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“Dear Sir, I want to be your sub because… well you’re fucking hot, and I have always thought I was the hottest blond bitch ever, especially with my sick tattoos.

And then I met you, Mr. Sex on Legs, this walking tribute to god-like masculinity and sexuality. I knew at that point, I would never be on your level, and my entire post-puberty existence has been based on striving so hard to be like how you are when you do nothing.
Everyone respects you, admires you, you make so many friends, you’ve networked your way to success… what are your secrets? I know I can learn a lot from you, because if not, I’ll be jealous of you my whole life. And I don’t want to be just a hot fuck …ok I really want that, I want you to fuck me six ways from Sunday and then all the way back, but I don’t want to be just another catch you toss back. You can offer me a lot. Improve me. Sculpt me. Teach me to be a man. I like being a boy, but I have to grow up sometime.

It’s not right that I still prefer Lucky Charms for breakfast and like to play kick-ball and my favorite TV show is The Angry Beavers. I’m scared to try new things. You like sushi and True Detective and sea kayaking, and I wanna try that stuff too. You can show me how to put on my big boy jockstraps; show me what it means to “fly” when you get a spanking; show me how denial can be really hot.

I feel like I’m not living up to the full potential of what I can do with my cock or my ass.

Please teach me. Educate me. Train me. Milk me. Humiliate me. Improve me. Keep me out of the pantry at 3 am. Make me to go the gym.
Make me into a new me.

Love,

Kenny

Kenny glanced at the notebook. He screwed up his perfect button nose. “No no no…” he tore it out and crumpled it. He tossed it over his shoulder into the pile and started over. Before the pen could touch paper again, Kenny heard a noise behind him. He looked over his shoulder and realized that the ball of paper had bounced off Julian’s shoe. He gulped. “Sorry, Jules, I’ll get that.” Kenny leaned over to snatch it, but Julian picked it up before he could.

“Working on your writing assignment?” Julian asked.
“Yeah – but – that’s trash, please don’t! Oh god don’t read that,” he begged.
Julian opened the paper ball and read it, while Kenny blushed and groaned on the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s terrible, so please stop reading.”
A smile began to widen on Julian’s face. “Kenny, this is amazing.”
“I know, I’m sorry I…wait, what?”
“This is adorable. Also, sexy as hell that you think this about me.” Julian held up the paper. “This is exactly what I wanted. An earnest, honest, essay about why you want me to be your Dom. I didn’t want some college level paper.

Kenny turned a furious shade of red. “Shit, I’m so embarassed”
“And we are going to fix that.”
Kenny blinked. “You’re accepting me?”
Julian gently folded the letter was if it were a precious document and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Yes. You have passed the first step.”
Kenny set aside the notebook. He sprung up and wrapped his arms around his fuck-buddy turned boyfriend, and they shared a kiss. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
Julian ruffled his hair. “Alright, hottest blond bitch ever. First assignment is to clean up your paper mess. Second is to clean your room. Then…if you do a good job, maybe we talk contracts; and maybe we can practice standing, resting commands, and walking positions after dinner.“
“Ooo. I’d like that reward Sir. On it!”
Julian watched Kenny clean up the paper vigorously and then run off to tidy his room. Kenny had been a one night stand that had evolved into something much more. It was gonna be fun reigning him in.

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Text is fictional.

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guyswithhotminds:

Aaron Valenzuela by Stephen James

Vasquez glanced over his shoulder, a bit terrified at the reaction he was gonna get from all the men in the audience. There was a painful second of silence, and then applause and whoops. Vasquez’s face lit up. He shook his butt a little more, and the crowd went wild. He grinned. He had been so stunned when he got this job. Every man in the audition room looked a hundred times hotter than he thought he was. But here was, stripping for money, and the crowd loved him!

