Growth Spurts 

 Art by Michael Kirwan

 Story by James Anselm

— originally published in Freshman Magazine - December, 1995 issue —



I know Joey's parents have gone out, because I heard them. That means he's home by himself, and I'd like to think he's beating off. I have no proof, of course, but he's a healthy 18-year-old and doesn't seem to have a regular girlfriend. If he's got nobody to put out for him, he must be taking care of it himself, like I usually do.


I visualize him standing at the mirror in the front bedroom right above mine. He peels off his shirt and starts flexing his muscles. Lean and nicely defined, his body starts glistening with sweat right away as he pumps himself up. He's played football all through high school, and he has weights in the basement. His shoulders are just beginning to look like a man's instead of a boy's, and his chest is gradually getting fuller.


Imagination is a great thing, so I'm very careful not to watch Joey work out when he comes downstairs. I don't want him to know too much about me — then he might stop wearing those baggy shorts and oversized T shirts that turn me on so much, their fullness suggestive of goodies waiting to be unwrapped.


In the dozen years I've owned this house, Joey and his parents have been my only tenants, and I'd like to keep them here. In that time I've watched their son grow from a cute little boy to a gawky teen, and now his potential is being realized as he matures into a fine looking young man.


It was such a turn-on that night I spied on him from a distance as he was preening in front of a car, using the window as a mirror for his posing. Hiking up his cutoffs, he tensed his calves and thighs. I cursed the darkness as he flexed his biceps — there wasn't enough light to make binoculars useful. Joey's back was to me, but I still popped a woody when he pulled up his shirt to check his abs. I've blown several loads remembering that evening.


I picture the nipples jutting from his smooth chest as he expands his pectorals. I can almost hear him sucking in the air to spread his rib cage open to its full size. As he flexes his arms again and again, the biceps seem to grow slightly and peak. He tightens his midsection, and sharp ridges of muscle break the flat surface.


I'm getting a boner now, and I'm sure Joey has one too. When he drops his shorts, it's shoving at his jockstrap, trying to pop loose as it gets harder and longer. He keeps posing at the mirror, telling himself how great he looks and getting himself hotter by the minute.


I don't know how big his cock is — the way he wears his pants, I've never even seen its outline — but because he's almost exactly six feet tall, I picture it  being a little bigger than average, maybe close to seven inches.


Now, the tip of it works loose from its elastic confines and edges up along his lean stomach. Joey tenses his butt, and another half inch of dick pushes out into the air.


I want this boy so badly, though it's crazy to let myself admit it. Pushing 40 just like his father, I don't think I’d have a chance even if — by some miracle — he were gay. And what are the odds of that? I know, 1 in 10.


Invariably, these flights of fancy leave me feeling extra horny, with no relief in sight but Mister Fist. Out comes my hard tool and I'm working it when I hear the knock at the door. It can only be Joey, so I shove the stiffer back into my pants. "Hi," I say, bringing him inside, "I was just thinking about you." (He doesn't get it, thank God!)


I offer him a soda, and we talk for a while about nothing in particular. His hands wave, and his blond head bobs around. He's nervous about something, picking invisible lint off his floppy polo shirt, but I like to look at him so much, I don't rush him. Finally, the conversation turns to the topic of money, which is a perennial problem in his family.


"I know my folks are a little behind in the rent," he says rather diffidently.


"I shouldn't be discussing this with you," I say, "but they're a lot behind."


"If there's anything. Well, I thought maybe I could do something for you to sort of make that up a bit."


I don't get it at first. "What do you mean, Joey?" I ask half expecting him to volunteer to do odd jobs around the house for me.


Instead, he looks me right in the eye — he's tall enough for that now — and starts groping at his basket through his shorts. Neither of us speak for a few moments, but when he gets up and leads the way to my front bedroom, I follow him without question.


I lean against the mirror there, and Joey slowly peels off his shirt and starts flexing his muscles. I hadn't envisioned the love handles, but the rest of his body is pretty nicely defined. There are fair traces of tiny hairs between the double curves of his chest, unexpected and delightful.


I see him start to sweat right away as he pumps himself up, his nipples jutting from his expanded pecs. I can hear him sucking in the air to spread his rib cage open. As he slowly flexes his arms again and again, the biceps seem to grow slightly and peak. He tenses his midsection, and in spite of the puppy fat, little ridges of muscle break the smooth surface.


I'm getting a real boner now, and when he drops his shorts, Joey has one too. It's shoving at his jockstrap, trying to pop loose as it gets longer and harder. My eyes tell him how great he looks, and the rasp of our breathing in the quiet room reveals how he's getting us both hotter by the minute.


