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Subject: No Plot, Just Filth Part One Please give a few bucks to Nifty. No Plot, Just Filth Part One I know what you’re here for. Well, read this. It is a journal of about eight months and a dozen or so boys. Background: After six years for Uncle Sam, two tours and one Purple Heart, I am an assistant project manager for a company that engineers large, integrated HVAC systems. They had subcontracted on a large build in an east coast city. I was assigned to the AM on-site supervisor position. I worked 5:00AM to 2:00PM. It was an old city and certain neighborhoods near the project were soon to disappear to gentrification. I rented a small, poorly furnished flat on the second floor of a rundown building that likely wouldn’t be there in two years. The first floor tenants of the corner stores in this neighborhood, if they had one, were either small ethnic markets, deli restaurants or, much more likely, a five table saloon. Mine? A Chinese take-out place. Cheap eats, tasty smells, good; heat and noise, not so good. Across from my windows was a small market with a thriving afterschool business in chips, candy, rolling paper and illegal loose cigarettes (50 cents). Two schools were within a few blocks. Each weekday I took the early bus ten blocks to the job site, did my job, headed back and had one of about two dozen gourmet meals cooked by a Filipino named Sam who ended his sailing days as a cook below my apartment. Seven bucks and, once I made his acquaintance, the best meals I ever had in my life. My time was my own all afternoon and evening. I could’ve headed to a bar, lots of guys did. I got in the habit of reading when I was in the Army and had no trouble sitting with my nose in a book for hours. No cable TV was no problem for me. I could always go cross town and take in a baseball game for twenty bucks in the outfield, couple of beers included. Nothing like the real thing compared to an image on a screen. That goes for other things, too, as you shall see. It wasn’t a few weeks before I found far more interesting ways to occupy my free time. Which is why you are here. First boy: Roberto After getting off the bus in the afternoon, I would walk the last block home. Most of the time, I would stop in and order my meal from Sam and take it up to my apartment where I would eat looking out the window. What I saw was the local kids stopping in the “A-1 Market” for something to eat or drink on their way home, the nearest McDonald’s was nearly a mile away on the eastern avenue that led from the city center. Sam would make fries for a couple of bucks so lots of kids would stop in downstairs and get a Coke and some fries and then hang out on the corner or in the small alley behind the building. While sitting around for my take-out I would enjoy looking over the parade of kids stopping in, giving a pleasant smile when they noticed me. I began to note the neighborhood regulars. One of these was Roberto. He is first on the list because he was the first to come up to my apartment. Why did I notice him? His cock. Most of the time Roberto was either at half mast or completely erect, a beautifully rigid, upward arc. When he wasn’t in one of those two states he was busy “adjusting” himself. Roberto wouldn’t have been called good looking by anyone. This journal is going to be as candid as I can make it so, if you are offended by blunt, unvarnished truth, well, it’s not for you. Roberto was Guatemalan or Mexican, dark hair, dark eyes, flat face. He had attractive long, dark lashes around his eyes which he used to a certain effect when shy or embarrassed. His body had the small upper torso izmit escort of an adolescent atop ample thighs and a rounded ass that would’ve looked good on a woman but only made him look dumpy standing around the carryout. It did, on the other hand, look quite inviting with his knees pulled up to his chest. I got my fingers in but that was all Roberto allowed. I am getting ahead of the story. Roberto was obviously poorer than the other kids in this poor neighborhood. In cooler weather he wore dark cotton sweats that were washed about every two weeks and had stains of various sorts. A couple of hoodies and rarely tied, scuffed basketball shoes, soles worn at an angle from his pigeon-toed gait, completed his wardrobe. With warmer weather, nylon shorts and overwashed t-shirts obtained from thrift shops became his attire. I watched him waiting for his fries at Sam’s quite a number of times. If he was getting an erection, Roberto would often adjust it upwards by grabbing at it and moving it upright through the thick gray fabric until it stood with a rounded poke below the elastic of his underwear. That Roberto had a large glans atop his shaft was apparent before I ever got into his pants. If he couldn’t maneuver his erection upright by grabbing it from