Vasquez gyrated his hips and let his chest harness jingle. The cheers made his heart sing. Medical school was going to pay for itself! Vasquez shoved his pants down and let the audience get a nice view of everything from his spine to his turkey waddle. The music blared and Vasquez was in the groove.

He knew one day there’d be hotter, newer men, but Vasquez wanted that sweet money as long as the train was running. Also, he was 24. He wanted his ego stroked as much as his dick.

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Text is fictional. Source:

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dudes-on-demand:

Konstantin Kamynin

Newest member of THE 1,000 CLUB

Sometimes my friends ask me…how did I know I was gay? That’s a good question. I didn’t really know myself until I was 16. My aunt ran this taco restaurant in Palm Springs, and she got me a job bussing. Paid me under the table. One spring she kept talking about something called a Circuit Party. I thought it was some nerd, tech hang-out. You can’t imagine the shock I felt when I came into work one day, and every man looked like they walked out of an underwear shoot. And some had! My jaw about hit the floor.

My aunt wouldn’t let me leave because they were so busy, so I had to go through the entire night with my boner tucked under my waistband. There was one man though, this foreign guy… he noticed me. A lot. I swear to god, he was flirting with me. He tipped me huge amounts, flashed his buttcheeks at me. I’m sure he thought it was hilarious for him to rifle up some awe-struck teenager bussing glasses in a taco restaurant. I was sure at that time he never thought of me again.

But I thought of him. I got his name from one of the patrons, and of course I Googled him the second I got home. I Googled him a lot. I bought his calendar. I was in love with him for years, until I got my first boyfriend.

No one believes me when I tell them that the Adonis that is Konstantin Kamynin made me realize I was gay. But it’s true. I swear. You know how I know it’s true? I went to his book signing in Los Angeles when I was a freshman in college, and you’d never believe this – but when I told him where I’d seen him before, he remembered. He asked me what I did with the tip money. I told him I used it to buy his calendar, and he laughed. True story. It was a pretty good book too.

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Actually it’s not really a true story, lol. The text is fictional, and Konstantin’s body is unreal. I don’t think he ever put out a book either. Here’s his website.

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I woke up to an empty bed, a bit annoyed because I intended to have a good cuddle before breakfast. Visions of passionate coupling, edging, and kissing filled my head. It was just “great sex” for a while until I discovered he spoke some foreign language and whispered the dirtiest things in my ears. I shot a huge load, then a second and a third after long sessions of edging and knob polishing. My cockhead was still sensitive, but I felt refreshed, light as a feather even. My balls felt light as balloons. 

But where was my one-night stand? It was barely past dawn! Had he left? I bolted out bed and jogged through the house. What I saw in the kitchen stopped me in my tracks. There he was, bathed in the golden morning sun. Every skin cell in his tanned, gym sculpted body seemed to glow from the inside out. He was leaning casually against my counter, providing a beautiful silhouette of his pillowy pecs, protruding posterior, and um… wow. Tighty whities do not hide a thing, and his cock looked full and impressive tucked away safe and clean in his underwear. I was instantly jealous of the cotton. The man was an impossible ode to physical perfect and male beauty. Even his day-after scruff is flawless! I gave one of those dreamy, Disney sighs.

I began to wonder what liquid courage I drank last night that made me go up and talk to this guy. He was out of my league. BEYOND out of my league. Out of my orbit. …Shit, what was his name?

