AA - Ariel

Ariel Andrew Adams, known as AA, a recently minted sixteen-year-old, was free for the summer. Final exams were successfully behind him. His mother’s younger brother, myself, Geoffrey Jones, twenty-eight, visited the Adams family for the event’s small, celebratory dinner – all that AA wanted. A handful of other gifts were tucked away in modesty.

Regaled along with his parents by my stories of life in the wilds of nature and of the place’s stimulus to my articles and on-going project, a book. The book would make me famous. But I needed an agent. Fat chance on this trip.

I had had not seen my sister or other members of her family in several years. In a concerted effort to write my book, a novel, I had sequestered himself in what I described to them as a remote, rented cabin, “in a magical forest.” Defeated although unwilling to admit it, I was inspired by my diminished bank account and need for distraction to pay a visit to my dear, older sister, who doted on me. Occasionally with funds.

Honestly, my head needed clearing and my bank account replenishing, if only a means not too obvious could be discovered.

His Uncle Geoff’s appearance happened to coincide with AA’s birthday but was treated by Amy Adams as an intention for me to get to know her boy, who, an aspiring writer, idolized me, the family’s acknowledged author, from afar. Now, courtesy of Mom, in the flesh.

I could tell that, to AA, his Uncle Geoff was strikingly handsome. The shock of untamed black hair I sported, my strongly defined eyebrows, piercing jade green eyes, a nose of attractive design, thin but surely-kissable light-red lips which readily smiled, a strong-set jaw, impressively broad shoulders, and a flat stomach that flowed smoothly into a pelvic area secreted beneath rather flowing pants. I moved in a way that suggested wiry muscles operating arms and legs.

My show at the table managed to impress the relatives as purposeful, hence admirable. In AA’s innocent eyes, Uncle Geoff glowed. I was a somebody.

Amy had remarked on my choice of words in conversation, my elevated vocabulary. She admonished AA to “listen to him and learn.”

This I found out later: Amy had a secret that my brother-in-law did not know but might stumble upon. Ariel was not his son. The boy’s sire, her demanding lover, and she had plans to make a future for themselves, one in which Ariel did not figure. Together, they evolved the idea to place the boy and his obviously susceptible sexual innocence with me, her gay brother.

Fancy that.

If it worked, months could pass before Ariel, who never had enjoyed closeness with the man he considered his father, found out. By then, of little matter. I would be the man in his life.

That could be finessed.

At the dinner table, flattered me dug into Amy’s meal of roasted beef, cheesy mashed potatoes, farm-fresh yellow squash, with a green salad on the side. During dessert, homemade blueberry pie – AA’s favorite – I began to notice the boy’s exceptional attractiveness.

Thick, glossy black locks seemed to hover around a face graceful for its innocence. Spaniel eyes blinked with naïve seduction. Skin the color of whole milk, with roseate cheeks only recently shaved for the first time. A pretty mouth never kissed in passion. A body ready to be fledged from its mundane world by the man of his dreams. If he even had such dreams.

I was rusty about such things but not about nephew Ariel.

I thought of the line, “Would I a poet were.” Indeed, were I a poet, I could find words to describe the boy whose appearance stirred me so. I felt myself rising in the critical area and was grateful no one had proposed leaving the table.

“AA, now’s a good time for you to invite Uncle Geoff to your room and show him some of your writings,” Amy prompted. “You can really help him, can’t you, darling brother?”

I continued to sit, tacit.

“That would be great!” A boyish grin broke over dimpled cheeks.

“Go ahead, dear. We’ll take care of the dishes. You two can get better acquainted.” She revealed nothing of what was in her mind but was aware of my right hand tugging at myself under the table cloth. “AA wants to learn from you, to benefit from your author’s standards.”

That she emphasized by a soft kick to a certain brother’s nearest ankle.

