Thanks For The Light
by Gamin Paramour

It did my heart good to see his little face light up.  He 
was nine two days ago, and though my present was a little late 
he responded to it with the kind of excitement I haven't felt for 
a birthday gift in 25 years.

"Man, this is awesome!" he cried, the shreds of bright 
wrapping paper still fluttering to the carpet.  "A headlight for 
my bike!  It's just what I wanted!"

Of course I knew that.  Not only had Rick mentioned it, oh, 
five or six thousand times in recent weeks, but his Dad had told 
me specifically it was the one gift the boy really wanted and 
wasn't getting from his folks. They had saved it for me, since I 
wanted to give a very special gift this year.  Two steps and a 
jump later I had a lap full of grinning nine-year-old.

"It's a really excellent one, too!" he continued to gush.  "I 
was saving up for one like this, but it would have taken me all 
year."

"Well now you don't have to," I said, giving him an all too 
brief hug and basking in his happiness.  "Now you can blow 
your money on something frivolous, like college."  I'm not sure 
he knew what "frivolous" meant, but he laughed anyway.  He was 
sitting astride my legs facing me, his little butt so skinny I 
could see most of my knees on either side of it.  There was 
almost no padding on that narrow ass, and if he had any weight 
to him his sharp bones might have been uncomfortable for me.  
I'd lugged home Sunday papers that seemed heavier than Rick.

"You didn't have to give me a present, you know."  The 
mock admonition was betrayed by his smiling eyes.

"Yeah, I know," I said, enjoying the fireworks in those 
sparkling gray-green orbs.  "You came through for me when 
nobody else could be bothered, my friend.  That deserved a 
reward."

He flushed a light shade of red and looked down at his 
new headlight.  "I just helped you set up some tables and 
chairs.  It was no big deal."

"Three adults who were supposed to help didn't show up, 
and I had 35 people coming over for a barbecue," I said.  "If it 
wasn't for you I was up Shit Creek."


He giggled as he always did at the use of the s-word, 
which is of course why I made a point of using it.  Shit Creek, 
shit list, shit from Shinola...it always got a laugh from Rick.

"Besides, you did a lot more than that," I continued, 
embarrassing him even further.  "You helped me set the tables 
and you helped me get 15 bags of ice and you helped carry out 
the food, and even after the other kids got there you didn't 
wander off to play until all the work was done.  You were 
amazing, kid, and I'm very grateful and very proud of you."

His angular little face was bright crimson by then, and I 
wondered why it was that he was so uncomfortable being 
praised.  It wasn't really that hard to figure out, I guess.  Rick 
lived in the dark, cool shadow of his brother Frank, older by 
eleven short months but clearly the top dog of their house.  The 
older boy was strong, wiry and athletic, perhaps not the best 
ten-year-old athlete around but still the kind of kid who was 
picked first every time.  Frank was bold and outgoing, too, 
among the most popular boys in school.  And cute...let's just say 
he'd guest starred in quite a number of my fantasies.

Rick was none of those things.  He was agonizingly skinny, 
looking like he'd blow away in a stiff wind.  His head appeared 
too big for his body, and his arms and legs were as spindly as 
the space aliens in "Close Encounters".  I don't want to give the 
impression that he was ugly, because he wasn't.  He was just 
gangly and disproportioned and a bit on the clumsy side.  I'd 
seen baseballs go right between his hands and smack him in the 
face more than once.  He was quiet and shy, playing by himself 
or reading more often than not.  In fact, that's how he got 
started coming over to my house in the first place.  

I'd had his family over to get acquainted when I first 
moved in next door and saw immediately the polar opposites of 
the two boys.  Frank went straight to the mantle and the game 
ball I'd been awarded by my college football team, and Rick went 
straight to the bookcases full of leather-bound classics.

Both boys were frequent visitors for a few weeks, one at a 
time since they rarely played together.  Frank came to talk 
sports, and when he tired of hearing how I intercepted a 
Michigan State pass at the goal line to preserve a one-point 
victory for my Fighting Illini, his visits petered out and then 
stopped altogether.  But Rick continued to visit, working his way 
through Dickens and Twain and Stevenson, devouring everything 
I deemed appropriate for a smart little boy and bugging me 
constantly for the rest.