“Good morning,” I purred as I strode into the kitchen.
He turned his head and a smile crinkled his eyes. “Oh you’re up. Did I wake up?”
“I woke up cause my bed was empty.” I caressed his shoulder, then kissed it.
“I’m sorry. I was utterly gross, and I didn’t want you to see me unshowered. I was worried I’d wake you if I got back into bed.” He folded the paper and set it on the counter.
“Quite alright. You’re still here. I’m glad you stayed.”
He gave me a gentle kiss. I wished I brushed my teeth.
The stranger raised a thick eyebrow at me. “You’re not gonna kick me out? Most of my one night stands don’t like reminders of their inhibitions standing around..”
I scoffed. “Well they’re fools.” I pulled open my cabinets and my fridge, looking for things. I had no idea what I was making yet, but I was definitely cooking this man breakfast.
“Fools?” he repeated with a smile.
“Well…well yes,” I stammer. I never wanted to cook breakfast for any man before, and it wasn’t just in thanks. Something about his presence made me feel like I had to serve him, that I wanted his respect and appreciation. Maybe it was because of my low-esteem but Christ, I wanted him to validate me to eternity and back. “That was easily the best sex of my life last night,” I admitted. “I thought it was great by itself, and then you start speaking in this language and holy god that turned me on so bad. I feel so fucking energized this morning. Hell it wasn’t sex, it was some sort of cleansing ritual.”

“Oh god stop,” he groaned with a chuckle. “I’m so embarrassed. And you’re being way too kind.”
“Pft!” I replied, putting pans on the stove. “I don’t know what planet you grew up on, but when a drop-dead gorgeous man gives you the best dicking of your life, you want him to stay for breakfast. …You will stay right?”
He perked up and rubbed my hip with his hand. “You’re realy going to cook for me?”
I realized I should really have asked what this walking statue was called. “If you tell me what your name is,” I said sheepishly, “Because I don’t think it’s ‘oh god’.”
The man laughed again, a hearty, healthy sound. I was smitten. “We kind of skipped that formality hm? My name is Avid, like David without the D.”
He pronounced it, “ah-veed”. It sounded plenty exotic. “What nationality is that?”
“Persian. That was Farsi I was speaking in.”
“Farsi? Well, you are welcome to teach me some of that.”
Avid’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at me. “Just might do that. And you are…?”
I set the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh! Right, sorry. Name’s Hank, which I don’t really like, so most everyone calls me Mitch, after my middle name, Michael.”
“Why not Michael?” Avid inquired.
“It’s my dad’s name. Gets confusing.”
“You Americans have so many names! Like some sort of spy.”

I chuckled, then moved onto cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Are you really making me breakfast…?” Avid asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his hands around my waist.
“Yes, I am.”
Avid reached up and began to twirl his fingers in the curls at the base of my neck. My knees felt weak. “You really know how to take care of a man.”
I sat up a little straighter at the praise. “I…like to think so.”
“I like that,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “You Americans eat dessert after breakfast?”
”
“In this household we do.”
Avid made a noise of satisfaction. He smacked my butt. I yelped. “Make a big breakfast. You’re gonna need the calories.” He said. My dick began to harden.

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Text is fictional. This is Pablo Hernandez.

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Johnny pauses in reflection before the next client arrives. He’s still sore from morning yoga, and his first client really liked to spank him while riding him. Three more to go. Today’s busy. Johnny knows he’s gonna have to use the Viagra later. He doesn’t really want to, but his clients like when he’s horny. Johnny suspects it makes them feel less dirty, less perverted, to be fucking a boy who is turned on. He’s sure that all his clients believe him to be a horny slut that badly needs to be fucked by several guys in order to feel sane. He also has an inkling it goes hand in hand with his “bad boy” image, with the tattoos and piercings and cocky attitude. Johnny still loves it when a man stops dead in their tracks when he drops the towel. He designed his body to be a piece of art. Hell, Johnny advertised his services by “inviting” potential buyers to an “interactive art exhibit” on m4m backpages. His inbox is never empty.

Johnny checks his bank account balance on his phone. He almost has enough. Being so close to his goal has been making him kind of crazy. He’d been selling himself for over a year now for quick money, watching in frustration as his balance went up and down with rent and bills. So close. Johnny drifts off for a moment, fantasizing about the moment when he breaks the news to his best friend Saul that he can now afford reconstructive surgery to fix his burned face and hands. Insurance didn’t cover cosmetic procedures, and university bills drained Saul dry. Johnny missed going out with his friend, who didn’t leave the house except to go to class. He lived off disability, like a hermit. Johnny felt so helpless after his friend was injured in that apartment fire, so angry at his neighbor for smoking next to an oxygen tank. This was his way of righting a wrong.

