The Sleeper Awakens

Have you ever had one of those days? The kind of day that you know will be with you forever. That no matter where you go in life either physically, spiritually, or intellectually you know that you will define so much that comes by this day and what occurred. That you will remember this day forever. How the little things will bring this day back to you.

Like the smell of a particular cologne. The texture of a shirt under your hand. That way the afternoon sunshine is illuminating a room. A shirt. That is what brought me back to this moment. I am 18 again. Barely non-chicken. Though I am shaved and look like 15 year old chicken when my clothes are off. Man, the things I did that day. I can remember them now because I picked up a shirt that was sale in a store, and the texture brought it flooding back to me.

The phone. The insistent sounds of the phone. Now, I remember. I am asleep. Answer the phone. Over there. On the nightstand. You will have to roll over, and actually pick it up.

"hello." I said in a very weak morning voice.

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"JOEY!!!!! WAKE THE HELL UP!!!!" he screamed.

"Jesus, Bruh." now fully awake with a ringing ear,"like what is the deal. It is only 6:00 in the morning."

"Just thought I would give you a wake up call. I don't want my boy to be late. I am very impatient."

"Yes, Sir. I won't miss my plane."

I am not good for anything other than sex in the morning. My dick is the only thing that knows how to work, and nine out of ten times that dick is up and ready for something. Unfortunately, being single for the last 9 months it meant that I got up and took a pee and got rid of it. One handed sex is only good for getting you stoked for the real deal.

This was it. This was the DAY. All capital letters. THE DAY. Yes that is right. THE DAY. I am going to meet him. We have been corresponding on line, and talking on the phone for over a year. I remember that first time we spoke. It was in a chat room. I was in there with a friend and we were raising hell. S.O.S. with us. I have received more than a few Terms Of Service letters from that whore AOL.

My friend Jeff, and I were cutting up as usual when this guy instant messaged me. He started out nice. We had a good conversation, and I totally forgot about the chat room. Over the next year and a half we had gotten close. It was strange. At the time when we started talking I thought that my sexual tastes were set in stone. forever. no deviation from the set course. I didnt know that there are people out there that can shatter those concepts. He is one of those people.

Sexy. Do you want the list. Ok. I like an older guy. I like for him to be dominate. I also like for him to be a total top. Hair. I have a love of it. Muscles. I love a cut, defined man. Being a bottom, size is a little important to me also. I like a quiet man. I am a talkative Gemini. Before you start to peg me as a fem, or a size queen let me describe who I am. I am a boy. I think I will always be one. I am not a man, nor can I be labeled as a guy. I look like a boy, and act like a boy. I am not masculine, nor feminine. I was born on June 6th 1982.

When I turned eighteen I was in the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. I still look like a boy. I didn't shave my face. There was nothing to shave there. As for the rest of me. I shaved my underarms, my pubic bush, my crack, and the calves of my legs. I only had hair above my neck. That hair is a nice shade of blonde. Most people call it dirty or sandy blonde. I like it. But at this time it has just been foiled. So the ends were a platinum blonde with the darker shades of blonde underneath.

Before you condemn me let me explain some more. I am a soccer boy, and I am an aggressive blader. I have been playing soccer since I was in the third grade, and I have been blading since I was thirteen. What does this mean when you are eighteen? I am in extremely good shape. I have an extremely well defined and shaped ass. My legs are also very well defined, with muscles that ripple from the Achilles's tendon to the upper thighs when I walk. I have been told I have the walk of a cat. That I don't walk into a room, nor do I make grand entrances. Quite the opposite actually. I slink into a room. Moving quietly. When It is an acquired habit used to avoid confrontations with an abusive parent. Sliding into a room and gagging that atmosphere.

Later, it was useful because when I slid into a room, and stood on the fringe for a moment and looked around, not unlike a cat looking at a stranger in his house, I pulled the eyes in the room to me. I am five foot and nine inches tall. I weighed about one hundred twenty eight pounds in wet cloths. All of this things made a beautiful frame for the picture. My eyes. I have very unusual eyes. They are grey. Smooth grey. Think of grey clouds. Think the Atlantic ocean on an overcast day. A smooth liquid grey. It is the one thing my Slavic father ever gave me that I wanted.

So. Here I am. Joey the cat. Getting out of bed in a tented pair of boxer briefs. I look at myself in the full length mirror on the back of my door. I am not huge. I am told that I am average. But, I am happy with what I have. I have a little more than seven inches in my boxer briefs. My dick has a curve to it. It curves up. I am cut like most guys. I wish I was uncut. My dad was uncut. I hooked the waist band of my boxer briefs and fished them over the straining cock. The head is a dark shade of purplish red. The sound of his voice. I am extremely turned on because I know that I am going to be with the body on the other end of that voice tonight.

