I smile when I see him, hiding in the shadows beyond the doorway, just a glimpse of his T-shirt in a sliver of hoary moonlight tinged yellow from the lights outside the shearing shed. It’s an old one of mine, fuzzy white cotton with two holes in the front, so big that it hangs down his thighs like a girl’s nightie. He knows it disturbs me, yet he wears it every night, putting it on after his bath before he returns to watch TV. When his favorite commercial comes on, he dances before me, a graceful sylph-boy, gyrating his hips and wriggling his bottom as if he’s trying to tell me that he’s no longer an innocent little boy. Too soon, he stops, shamelessly pulling the cloth tight to his body, exposing everything but bare flesh, giggling because both of us can see he’s aroused underneath.

I watch him through one open eye, a ghost in the darkness. He’s slender, with curves and ridges in all the right places, yet his waist is so narrow that I always wonder whether he’s been short-changed in the male department. But it’s more than long hair and an hour-glass waist; it’s in his head too. He craves physical contact, not rough and tumble wrestling like a boy, but one finger caresses, what he calls tickling. At night, when he finishes his effeminate dance, he always asks if there’s anything I want. I always answer, ‘a cuddle’. Then, he squeezes onto the couch next to me and we hug, a close, lingering embrace, not at all like uncle and nephew. When we part, I kiss his forehead and he curls up on the couch beside me, pulling up the ragged hem of his shirt so I can ‘tickle’ his back, in the process revealing his limber thighs and delectable little bum. He pretends he forgot to put on underpants, but it’s no accident, not when he whispers, ‘go lower.’ He stays face down, his thighs pressed close together, but sooner or later his legs part, allowing me a peek at his little boy-parts. Usually he’s fully erect, but whatever his state of arousal, even a quick glimpse is enough to make me happy.

I fondle my cock under the sheet, keeping it stiff as my midnight visitor timidly peers into my bedroom, wavering until he gives in to his juvenile lust. Finally, he stands where I can see his right hand fondling under his T-shirt. I exhale, deep and slow, and pretend to wake up. I beckon to him and he takes a cautious step forward, hesitating, as if seeking reassurance. Another step and he lifts his arms and gracefully divests himself. It’s the first time he’s done that, and I gulp, aching hard and hungry for him, not really believing he’s giving me a private strip show, but he is. He does it slowly, inching the cloth higher as if he doesn’t want me to see how beautiful he is underneath, bare groin, bare belly, bare chest, finally bare shoulders, all perfect. With a jerk, he pulls the T-shirt over his tousled head, and smiles uncertainly while I feast my eyes, fidgety shivers from the cooling breath through the wide-open windows, or he’s nervous about taking off his nightshirt and letting me see him completely naked.

I lift back the sheet, meeting him halfway, showing him that I’m as naked as he is. The final decision must be his. He takes only a moment to decide, gazing ravenously at my horny hair-covered middle, at what he wants more than anything else. Finally, he moves one mincing step closer, then another, until he stands before me, an arm’s length away, displaying his slim nude body, allowing me to see his boyhood up close. It’s tiny, yet it’s impossible not to admire what makes him male, his miniature testicles clinging so tightly that they’re almost undetectable behind his utterly hairless boy-dick. It’s still erect, even though it hasn’t been touched for a minute. I shift back, making room for him, a clear invitation for him to get in my bed, but he doesn’t move, just stares at my elongated penis, extending along my belly.

“What do you want?” I whisper, but I already know. It’s in his eyes.

“I can’t sleep. Can I get in with you?” he murmurs, shyness never far away. He’s still afraid to say what he really wants.

I nod. That’s all it takes. With a girly giggle, he drops his nightshirt next to the bed and slips under the sheet. Cool, firm flesh brushes my body, quickly spooning his bony back against my front. I hug him from behind, warming his willowy boy-body, stoking my lust as I stroke his lean, smooth flank. I nuzzle his hair, far too long for a boy, yet it suits him—in fact, it’s difficult to imagine him any other way. Silky locks tickle my nose when I inhale his scent. My thoughts wander, distracted by the sweet aphrodisiac of a prepubescent male, so infatuated that it’s easy to put aside good judgment. Within a minute, he’s warm, not sweaty hot, but that wonderful smoldering heat that an excited young heart pumps out.