Maybe it was also something else, for Johnny had a crush on Saul since he was 16. He has a feeling Saul wouldn’t want him, not after he’d whored himself out like this, but for Johnny it would be enough just to make Saul smile. He’s a selfless boy. Well, not entirely. After he got Saul taken care of, Johnny plans to get right back to whoring. He wants to take a trip to Bali and hit the waves. Maybe Saul would come with him. Yeah, that’d be great.

A knock on the door brings Johnny back to present. He grabs a bathrobe off the chair. “Coming~” he calls as he rises off the bed. One more client, one step closer. Hey, this one is hot at least.

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Text is fictional. This is Stephen James.

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damienxazure:

The spikes on the collar are sort of flashy, though.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” I say to the nude creature, loosening my tie. I turn to my friend Renard who has just come out of the bathroom. “I didn’t know you got a boy. When were you going to tell me?”
Renard lifts the corner of his lip, suppressing a chuckle as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. “He isn’t mine, he comes with the hotel.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Quite so.” Renard walks over to his side of the table and the servant boy pulls out his chair. Renard sits. I stare at the beauty of his young body, of his bare cock and his chiseled abs. His collar is a bit flashy, but it fits the ornate style of the hotel. I’m so entranced by him that I almost don’t hear what Renard is saying. “…is a prestigious hotel. They offer services to guests that, ah, are off menu.”
“How have I not heard about this?” I gawk.
“It’s a secret,” he says smugly, sipping his water. “When you travel a lot for business, like I do, you hear things. Amazing things. I stay at this hotel frequently, and I don’t even have to ask now. He comes with the room.” Renard reaches up and tweaks the boy’s jaw. “Honestly I find myself coming here more and more, just for a taste of this. Come sit, Sebastian, before your eyes fall out of your head.”
I cough and remove my jacket. The boy glides over and takes it from me.
“Thank you,” I note. He folds it over his arm, before pulling out my chair. As I sit, he vanishes to go hang it up.
“God, he is stunning,” I say, watching his ass as he goes.
Renard smiles. “When I first saw him, I was unbelievably jetlagged after coming off a flight from Sydney. I wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep. I ended up fucking him for three hours. I didn’t get out of bed for two days.”
“You have all my envy, Renard.”
He gestures at me with his fork. “You are not much younger than me, Seb. Soon you too will enjoy these same pleasures. Shall we eat before it gets cold?”
“I concur,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the servant boy. “You know, it’s probably better I do not have a houseboy thus far, as I would do nothing else with my time and lose all my business.”
“Our sex drives are our greatest enemies, yes.”
We share a chuckle and start on our food. Of course, it is superb. As I sup, I notice the servant boy is standing too close to the table, watching us. After a couple bites of myfish, I lower my fork. I glance at the servant accusingly. “What are you doing standing there?”
The boy opens his mouth but Renard holds up his hand and cuts him off. “Ah, I forgot to mention the other thing. He’s waiting for you to give command.”
“Command for what?”
A sly grin appears on Renard’s foxy face. “To blow you under the table, of course.”
I pause, my bite of food halfway to my mouth. “You aren’t kidding are you?”
“I told you, dear Seb, the hospitality here is excellent.”
I chew my food carefully, trying to focus on something than all the blood rushing between my legs. “Well, boy,” I say, addressing him. “Get to it.”
“Yes sir, right away Sir.” He refills my water glass, then drops to his knees and shuffles under the table.

