with-attention-to-paul

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Subject: Meeting for worship: With Attention to Paul I had a yearning as I entered the meeting house that morning. Truth told, I was lonely. Not a physical thing, an emotional one, because I’d been rattling around my home all by myself and even though I like the peace and quite my few acres afforded, sometimes I wanted someone to talk to. Okay, it’s probably going to sound sacrilegious, but the Lord works in mysterious ways. As far I as know, Paul is one of those ways. I wasn’t looking for a teen boy with a blond pompadour and luscious lips; I certainly enjoy looking when discretion allows, but I am a strictly “hands off” kind of guy. In fact I didn’t even realize who the angel sitting on the other side of the meeting house was right away, but then it dawned on me that since he was sitting next to Melanie, it must be her boy Paul. He used to go to First Day School, when he was younger; when had he grown so tall? So beautiful? As I stared off into the middle distance, I watched as he sat, eyes closed, then resting his face in his hands. He appeared to be deep in worship, and I allowed myself to be the same. After a time, I focused on him again, particularly his lean legs, visible as he was wearing shorts, and the hint of creamy chest revealed by his V-neck t-shirt. His lashes and brows were so pale as to be visible only by what sunlight through the window they reflected, and his lips shone almost with their own light, albeit a warm and pink one. That Biblical lesson about it being a sin even to lust in one’s mind technically didn’t apply, because Paul was not a man’s wife. In that moment, however, I certainly would have made him mine. When the time came to socialize, it became clear I was not the only one who noticed Paul’s transformation. Granted, Friends are discrete: they complimented how he was “becoming a man,” or remarked upon his height or how he’d grown. I withheld my own opinion, instead saying to him when the pack of well-wishers had dispersed a bit, “I’m sure that telling you that you’ve gotten older wouldn’t come as a surprise, would it?” He smiled, and I added, “Adults have a remarkable ability to notice the obvious.” That got a bit of a laugh from him, prompting his mother to place an affectionate hand on his shoulder as she spoke to someone else. She turned and said, “I like being reminded that my son still laughs.” As it happened, Paul was in need of a ride to his job washing dishes, and his mom wasn’t in a rush to take him. “Your shift doesn’t start until one o’clock,” she said. “We can leave in half an hour.” “I could take him,” I offered. “I need to get started on yard work before it gets too hot, and that restaurant is on the way.” “Please, mom?” Paul asked. He was clearly eager to get out of there. With a bit of resignation, she agreed. “Thanks for getting me out of there,” Paul said once we were in my car. “No offense, but the socializing is even more boring than the sitting.” “Well you sure play the game well,” I told him. “From where I was sitting, it definitely looked like you were very into the worship.” Paul opened his mouth, then closed it. “What?” I asked. “I think it will offend you.” “What you say to me stays with me, Paul, and I don’t offend easily.” “I was actually trying to imagine the end to the dream I was having when my mom woke me up this morning.” “Why would that be offensive?” I asked, and then, seeing the slightly-embarrassed look on his face, added, “OH.” “Yeah, well, sorry I said anything.” “Look, Paul, if God didn’t want us to have those feelings, he wouldn’t have put the penis conveniently within reach of our hands.” He actually did a double-take at that. He laughed again. I decided I liked the sound, and should like to hear it more often. “I never would have expected a Quaker to basically admit to jerking off,” he replied after a few moments. Now it was my turn to laugh. “Did you learn anything about this religion? Think of the testimonies. Simplicity: check, only need what you’re born with. Peace: if it’s violent, you need to slow down.” That one really set him off, his laughter hitting prepubescent-like notes. I continued, “Integrity? There is nothing about masturbation that’s bad for the character, as long as you do your own laundry. Community? Okay, not the way kayseri escort most people do it, but it’s certainly not BAD for community, assuming I don’t stay in bed all day with a bottle of lotion. Equality: check; we all can do it as long as we have all the equipment. Need I go on?” “You’ve really thought about jerk. . . masturbation that much?” he asked, changing the word midstream. “We can call it ‘jerking off’ if you like. And no, I don’t think about it a lot, I DO it a lot, because I’m single. I think about Quaker teachings a lot, which is why I could plug them in off the top of my head.” “You’re pretty cool, Ben,” he said as I pulled up to the back door of his place of employment. “Back atcha, Paul. And here,” I said, jotting my number on a piece of paper. “Save that in your phone, in case you ever want a ride, or a talk.” “Thanks, man,” he said as he got out of the car. Before he closed the door, he stuck his head back in to add, “Oh, by the way, I’m single too.” As I drove away I wondered what he’d meant by that remark. Was he signaling that he, too, masturbated? That wouldn’t be a revelation (what boy doesn’t?), although the admission itself might be. Was Paul trying to say something more? That was probably my loneliness playing tricks on me, I decided. The next week, Adele approached me after worship. “I just wanted to let you know that you really connected with Paul,” she said. “He’s mentioned you just about every day this week.” “All we did was