My composure threatened, I used a napkin as intended – on my mouth - and to wipe my beading forehead. Dropped the article as by accident, bent to retrieve it, stood with it over my by-then-painful bulge, said thanks, and followed nephew AA from dining room, through living room, down the hall to and up its stairs and, like a robot, into what could only be a teenager’s bedroom.

Brains told me to find a reason to make excuses but my damn feet would not turn back. They did avoided tripping over some books on the floor.

“Mom comes on strong,” AA said. “She really cares, though. Look, there’s my bed, freshly made up. Did she tell you you’ll be sharing it with me? We don’t have a guest room. But it’s great because no one will bother us.”

Speechlessly aware of impending danger in the arrangement, his famous – Hah! - Uncle Geoff lost his hardon and looked for a chair.

The first example of AA’s prose was a brief account of a foot race on a dare between two track runners at his school. Dull. Few action verbs.

“Next?”

“This is based on my interviews with the boy and girl who played Romeo and Juliet in our school play.” He handed it over with an ingratiating smile.

My mind thudded. Nothing about feelings. Too superficial to merit anyone’s reading it.

To the waiting-and-eager expression directed my way, I cleared my throat to ask, “AA, have you done anything athletic?”

“Huh? No.”    

Have you had a romance of any type?”

He looked down. “No.”

“You are writing about things you do not know, right?”

“Yes, is that wrong?” He looked up.

“It means that you lack the experience which informs good writing. You need experience. If you are serious about writing – and I think you aspire to be – then, while I’m with you, do you want to begin having experience – experience a writer needs?

Shy kid. Curious, though. His breakthrough waiting to happen.

“Yes, but I don’t know how.”

I did, so said, “I do. If you want me to provide for you, then stand up and we’ll begin. Follow my instructions and do not speak. Understand? Obey me this night and, by the morning, you will be on your way to becoming a real person.”

AA frowned and beamed at the same time as he stood.

“Take off your clothing – completely. We will start as with a newborn child.”

That stopped him. He squinted, I think to gather his nerve.

On one leg at a time, he removed shoes and socks, then stepped from pants and shorts, unbuttoned his shirt, slid it to one side, stripped over his head the clingy undershirt, and stood naked. “Is this the way you like it?”

Oddly put question, it threw me for a sec. Maybe the kid had what it took to be a writer. Writers need creative thinking. So I had heard. No time for musing. His Greek-style genitals, their diminutive grouping wreathed modestly by wisps of black curls, would be given special treatment in due course.

I embraced him without resistance. Used my tongue under his chin to direct his look up and rubbed together the tips of our noses. “Closer,” I cajoled, and kissed his upper lip, his mouth, both cheeks, released my hold on his back to take his head in my hands, and pressed tongue where lips had been.

To my kiss’s probes, he pulled away to repeat himself, “Is this the way you like it?”

“Oh yes, and you will, too. Open my shirt and push it off. Feel with your hands my arms, assess their strength. Embrace me, AA, tight as you can. What’s against your stomach is adult sex, mine. It is going to be important to your next step. Grind against it and think what you will learn from letting it out of my pants.”

Idea planted.

What he could do was to heft himself against me allowed my hands to find his soft bottom – the bottom which had not yet been seen by me – to encircle its halves’ smoothness, to part slightly their flare, to tease between, and to touch so delicately he shivered in response.

He had as yet no pucker. His turds must be small. I must finesse unawakened ardor into desire – then we both would see.

“Easy now, in time I’ll open you here and transport you into the realm of sensual wonder. Drop down now and discover with your hands what you have need to see, you must see, you must take into yourself.”

AA’s knees buckled willingly, I thought – but clearly under the spell of my charisma. Of his own, he touched the length of my erection, the heap of my balls. I think he wanted to place his cheek against them. At least he canted his head in that direction.

I snapped my finger, “Take down my pants – and scrutinize what’s yoked there. Reconcile yourself to its liberation.” My best vocabularic choices.