In a moment, there’s a hot velvety tongue laving my cock. I melt into the plush cushion of the chair, and feel as if I never want to move again. I chew a bit of Patagonian toothfish slowly, savoring the meaty flavor, while trying not to groan and thus choke. I swallow, then wash my palette with mineral water from Spain. I find myself leaning back and a sigh of contentment escapes my lips as I watch the servant boy work. I stroke his tawny hair lovingly and he rewards me with tight suction. I sigh again. There is no life I could love more than this.

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Text is fictional.

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“Awww lookit the puppy. What a beautiful baby. Is it a blue mix?
I nod.
"Hi there,” he coos. I watch as Zach takes off his glasses and gives the pup a little scritch. My eyes wander over his suit tailored to his body. Blue looks fantastic on him; he could almost be a fashion model posing with a prop dog. The two of them are far too beautiful for my shabby living room.

“So you finally got a real dog huh?” Zach asks.
“Well…”
“He’ll be a good companion for Smokey huh? Say, where is your pup boy anyway?”
“You’re looking at him.”
Zach blinks. “What…?”
“Look at the name tag.”
Zach does. “It says Smokey. Wait.” He looks at me, then at the dog. “What?”
“My pup boy liked being a dog so much, that I woke up one morning and discovered he had turned into a real, live pup.”
Zach is staring at me sideways now. “Not sure if you’re joking.”
“I assure you I’m not. I’ll prove it. Try to get him to do a trick. Something complicated.”
Zach thinks about this a minute. He goes through the basics – “shake”, “bark”, “roll over”. He then makes a gun with his fingers and says “bang!”. Smokey rolls on his back and puts his paws in the air, head lolling on the ground.
I laugh. “Good boy Smokey!” Smokey gets to his feet and comes over to me for a belly rub.
“There’s no way you could have trained a pup to do all of that in such a short time.” Zach says hesitantly.
I shrug. “As I said, my pup boy turned into a pup. Unbelievable as it is, that’s what happened.”
My friend looks at the puppy, silent.

Then, as if right on cue, my pup boy saunters into the room. He’s just woke up from a nap and was wondering where everyone was and who took his collar off while he was out.
“Hey!” Zach cries.
I burst out laughing. “Busted! You totally believe it!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did!” I fall back into a chair, clutching my sides. “God your face…Jesus Zach, that was fantastic!”

Smokey the pup boy tilts his head in confusion. “Roo?”
The real pup, whom I actually named Greybeard, goes to sniff him. Within minutes, they’re playing. I watch them, still chuckling. Zach looks sullen and miffed.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“No, it really wasn’t, but the opportunity presented itself. I’m sorry. You do look bloody good in that suit you know.”
“Well,” Zach smirks, “I expect all you’ll get out of is a good look, because you are never gonna undress me out of it.”
I groan. “Aw, Zach, that was just harmless fun, why are you being hard to get? You know you came over here to get laid.”
“I did,” he admitted, ‘But you have two pups that need your attention.“
"They can amuse themselves as you see – hey, Smokey, watch out for the coffee table! Good boy.”

Zach folds his arms. “It’s gonna cost you an expensive dinner. THEN, I’ll think about coming back home with you.”
“Alright, alright. I can handle being owned by three boys.”
He grins. “That’s more like it.”

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Text is fictional. Couldn’t find the model but the clothier is Patrick Johnson Tailors.

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My sister stuck her head in my room. “He’s here!” she hissed, a huge smile on her face. “Hurry!”
“He’s here?” I repeated, jumping up.
“Yes! Hurry!”
I grabbed my sunglasses off the nightstand and picking up my leather bag from behind my bed. “Has mum seem him yet?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, looking around. “Here.” She thrusted a basket in my hands. “Going away present – your own picnic basket set. I packed you two a lunch so you don’t have to stop for a while.”
“Oh Samantha, you’re a darling,” I cooed, kissing her on the cheek.
“How often do I get to be a part in a dashing escapade like this? It’s soo romantic.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “But life is not a fairy tale.”
“It can be if you try! Come on, stop dawdling. He’s waiting”

