt a renewed passion well up in me, seeking release. Choochai was ready when I raised up over him. He sighed deeply and spread his legs. He lifted them high over his head and smiled up between his knees. I was harder than ever, gleaming with our natural lubricants. I moved toward the boy and he reached around to guide me into him. He gave just a wince at the thrilling penetration. I eased in slowly, feeling his moist, hot grip around me. The boy gave me the most incredible sensations I had ever felt. It was more than I could believe possible, and I surrendered to the lust steaming up with us both. “I love you,” Choochai repeated as I journeyed through him, not stopping till I nestled firmly into the hairless slit between his firm buttocks. His small penis remained aroused, tapping into his wrinkled tummy. The boy’s words, however meaningless, fired my desires further. I drew out and tunneled back into the youth. The sliding plunge continued, over and over. Nothing else existed but the submissive and responsive boy beneath me, and the enveloping bliss of our sexual union with each other. My hips bucked erratically, and he lifted his little rump to meet my thrusts, gasping with pleasure. His lips drew back in a gasping sneer and his nostrils flared wide as I worked to greater heights of delight with him. Quick, fluid hugs of his sphincter around the base of my erection signaled his explosive peak. Spurts of crystal liquid spit up over his heaving chest. He grunted with pleasure at each pulsation. He turned his head and bit into the sheet as he writhed in ecstasy, his arms wide, fingers clutching at the bedding. I slowed my thrusts, hoping to prolong my own pleasure. But it was futile. Watching the youngster climax with such wild abandon would have been almost enough in itself to take me over the edge of control. But that, and the action of Choochai rippling around my sensitive flesh brought me to the heady oblivion of sexual pleasure. I fell on the boy and filled him with my liquid passion, in long, sweet surges, each one more agonizingly pleasant than the one before. I remained within Choochai for many minutes as our heartbeats slowed to normal. We parted, and I withdrew. Without words, we showered together, soaping each other with slow, easy strokes. We dried and returned to the bed, still naked. We fell against each other. I was still hungry for the feel of his flesh against mine. He fell asleep first. The next morning we repeated our performance, this time extending our pleasure for over an hour as I explored his adolescent body. Choochai had learned the arts of seduction well before our encounter. His own supple beauty needed little to entice a boy lover into his arms. And I knew ours was a union of bodies, not of souls. The boy was intellectually limited, however physically desirable and uninhibited. His emotions were limited to physical pleasure, I knew, and there was nothing noble in what happened between us.
....
I embraced the slender youngster passionately, stripping off his pakama with a swipe of my hand
down his back. I loosened my own and felt the boy against me for the first time, without inhibitions.
We were both firmly aroused, eager for sexual pleasure to enhance our fondness for each other. Our
love-making was charged with irresistible drives, tender and compulsive. His body was responsive,
squirming with passion one moment, surrendering to my eager caresses the next. It was the culmination of
all our shared moments, peaking out over and over, each moment more deliciously loving than the last.
Our moaning and sighing subsided, only to begin again, with new and delightfully erotic sensations
coursing through us. I was distantly aware of the fluting kite weaving overhead, blessing our union.
The intensity of Wichai’s ardor took me to greater heights than I dreamed of with Choochai. It was the
burning of love, unconditional and unafraid, that sparked our arousal and made it infinitely more
satisfying. And the boy abandoned himself to my desires just as he threw himself into everything he did.
“You want me like this, Ajan Peter,” asked Wichai, and offered himself for penetration. His eyes
seemed to beg for it.
But I hesitated. I didn’t want to risk hurting the young boy. I didn’t think I could have remained hard if
I saw his pain. The boy’s gesture alone was enough to send renewed power surging through me. I
wrapped my lips about his hardness as I felt him twist around beneath me, his hands clawing at my
shoulders and down my back. His eager juices soon laced my tongue. The youngster tasted of flavors I
could not dream of.
Wichai took me into his mouth. A strangled cry, and I was beyond control, feeling his throat work in
gulps and swallows.
Sated and happy beyond words, Wichai and I toweled off and dropped back onto the bed, my arm
behind his neck, his fingers tracing over my chest. He twirled the light hairs dusting my nipples. “Ajan
Peter is now my dying friend.”
