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looking-after-jake

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Subject: Looking after Jake Looking after Jake Disclaimer: The following short story is a work of fiction which features sexual activity between a teenage boy and a grown man. If you do not want to read such a story, or it is illegal for you to do so because of your age or where you live, then I recommend you go read something else instead. It’s always great to hear from readers, and I do make sure I write back. If you want to get in touch, please email me on hoo If you can, please support Nifty with a financial donation – whatever you can afford – so that this archive of stories can remain free and available. Just go to http://donate./ *** Jake is simply gorgeous. I first clocked him the day after I’d moved in. He lives a couple of houses down the street from me. I soon established that he lives with his mum and dad, and has a younger sister who’s due to start at secondary school in September. But it’s Jake I’m interested in. He’s sixteen, a little below average height and slightly built, with neat hair and a complexion unusually clear and smooth for a boy of his age. Oh, the things I’d do to him given half a chance! I’m on good terms with his mum and dad. They invited me to dinner with the family not long after I moved in; a rather uncommon act of neighbourliness on their part. I haven’t told them I’m gay and I’m not generally considered camp in appearance or behaviour. Having said that, anyone with any reasonable powers of deduction should have been able to work it out from some of the things I’ve said in my conversations with them. If they have worked it out, it doesn’t seem to have altered our essentially amiable coexistence. Since I moved in a couple of months ago, I’ve bumped into Jake numerous times. Being nearly twenty years his senior, I’ve always taken care to avoid situations that might seem suspicious to my neighbours. There have been a couple of occasions – where I’ve been putting the wheelie bin out and Jake’s been walking past – when he’s stopped and chatted to me, lingering as if he hoped I would invite him in. He seems to like me, and he comes across as a sweet, well-behaved and studious lad. I do feel a bit sorry for him, however. His mother seems to constantly fuss over him, while his dad appears to be something of a workaholic, rarely at home and often away for several days at a time on business. *** It’s just gone midnight. I’m watching TV on my own, as usual. I’ve recently come out of a long-term relationship. The breakdown was the reason for me moving into this place. The doorbell rings. `Who’s there at this time of night?’ I ask myself. I head into the hallway. Outside the front door, I can hear scuffling and giggling. I look through the spyhole. Two teenagers, both looking rather dishevelled, are standing there. Fucking hell! The last thing I need is two troublemakers knocking on my door! I open the door, about to give them a piece of my mind, when I notice something else. Between them they’re holding a red-cheeked Jake, who looks even more bedraggled than they do. `What’s he been up to?’ I ask myself. Before I have a chance to say anything, the two guys straighten up and attempt to look very serious. “I’m sorry Mr Wilkinson, but we believe this belongs to you,” one of them says before they proceed to attempt to pass Jake to me through the doorway. For a moment, I’m confused. Suddenly I remember that Jake’s surname is Wilkinson. They must think I’m his father and that this is Jake’s house. Before I’m able to correct them and protest, they turn on their heels and disappear down the driveway. Meanwhile, Jake has slumped at my feet in a heap. Looking down at the sorry specimen in front of me, I recall a conversation I’d had with him earlier in the week. He’s been doing his GCSE exams, and today was due to be his final one. He’s obviously been out with his mates, celebrating the end of exams. Heaven knows where they got the booze, but I guess young guys can be highly resourceful when they set their mind to it. What am I to do? There he is, propped against my doorframe, dressed in slim black trousers and a light blue shirt, sleeves fashionably half rolled up, and his collar and top buttons undone, revealing a hairless chest. His skin is rather blotchy and his hair, which is usually neat and gelled, is all tousled and squashed. Quite frankly, he’s a mess. He’s drooling down himself and mumbling. I kneel down to listen and all he keeps saying is, “Mum will kill me. Just let me crash with you. She’ll kill me if she sees me like this.” My heart almost melts. I realise that, while he is obviously drunk, he had been sufficiently aware to tell his mates to deliver him to the wrong house on purpose. Knowing how much of a fusspot his mother is, I figure the lad needs a break, so I decide to drag him inside and let him sleep it off. I struggle as best I can, lifting him to his feet and staggering inside, bumping into things and trying not to make too much noise. Jake cuts an almost hilarious figure as the classic drunk, weaving all over the place, dribbling and muttering