I graze my fingertip along his slender bare thigh, trying to make it seem unintended, but he must know it’s not. Suddenly, he wriggles, placing his little buttocks firmly against my erection as my hand moves up to cover his chest. With a fingernail, I scratch at his pinprick nipple. Then, he wriggles again, still pretending to get comfortable, but he stops as soon as my thick stiff cock snuggles along the length of his crack. I close my eyes, content just to hold him and chafe his tender nubbin.

I feel him exhale on my arm, puffs of tepid air slowing down, sonorous breathing as if he’s already asleep, but he’s as awake as I am. I can tell he’s excited. Even without feeling down there, I know his boy-dick is hard and hot, anxiously waiting for what comes next, his every thought directed to having me touch his privates. Eventually, my fingers creep down, over prominent ribs, slipping along sleek soft skin, to his hip, down into the fleecy warmth of his thigh and lower belly.

I avoid his penis, but it bumps my thumb when he flexes inside, sending signals that he wants to be molested. I surrender and lovingly stroke his inner thigh, one finger lightly poking his two little eggs, his pouch completely relaxed yet still no more than a silky crease, eluding his insistent boyhood until there’s no doubt about what he wants. Finally, I caress his jutting flesh, tightly, fully erect yet still no bigger than his thumb, 60 centimeters long, give or take, a little smaller than most boys his age, but stiffness makes up for it. To my mind, it’s perfect, absolutely unyielding, burning hot, supple and soft on the outside, yet underneath the delicate sheath I feel the ‘bone’ in him, the unmistakable sign of arousal, of his need to be loved by a man.

I smile at the impatient soft sigh that escapes his lips when I carefully draw down his prepuce. I tease his delicate little bulb between my forefinger and thumb, making him tense up. It’s moist, so tender that he twitches sporadically, but he doesn’t pull away. His breathing changes, noticeably quicker, still feigning sleep while I fondle his swollen glans. His foreskin is loose, surplus ripples bunching behind the delicate corona, effortlessly gliding under my fingers. His stubby shaft pulses, impossible for it to be any stiffer, as if trying to refute the girl he secretly wants to be.

I kiss his shoulder, moving slowly towards his skinny neck, brushing away long wisps of hair to get at his ear. He stifles a giggle when I lick, then nibble on his earlobe, his agitated erection jumping urgently as I press up behind him, easily fitting his little rump into my groin. I cup my hand over his precious boy-parts, containing everything he needs to father a child of his own. Holding his deliciously immature genitals thrills me, but they will surely complicate matters as he gets older; a cock that will never know the embrace of a vagina, gonads that will eventually pump out unwanted male hormones. My fingers caress the junction of his penis, scrotum, and a deliciously soft pubis, all without hair. He settles against me, content to be fondled. Somewhere outside, a horse whinnies, raucous noise in the night, but he ‘sleeps’ through it. I suck on his earlobe, gently squeezing jelly-bean boy-nuts while I caress his stiff squat sex, both of us quaking as desire surges, my slime oozing over his tailbone. Now, he’s hotter than I am.

I let go of his penis and slide my hand onto his belly, over sleek juvenile muscle up to his belly button, back to his hip. I lick into his ear and suck on his neck, increasingly passionate until he trembles. Only then, I start my assault on his bottom, moving my cock out of the way so I can explore. Delicious torment for both of us as I stroke his bare buttocks, such a beautiful part of a boy, so essential to my love for him. I caress the verge of his crack with my fingertips, cradling a handful of smooth, rounded boy-cheek, kneading gluteus flesh, reducing him to compliant putty without doing what he wants me to do, yet knowing that I will eventually do it, the one thing that must happen for both of us to be truly happy. Ever so slowly, I slide my fingers into his crevice to find his opening. One fingertip touches him where he wants to be touched. He utters a sweet tantalizing sigh when I pierce his tiny hole. It’s already greasy, ready and waiting for me. It’s the first time he’s done that, but I’m not surprised. He’s always known how to get what he wants.

I feel him tense as my ring finger corkscrews into him, deep down satisfaction as he imitates slumber despite my digit embedded in his trembling anus. It’s tight, but not like it should be. I effortlessly push into his lush heat, past the second joint, then to the knuckle, impossible that he could ‘sleep’ through it unless he’d practiced beforehand. I smile at the thought and lean over to kiss his cheek, grateful for his gift.

I curl my finger inside him, encased in his rectum, feeling his heart beat, the sleek tube pulsing, pulling, pushing. Again, I find myself wishing the onset of puberty could be permanently postponed, that I could have him in my bed forever. He twitches and tries to control his excitement as my finger stirs his insides, fucking gently, seeking his gland. A little deeper, a little harder, and he shudders, his buttocks contracting, squeezing his crack closed.