I was fond of both boys, but Frank didn't need me and 
this little wisp of a boy sitting on my knees did.  He wasn't 
beautiful, but he was a terrific kid and a sweet boy, with never 
an unkind word for anyone.  He didn't deserve the fag jokes he 
had to endure, mostly from his brother.  So what if he wasn't 
good at sports and couldn't make the word "shit" come out of his 
mouth if he was up to his knees in it?  And so what if he played 
with Barbies when he was 5?  At 5 you don't know what you're 
playing with.  It could have been the box.  None of that made 
Rick deserving of abuse.  My heart really went out to the kid.

"OK," I said, "If you really like your present then I get 
one more, really good hug."

He grinned broadly, forgetting his embarrassment, and 
threw both arms around my neck and squeezed until I thought 
my carotid artery would stand out like a relief map of the 
Appalachians.  The sensation of soft young boy flesh against me 
had its usual effect, and suddenly I found myself thinking of 
Rick not just as the lonely little boy from next door, but as a 
possibility.  

I wrapped my arms around his skeletal little frame and 
held him to me.  The headlight fell softly to the carpet.

His warmth was nice.  He wore only a T-shirt and shorts, 
and I could feel his heat almost as if nothing were between us.  
I found my hand slipping to his bare thigh, petting it gently, 
hoping it seemed casual.  The skin was as smooth as any I'd 
ever felt, and the thigh was so skinny I could practically touch 
my fingers around it.  He didn't tense at all as I touched him, 
not even when I slid my hand further along his thigh, even an 
inch or so under the thin material of his shorts.  He just hugged 
me.

Before I even consciously thought about it I found my lips 
pressed against his forehead, planting a soft kiss just above his 
brow.  He didn't shrink away.  I kissed him again, and this time 
he leaned his head back and regarded me questioningly, but he 
never let go of my neck.  Then, a look of decision coming into 
his eyes, he suddenly leaned forward and kissed me lightly on 
the lips.

I was very surprised but did my best not to show it.  I 
wracked my brain to remember if I had seen how his family 
kissed.  Maybe mouth kissing was something this boy would do 
with, say, an uncle or a grandfather; the usual thing for his 
family.  But I couldn't remember ever seeing a kiss between any 
of them, or even a hug for that matter.  I didn't think he'd 
learned that at home.

"What's the matter?" he finally asked, a look of uncertainty 
in his eyes but still clinging to my neck.

"Nothing," I replied, smiling as calmly as I could.  "You 
kissed me.  It was nice."  We looked at each other in silence for 
a moment, until I said, "As a matter of fact, it was very nice.  
Would you do it again?"

"You want me to?" he asked softly, not sure what to make 
of it.

"Yes, it's very nice," I repeated.

A tentative smile spread slowly across his face; he wasn't 
sure if he was being teased.  I made a point of looking into his 
eyes as reassuringly as I could, and after a moment I saw the 
realization blossom there that I was serious.  His smile 
broadened, and he leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips 
once again to mine.

It wasn't a quick peck this time.  I didn't let it stop at 
that.  I shifted one hand from his narrow shoulder blade to the 
back of his head, gently holding him to me as we kissed.  I felt 
him start to pull away after five or six seconds, but the gentle 
pressure of my hand was all it took to stop him.  He kissed with 
eagerness if not passion, and with a trust that struck me 
straight to the heart.

My excitement increased rapidly as we kissed.  After 
perhaps a minute I found myself moaning softly around his small 
lips and grinding my mouth against his.  He seemed to take this 
in stride, and though he made no sound I felt him pressing back 
against me with greater desire.  With his little chest crushed 
against mine I fancied I could feel our hearts pounding in 
rhythm.  I was getting caught up in him, and losing control.

Without thinking I opened my mouth and pushed my tongue 
against his lips.  He pulled back in surprise, and I let him.

"What did you just do?" he asked, without a hint of fear 
or anger.  He was merely curious.

"It's a special kind of kissing," I said, smiling warmly and 
pressing forward to nibble at his lips again.  He allowed that, 
but clearly wanted further explanation.  "It's a kind of kissing 
that I think is really fun," I continued.  "It's called French 
kissing."