Thick with need, my cock sprang at him. A sparkle of deep, if astonished pleasure was detected behind the blinking of the boy’s eyes. Carefully, he reached to groom it admiringly with tentative fingers. Down its sides, along the vein beneath, out to the wetted head where he halted.

I contracted muscles to let it twitch from fingers to face. Unable to ignore its pulses, the heat it gave off, he stifled a gasp and glanced up, pristine mouth opening to ask a question. I cut that off.

“That’s the way, AA. Stay open. Get closer. It’s safe for a special guy like you. Try the end with your tongue. Taste the juice. It’s a slight form of nourishment for a boy as starved for experience as you. There’s better to come.”

Cowed briefly, his breath charged the air with expectancy. Any doubts settled elsewhere. He leaned, wondering how wide his jaw would open. The prospect ahead intimidated him – fruitlessly. He would do it.

My heart throbbed. I could love this boy.

At his warmly wet contact, my eyes shut. All I could do to hold still. He slid onto me just enough that – ohmigod! – I came in his mouth. My voice, as from a distance, compelled him, “Drink it. Drink it. Swallow, AA. Swallow the essence of your man.”

He did, with distaste written on his sweet face. Urgent that he have not an instant to doubt being with me, I lifted him to my mouth and kissed where I had come so ardently that he wrapped his legs around my hips – pure instinct.

I carried him to his bed – our bed – and took position as a man would over a woman. His legs remained locked in place. “You are a marvel waiting to happen,” I proclaimed huskily no further than his nearby ear, drew up, and rocked my hot leakiness over his silken flesh.

Kisses – how we kissed! He was becoming adept with lips and tongue. No match for me, of course. No, I must subdue this inclination in favor of his untried lower joys.

“AA, your osculations are irresistible.” True, he had been a quick learner in that department. “Your oral pucker’s really good, thanks to me.” I ran a forefinger beneath his balls and felt his crack for the spot to enter. “But, you don’t have its equivalent here,” I probed. “You must have one. So, I will commence to start a proper pucker for you. For your anus.”

His stare-ahead scrutiny showed that being titillated there gave him pause.

A kind of natural lubrication provided for my finger to slip in and to feel forward bit by bit. As I gingerly skewered him, my face was kissed vociferously.

Judgment: he wanted penetration.

I wanted to test the small chute’s malleability but managed not to rush, despite my excitement. My stratagem was to guide, then launch digital projectiles into AA’s defenseless, moist ring and beyond without pain – one, two, then three, before injecting the real thing.

While I ruminated for the moment, then rummaged, his ass began – I swear – to nibble at my knuckles, seeming to appeal for their occupancy. I stroked him until the going was completely smooth. Out I zipped. Held the finger to his nose. “Does this smell bad?”

“No.”

Another omigod instant. I crossed my index finger over it and said, “Coat these with your saliva.”

He peeked before conceding to provide drool and registered as happy to have both bony appendages move in. Frigging him led to sounds for which I have no nomenclature but which were sexy as anything in my life. For a second, I fumbled my adjacent finger just outside, then let it ride in with my next thrust.

AA widened. Waited for me prior to saying directly, “I like it.”

I moaned. Me!

As turned on as his ass made me through its conciliatory relationship to my hand’s action, I craved to know whether his remarkable, unfucked asshole could accept and accommodate the cock his mouth had met. My imperative was to implant my most manly part in this comely boy’s backside.

“Writers such as you say you want to be, AA, must be receptive to the aura and romance of love expressed here.”

In a voice veiled by what I took to be incipient emotion, he said, “Will I learn how love feels?”

“Lift your legs to make room for me and I’ll prove it to you.”

He tried. I helped. Noted was the poignance of a pet that doesn’t understand its master but obeys him. Teen boner – a pricklet compared to mine – in evidence, wrinkled ballsack drawn tightly. Expectant. Determined.

My hand withdrawn, I used its coating to smear my spear’s length. There, before me, was virgin pucker, fresh. Mine to educate.