“Dying friend?”
“Yes, Ajan Peter. In Thailand we have three kinds of friends: eating friends, playing friends, and dying
friends,” explained the boy. “I would die for you, Ajan Peter.”
Wichai’s courage left me speechless.
.....
The boy and I moved a couple yards through the water to each other. Our extended fingers touched, dripping, just above the gentle waves. We reached for each other and held firmly, then kissed. I tasted the child and the warm salt of the sea on his mouth. Wichai hummed in his throat as he had done before. His pleasure sounds were deeply erotic. I felt his arms drop from around me and lower them to remove his pakama. The boy wanted to make love in the water! I was hard against him. As he bent, lifting his leg to tie the cloth around his ankle, I did the same. We held each other again, feeling the soft swirl of the water between our legs. Our hands played over each other’s shoulders and down backs slick with sea water. I cupped the small, firm mounds at the base of his back in the palms of my hands as he moaned and squirmed against me. We moved wordlessly to shallower water, where I sank to my knees and pulled the boy onto my lap. In that position, we were eye to eye, man and boy, with the water surging around up to our chests. Wichai had the impish look of a water sprite, naked and wet, an inviting smile on his lax lips. I mashed my mouth against his, more excited than ever in my life by his lean brown body totally surrendered to me there in the surf. His lips still rubbing against me, Wichai reached between our bellies and guided my hard organ up between his own legs. He raised slightly up off my lap as he centered it, then eased slowly down. I let him work at his own pace, yet was fighting the compulsion to thrust up my hips, to wedge into his warm, moist body and penetrate him totally, in a single painful plunge! We both gasped as Wichai nudged down over my crown and I entered him. He threw back his head and winced, baring his teeth like a monkey. Then he lowered further, with steady pressure, over my throbbing erection, and I felt his elastic ring ripple down the length of my shaft. Wichai worked to take my girth until he squirmed his small buttocks into my groin, totally impaled. I was unprepared for such heat, such gripping moisture enveloping me. Even after my experiences with Choochai, I was breathless with Wichai’s wild passion. He seemed to quiver with orgasmic intensity as he stirred my hard sex around within him, nuzzling his lips into my neck as he mumbled and hummed. My hands explored every curve of his boyish body, my lips running over his slippery skin as I gently rocked him over my lap. The ecstasy was like a hot sob caught at the back of my throat, aching to be cried out! The water churned around us, and we moved with its gentle tug. The orgasmic tides swelled within me as Wichai worked to pleasure me. I became compulsive, wanting him so badly. I bit into his soft lips and nipped at his chin and cheek. My fingers kneaded his firm body, and pulled him to me until I hoped we would melt together as one, so tightly did we hug. It was impossible to tell if his grunts and groans were signs of pleasure or pain. But we were beyond both, caught in the whirling waters of love about to boil over. “Wichai, Wichai,” I stammered, jabbed into him brutally now, needing release. “Ah, Ajan Peter!” said the boy, tensing against me. I felt a rapid series of rippling nips about my root. Wichai was gasping with orgasm. I looked down and saw his pearly juices rise to the surface between us and drift with the push and pull of the water. That was it! Wrapping him tightly and jerking up into him hard, I peaked. I lived for moments in a timeless, mindless oblivion that was so wonderfully sweet, hot and total. Our passion ebbed with the water, which now lapped over our bellies as we continued to hold each other. I took Wichai in my hands, around his waist, surprised they almost encircled him, and eased him up off me. He rose up to his feet in front of me, slick from the sea, and I kissed his softening penis, then buried my face in his warm groin. “We must dress,” Wichai whispered. He put his hands to my shoulders and I stood, dizzy and drunk with joy. We wrapped our wet pakamas around us and headed up the dry sand. When we were dried and dressed, the young boy took my hand. “I don’t know of anything beyond dying friend, Ajan Peter,” he said. “I could not feel closer to you.” I was never very good at promises, so I was wise enough not to make one to the boy just then. Instead, I responded with something like a lewd joke, but with the best intentions. “I cannot be closer to you than within you, Wichai.” He understood and chose to smile.