all the time. This is the first time I’ve laid my hands kocaeli escort on him and I’m already aroused by the warmth of his body, albeit sweaty and smelling of booze. I slip his arm over my neck to support him and secure it by holding his hand on that side, while placing my other arm firmly around his waist. My heart, meanwhile, is going nineteen to the dozen. We stagger down the hallway, with him muttering some kind of apology. “Sorry — I’m so sorry,” he keeps saying. Then, quite suddenly, he groans those fateful words, “I’m going to be sick!” Before I can do anything, he clasps his hand to his mouth and begins to vomit. As quick as I can, I push him into the bathroom, where we both fall on the floor in front of the lavatory, the lid thankfully up. He retches and throws up into the toilet – well most of it, anyway. God, what a mess! And the smell is enough to make me want to vomit as well! But I manage to keep hold of him, kneeling upright in front of the toilet, with his head half down the pan, retching his whole insides up and moaning in between. I guess that most of us have been in that situation at one time or another in our lives. I know only too well how the poor boy must be feeling right now, as he heaves and retches with all the energy his body can muster, evacuating from his insides every morsel of food and every drop of fluid he had consumed in the last four or five hours. After he has more or less emptied his insides into my toilet, or over it, I flush it and hold him there for a minute or two, my arm still around his slim waist and my other hand stroking his hair and aching head to comfort him. Despite his bedraggled state, his hair feels so soft. I could stay with him like this all day! Exhausted from all the retching, Jake’s nearly falling asleep now. I clean his face with toilet tissue, wash his hands, and make him blow his nose — just like a little boy. God, it’s giving me a hard-on something rotten! Knowing we can’t stay in the bathroom forever, I decide to put him to bed. I figure it will be better to flop him on my bed rather than on the sofa in the living room. I only have one bedroom in the house, having converted the other one into an office. He might be easier to handle that way, plus he’ll be nearer the bathroom, just in case. It’s a struggle to get him back onto his feet, and I virtually have to carry him next door to the bedroom. Although he’s fairly slim, because his body has gone limp, he’s like a dead weight. As we get to the bed, I bring his arm up over my head and he falls forwards, flat onto the bed, with his legs half on and half off it. He groans. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I feel terrible.” “Yes, well, I’m not surprised,” I say, as I look down at him and try to decide what to do next. Knowing that I need to clean up in the bathroom, I grab a towel and put it under his dribbling face. I also place a bowl beside his bed, before going off to tidy up the mess. When I come back into the bedroom with a glass of water for him to drink, I realise he must have shuffled forward on the top of the bed, because his legs are no longer sticking out over the edge, as I’d left him. He’s still lying face down, head to one side and mouth open, but now he’s snoring gently. I almost melt at the sight of him there, while my cock immediately goes rock hard again! There’s something extremely arousing about having a gorgeous young man entirely alone, passed out and helpless in front of me. I’m seriously tempted to ravish him, right there on my bed. But then there’s the smell; that clinging, penetrating odour of stale vomit. I realise that, somehow, I’m going to have to clean him up before sending him home. `Well,’ I sigh to myself, `it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do this.’ I proceed to take off his shoes and socks off. His bare feet are soft and unblemished; his toes beautifully formed. I bring one of them towards my face, giving it a long sniff. Although slightly sweaty, there’s something deeply erotic about it. I feel a drop of pre-cum ooze from my cock. Rolling him over onto his back, I confirm what I expected; his shirt and trousers are stained with sick and dribble. If I’m going to help him escape the wrath of his mother, I’m going to have to wash them. `Are they washable?’ I wonder to myself. `Too bad. They’ll have to be.’ I climb onto the bed and kneel next to him while I unbutton his shirt. The heat emanating from his body is almost overwhelming. Grabbing him under his armpits, damp with sweaty and heady with his boyish aroma, I sit him up. “Come on,” I say. “I’ve got to get this shirt off and get it in the wash.” With no help at all from Jake, I manage to wrestle the garment off him. He’s half-awake again now, propped up against me, so I make him drink the glass of water I brought back from the bathroom. Once he’s finished it, I let him flop back down again, bare chested now. I eye up his torso. His nipples are soft and delicate. There’s a thin line of wispy, blonde hair leading down from his bellybutton to the waistband of his trousers. I begin to wonder what kind of treasures this trail might kolej escort lead to. Time to go lower. I unbuckle