Sitting back on the bed, I look at myself. Left hand loosely holding my cock. The right hand on my knee. Boxer briefs around my ankles. Should I jerk it? Should I wait for him? What should I do? Being a sexual creature I lost my battle rather easily. I lowered myself back on the bed. Laying on my back. I picked up my legs and planted my feet on the edge of the bed. My right hand left my legs and travels a path to my ass. I have to have something up my ass to cum. When I have a real cock up my ass I can cum without touching myself.

I start to squeeze my hard cock with my left hand. Milking it slowly. Starting at the base with my pinky finger and squeezing each finger until I was squeezing right under the mushroom head with my forefinger. The right hand, having reach the boy-hole, started to swirl around the pucker. After teasing the hole a little with a dry finger. I reach up the the forefinger and the fuck-you finger of that right hand, and scoop up some of the pre-semenial fluid that I had successfully milked from my now purple-headed cock. Taking that natural boy lube. I start to penetrate my ass. Sliding the fore finger in.

I have a scar down there from an old injury, so by virtue of the scar tissue that is another father gift, I am extremely tight. I worked that first finger in using the pre-cum to lube that passage before I even attempt to put the second finger in. When I finally work them both in until they are buried to the final knuckles I am almost ready to shoot. I stopped touching my dick and held very still. I needed time to recoup. I want to fuck my fist and orgasm from the friction. But my ball refuse to leave their precum safe haven at the base of my cock. Damn. They feel like they have almost drawn back up into me like I was actually 12 again. This day has me really excited. Deciding correctly that it was a lost cause I lick my hand good, and then aggressively grab my cock. I double pumped my fist, and started to shoot. The orgasm was so strong that it felt like I was going to crush the two finger buried in my ass.

After I wiped up my cum, and cleaned my fingers I got up and headed to the shower. While I had been masturbating I had noticed that I felt a little prickle, and remembered that I had not shaved in almost a month. So. I knew that I need to make it all smooth. See it is all part of what we are both expecting. This whole relationship was outside my norms. You see, he is younger than me. That is something I have in the past totally ditched. I had always found it flattering when a younger guy approached me. Most of them making the mistaken assumption that I was a dominate top. It was the whole soccer boy or aggressive blader image.

I was a punk. Party invites were a given, and I never looked for a place to sit at lunch. I divided my time between the guys on my soccer team, and some of the girls on the girls soccer team. My friend Lorie and I doubled dated. That way she could take her girlfriends out, and I could take my boyfriends out. Plus we were best friends. So basically, I was popular, and an assumed straight guy. That has a taste for strong women. It all worked to my advantage. When these younger guys would drop little hints I would use the straight jock image to dig me out of trouble.

This guy was different. He was dominate. He had set the grounds of the relationship early. But, he was not a total top. He had made it very clear that while he would be fucking my ass as much as he wanted to that I would also be expected to perform as his top when he wanted it. He had hair. He was of Latin descent. Hispanic and Itallian. He has very hair legs, and kicking happy trail, and hair in points northward. His nipples were also ringed by his short brown curly hair. Already having a natural darkness to his skin tanning added that darkness that I loved. He past the size test with 9 inches swing around with some low hung balls. Thank God for web cam. He went ape when he saw my smooth body. I wasn't expecting all that I saw in return. I was expecting some weak younger kid. But he was not little, nor weak. He had started working out daily, and was developing some nice fuzzy lines that were going to turn into some very nice cut muscles really soon.

My body. Like I said earlier I have nice legs and a killer ass. Man have spent much time rubbing them and licking them. But above the belt line. I have soft. I was not developed. I looked like I was 15. NO hair. Smooth lines. Nothing cut. A gentle flowing of milky white skin that started at the crease of the thighs and flowed to my collar bones. I have no fat. No rolls. Just smooth little swells were the six pack should be, and to little swells of boy breast. I am a boy. Plain and simple. A supple, little boy. What is lacking?

Oh. My one vanity piece. My left nipple. It is a casualty of spring break. I have a hoop. There is only one other piercing on my body. The left I brow. Right at the end of the eyebrow line is a small hoop. My skin is all white. I don't tan. I stay white. I have some freckles on the tops of my shoulders, and a few on my chest. The image of the boy is complete. Can you see me? I hope so. Not to sound full of myself, but I look good. But, because of things in my past, I have a hard time with self confidence. So. Here we go. The shave.

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