"I've heard of that," he said ponderingly, as if trying to 
remember where he had read about such things.

"It's where two people kiss with their mouths open and 
touch their tongues together," I elaborated, hoping I had aroused 
his curiosity if nothing else.  I leaned in to kiss him again, and 
this time when my tongue pushed forward his lips parted with 
only a little uncertainty and my tongue slid easily between them.

It took him only a moment to get used to it.  My tongue 
ran over his sharp teeth and quickly encountered his own 
slippery tongue.  I swirled my tongue around his several times 
and, with a little suction, coaxed him to extend it into my mouth 
as well.  I closed my lips gently around his tongue and sucked it 
as sensuously as I could, hoping this would somehow trigger in 
his inexperienced brain a longing for other fun involving 
suction.  I knew I had thought of blow jobs before his age, both 
getting and giving, and I hoped it was some kind of genetic 
memory all boys are born with.  After a moment his tongue 
retreated back into his mouth and I followed it with mine, very 
surprised to feel him clamp his lips around it and suck with a 
passion easily rivaling my own.

We played this game of tongue tag back and forth for 
several minutes.  I could feel moisture beginning to leak into my 
shorts, and I knew I'd have to either press Rick for more or get 
rid of him so I could finish things off myself.  Naturally with my 
cock in command of my brain I started in immediately pressing 
the boy.

"Man," I gasped, somewhat reluctantly pulling away from 
his eager mouth. "You're sure good at this.  Are you sure you 
never French kissed before?"

He grinned at me proudly.  "Nope.  This is my first time."

"You know what really good kissing like that always does 
to me?" I asked conspiratorially.  I looked around as if there 
might be someone to overhear the secret, though of course we 
were alone in my house.  "It makes my dick get hard."

His eyes grew wide and he immediately flushed bright red, 
but there was something in his face that let his extreme 
excitement show through.  He glanced down his own skinny body 
and I suddenly knew.  

"Does it do that to you, too?" I pressed.  "Does your dick 
get hard?"  He swallowed and for the first time looked a little 
scared.  I smiled encouragingly .

"Yeah," he answered softly, finally showing me his patented 
embarrassed smile.  "It got hard right after you put your tongue 
in my mouth."

"Oh, yeah," I said, relaxing now that this all-important 
hurdle was past.  "That's about when mine did, too."  I leaned 
forward and kissed him again, mouth open but no tongue.  I felt 
him relax in my arms, and resumed fondling his bare thigh 
without protest.

"You've had boners before today, right?" I finally asked, 
trying to sound conversational.

He was still embarrassed, but answered without hesitation.  
"Yeah, I get them sometimes."

"In bed at night, right?" I said.  "That's when I mostly 
used to get them, when I was your age."

"Yeah, a lot of nights," he said.  He was watching my hand 
trace circles on his smooth thigh.

"I used to rub it and play with it," I said, my throat tight 
but still somehow sounding casual.  "Pretty much every night, 
you know?  It really felt good."

The boy didn't say anything, but his breathing came faster.

"Do you do that sometimes, Rick?" I insisted.  I kissed his 
forehead softly once, then again.  Then, in little more than a 
whisper,  "Do you play with your hard dick and make it feel 
really good?"

"Sometimes," he whispered.
 
My hand traced higher up the leg hole of his shorts.  He 
didn't move.

I pulled him gently to me and placed three or four soft, 
nibbling kisses on his lips, and again his little body relaxed 
somewhat and he kissed me back.  I scooted his hips closer to 
me until he was sitting directly on the hard lump in my pants.  I 
ground my cock against him, and I could feel him react to it.

"Do you feel my hard dick, Ricky?" I whispered, using the 
diminutive name he had never gone by as far as I knew.  "Can 
you feel how big and hard it is?"

"Yeah," he answered, sounding a bit scared but not 
shrinking away at all.

"It's hard for you, Ricky," I whispered between kisses.  
"You made it that way."  Then, the moment of truth.  "Is yours 
hard for me?"

He hesitated only a fraction of a second, but it was an 
eternity to me.  He kissed my lips, then whispered, "It's hard for 
you."