his belt and pull it free, before undoing his top button, trying not to look too closely. He murmurs something I don’t catch. Getting off the bed now, I position myself at the end of it. Grabbing the legs of his trousers, I pull at them. Not a lot happens. “Give me some help here,” I chastise him. “I need to get these in the wash too.” I don’t expect a response and I don’t get one. He seems to have passed out again. Realising I haven’t undone his flies, I climb back onto the bed. As my hands approach his zipper, I hesitate. He has such a beautifully formed crotch, clasped in the black material of his trousers. With just the top button undone, the white waistband of his underpants is partly on display. My hands are shaking and my heart racing as I grasp the tongue of his zip. I slide it all the way down, feeling how it follows the rounded form of the bulge in his underwear. It’s so inviting. Climbing back off the bed, I return to grabbing the legs of his trousers. I pull again. This time, they come off more easily. He’s now lying there, naked but for his boxer-briefs. It’s like something out of a clothing catalogue. They’re mostly black but with a white waistband and piping which accentuates the shape of his bulge. `Rather smart,’ I think to myself. They’re rather full, too. If nothing else, he surely must have a semi in those underpants to be so… “I suppose you’re going to take advantage of me now, aren’t you,” I suddenly hear him murmur. Shaken from my reverie and realising he’s awake again, I feel my cheeks redden. The look on his face, however, suggests he might not mind. “I might,” I reply. “If you don’t behave yourself.” Clearly drowsy and only half with it, he still manages to mutter a reply. “Don’t let me stop you. You know you want to.” If there was any doubt in my mind as to the reason he asked to be dropped off at my house, that remark assures me he knew what was likely to happen. He probably wanted it to but was too shy to engineer it without being drunk. How many other young men, doubtful as to their sexuality, have done the same? His body is simply beautiful to behold. I can’t believe my luck. I’ve got a gorgeous, 16-year old virtually naked on my bed, and evidently in no mood to put up a struggle. Nevertheless, my practical side is still ruling my head. I have the shirt and trousers to deal with, so I take them through to the kitchen and examine the label in his trousers: `28″ waist, 30″ inside leg, easicrease, machine wash 40°.’ Good! I go through his pockets and remove his wallet, phone and keys. Before putting them in the washer, I hold the trousers up to my face. There’s an underlying scent of sick, of course. But beyond that there’s the pure, unadulterated fragrance of teenage boy: slightly sweaty, with a hint of piss, but with an underlying spiciness. Reluctantly, I pull them away from my face. After placing them in the washing machine, and adding some powder, I set it going. Next up is the white shirt. I give that a sniff too. If possible, it smells even more of Jake. I inhale deeply. As I do, my cock throbs. Holding the garment in one hand, I use the other to rub myself. God, this feels good! After enjoying myself for longer than I probably should, I place the shirt in the sink. I fill it with hot water and soap powder, and leave it to soak. I return to the bedroom and find him still lying on his back in his stylish black underpants, now fast asleep with his mouth open. For a few moments, I just stand there admiring his beauty and wrestling with my conscience. `Can I really take advantage of him? Would I really be taking advantage, though? Isn’t this exactly what he wants?’ I decide to give in to my desires. Gently climbing onto the bed beside him, I look at the bulge in his underpants. Reaching out a hand, I gently stroke it. It’s surprisingly firm. Surely, even a 16-year-old doesn’t get a hard on while drunk and asleep — does he? I hold his bulge in one hand and gently squeeze. His organ is bunched tightly over the front of his balls. It’s definitely at least partially engorged. As I do this, I hear him stir slightly, breathing in heavily and then out again, accompanied by a long groan. Spreading his legs a little, I move over in between them. Leaning forward, I put my face next to his bulge. I inhale his most intimate sense: a musky sweatiness, mingled with talcum powder and just a hint of urine. Pressing my face against the soft flesh of his groin, I decide I must have died and gone to heaven. Eventually, I notice a wet patch. I can tell it isn’t a urine stain. Not only is it wet, it’s also sticky. It also coincides precisely with the engorged head of his penis, up to now still hidden from me by his boxer-briefs. Not for long, I decide. Taking hold of the waistband of his underpants on either side of him, I gently lower them at the front, over his bulging penis, until it neatly flops upwards across his tummy towards his belly button. He stirs again in his sleep konak escort and shifts slightly on his buttocks, enabling me to free his underwear from under his bum. I decide not to remove them completely, however. I intend to return him his dignity in a little while. Gently, I lift