I guide my cock down, separating his little buttocks with one hand so I can place my cock-head in the gap, parting them, no more than that. When the moment seems right, I press against him, sliding the fleshy knob up and down his crack, mischievously poking at his slippery sex-hole until he shifts his upper leg close to his chest, consciously offering himself. This is the moment I’ve waited for all day. My heart thumps in my chest when my glans nudges his anus, oozing sex juice over his opening, his tender warm cheeks embracing my shaft.

I desperately want to tell him how much I love him, but I don’t say a word. He doesn’t move away, pretending to sleep while I ravish his neck and shoulder and begin my slickening games. A teasing minute passes before playtime ends and I insistently prod my cock at his knotted entrance. He quivers like leaves fluttering in the breeze, as queer as a boy can be and not admit it.

“Relax.” Just one word, a whisper to warn him, a breath to cool his saliva-soaked ear. He’s still learning how to control the muscles inside himself. It’s the one thing he has to do if I’m not going to hurt him.

I kiss him, nuzzling the side of his face to calm him. He pretends that he doesn’t hear, but he knows what is imminent. I feel his buttocks loosen, deliberately slackening so there’s no doubt that he wants me to enter him. I’ve fucked him four times so he knows what to expect. He isn’t afraid any longer, yet I can tell he’s still worried that it will hurt. It takes a while for a boy to get used to the penetration part of it; some never do.

I press my cock gently, persistently testing his anus, now slippery with my excretion, resolutely forcing my way into his dimpled opening. When he doesn’t edge away, I push harder, definitely stretching him, but still not enough to get the head through. Instead of employing brute force the last time, I use my cock to massage his crack, back to teasing him, cautiously trying his barely experienced flesh. He trembles, tensing every time it squashes into his anus. Impatiently, I shove a little bit harder and it goes in a little bit farther, still not breeching him, but gradually increasing the size of his hole. It’s still tight, like trying to open a little fist even though he’s doing his best to relax.

I’m patient; back and forth with my perverted massage, oozing my slime along his furrow. I feel him trying to accommodate my cock, wantonly relaxing his muscles and breathing deeper, consciously readying himself for insemination. I do it when he’s not expecting it, not too hard, but with enough momentum that his lubricated opening can’t stop me. One quick jab is all it takes. The deed is done before he realizes. Then, as his anus contracts, I do it again. He muffles a gasp and freezes, still running his childish ruse, but he can’t prevent his body from cramping. He breathes when he can do so without crying, smothering his whimpers in my pillow as his sphincter strangles my cock-head. It hurts him; I feel his tiny toes curling up, his hands clenching the pillow, but I don’t feel guilty. Instead, I feel sorry for him. He knows it’s inevitable, instinct driving him to accept what has to happen for a boy to have sex with a man. It’s what both of us want, but he still doesn’t understand why he needs my cock buried inside him.

I hug him tightly so he can’t squirm away and push up against him. He gulps when I penetrate farther, just the head and an inch of the shaft. His boy-hole is snug the way it’s supposed to be, but it’s also becoming elastic. I feel it weaken, slowly stretching, yielding its tightness to me. I bide my time, stroking his chest and belly, kissing on the back of his head to console him. The rest should be easy now that my cock-head has breached him. However, he whimpers again when I try to go deeper. I gently withdraw from his body.

“If you want me in your bum, you need to get the Vaseline,” I whisper.

I give him another hug, another sloppy ear-kiss, a gentle push to get him out of bed. Still bashful, he doesn’t move, not until I ignore his bottom to show him I mean it. All of a sudden, he shoves the covers aside and scampers away, so sprightly that it’s difficult to believe that a minute earlier he was close to crying. He returns quickly, a blur in the night, pulling the covers over both of us, resuming the same position, the same silly scam. As if he’d never left, I cup one hand over his crotch, his still-hard cock like a thumb sticking up. My other arm is under his neck, drawing him in for a cuddle. I smooch his shoulder, burrowing into his hair to get my tongue back on his neck.

I nibble and suck, leaving my reddened blotch where others can see it. It’s risky—ten years old is far too young for a boy to have love bites, but if anyone asks, he’s smart enough to say ‘insect bite.’ He squirms as if getting ready to sleep, impulsively shoving his bum against my erection, getting some of it wedged in his crack. Then, his head nestles into my arm, his lips pressed to his fist, back to his sleep game.