I realize that we're moving closer together by degrees as he keeps posing for me. I haven't touched him yet, and I'm not sure I want to. We just stand there looking at each other. It's as though nothing's going to happen after all.


Finally, it's Joey who reaches out and takes my hand, putting it where the tip of his cock is pushing past its elastic confines. He clenches his butt, and another inch of stiff dick slides up into my fingers.


"Isn't that worth a bit of back rent?" he asks. This is no boy speaking to me — I realize with a tingle that his voice has become deeper than his father's.


I peel back the pouch. As I let go of his cock, it springs back against his belly. My estimate of his size was short — he must have at least eight inches here, looking even longer because it's so slender. And it's hard as only a teenager's rod can be, pointing straight up at his chin. Hanging below, his balls are wrapped in a soft golden fur — some people say they look bigger shaved, but Joey's are more than big enough as they are. I push the straps down along his thighs, and the supporter falls the rest of the way to his feet.


I don't make a big deal of undressing; I'm in good enough shape not to fuss about it. I just strip off my clothes and drop them on a chair. Joey's eyes widen when he sees how hard — and how big — I am. "You look great," he tells me, kicking the jockstrap out of his way. "If you don't mind my asking, how old are you, anyway?"


"I’ll be 40 in August."


"I can't believe you're the same age as my dad. You look so much better than he does." As he grips my prick and starts stroking it, I have to wonder if Joey has ever seen his father with a hard-on.


In a few minutes I'll want more than this, but for now I enjoy the way the two of us stand there, our hands moving almost in unison along our thoroughly rigid members. We're aroused, and it feels good. It feels better when each of us runs his fingers over the other's body to get a sense of it. When I make him stop, we both know it's because there's still so much to come.


I kneel down then and take his cock in my hand again; my fingers curl easily around its slim length. It's so hard, I'm reminded of steel except for the heat of it, where metal would be cool. With my other hand joining the first, I can hold all of him except the head, so I cover that with my mouth, lightly brushing my tongue along his piss slit.


Instantly the head gets even bigger, and I’m afraid he's going to come too soon. His breathing is ragged, and his fingers dig into my shoulders. He squirts a little precum, but then he gets control of himself.


"Impressive," I tell him. "Most guys your age wouldn't be able to hold back."


"I can go either way," Joey boasts, "In the morning I can get it up in the shower and shoot in less than three minutes. I wasn't late for school once all year."


"I won't ask you to prove that," I say, smiling, then slip him back into my mouth. He laughs a little, then rests his hands on my shoulders again as I blow him.


Intermittently I release his cock from my mouth so I can lick various portions of his torso, especially his soft stomach. Joey starts to go crazy, squirming with excitement when I nibble gently on his chest. He tries to get away from me, and we wrestle a bit — nothing serious, but I realize how strong he's gotten.


I sit on the edge of the bed then, and the young man sits next to me. He lowers his head into my lap, licking my cock and balls before attempting the main course.


In his first try, he gags on my size, but he quickly manages to get past that hurdle and is soon slurping away. Leaning back and shifting around on the mattress, we assume the classic sixty nine position and pleasure each other, now equal partners in this shared act of sex play.


Investigating his asshole with a single finger, I get a couple of negative-sounding grunts. Maybe later.... I bring my hand back to his ball sac, playing in the soft hairs, tugging just a little when I sense he's getting too close again.


Imitating every move I make, Joey is getting me charged up, and I stay with him, riding higher and higher as the turbulence builds within us both. He opens his mouth to gasp: "Oh, shit, yeah!" Twitching uncontrollably with pleasure, he lets go of me; I use my hands for our finishing strokes. He lets out a roar — I'm only seconds behind him — then pow! We're coming!


I lose my grip on his cock as he thrashes about, but I can see the six ribbons of white that gush out of it, each one as much come as I normally shoot in an entire load. Today is different, though; with Joey as an example, I feel like I'm bursting open, and I let fly with a double blast that hits him in the center of his chest.


Covered in mingled sweat and come, we fall back to catch our breath. He starts talking almost immediately, going on and on as we lie there about what it's like to be an only child, about sports in school, about anything except what we've just done together. I just listen and think, Is he trying to forget it already? "Joey," I finally say, "we don't have to take this any further..."


"If you start talking like that, I’ll leave right away." He's quiet for a moment, then he says, "You know, I wasn't serious about the back rent."


"I didn't think so. Even at $ 200 or more per call, which I've seen in some ads, you'd have to do an awful lot of this to work it off — and there's no way I could explain to your folks. No, what I mean is that you might be better off pursuing this with someone closer to your own age, someone a bit more...."


