Oliver

I was naughty. Couldn’t help myself. Bad Christian! And a guest as well. Bad Christian, again!

And I hadn’t taken any drugs, not even dope. (Probably lucky or I might have been licking my lips, as well)

The French back packer Olivier, who came down with Mark and Luke, a friend of Ab’s, is exceptionally handsome. He has beautiful blue eyes. And, I noticed last night when he was sitting on the couch, a very sexy bulge in his pants. I averted my eyes last night – don’t make the straight boys uncomfortable.

You know how I am with staring; it is an art form I am trying to master, play with. Cultivate. I just have to confine it to gay boys, as I did at Beyond and Throb where it seemed to work pretty well. It got the gay boy’s attention that’s for sure.

However…

This morning Olivier sat opposite me on the other couch with that gorgeous bulge in his pants on full display. Soft green cotton pants that formed a nice outlined tortoise shell bulge where his legs met, plump and full. Each testicle could be discerned, nice big slug laying over them. So, with Mark and Luke chatting around me, I couldn’t help but look. Firstly, I looked away, not wanting to be noticed.

Don’t be so rude and all of that.

But it is pretty nice, gorgeous, almost inviting a look, just out there, round and beautifully sculptured; that third stump, mound, that forms that sexy wave from one thigh to another.

Boys aren’t taught by society to be so sexually revealing with their genitals, as, say, girls are taught to be with their breasts – mostly by boy’s attention, I guess. Generally, it is accepted in society that woman’s breasts can be ogled at. They’re often more obvious, often involving more skin, when a low cut top is worn. Boys aren’t taught to display in quite the same way, even if at varying times, for varying reasons, they do. In speedos, in jocks. But not generally in normal kinds of day clothes. Not usually.

So, I stared. I let go. I gave myself permission. At which point, I wanted him to see. I wanted him to feel ogled at. I wanted to know how he’d react, which, of course, I may not because that reaction may stay a silent narrative going on inside of his head.

I wondered how he would feel, unaccustomed as boys are to being treated as sex objects in quite such a direct way. Well, having their genitals treated as sex objects in such a way – when it wasn’t a sexual situation. Or, by a female, I guess.

I wondered how boys feel when they have their cock and balls get all the attention. Well, appreciated, noticed, treated as something special, if you like.

I wondered if he’d feel exposed? I wondered if he’d feel naked? I wondered if he’d feel like he was out on full display. You know, if he felt like he was being perved on?

I wondered if he’d feel complimented? I wondered if he’d feel turned on, in the sense that he must have a beautiful cock if it warranted such adoration. I wondered if he’d feel beautiful, gorgeous, attractive?

But of course, I couldn’t really know any of these things. I guess, unless he launched himself across the coffee table and smacked me in the mouth. But he didn’t. It would have been interesting to be privy to what he was actually thinking.

I couldn’t look from his crotch to his eyes, too much, that would have been far too intrusive. That would have been too personal and would have warranted a reaction. So, I couldn’t get his reaction in that way. But I did stare unashamedly, so he must have noticed, seen me looking.

Eventually, he moved one leg slightly across so they weren’t so open, but he didn’t close them. He never closed them or turned himself away from me. He kind of squeezed his thighs together. Then he put his feet up on the coffee table so his thighs were forming more of a V shape – not laid out flat and completely open – but he still had them apart. And, in a way, that was more private, like a leg tunnel for my very own viewing pleasure. He fumbled in his pocket for something for a moment, a key, or something. And then he put his feet back on the floor and sat how he did initially, completely open.

I did look at him intermittently, most often he was looking at whoever was talking, mostly Mark. He glanced at me intermittently, at these moments, his eyes momentarily intense. Mostly, he was just smiling naturally. He slipped his hands into his pockets and adjusted himself. He was staring blankly off into space, but not at me.

I fantasised about him coming into my room tonight and saying, in his beautiful French accent, “I saw you looking. (Smile) Do you want to watch me masturbate? You can’t touch, but you can watch.” That would be hot.

He has nice hairy legs, I saw when he was in his boxer shorts this morning, even if he kept the front guarded by some clothes. I can’t imagine what his balls would feel like in my hands, or his hardening cock would look like at the end of his flat abdomen.

Of course, he leaves today, late, so he and Mark and Luke will most likely go back to Bolago and not stay anyway. But all of his stuff is still here, so he has to return at some stage. Perhaps, they’ll be too tired to drive back to the country tonight.

Tonight, would I dared to look at him direct, straight from his crotch to his eyes? I guess I shouldn’t. That would be far too much.