I return to stroking his flank, from his hip to his ribs, postponing the pleasure to be found between the muscular little buttocks that wantonly clutch at my cock. It’s obvious that he’s not inclined to the opposite gender—this is as right for him as it is for me. When he snores abruptly—his ‘hurry-up’ signal, my hand slides to his front, fingering his indented belly button, both tiny nipples, his soft underbelly. I feel the heat flowing from his proud boy-cock, irresistibly hard with little scrotal wrinkles underneath, carefully massaging undeveloped boy-balls between my fingers, cradling them, musing how vital they are to his future.

I bury my nose in his hair, breathing apple-scented shampoo, but at any other time there are a thousand lingering smells that make up his day. He shifts back ever so slightly, increasing the contact between us, my cock bulging against his rear. I hug him from behind, kissing his soft cheek, tickling his belly, tweaking his nozzle of foreskin, massaging his dick, all part of the foreplay ritual. When I can’t stand the waiting, I feel around to find the jar. Not surprisingly, the lid is missing. I stick my finger in, scoop out a gob, hurriedly slather Vaseline over my protruding cock, like greasing an axle hub. I part his cheeks and position my knob where I think his opening is. His spongy heat soaks up my strength, his anus greeting me with nibbling kisses. There’s no doubt he’s willing, but I delay until I’m lightheaded, until he’s anxious again. After another impatient snore, I push gently. He’s as tense as he’s ever been, but I’m as patient as any man who’s made love to an under-aged boy. He does nothing, not moving, not even a twitch, not breathing, his anus an inviting if temporary knot of resilient boy-muscle.

“I’m putting it in now. I’ll try not to hurt you,” I croon before I resume sucking on his neck, but staying where his hair will cover my marks.

I sense his apprehension, but he loosens, somehow controlling muscles that want to keep me out. I press again, stressing his opening enough to make him gasp. It’s as if each time is his first time, an endless rite of defloration. A little deeper and his anus bites angrily and closes up, but after two spasms the powerful band slackens. He pushes back with a muted sigh, the unmistakable sign that he needs me inside me. With a quick jab, his hole gulps the plump dome of my cock, a searing embrace that makes it throb even more. Another solid thrust and so much is inside the no-longer-virgin boy that he actually groans. I feel him tremble, realizing that my cock is now in his body, that we’re joined. His anus is excruciatingly tight, but he cannot stop me. Already, his dick is wilting, unable to decipher pain from pleasure. It’s only his fifth time.

I hold him firmly as he tenses, keeping the pressure up, pushing a little more into him, taking him quickly, even though I know I should give him time to dilate. However, I’m tired of sneaking into his bowels like a thief in the night. I stake my claim to him even faster than the previous night, not roughly, yet knowing it will happen soon enough—it’s what men have always done to effeminate boys. This time I try not to cause him unnecessary pain by withdrawing slightly whenever he gasps. Finally, with my cock securely rooted in his ass, I grasp his hip and pull him closer. I wonder what he feels when my slick hard cock slides into him. It’s so big that it must hurt like hell, but there’s no piercing scream, not even a sob, just a whiny, muffled sniffle.

I love the sensation of his hot pulsing flesh clamped around my cock, realizing I’ve just done what other men dream of. He’s so small that it shouldn’t fit, but it does. Somehow we manage to fit our bodies together—that’s the miracle of what we do in the darkness. It takes a few moments for his bowels to adjust, torturing my cock with incredibly powerful contractions that try to force it out. I should loathe myself, but I don’t because he doesn’t complain. Suddenly, intense heat consumes me; he’s glowing hot inside and sweating outside, shuddering, muffling his groans against my arm. There’s still three inches left when I stop, but it’s deep enough for now.

I hug him and wait out his spasms. His erection is a floppy shriveled worm, as if he’s no longer excited, but after my first holiday in Thailand, I’m fully aware that it’s normal for boys to lose their erections when other more enjoyable sensations take over. With my finger tunneling into his foreskin, I push back his glans, forcing it into his groin, pinching the tube of skin to keep it from returning, guiding his balls into the canals on either side. Like that, he’s as close to being a girl as a boy can get, long curling hair, baby-soft skin, high-pitched barely audible whimpers. The only difference is his pussy is behind instead of in front, and it’s tighter, like fucking a garden hose, which is good for me, but it surely hurts him.

