I was fucking around on the Internet one day and stumbled onto a ballbusting site. It had pictures, updated weekly, of hot young studs in positions where their balls were vulnerable. Some were clothed, others were naked, and readers were welcome to enter comments on exactly how they’d bust the kids. Another area had pictures of ten young bulls, and readers were invited to vote on the one most deserving of a kick in the balls. There were also areas devoted to videos of people, usually kids, getting nailed in the ‘nads, another page of user profiles, a forum to discuss your perversion, and a connections page where you could link up with others sharing the same interest.

I added the site to my Favorites list and dropped in occasionally. I was neither into inflicting nor receiving pain and I couldn’t imagine the kids taking the pops that they did and still remaining functional, but I did like to look at the pictures of the firm young bodies and I spent many hours contemplating the other possibilities for recreation once they were naked and helpless with my hand clamped tightly around their balls. I lurked for most of a year before finally deciding to place a message in the ‘connections’ tab. I figured that if some kid was willing to take it, than I would be doing him a favor by dishing it out. Besides that, anyone who’d willingly let another guy mess with his stuff probably wouldn’t be averse to letting an old codger suck his cock or fuck him in the ass, right?

“Fat ugly old man in Eastern Washington willing to abuse your balls. The younger the better, but no jailbait. I’ll have you begging for mercy and my cock.” I included my new Yahoo anonymous email address and submitted my offer.

I didn’t have to wait long for the first answer. The next morning my mail included a message from a sixty-one year old guy in Missoula who wanted to be asshole buddies. He wasn’t interested in abuse, just love. The next replay came a week later, after I had already given up any hope of connecting. The kid claimed he was twenty-one but looked much younger. He lived in Sandpoint, a small city in Idaho located a couple hours from Spokane. He also had access to a houseboat moored on Lake Pend Oreille. “What’s next?” He inquired.

Twenty years ago I had gotten busted in a prostitution sting, and instead of a twenty-five dollar blowjob I got a two hundred and fifty dollar fine and a stern lecture from a sanctimonious judge. I wasn’t about to get caught in a trap set up for Internet child abusers.

“Send me a copy of your driver’s license,” I responded. “Blank out your name and address and number, but make sure your picture and date of birth are legible.” The next day’s mail included the picture of his license. He was five feet six inches and weighed a hundred and twenty five pounds. The birth date was consistent with his claimed age, but the rosy-cheeked beardless face seemed like it belonged to a teenager. He also sent four other attachments, and they caused my dick to come to full attention. One was a rear view of a young man bent forward, legs spread. The hairless white ass was in marked contrast to the well-tanned, fuzzy legs, and a pendulous scrotum swum low. Another showed the same young man from the front. The chest and belly were smooth and hairless, lower down a luxuriant pubic bush, circumcised four-inch flaccid cock, and the same large balls from the first picture. I don’t remember what else that picture showed. The third picture was taken from the side and showed his erection sweeping upward at an angle that was impossible for a man my age to match. The ruler he was holding for scale revealed that he had very slightly over six inches, or what I consider a nice mouthful. In the fourth picture he was laying on his back, legs wide apart. A piece of stout cord had been tied around his balls and was anchored to an unseen overhead attachment. His hands were spread about a foot and a half apart and each held a thick paperback book. No face was visible in any of the pictures, but the body was consistent with the description on the license.

I had been absentmindedly fondling myself while perusing the pictures and the inevitable orgasm was the best I’d had in months. I cleaned up the mess and sent a one-word reply: “When?”

Eight days later I was headed North in a rented Taurus. I had twenty dollars in my pocket and a three pack of Trojans Magnums; no driver’s license, credit cards, or other form of identification; if this was some kind of scam they were in for a disappointment. I was also packing a three-day load and the anticipation made my dick slick and slightly stiff despite my fifty-eight years of age. There was a yellow ribbon tied around the radio antenna, and a ‘for sale’ sign in the left back window. He would be wearing a white WSU sweatshirt, red sneakers, and a green Idaho State hat and be waiting in the southwest corner of an Albertson’s parking lot.

“I’m Kevin,” the kid said, closing the car door. Up close he looked a little older than his driver’s license picture, but he was still beardless and could easily pass for a high school kid.

“Call me Ralph,” I replied, “and I need you to tell me right now how old you are.”

“Twenty-one, last May.” That statement let me off the hook for any possible charge of child molestation. “I just look young. Go straight ahead about five miles, then hang a right on Watson road. I’ll let you know when were getting close.”

So off we went. Normal people would probably have felt nervous about sitting in a car next to an admitted pervert, but the fact that we were both perverts must have cancelled things out because all I felt was anticipation at getting naked with the kid, and he acted as if he did this sort of thing every day.

“We need a safe word,” Kevin announced as soon as we left the highway.

“What’s that?”

“You know, a word that either of us can use to stop things if it gets too intense. Sort of like a fuse or circuit breaker. How about ‘Houseboat’?”

“Okay. I guess I can remember that.”

“Turn here,” he directed, showing me a small driveway that led down to the lake.

Lake front property on Pend Oreille is some of the priciest acreage in the state, but this place was a dump. A green sani-can was perched on an old wooden pallet at the top of the rickety stairway that led down to a decrepit dock. One tends to think of houseboats as luxury items, but this one looked like a 1970 era Winnebago parked on top of a couple of pontoons. The north side was covered with a green scum and the windows appeared to have never been washed. A half dozen propane bottles and an equal number of water jugs littered the deck, and an outboard motor that must have been salvaged from Noah’s ark graced the stern. The registration on the front of the pontoon had expired several years ago

“It belonged to my uncle,” Kevin offered as he unlocked the door. “He died last year and left it to me and my cousins. They all live in California and have never even seen the thing.” The inside wasn’t any more impressive that the exterior. The floors were covered with ancient lime-green shag carpeting and the walls were built from cheap print imitation wood paneling and the smell of mildew permeated the atmosphere. “You can pee in the toilet or over the side, but use the one outside if you have to crap,” he instructed. No mention of what to do with used rubbers. “The water’s okay to wash with or shower, but don’t drink it.”