I followed her to the upstairs landing; she stopped there and watched me go down the grand stairs to the lobby. Then, we heard our mum.
“What the heavens was that ….is that the Culver boy? I’d recognize that hideous orange automobile anywhere. Americans! No taste! Walter, call security, I told this man he is not allowed on my property and no where near my son! The things they did at boarding school! Soiling my precious boy’s reputation. He’s a heathen!….Aldred, honey, where are you going?”
“Out, mother,” I say briskly, my heart caught in my throat. I just had to keep moving, I reminded myself, one foot in front of the other. Down the stairs. Out the door.
“Out?” she cried. “With that boy? I won’t allow it! I forbid you from seeing him again!”
I forced myself to pause. “Mother. I’m 18. You can’t forbid me to do a thing.” I enjoyed the stunned look on her face. I delicately picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Good day, mother.”

I heard Samantha whoop upstairs as I stepped out of the house and onto the cement walk to the driveway. My leather soled shoes made little noise. For the first time in my life, I felt like an adult. “There you are,” Mathias said, his face lighting up. “Oh gods I missed you.” He looked so stylish  in that his navy slacks and combed back hair, posing against his beloved car. I sighed, smitten. He was marvelous. Dashing, even.
“What are you staring at …?” he says with a smile.
“You. Just…missed you so much since my mum pulled me out of Essex School.” I stepped up to him and nuzzled his cheek. “Thought I’d never see you again.”
He put a hand on the back of my head and kissed me. My knees felt like gelatin. Mathias whispered in my ear. “Wait until you see what I’m going to do to you tonight. Then you’ll known how much I missed you back.”
I had to resist just pouncing him right there. God, did I love American boys and their Yankee accents.
“WALTER! CALL SECURITY!” My mother’s screeching voice snapped us out of our cuddle.
Mathias rolled his eyes. “Get in the car before the calvary arrives. What’s in the basket?”
“Lunch! Samantha packed it for us.” I threw my bag into the backseat and slipped into the front seat with the basket. Mathias joined me on the driver’s side and made the engine roar to life.
“Oh your sister? I’ll have to meet her sometime. Seems like a nice lady. I should introduce her to my cousin. Perhaps she could come for Christmas?”
“I think that’d be delightful, Mathias.”

We sped off down the street, bound for the main road to the highway. We had planned to head up the New England coast where we would eventually take a ship to London, where my aunt was waiting for us there. The window was open. I couldn’t help but whoop myself as the wind cut through my hair. My mother was likely furious, but I felt not a drop of guilt. She was going to be even angrier when she found out I turned down acceptance at Yale to go to the School of Oriental and African Studies in the UK. But her life was no longer my life now. I was free – finally, finally free, with a boy I truly loved.

_________________________________
Text is fictional. Source: Drykorn Fall/Winter 2013

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“I can’t sleep,” he said, messing with his toes. “I dozed off but I had this bad dream and now I can’t get back to sleep.”
I exhaled through my nose and sit down on the edge of the bed. I awoke due to his cries, which echoed through-out the entire house.
“I’m really sorry to disappoint you,” he added in that soft, delicate tone of his, sweet as treacle and fragile as the skin on top of cocoa.
“It’s quite alright, Caleb. I expected there to be a period of adjustment.”
He looked down and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t quite believe me. After a moment, he spoke again. “Everything is different here. The bed is higher, the night sounds are strange, the sheets smell different.” He sniffed. “I miss home.”
“Oh sweetheart,” I murmured. “Are you homesick?”
“Yes,” he replied, big crocodile tears sliding down his pale cheeks. “I want to sleep in my old room again. I’m so far from home!”
“Caleb…” I scooted across the bed and opened my arms. He crawled to me, sitting half in my lap, legs all over the bed. I enfolded him in my arms as he cries into my bathrobe. I rocked him, soothing him.