Peculiar beauty appeared to enchant me as flawless teen spot submitted to implacably steady cock’s demand to sink into it. He flushed, tossed his head – I supposed in recognition of the incredible thing’s hardness and heat being buried in his body. More, it rode into something that torched a fiery need. He appeared to burn as his territory was staked out and seemed to want to cry in dismay rather than pain.

I smothered his mouth with mine.  “Not yet, my pretty. We’re about to celebrate what Whitman called ‘the body electric’ and how what we will do tonight on this bed will prompt you to sing with the best words of your short existence when next you write something.”

Not nonsense to him, AA moved under me enough that he was mine, totally, to instruct. Thus coupled, interlocked actually, I could commence shuttling my penis into and from him, and to do so with increasing deftness. He traced my muscled arms and firm sides, and grappled my thrusting buttocks to escalate the pelvic cadence of our fuck.

Raw it was. Awareness eluded us, for bestial mechanics took over. A coupling of jungle intensity – a sexual tantrum – in a bed upstairs over the heads of the boy’s parents. My passion had relegated sense of responsibility elsewhere. Leave the trance, wake up! – I shouted silently at myself. Temper this from mindless lust to love.

Diff-i-cult.

AA’s virginity had surrendered painlessly to me under circumstances that defied tradition and his physical responses had jumped from submissive to active. His excitement released seemingly limitless reserves of energy into a body I had found appealing for its slightness, its possible fragility.

Now, lost in rapture, he was humping back at me with nine inches of mancock coring him. My sight of his determined face blurred as I lurched uncontrollably into orgasm simultaneously with his. Crudely put, we blew our tubes with violence unheard of in first-time inseminations – my seed in his newly drilled pit, his as high as his face.

I licked the splatters off. Left some on his tongue when I kissed him in my descent from our pinnacle. Softening, pulling out, I lay to one side, turned him to spoon with me, and said, “Let’s get some sleep.”

It was during the night, when he had rolled away and inadvertently emerged from the sheet, that he woke so cold his teeth might chatter. Something must have gone wrong with the attic’s air conditioning. By backing up and stealing behind for cover, he roused me. From my warmth, I extended a finger, found his hole, felt as if to finger it, pulled him to my rising cock, laid claim once again, went in, and embraced him, cocooning the two of us until morning.

By breakfast, we had a plan. Clothed and chipper, we presented ourselves at the table. En route, I’d noticed that the attic thermostat has been set for sixty-five degrees by some clandestine soul with intent. Kept that to myself.

“Mom! Where’s Dad?”

“He left earlier.”

“Well Mom, I know what I want to do for the Summer,” he enthused as hot pancakes with melted butter were placed before us. “Say yes, please, please.”

“Please to what?”

AA dithered. His cheeks turned the color of ripe apples

“He’s over-excited, Sis. We spoke a good deal about writing, about how writers write, about some of our best writers….”

“Mom, Uncle Geoff’s right! He’s got all the examples in his cabin and…and…I can learn how to write from them, from him,” he turned my way, eyes apop.

To forestall the exposure of too much, I passed him the maple syrup. “I’m okay with the idea, Sis, if you’ll cover his expenses.”

There, the proposition was out on the table along with the sausages which had arrived with to-die-for herbal aroma.

She knew. Had to. She had set this up. She would ante the money.

“How much?”

A fast calculation made, I told her. She pretended the sum would be a burden but her eyes told me AA’s remaining with her in a state of disappointment would be more of a burden. She had some-thing up her sleeve. I had no clue then, but there was motive for sure.

Learned that later, as I confessed earlier.

Amy went for her checkbook.

“Finish your food and get upstairs. Use the toilet. Pack a few things,” I directed. “I’ll go with Amy to the bank which will be open by now.”

He flew.

I got Amy’s money into my account and a threat in the car coming home.

