Angel Boy at a Wedding

 Friday night I escorted my mother to a wedding, a chore that I was not looking forward to. There were seven of us at a round table. One of our companions was an 11-year-old boy, the epitome of innocence. His mother was Hispanic and his father Anglo. He had inherited a light-brown skin that made him hugely attractive. The kid was skinny as a rail, wearing brand new jeans. The jeans had probably never been through the laundry yet. He had no belt but one wasn't necessary. His pants fitted beautifully around his waist and hips and never threatened to slide downwards the whole evening. His tucked-in shirt, a golf-type, had been chosen to match the jeans: horizontal stripes with the dominant stripe the same dark blue as his pants. Thinner, muted maroon and gold stripes alternated with the blue ones. His eyes were busy, darting around to take in the surroundings and the people. When we headed for the buffet, the kid paused at the head of the serving line for a moment and courteously handed plates and napkins to several people, motioning them to go ahead of him in the line.

 On returning to our table, the young guy's plate was seriously full. He consumed plenty of raw fruit, veggies and cheese cubes, plus generous helpings of brisket, salad, green beans and bacon-wrapped mushrooms. Then he made a second trip and inhaled another plateful! While he was gone his mother told us, "I don't know where he puts all that food, he's so skinny!"

 Our 11-year-old showed no sign of puberty. He was a surprisingly good conversationalist for a young boy trapped at a wedding. He answered questions about school and hobbies (reading books!). One dear old lady asked whether he liked girls. "Not much," he told her.

 After he stowed away all that food he helped distribute plates of cake, keeping for himself a piece with an unusually large amount of icing. Following the cake he began to yawn and look sleepy. By the time the dancing began his chair was shoved up next to his dad's and he was sound asleep leaning against his father.

 The evening turned out a lot better than I expected!



Preoccupied In the Library

Yesterday several of my classes had a library period.

During third bell I was monitoring my sixth-graders. One angelic young boy, smaller than most of his comrades (plus smart as a whip), was sitting with his chair pulled back a bit from the table. He had a book on the table and was definitely reading. At the same time, though, he was occasionally feeling of his lap. After a few minutes he slid his legs straight out under the table and sat with his right hand poised beside his fly. His wrist rested on his right leg, not moving. But the tips of his fingers repeatedly slid back and forth along a specific location. Minutes went by and he continued his slow activity, fingertips sliding constantly on a presumed stiffie. Whether he was aware of fondling himself, I don't know. I tend to think that it was subconscious up to a certain moment.

That moment was marked by his left hand dropping into his lap. The two hands linked fingers and he gave his entire package a huge squeeze while pretending to yawn and stretch. Then both hands dug around in his lap for a second, adjusting the bits and pieces..

His left hand returned to the book. The right hand remained in its strategic position in his lap. Again his fingers slid back and forth, giving constant small strokes to himself. Now he was no longer concentrating on his book, just on his lap. The motion of his fingers became faster and more deliberate, getting slightly jerky and then apparently quite urgent. Before long he was flat-out mashing and rubbing his lap, no longer content with his slow finger-strokes. I wondered: Is this little guy going to climax right here in the library? Shoot a load into his pants?

Suddenly he slid his chair back and stood up, walking straight toward me, both hands casually shielding his fly.

"Sir, I need to go to the bathroom!"

I gave permission and he trotted away, accidentally letting me have one final glimpse that showed a pointed bulge next to his zipper.

The bulge was no longer evident when he returned. Hopefully he had a pleasant time in the restroom.



The Tent Pole Effect

I had an interesting experience in church this morning. I selected a pew on the right-hand side of the church that already had a family in it but there was still a space available at the end. The family consisted of a mom and dad and two boys. The boy on the far end looked to be perhaps 10 or 11. The boy now sitting right next to me looked to be like a classic 8th grader, either 13 or 14 years old. Since this was on the right side of the church, my gaze would be to the left to observe the service and that also put this boy, to my left, pretty much in my line of sight.

A little bit into the service I caught him out of the corner of my eye taking his right hand and making a grab or an adjustment to his crotch. Then a few seconds later I saw him do it again. Then, I saw him sort of rest his right hand and arm on his lap, which did not look out of place at all. But then I saw what he was doing. There was a “lump” inside his pants and he was repeatedly squeezing it with his thumb in the side of his forefinger. It then became apparent to me that this boy apparently had gotten an erection and he was quietly taking a little opportunity to enjoy it, right there in church.

Then came a part of the service where we had to stand up. A little bit embarrassingly, as he stood up his little friend did “the tent pole effect”, and he quickly grabbed the front of his pants and pulled them out to allow his thing to find a much more comfortable position inside his shorts. After that, he stood there with both of his hands crossed and over his midsection, half in prayer and perhaps half covering up his little problem.

When we sat back down, it appeared like his little trouser worm had probably gone back to sleep. His spontaneous erection appeared to have now progressed to a spontaneous deflation, with his stiffie probably lasting no more than 7 or 8 minutes. No more grabs, no more pulls or squeezes. Then, later in the service we all stood up to hold hands and pray. My left hand was holding his right hand. Embarrassingly, as the BL that I am, I was distracted from prayer thinking about the young hand I was holding and what I had just watched it doing. Not only that, but I was imagining all the other things he quite likely does with that hand when he’s home and alone. (Maybe that spontaneous erection out in public was his little friend’s reminder to him that he had not yet been exercised and emptied this morning.)