outside, Roberto wouldn’t hesitate to reach in and get the job done directly. It was after observing one of these “adjustments” that Roberto became aware of my having watched his actions. I gave him a smile and a wink. Roberto’s initial concern gave way to a slight chuckle and that created the initial familiarity that led to our first sexual encounter. Here is what happened. I had been waiting for my “Number 5” (chicken and string beans) at Sam’s and Roberto came in for some fries, he often had only fries because he wasn’t bucks up. When it came time to pay, Roberto realized that he was about four bits short. He gave a flustered and disappointed look. “Here kid, I got you this time,” I said handing two quarters to Sam. He rang up Roberto’s order and headed to the back to get the fries. “Thanks, Mister.” “Don’t mention it. I see you in here enough. What’s your name?” “Roberto.” “Mine’s Alex.” Sam came back with my sack of food. “See ya later, Roberto,” I said turning for the door. I went up to my place and unpacked my food and sat to eat. It was a couple of minutes later when I saw, out the window, Roberto eating his fries in the alley. Alone. I thought to myself, “what the hell,” went over to the window and called out. “Hey! Roberto.” The boy looked up. “Wanna come up and eat? No sense in eating alone.” “Yeah, okay.” He looked happy to spend the time. He disappeared around the corner and I went to the door. Less than a minute later Roberto came up the steps. “Come on in. I’m eating at the table.” I’ll make it short. Roberto sat at the table, finished his fries and some of my soda; he still looked hungry. I shared my fried rice and gave him my egg roll which he devoured. I asked him about school. He hated going, mentioned friends, etc. He asked me what I did and I told him. At the end of our supper, before he headed out the door, I left an opening. “Hey, Roberto, if you’re ever looking for something to do afterschool you can drop by if you want. I am usually home by three o’clock.” “Yeah, sure,” the boy said somewhat hurriedly, “See ya later.” If it wasn’t immediately clear to the boy, they usually figured it out after thinking it out. If they were interested, I’d see them within a day or two, if not, they didn’t come back. Roberto came back. He came back the next day. ———- I saw him but he didn’t see me. He came yahya kaptan escort from school but hung around on the corner for a while gathering his courage. He made up his mind and headed across the street. There came a tapping on my door. I waited for the second set of knocks before opening the door. “Hi, Roberto. Come on in.” He entered. I could tell he was nervous. “Grab a seat on the couch,” I directed. I sat on the couch as well but at the other end. “So … What’s up?” “Nothing. I just thought I’d stop after school.” “I’m glad you came by, I was hoping you would.” “Yeah.” There was a pause. “So, what do you usually do after school?” I asked and then added facetiously, “Homework?” I knew there was about a zero percent chance Roberto was doing homework when he got home and I got the reaction I was expecting. “No way!” Roberto exclaimed with a laugh. “Yeah, I thought so,” then I leadingly added, “I remember what I usually did after school.” “What was that?” “What every boy does after school …” “Like what?” “Jack off,” I stated directly. Roberto tried to show no reaction but he revealed what I knew was the truth, what every guy knows to be the truth, with a small look of recognition. I continued, “I used to go home every day and jack off either by myself or with my friends. Do you ever jack off with your friends?” “Yeah, sometimes.” His voice was lower as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Do they ever jack you?” “Um, yeah,” Roberto admitted reluctantly. I didn’t hesitate, “Do you want me to jack you?” “Yeah, okay, I guess.” “Stand up and come over here.” I got the boy in front of me, positioning him with my hands, as I sat on the edge of the couch. I felt the warmth of his flesh through his shirt. “Let me,” I said reaching for the top of his sweatpants. When I touched his tummy, Roberto gave a slight gasp. As I slid his sweats down I could smell all boy; a heady combination of not yet mature, sweet sweat, a hint of pee, and a boyish musk. I could see Roberto’s boyhood swelling rapidly in the lined cotton of his briefs, the head pushing out then swinging up as his shaft lengthened. By the time I was ready to pull the elastic of his briefs, Roberto’s boyhood had reached the hem; I pulled it away from the boy’s smooth belly. Up popped the enrobed globe, throbbing its wrinkled, ruddy crown with the boy’s rapid heartbeats. A more pronounced scent of youth aroused my senses; a drop of my nectar slipped from my cock in response. I worked Roberto’s underwear down his fleshy buttocks with both hands, tugging it halfway down to hug his