I followed him into the bedroom and watched while he stripped the bed down to the bottom sheet. “Ready?” He smiled, then kicked off his shoes, stripped his shirt off, then stepped out of his jeans. I did the same, more deliberately because of the weight I pack, and then shed my skivvies. His face betrayed a look of disgust when he saw my beer gut and lower down, my thick, stubby, half hard cock, but he smiled again and slid off his brightly patterned boxer shorts. The pictures that he’d sent were definitely of him.

“On the bed, hands and knees, legs apart,” I said, taking charge of the situation as if I knew exactly what I was doing. He complied, and I felt his body stiffen as I took a firm grip on his magnificent scrotum. I gently fondled his nuts for minute, gauging their size and wondering if mine had been as large at his age. “What do you want me to do to you?” I asked, tightening my grip.

“Kiss my ass,” he replied.

“Wrong!” I released his balls and lowered my hand six inches, then slammed it upward and regained my control. His whole body convulsed, and if not for the support of my hand he probably would have collapsed on the bed, but he didn’t scream or offer the safe word, so I repeated my question.

“Suck my cock, fag!” He obviously wanted another pop in the nuts.

“Okay,” I accepted his offer, “roll over on your back.” His slender cock was already hard and the head glistened with anticipation of the best form of sex that exists.

I came out fifteen years ago, right after my parents’ death, and I have sucked many cocks since then but never one so young. Despite my efforts to prolong our pleasure he popped in less than a minute and completely filled my mouth with his fresh tasting young seed. Knowing his testicles would now be extremely sensitive I tightened my grip and ordered him to roll back over, head down and ass up. My turn.

“What do you want me to do to you next?” I queried, tapping his left nut with the tip of my finger.

“Eat out my asshole, fag!” He answered with conviction.

“Wrong, try again.” Another pop to the nuts that would have floored me didn’t even bring a moan from this kid. I switched hands and grabbed his balls from the front, then shuffled forward to let him feel my erection, then gave him another pop.

“Fuck me!” His voice was now half an octave higher. Good thing too, my grip was starting to weaken. Thus kid must have iron balls.

“Fuck me what?” I wanted him, but I also wanted to hear him say it.

“Please. Fuck my ass.” He finally accepted the inevitable.

I grabbed the Magnum from beside me on the bed and threw it in front of his face. “Open it, and hand it back here,” I ordered, and when he complied I smoothly one-handed it onto my cock just the way I’d practiced. My balls have shrunk somewhat with age, and my cock, never really long, is now partially buried by the fat on my abdomen. However, age, hypertension, and over forty-five years of daily flogging has thickened it to a dimension seldom equaled by youngsters. I can tell right away that although not a virgin, this boy has a tight ass and he’ll remember me for several days.

I went into the bathroom, or head I guess they call it on a boat, flushed the condom, washed my dick, and then took a long satisfying piss. When I got back to the bedroom the kid was rummaging around in the drawer of the nightstand.

“Here,” he said, producing leather wrist and ankle manacles with attached chains, “help me with these.” I thought he’d had enough but he had something else in mind. “Fasten them to the corners of the bed,” he instructed, stretching himself out spread-eagle. Snap hooks had already been installed at the corners of the bed, and within seconds he was immobile. “The cord and books are in the other drawer,” he said then motioned with his chin towards the ceiling. Right above the center of the bed an eyebolt had been installed. It may have once been the anchor for an overhead light fixture but now it had a totally different function: He wanted me to rig him up as shown in the last picture he’d sent me and pop him in the balls with the two books.

I had gotten what I had come for and was ready to quit any time, but he obviously wasn’t done yet, so what the hell, I’d help him out. I tied the cord tightly around his scrotum and stood on the bed and passed the other end through the eye of the ceiling bolt, then looped it around the bedrail. “Tighter,” he said after I’d taken the slack out. I shortened the rope until he had to arch his back and lift his ass off of the bed. His balls were now a dark red color, and they extended several inches out from his body. “Okay, use the books.”

One was ‘Shogun’ by James Clavell, and the other was Micheners’ ‘Centennial’, both hefty paperbacks. I took one in each hand and popped smartly together a couple of times, then sped my hand about eight inched apart on each side of his nutsack and let him have it. “Again,” he said, “harder!” Even though I’d blown him a half hour ago he was hard again.

I spread my hand two feet apart and nailed him again, putting slightly more muscle into the effort. He hollered out loud and thrashed so hard that I though he might rupture himself or at least cry out the safe word, but instead he just said, “Again, still harder!” A drop of clear liquid appeared on the tip of his cock, and it twitched as if he were trying to fuck thin air.

I guess I wasn’t quite aware of just what he wanted, or maybe I subconsciously wanted to actually castrate the kid, but for whatever reason I spread my hand as far apart as I could and took a deep breath. “Houseboat!” he screamed as I started to move, but I was already mentally committed to complete my swing and the books came together with kind of a wet sounding ‘thud’.

His nuts slipped through the noose and he dropped to the bed unconscious. I gently took his scrotum in my hand. It felt soft and mushy, sort of like a bag of frozen peas that had thawed out and turned mushy. It was only then that I noticed that a thick white streak graced his belly from navel to throat. I unfastened his chains, put the manacles back in the drawer, and then got dressed and left.

I printed out the pictures that he had sent and then deleted the images from my hard drive. I take out the pictures now and then and masturbate, wondering whom I will connect with next.