“I know it’s scary. But you have to be brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave!”
“I’m sure in the next couple of days you will learn a lot about my house, you’ll adjust, and discover Yellow Ridge is not a terrible place to live and I’m not a terrible person to live with.”
He sniffled again. “I’m not going to be a good husband to anyone.”
“Oh that’s not true, that’s not true. Shhh… relax. Breathe now.”

I continued to rock him, feeling more that I was rocking a little boy than the young man who was betrothed to me. It was, on paper, a good match. My family blood line is one of the upper seven or so distinct names, a historical name of wide influence in society and business. Caleb was from a lesser family line. Heterosexual marriage between blood lines is not encouraged amongst our people due to blood mixing. The only way for a family to gain a higher standing is to be lucky enough to have a gay son or daughter to offer to an upper family for their own homosexual son or daughter to marry. From the perspective of Caleb’s parents, he was a golden child. They were eager to abide by even the most conservative traditions. They had insisted Caleb be sent here to be my houseboy until the wedding, when he turned 18.

Even calling it a wedding was a broad term – it was more of a political ceremony. I had heard about wedded couples that each kept their own lovers; I however was a traditionalist, and hoped my bride and I would be true to each-other and monogamous.

I began to suspect that Caleb wasn’t going to be ready at 18 though. His parents had mollycoddled him and babied him. Freshly 16, he was still very much a sheltered child. I glanced down at the bundle in my arms. It was difficult to imagine that in two years, I was expected to consummate that marriage. Our five year difference suddenly felt wide as a chasm. His parents had likely taught him nothing about sex. I wondered if Caleb ever played with himself at all before his chastity device was affixed. He was still probably adjusting to that too. I pondered if it would be better to have it removed and let him explore.

More than anything, I felt pity for my bride. Thrust into a strange world, into strange arms, at a time when his body and its hormones were transforming in the most awkward ways. I also felt a bit of anger and disgust that the temple elders had clearly not sensed Caleb was a vulnerable creature – if I had been a man of lesser morals, I could have violated Caleb terribly. I made a note to call the Temple Counsel in the morning to file a complaint.

I would not send him back though. It would not benefit Caleb to go back into the womb at his age. As he got older, this behavior would be more difficult to correct. He was going to be a man soon. There were going to be expectations of him. I hoped keeping house and receiving home schooled lessons would keep his mind occupied. I kissed the top of his head and tried to remove Caleb but he’d worked his fingers into my bathrobe.

“Are you going to send me back?” he whispered.
I wondered if the boy could read minds. “No,” I said firmly, “You need to fledge from the nest. Every duckling and songbird falls a little when learning to fly. You’ll get used to things. You’ll find happiness in your work. Once you turn old enough, I will teach you the most wondrous pleasure your body is capable of. Are you feeling pain in your device?”
I felt the heat of his cheeks through my clothes. “No,” he says. “It’s snug, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“Ok, let me know if it does.”
He nodded.
“Will you try to sleep now?”
Caleb eyed the bed warily. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
I thought. “Just this time, duckling”
He seemed satisfied with that. I cleaned his face, made him blow his nose, and have a sip of water. I then tucked him in lovingly and then spooned up next to him, me on top of the covers. Caleb had exhausted himself and was asleep within minutes. I lingered a moment, watching his eyes move under his eyelids, marveling at how long his lashes were. His face still possessed some of its babyfat, especially in the cheeks. He was going to be stunning all grown up.

I just had to make sure he would grow up. I was sure once he got a taste of his new found freedom he would thrive. Tomorrow would be a most interesting day.
“Good night, duckling,” I murmured, as I turned off the light and went back to my room.

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Text is fictional. This is model Graeme Metz photographed by Cecilie Harris for Boys by Girls magazine issue 6, titled “The Truth About Boys”. The T-Shirt by American Apparel and Underwear by Calvin Klein. This caption is not a projection or assumption of Graeme’s personality or sexuality.