his penis forwards. If it had been semi engorged before, it’s getting fully hard now. He’s not particularly well endowed, just average for his age. But it doesn’t matter. To me, it’s perfect in every beautifully uncut proportion! His balls are covered in tiny pale brown hairs and he has a neat little bush of hair above his dick. He’s clearly aroused now. His sac is tight and rounded, and his balls are clutched together, hard against the base of his tool. I begin to wonder if he’s only pretending to be asleep. No matter, I decide. If this is his way of letting me do this, that’s fine by me! Holding his penis, I gently pull the foreskin down to expose its pink bulging tip. I spot a tiny drop of pre-cum at the open slit. As I squeeze his dick, I hear him sigh and groan as a large blob of juice oozes from the end and runs onto my fingers. I slowly moisten the end with his own fluid. He moans again. I look up at his face. It seems passive and emotionless; his eyes still firmly closed. Leaning forward, I place my lips around the slippery and delicious head of his organ. As my tongue begins to taste him, I realise that he’s shaking all over. I pull back to see that the whole top of his chest and neck are flushed. Before I know what’s happening, I hear him let out a strange, mournful cry. With a deep groan, he explodes across his belly and chest. I can actually feel the cum coursing up through his tool as he squirts his boy-juice. The first jet shoots right up beyond his nipple, with the second landing in the middle of his chest. The third hits his abdomen, before three further gobs of creamy cum run down his rod and into his pubic bush. He writhes around in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. In his alcohol induced stupor, he clearly doesn’t know quite what’s going on. His head flops violently from side to side, as his face flushes and he gasps in his sleep. Eventually his body goes still, his insides now completely drained of all fluids. God, he’s going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow! For a moment, I consider taking out my cock and adding my own load to his stomach. It would be so hot! `But maybe that’s going too far,’ I tell myself. I clean him up with tissues as best I can, pulling his underpants back up under his bum and gently replacing his now softening organ into their somewhat damp and sweaty front pouch. I sit there for a few minutes, simply drinking in his beautiful, innocent form and thinking about what has just happened. As I sit there, he stirs slightly, groans and then rolls over onto his front. Now, clad in those black underpants, the beautifully rounded shape of his bum comes into view. The temptation to do more to him is enormous but I’m already feeling a bit guilty for what has already transpired. Although he had offered himself to me quite freely, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve taken advantage of him. `Maybe one final treat,’ I tell myself. Leaning over, I put my nose between his lovely arse cheeks. Inhaling deeply, I can’t help but swoon as I take in his musky sweatiness. Sighing to myself in resignation, I softly kiss his arse cheeks before gently folding one side of the duvet over him. Leaving him to sleep, I go back to the kitchen to finish the washing and ironing. Well, there’s no way I’m going to get much sleep tonight after that! *** It’s just after seven when I wake up. Getting off the sofa, I go through to the bedroom to look in on young Jake. He’d obviously been writhing around in the night, because the duvet is all over the place. He’s currently in the foetal position, only partly covered and half hanging off the edge of the bed. After setting two paracetamols and another glass of water down on the bedside cabinet, I attempt to rouse him. Eventually, he blearily comes to, looking at me, then around the room. “Where am I?” he asks, as he emerges from the remains of the duvet and sits up. He looks adorable – like a little, lost boy. “You’re in my bedroom and you’re on my bed,” I reply, gently. “But you need to get up and go home. You were somewhat the worse for wear last night and I had to wash your shirt and trousers. They’re in the bathroom ready for you.” As I sit next to him, a mixture of alcohol, stale vomit, and slightly damp cum rises from beneath the duvet. The smell is heavenly! He just looks at me, sweetly. *** Sometime later, he comes out of the bathroom, having had a shower and got dressed. `I wonder if he wonders why there are cum stains inside his underpants?’ I think to myself. I briefly begin thinking about them, and what hides inside them, underneath the freshly pressed black trousers he’s again wearing. “Please, please don’t say anything to my parents,” he pleads, as I let him out of the front door. “Of course I won’t say anything,” I tell him. “Look, I know how stressed you’ve been lately, what with your exams and your dad not being home much. If you ever want to just talk any time, you know where to find me.” He smiles and looks directly into my eyes. “Thanks, I will.” *** Links to my other fty//gay/young-friends/everythings-different-in-the-country/

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