"Immature?" he cuts in. "That's not what I want at all. Since I was a little kid, I've looked up to you." He puts his hand on my chest to keep me from interrupting and leaves it there. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted you to hold me in your arms. At one time I thought it was wrong to feel like that, but as I've gotten older I see there's more than one way...."


I silence him this time by putting my arms around him and pulling him as close to me as I can, and he squeezes back with gratifying power. "That's the way," he tells me. Immediately I become aware of both the increasing speed of his heartbeat and the resurgence of his erection against my thigh.


I can barely believe that he's ready for another go round so rapidly, but he climbs on top of me and greases himself up with the splooge he scoops off his chest. He traces the edge of my balls with a sticky finger, then slips his hardness between my thighs.


Inflating his chest again, Joey leans over just enough for me to reach and tease his nipples. They begin to swell, and he starts sliding his dick into action. His breathing quickens, and he sits up straighter, the muscles pumping in his thighs as he seesaws in and out.


Impaled between my crossed legs, his slim cock stabs back and forth, faster and faster. I chant "Joe, Joe, Joe," in time with his frantic thrusts. He moans my name a few times, but soon he's panting too hard even to speak. Then his stomach bumps up against mine, and he throws back his head. His hands grab helplessly at the sheets as his piston shoots another load into the mattress.


"I want to go all the way," he whispers into my ear when he can speak again. "I'd like you to fuck me... in the ass... with that big cock of yours." My dick has been slower to get hard again, but now it becomes positively rigid with lust for his virgin asshole.


I start to unwrap a condom from my nightstand, but Joey reaches out and takes it from me. Opening his mouth, he wets my cock down, then unrolls the rubber against the skin. I pass him lubricant, and he coats my member, stroking me so thoroughly that I fear I'm going to shoot before I can ever get inside him. Finally he turns around and bends over the bed.


It's not the kind of bubble butt that excites me the most, but as I part his ass cheeks to find and lube his opening, there's a certain rightness about it. He's not loose, not at all, yet there doesn't seem to be any resistance as my cock presses its way in. Still, I go slowly, savoring the feeling.


I had anticipated a cry from him, but he's completely motionless, almost holding his breath from pleasure or pain. Deeper still I enter, caressing his flanks, only inches from possessing him utterly.


"It's so-o-o big," he croons, finding his voice again. "Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah. Go slow — let me feel every inch of it."


Into his secret parts, I proceed until our bodies touch, my stomach against his ass, my chest on his back as I bend over to hug him to me. Then I kiss the back of his neck, just once. "Now," he sighs. "Do it."


Initially I take it easy, gliding back and forth in him with a slow, almost delicate motion, allowing him to become accustomed to the bulk of my intruder. I ease back until I'm just barely inside him, then I push forward until our hips meet. Only very gradually do I pick up the pace.


Instead of merely bracing himself against my penetration, he's beginning to work with me. He closes himself around me, keying up the arousal for both of us. "Oh, yeah," he mutters, "fuck me more. Fuck me!"


I know he can take it now, so I ride him that much harder. The sensation of my balls bouncing against his is new to me; I can't remember ever feeling it before. He's starting to get louder now too, growling and grunting with each thrust.


I run my hands around his body, squeezing his muscles, twisting his nipples until he yelps, then reaching for his rod to work on it. Why am I not surprised to find it completely hard again? "Oh, man, play with my cock," he moans. "Make me come!"


Indeed, I do my damnedest to comply, ramming my prong into his hole as though I could fuck the come out of him. Maybe I can, because soon he is gasping for breath again and his balls are drawn up in a swollen knot against the base of his cock. It's got to be now or never, as I'm on the brink myself and won't be able to stay hard in him once I've shot a second wad.


In that last moment his cock swells up larger in my hand, and he lets out a yell. I can feel his load erupting through my fingers, driven by my thrusts against his prostate. He buckles, and I have to hold him up for a minute.


Incredibly, I’m still going — still fucking, still not ready to give up my cream. I feel as if I could do this forever; then, suddenly, I can't stop it from happening. Caught safely in the cock glove, my load is smaller this time, but the force of the ejaculation is even more intense.


I'm the one who has to be held up now, and we hold each other for quite a spell. I get sodas for both of us, but after the first swallow, they just sit there while we cuddle. We don't talk anymore. Our bodies have said it all.


It's getting late, and those people upstairs — his parents, my tenants — will be home soon. Reluctantly we pry ourselves apart, and I give Joey a towel to clean our combined come off his stomach and chest. At least, I’ll have that when he's gone, when I imagine him standing at the mirror in the front bedroom, sweating and jerking off.


I hand him his shorts, his jockstrap, his polo shirt; he puts them on, and he's ready to go. At the apartment door he gives me a quick hug and pecks my cheek.


"I'll be back," he says.



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