I crushed him against me, kissing him deeply and for the 
first time feeling the insistent prod of his small, stiff prick 
against my stomach.  He ground it against me matching the 
urgency with which I thrust my big cock up against his tiny 
ass.  We writhed there on the sofa a long time, our tongues 
darting heatedly back and forth, first in his mouth then in mine, 
humping our excited cocks against each other in the bright flame 
of new passion.  He was lying on top of me now, and as we 
groped and gyrated I ran my hands up under his t-shirt to 
stroke his smooth, soft back and sides, and then down inside his 
small shorts and underpants to cup the two flat cheeks of his 
butt.  It was incredibly soft and warm, the skin smooth and 
supple, literally like a baby's ass.  There wasn't much meat on it, 
but I enjoyed it thoroughly nevertheless.  I slowly but steadily 
worked the shorts down until they reached his bony knees.

He hadn't reacted at all, although I knew he must have 
realized his pants were coming off.  He still ground his now-free 
penis against my belly, and it was only when I began rolling him 
off of me that he broke his silence.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked breathlessly.  

"I want to make you feel better than you ever felt before," 
I said, kissing him twice more as I maneuvered him onto his 
back.  It was the first time I had ever seen his body, and it 
seemed beautiful to me, at least in the state of mind I was in.  
He was incredibly thin, his pelvic bones clearly visible through 
the soft, smooth skin, and framed by the triangle of those bones 
was a long, slim, hairless cock.  It was bigger than I expected, 
though perhaps not bigger than other boys his age.  Maybe it 
was his thinness that made an average cock look big.  In any 
event, it looked beautiful to me and I longed to taste it.  His 
hairless balls hung down low and loose between those skinny 
thighs, and I knew that when he stood up his thighs would not 
touch each other and those balls would hang down between like 
the clapper in a church bell.  He was intensely hard, the 
circumcised head of the thin cock a deep pink, quivering with 
his excitement.  

"Are you gonna suck it?"

"Is that what you'd like me to do?" I asked, thinking yes 
yes YES in my fevered brain, wishing I could transmit that 
answer into his head by telepathy.  I practically held my breath.

"You can if you want to," the boy said in his usual self-
effacing way.  Even now he couldn't ask for what he wanted, had 
to put my desires ahead of his own.  But I knew that he wanted 
it as badly as he had ever wanted anything.

I didn't say anything, but smiled as I lowered my face 
between his little legs.  His little boy smell hung sweet in the 
air, and grew stronger as I drew closer.  His thighs opened 
instinctively to accept me, and as my lips came near enough to 
finally embrace the virginal young member I saw him lift his hips 
from the couch, pushing his sex up to me in his eagerness.

"Ohhhh," he sighed as my greedy mouth caressed his 
pulsingly hard cock.  I took it deeply at first, clamping my lips 
around its base and swirling around the shaft with my tongue.  
A shudder moved through his lean body, like a wave of pleasure 
that seemed to start in his legs and ripple upwards through his 
gut and into his chest.  I deliberately avoided his sensitive 
cockhead for the first moments, allowing him to get used to the 
idea of both of us enjoying his penis this way.  When I felt him 
push up against my face again I knew he was ready.

I backed off slowly, my lips clinging to the slick young 
flesh as it slipped back out of my mouth.  When just the tiny 
cockhead was left engulfed, I reached out with the very tip of 
my tongue and laved the hot, hard knob and covered it in 
saliva.  I flicked my tongue over his burning flesh and heard 
him cry out in sudden pleasure.  I engulfed the cock again fully, 
sucking firmly and steadily, and when I felt two small hands at 
the back of my head I knew he was enraptured.

I don't know precisely how long Rick's first blow job 
lasted, but it was a good long time.  I sucked him forcefully at 
times, and other times light as a feather.  He seemed to 
appreciate both.  I licked down to his silky soft hairless balls 
several times, taking them into my mouth and gently rolling them 
around inside his tender scrotum.  He reached down while I was 
doing that and began slowly stroking his cock, in what 
apparently was his accustomed manner, and after a few minutes 
of that politely asked me to please go back and suck his dick 
some more.  I was glad that he finally relaxed enough to express 
his own desires, and knowing he was truly participating made it 
all the better for me.  I reached up under his t-shirt and 
pinched and rolled his tiny nipples, and though they got hard as 
little pin points he told me later that it had not done all that 
much for him, and he preferred when I played with his balls.