talk on the way,” I said, shrugging, “but I’m glad to help in any way I can.” “You have. He almost reminds me of the boy I had when his father was still at home.” Taking her hand and squeezing it warmly, I said, “Anything I can do, just let me know.” “There is something, actually,” she replied. “We have a vacation planned, but Paul is worried about losing that new job of his if he goes away. He’s mature enough to stay home on his own, but the buses aren’t always running when he gets out of work. Do you think you could help with that?” “Is that all? Of course!” I pretended to write down his number when she gave it to me. “Does he prefer phone, or text?” I asked. Adele shrugged. “He ignores me either way,” she said with a laugh. “I’m sure we can work it out,” I told her. “When are you leaving?” She gave me all the details, which I did record in my calendar, and I agreed to contact Paul later in the day. A few hours later I sent a text to him: I guess I’m your ride home during vacation, I typed. The response was typical: who is this? I identified myself and gave him a hard time for not saving my number in the first place. Not too hard, just what I figured he’d expect from someone his own age. He agreed to let me know what nights he’d need rides on the upcoming Thursday, when the next schedule came out. The whole affair went out of my mind until he texted me his schedule. Paul only had one really late night — a closing shift, which ended around 11:00 — which relieved me somewhat as I’m not an all-hours kind of guy. That was on Saturday. His other shifts, in the middle of the week, he was finished at eight. I even offered to save him the bus fare on the way into work that Saturday, and he readily agreed. I pulled into the driveway Saturday afternoon, and Paul didn’t need me to text him before coming outside. He must have been looking for me. “Thanks for the lift today,” he said. “I’m just glad this is the only really late night,” I said, smiling. “Does that mean I’m taking the bus the rest of the week?” “Nah, I just like to avoid driving after 10 if I can.” “I could stay over tonight if it’s easier,” he said quickly, as if he’d been thinking about it all along. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll set up someplace for you the crash, and make you breakfast in the morning if you want. Do you need to get clean clothes?” “No, I’m good,” he said, patting his bag. After a pause, he added, “Think I could take a shower, though?” “Absolutely! Who wants to smell like other peoples’ food?” I changed the subject, but it was still on my mind as he left the car, and as he got back in when I picked him up. However, I held my tongue and didn’t mention it. Soon after we got to my place, though, Paul did. “Think I can get that shower, now?” he asked. “Come on, I’ll keçiören escort get you a towel.” I led him to the bathroom, provided both towel and washcloth, and gave him a largely-unnecessary tutorial on how to get the water hot. Something about those blond eyelashes of Paul’s made me giddy, and I found it hard to stop talking but finally left him in peace. The water started running in under a minute, and I briefly thought about installing a secret shower cam before mentally smacking myself. I might enjoy a young body from time to time, but I don’t want to be a creep about it. Probably my incredibly good fortune with Andy also played a part in me hoping for something to develop, but he was long gone now, and I needed to accept that fact. I considered masturbating while Paul was showering, but I couldn’t be certain how long he’d take, and didn’t want to be called upon at an awkward moment. No awkward moment happened; Paul showered and emerged from the bathroom in sweat shorts and a t-shirt which was snug to his lean torso, but had some room in the sleeves and under the arms. “That water’s really hot!” he said. “That’s not normal?” Laughing, he shook his head. “Not at my house. Water heater’s barely on, to save money.” “Well I don’t like shivering in the shower or out of it,” I said. “I prefer to be able to step out of the shower, dry off, and not be cold if I decide not to put on anything after that.” “Cool,” Paul said, smiling. “The idea is, but never my thermostat,” I said. “You comfortable now, or is it too hot?” “Nah, I’m good,” he said. “If I get too hot I can just take off my shirt, right?” “Anything you like,” I said, “as long as you don’t stink.” We sat together on the couch, Paul with his legs splayed, watching television. It was clear he wasn’t wearing underwear, a fact that I found more than a little distracting, but I tried not to show it. About halfway through the program we’d selected, he got up to pee and get a drink, and I could clearly see how he moved in his shorts as he returned. “It really is pretty warm in here,” he said as he set down his glass. “I can turn down the heat,” I offered. “Nah, it’s fine,” Paul replied. “As I said, I can always take off my shirt.” With that, he peeled it up and over his head, giving me a chance to look closely at this torso. He had that lean-yet-muscular build one almost only ever finds in teens, and I enjoyed ogling every inch while it was safe to do so. Then he flopped back onto the couch, his leg against mine, and downed his drink. The glass had ice more than halfway filling it. “Did I give you too much ice?” I asked. Looking at the glass, he said, “Nah, look.” Taking one of the half-melted cubes, he placed it on his bare chest. “Keeps me cool.” Paul lazily balanced the glass atop his crotch as he ran the ice up and down his sternum. I couldn’t look away. “Wow, this is wild. Look, it got my nipples hard without touching them.” I did look, and then my eyes wandered down to the glass and I said, “Looks like that’s not the only thing