hairless thighs. Beneath the arching shaft, the boy’s testicles dangled in their dusky pouch, darkening hairs sprinkled here and there. His phallus, rigid and skin taut, was magnificent to behold. I wanted to tease its turgidity with the most subtle of touches. I took one finger and delicately ran it around the skin covered corona. “Uhh … Uhh …” A magnetic charge ran between us. I could feel my cock slowly sliding down the inside of my boxers, my foreskin pulled back by the cotton fabric. I circled my finger about the circumference of Roberto’s glans again. The boy’s legs stiffened, he stood on tiptoe for a moment, holding his breath. Another twirl as I watched his face. His eyes closed in ecstasy. I then ran the back of my finger up the center line of the boy’s balls causing them to contract. “Oooh! That tickles,” the teen exclaimed, finishing with a giggle. “I’m going to jerk it now,” I declared with a pseudo-ominous low voice. I took hold of the boy’s shaft and paused. Roberto looked down, gebze escort waiting. Teasing moments that are excruciating in one’s early years. I drew down the veined skin, unrolling it at a snail’s pace. Erotically, an angry purple head appeared. “Uhhn,” the boy groaned throatily. Involuntarily, I did as well at the pure sound of young lust. Of course, Roberto wouldn’t last long so I looked to enjoy the spectacle of this boy’s climb toward the peak experience of boyhood. I stroked deliberately with a firm hand, alternately enjoying the reactive flesh standing before me and the boy’s paroxysms as they swept across his face in waves of agonizing pleasure. His balls tightened, the squat column of flesh stiffened. I resisted an urge to suck it. A fragrance arose from the boy’s heat. “Mister! I think you better stop now! I’m gonna cum.” “Try to hold it,” I said teasingly, knowing full well it was like asking to stop a runaway bull. The head bulged obscenely, adrip with fluid, squishing with a pronounced sound with every stroke of his cock. “I … I can’t, Mister,” was the desperate reply. “Then shoot your load, Roberto. Shoot it!” I urged. Came the climbing, climactic high pitch of Youth. “Uh … Uh … Uhh … Uhhnngghh!” Roberto’s phallus gave strong, deep-rooted jerks that unleashed several twisting white ropes of boy semen outward onto the bare boards of my living room floor. My distended, but unerect cock, twinged in my pants. I held his foreskin down as I watched the ejaculatory pulsations. I felt the rhythm slow and subside. The moment gradually passed. I let my fingertips free the barely detumescent flesh. “Gee, Mister, sorry about cumming on your floor.” “Did you enjoy yourself?” “Yeah.” “Then don’t worry about it, Roberto.” I could tell the boy was unsure of what to do. “You can put your pinga away now.” Roberto used his fingers to roll his skin up and then clumsily pulled his underwear and sweats over his still prominent boner. When he was through I enjoyed his attempt at social grace in such an unfamiliar, to him, circumstance. “Um, thanks, Mister. I mean …” “Roberto,” I said reassuringly, “First, you can call me Alex and second, anytime you want to come by just knock.” “Okay … Alex.” We said our goodbyes and, after Roberto departed, I enjoyed spewing my load over his on the living room floor before cleaning up the mess. Roberto did come by several times a week at first and I decided I would only jerk him unless he wanted more, even though his cock was very suckable. Eventually, I suggested it and that led to my giving him head standing before me and then lying on the couch. The boy became comfortable enough to pull his legs back and I did suck his asshole a couple of times. Once, I even got my fingers home before Roberto put a stop to that, he didn’t want to be a maricon. I did see that Roberto had a girlfriend. I found out through other boys that she was perhaps borderline retarded, not a bad thing for a first girlfriend, but more importantly, she was crazy. Crazy in that she would masturbate at inappropriate times and places like in the girl’s room at school or in an alleyway; better yet for a first girlfriend! She did look pre-schizophrenic to be honest. As I mentioned, this wasn’t the best neighborhood and life was lived more openly in the city than in suburban America. Eventually Roberto gained enough confidence that he spent more time with this girl and visited less and less. That was okay. Knowledge spread amongst the boys in the neighborhood and, within a few months, I practically needed an appointment calendar. I warned Roberto to guard against getting her pregnant and I didn’t hear anything of the sort before I left the city. Roberto had another friend, Tommy. He is the second boy I had from the neighborhood and is the next chapter in this journal. All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2017

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