My own cock was raging hard in my pants, of course, and 
finally after sucking this sweet little guy for God knows how 
long my body demanded relief.  I released his red, well-worn 
cock and tore my own pants down.  Rick's eyes widened when he 
saw my angry, blood engorged tool.  It's not huge but it was 
probably the biggest he had ever seen, and he gaped at it in 
wonder.

"Oh, Ricky, I gotta get off!" I moaned, gripping my cock 
and beginning to roughly stroke it.

"Get off of what?" he asked innocently, unable to tear his 
eyes from the mancock before him.

"It's a special feeling a man gets," I panted, impatient with 
explaining biology at a time like this.  "It's a hundred times 
better than what I just helped you feel.  And I'm dyin' to feel it 
right now!"

"Nothing could be a hundred times better than that," he 
grinned, and while I appreciated the compliment to my 
cocksucking skills I was somewhat preoccupied with my own need.

"Believe me," I grunted, my fist flying along my shaft and 
my balls bouncing like they were doing aerobics.  "In about 
three years you'll know what I'm talking about."

He watched me closely, and I was just starting to feel it 
building when he said the sweetest words I could have hoped for.

"Can I help you get the special feeling?"

"Oh, Ricky," I moaned. "Oh, yes you can baby, yes you 
can."  I motioned him closer, and he scooted his half naked little 
body over until our legs touched.  "Just take it in your hand 
and do what I'm doing."

Gamely he reached for my cock.  His long slim fingers came 
in handy for a change, and he was able to grasp the thick pole  
quite comfortably, unlike other boys his age who had tried.  The 
touch of his soft hand was thrilling, and after a few seconds he 
got a rhythm going that, while not as fast or as steady as mine, 
excited me by its very differentness.  I grinned at him as he 
pounded my cock, and he grinned back as he threw himself into 
the task. Now he was back in his element, doing something for 
someone else.

The picture of this hairless, skinny little boy with his 
shorts around his ankles and his small, thin boner still jutting 
upwards, grinning happily as his hand flew along the length of 
my cock was almost enough to make me cum all by itself.  I had 
been so hot to get off, but now that I was getting this wonderful 
hand job I found myself holding back, not ready for it to end.  
He stroked firmly, switching hands when he got tired, and still 
grinning his sweet grin.  After a few minutes of this exquisite 
torture I couldn't hold back any longer.  I pinched my own 
nipples and suddenly felt myself rush over the edge.

"Oh, Ricky, it's happening!" I grunted.  "Don't stop, no 
matter what happens!  Just please don't stop!"

The jizz erupted out of my cock with a force I'd thought 
I'd seen the last of when I was 25.  The first spurt went higher 
than Rick's head as he sat on his haunches next to me.  
Fortunately for him he wasn't in the flight path, and the 
steaming glob made its graceful arch and splashed down instead 
on my left collarbone.  The boy stared wide-eyed with surprise, 
but much to his credit he didn't stop stroking even as the 
second spurt blasted forth and painted my stomach and navel 
with pearly white fluid.  A few more strokes from the boy and I 
pumped out another few drops, these running down across his 
small hand and into my pubic hair.  The look on his face said he 
was grossed out by the semen on his hand, but he never 
stopped stroking my cock even after my convulsions subsided, 
and I had to somewhat forcefully push his hand away lest he 
pull my sensitive organ clean off.

You should have seen the look on his face when I held his 
fingers up to my mouth and licked up a thick pearl of cum.  I 
explained to him what it was, and what it is used for in the 
procreation of the species, and he beamed at knowing something 
none of his friends - and especially his brother - knew anything 
about.  He wouldn't taste it himself, at least not that first day.

There were of course other days.  Rick continued to visit, 
and I continued to lend him books, but I also continued his 
education in another direction, to our mutual enjoyment.  Oh, and 

I bought him a taillight for his bike, too.

The End