getting hard.” Sure enough, the cold glass had stimulated the boy, and the sweat shorts did little to hide that fact. Paul put the ice back in the glass and set it on the table. Reaching his hands behind his head, his flexed his dick. “Guess not,” he said, staring into space. “You still too hot?” I asked. “Yeah,” Paul said. “I should just take something else off.” “If that will make you feel good,” I said. “Feel good if you help,” he said, spreading his legs slightly in invitation. Not letting myself think twice, I slid a hand up one side of his shorts and curled fingers around cock. “Naked,” he said, pushing down the shorts. I allowed him to finish and took a look at him. His blond patch was just as flaxen as his eyelashes. It did not extend onto the shaft or sack. Paul leaned back his head as I touched him, tracing one hand across his left nipple, which was the same pale pink as his slightly-parted lips. I touched the other, my fingers circling then feeling contour of ribs and muscle to his navel. “Suck me,” he said breathily. The ridge and veins slid past my lips as I pulled my teeth safely away and allowed him to fill me until stopped by his own pelvis. I smelled notes of soap and boy as ankara kendi evi olan escort his pale hairs caressed my nose. I rose slowly, making certain I felt every inch of what I disgorged. I lingered more around the head, tongue-kissing him into a frenzy of ragged breathing as I watched the muscles of his abdomen quiver until I again began my descent down his length and landed him in that warm and moist place he desperately sought. “Fuck, yes, suck it,” Paul said. “Feels so good, man.” Taking his balls gently in hand, I began also to bob on his cock. The boy was not disappointed. He slowly lifted his knees up, satin-smooth inner thighs caressing my cheeks as he did, and then he took legs in hand and spread them wide, as if he were about to get fucked in a porno. It strangely made him seem vulnerable in an “I’m in charge, take my cock” kind of way. Was that what was meant by a bottom topping, I wondered, and if Paul being a bottom meant that I would soon by fucking that hole which he’d opened just inches from my busy mouth. My cock ached at that thought, and I opted to free it completely. Grabbing on to Paul’s erection with one hand as I continued to work him by mouth, my other hand sprung the button and zipper, and pushed down my pants. Paul put his legs down on my shoulders at that moment, and said, “Make me cum. I’m so fucking horny.” Freeing my dick was going to have to be enough, because it was going to be all hands on Paul until the deed was done. I reached under and clutched his tight buns as I drove his dick as far down my throat as it would go. He groaned and followed along, closing his legs again around me. His butt cheeks drew together and one of my hands rested near the cleft. “Oh, play with my ass,” he said. I began to squeeze and caress the cheeks as I sucked, but he corrected, “No, the hole.” My throat tightened reflexively around the boy’s cock as he said it. Slowly, I moved a hand in closer, one fingertip gingerly pressing upon the soft, strong muscle. “Suck me,” he said, pushing deeper into me and himself more firmly against my finger. I took him to the root, and pressed against his hole in rhythm to his own body’s motions. Saliva running down Paul’s shaft reached my finger then, and with that slight lubrication I slid and wiggled and pressed just a tiny bit more firmly against his sphincter. I backed off his penis to give my throat a rest, focusing my lips around and over the head to tease him. “Here,” the boy said after a couple of minutes of groaning to my treatment. He pulled out of my mouth and brought my face close, not to kiss me but to bring our penises to each other. “Take those off,” he said, clawing at my clothing. With one hand I helped him pull shirt over head, while the other frantically shoved pants down and off. He guided my hips to him, and I pointed my meat at his tight little locker, not sure how serious he was. My head touched that private button, and even as I registered the quivering, warm muscle tantalizing me I realized Paul had stopped breathing. A steady stream of jizz was shooting out the end of his own cock. “Motherfucker,” he said with an explosive exhalation. Seeing his cum face was enough to put me over the edge, but I pulled back so I wouldn’t spray between his cheeks. If a boy thinks sex is too messy, he might not want to do it again. I let loose all over his front, my semen landing with splats on his own load. “Damn, you came a lot,” he said. “You must be as horny as me.” I rolled back off him, and he started wiping it all up with his t-shirt. “I can get a towel,” I said, but he shook his head. “Maybe we can wash this later, after we’re done,” Paul replied. He finished cleaning up and tossed the t-shirt on the floor. He was still hard. I wasn’t, but the look on his face started the blood back down. Reaching out, I grabbed him firmly. “Bet you never thought worship could be this good,” I said as I stroked him slowly. “Wait, what?” “Sure, this is meeting for worship, with attention to Paul. Now, pay attention.” I leaned in to put his cock back in my mouth, as he closed his eyes and to get back into worship. Make every moment into a learning opportunity, I thought to myself, as I tried to get this boy again to see God. ________________________________________________________________________________ If you enjoyed the preceding work of fiction, please consider donating to Nifty. Every dollar goes a long way. I am delighted to be listed as a prolific net author; you can find a current list of my Nifty contributions by fty//authors.htmlpaternalwatcher.

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