By Chris Carr
Copyright © 09/01/2005
I cross the yard, stooping below the first window, the one with light in it my target. Below the opened window I hunch, the sounds of water overhead. My heart thundering, I slowly rise, higher, higher, my dream boy coming into view.
Sweat glistening on his impish face, he’s oblivious to my presence. Desire immediately mounting, I feel my manhood surge, straining against my pants...
Through the thin mesh of the screen, I watch as he sits on the toilet to remove his shoes. They are spotless, the designer label gleaming in the bright light. Tossing them aside, he removes his socks. Quickly, I sniff his toes, the slight redolence that of boy scruffiness and male potency.
He wiggles them, flicking flecks of cotton from his clammy soles then stands, whipping his jersey over his head. I stare at his pecan brown chest, the boyish pecs, just starting to form, my respirations hastening.
My hands before me, I palm the firm plates, giddy with desire. They are smooth, like fine satin, pulled tight over mahogany. My fingers bumping over his twin buds, I want them to harden but he stoops, removing his shorts.
Naked, he is breathtaking...
As if pausing for me to linger, he faces the window, his mind drifting, his youthful frame exposed. Breathless, I travel from his bare shoulders, to his bare feet, each inch more breathtaking than the next.
Can I touch? Can I feel the smooth, hairless skin beneath my fingertips? Those small dots that adorn your chest? Your taut stomach, your limp boyness? Will you protest?
A leg lifts and he steps into the tub, beneath the cascading flow. Twin globes presented, they glisten beneath the water, rivulets running over each cheek and between the glorious mounds.
My dick urgently straining against my underwear, I feel it
ooze, leaking with desire. To kiss them. To feel their 
smooth tenderness beneath
my tender caress. To part them and discover his tight orifice, my tongue dancing
across that portal.
Ducking his head beneath the water, he runs his hand across his face, his eyes closed. Then, slowly, he turns, pivoting on his disproportionately large feet. Like a graceful Nubian dancer, he presents himself, pivoting slowly until now he is facing me.
An African Prince, bathing beneath the falls of Kilimanjaro, he is regal, his physique more captivating enveloped in the warm water. My hand behind his slim back, I pull him to me, the water uncomfortably hot as we merge beneath it. His eyes remain closed, his hands passing over his face, then across his lean torso. I flick my tongue across one of his minute nips, savoring its hardness.
He reaches for the soap and I gaze, thrilled beyond reason as he lathers his lithe form. Quietly lathering his smooth torso, he lingers a while on his genitals, the soap making love to his sleeping boyhood. It responds, becoming semi-erect as he dips the bar beneath his smallish balls, scrubbing the day’s funk away.
I am the soap, passing further, between his legs, across his smooth perineum, between his taut cheeks, lingering over his virgin opening. Back and forth I travel, awakening desires in him. Forbidden desires, the ones he doesn’t discuss with his mother.
When I return to his anterior, I discover a ripe erection, jutting from his anxious groin...