“You’d better not hurt him. He so young, so impressionable. You hurt him and I’ll….”

“You mean physically?”

“That, too. You know what I mean.”

“Sis, other than to spank him if he gets out of line, I won’t. I guarantee. Last night, I found out what a hot kid he is. You wouldn’t believe….”

Her look stilled me.

* * *

We reached the cabin in time for sundown. A propitious, pine-scent atmosphere! Provisions, including food picked up along the way, were stowed, my guest peering at the double bed and poking his nose to check out the bathroom, the closets.

“Uncle Geoff, what’s in here? The door’s locked.”

I played it cool. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out – in time.”

“When will that be?”

“After we eat the sandwiches we bought and the slaw. I’m going to brew some coffee. Want some, or will the caffeine keep you awake?”

Provocatively, demure eyes rolled, “I’ll be keeping you awake.”

The place already was casting its spell.

* * *

Scrubbed clean and self-anointed inside with my special cream, he joined me on the bed. I took his hand and kissed it. “From this moment, you are mine to command, Ariel, like this cabin, you’re now my natural property. Yours is the name of an angel of nature, Ariel. It’s too beautiful not to use. AA belongs to the place you recently lived and to its people. Now, in these special environs, your name, your body and spirit are mine to adore and to mold as personally as my faith in you will let me.”

Thus oriented, he used a hand to inform himself – thoroughly, I thought – of my chest hair’s growth. He nuzzled his beardless chin in its warmth.

I moved over his naked body, “Rest your heels on my collar bones so you can see me adoring you.”

Ariel’s mind seemed to whir the further into him my cock rode. In the seconds involved, I read what his face evinced – awareness, expectation, momentary worry, evaluation, and serenity…before radiating capitulation.

A look of childlike elation broke on his face as I plunged and pumped hard, retreated and hovered, looked where his hole twitched, sank in to begin circular loops of moving dominance, and became motoric – my fucking mindlessly repetitive, devastatingly effective. My cock’s long thickness had his ring stretching open for drives and closing partway when I pulled completely away to tease him, and to enjoy both sight and sensation of re-skewering the cherishable, springy spot.

Appreciative of his hole’s dilations and contractions, I prolonged the fuck. He did not mind, although I was attuned for any sign of complaint. Ariel’s eyes seldom left mine. Whether I drilled him with derrick-driven force or slowed to steady glides, he was there for me. A sixteen-year-old had me in thrall – in my cabin!

I would show him.

I lowered Ariel’s legs, crossed them at the ankles, pressed them close to his stomach without compromising my strokes in deep and out to his rim, and glowered. “You think you’re something. I’ll show you what you are,” and smacked his cheek.

That stunned him. I barreled in, all the way in – as if intending to reach his diaphragm. I increased the fuck’s pace. Pounded with sweaty slaps against his bottom – only to be met by the same unflinching stare, not at me but into me.

His look did not accuse me of over-dominance but nonetheless prompted me through body language to lessen my attack and abate its force, to possess him with undulating hips dreamily loving his ass. I released his ankles and opened his legs as widely as their sockets allowed.

As if told to do so, he took from my hands his legs, held them apart, regarded me with smoldering passion, and said in a low voice, “I am yours.”

The remark charged me. I propped my left palm on his chest, gathered his balls in my right, pulled at them, surrounded them with my fingers, and held to them tightly while bucking my way to orgasm.

With me all the way – and despite my doubtless painful grasp – Ariel detonated when I did. He contracted with spasms. The peak’s effect spread wilder than any fire through the forest of his body – pelvis, trunk, arms, head, hands.

Rictus like a death throe possessed me on my final thud into Ariel, who held his chin high. Jerks of limbs signaled he had borne the brunt of my obsessive ejaculation.

Awareness returned. Tumescences ebbed.

“Is it going to be like this every day?”

“Yes.”

He smiled sagely.

The inspirational cabin in this story is located in the same deep forest as another inspirational one.