I kiss away his pain while I fuck away whatever remains of his future manhood with gentle thrusts. I accept nothing less than complete submission as I distribute my passionate kisses over his thin neck, his dainty ear, slobbering on his smooth cheek, consciously avoiding turning his head to reach his Cupid’s-bow lips. Despite how much I want to kiss him on his mouth, I suspect he’s not ready for that final acknowledgement of our love. Patiently, I squeeze my cock into him; and just as carefully, I withdraw it. In and out, going very slowly at first because I really don’t want to hurt him, pulling through his overstretched anus, pushing his bony pelvis across the bed when I force it back in, not yet ready to stop him from moving away. He knows he can’t stop what is happening. He doesn’t even try, but he never did try—not even on his first midnight visit when he positioned his little bare rump directly in front of my cock and pretended to be asleep. I resisted temptation and waited until the thunderstorm ended, the last of the rain still dripping outside the window when I finally deflowered him. If I didn’t know better he might even be asleep now, so good is his pretense.

I wonder what he’s thinking. Is he happy? Is this what he really wants from life? I push a little harder than I should and he shudders, a fleeting urgent gasp, yet no longer in agony. The worst is over. Lovingly, I draw his knees higher, placing him in the fetal position to open up his crack and expose the sensuous curves of his bottom. There is no better feeling than making love to a boy like that, cradling his back into your belly, hugging him so tightly that he feels like he’s part of you. I push in even farther and feel his chest tighten when he groans, his little feet twitching, my cock so deep that I’ve gained complete control of his ten-year-old body. Such a simple thing, having sex, yet it’s incredibly complex for a boy so desperate to be female.

I reach between his thighs and grasp his little genitals to comfort him, his tender testes still tucked inside him, as if hiding, afraid to come out. I thrust slowly yet forcefully, relishing every moment, every panicky whimper, tugging on the empty fold of his scrotum, his shriveled penis of no use to either of us. When I can’t stand the torment any longer, I begin in earnest, rocking carefully against him, sliding in and out, still taking my time, yet gradually increasing my assault on his body. His sphincter slackens with every adoring cycle. A timeless rhythm; pushing in, then pausing before pulling back, feeling him quake if I punch too deep. My pauses get shorter, my thrusts deeper, my thighs sometimes slapping his behind, his buttocks forced wide apart as delight takes over for both of us.

I make love to him—not roughly because he’s not ready for that, but passionate playful strokes while I accept his surrender. In and out, still no sign of his erection returning, yet I can sense the change in him now that his distress has diminished, breathing faster, getting hotter all over, his cheek moist with happy tears, trembling, trying his best not to cry out. I want to flip him onto his back and watch his face contort while I fuck him. I want to see if he enjoys it as much as I think he does, but it’s not in the rules of his game. That’s why he comes in the night.

I want him helpless with his knees pressed back to his ears, but I don’t turn him over and pound into him in the way that men are supposed to do boys. However, for the first time I fuck him properly, not like a boy who’s never had an adult cock in his bowels, leisurely in and out with deep, powerful thrusts, lifting up his upper thigh so his buttocks don’t get in the way. A few times, my groin squashes into his crack, my cock driving deeply, hitting something as hard as bone. He winces and I wrench back, stopping only when his beleaguered ring clings to my knob. He muffles his groan, and presses back until half of my cock is again lodged inside his rectum.

I want to tell him I love him, but I don’t spoil the hoax. He hasn’t said a word since he climbed into my bed, nothing except a few subdued, make-believe snores. I play with his cock, pulling it out, seduced by excess skin, exposing the plump little head to coax an unwilling erection, telling myself it’ll help him get off, but I want him excited. I want him to like it so he’ll keep coming back. He pants, trembling uncontrollably, on the verge of rediscovering delight unlike any other, loosening even more until I can slide my cock through his accessible body, popping it in and out of his cozy anus before another hard thrust makes him whimper. In, out. I angle my cock down, levering against his anus to give him a special treat. At his age, ecstasy is not very deep, just an inch past his sphincter, sandwiched between his bladder and the root of his half-stiff boy-cock. He writhes suddenly, not ready for orgasm, grasping the covers with one hand, his other hand hurriedly covering his mouth. I keep doing it, pumping quickly, restraining his hips so his immature prostate bears the full brunt of my thrusts. He utters a single confused exhortation, a whisper that I’m supposed to hear.

I am breathless from pummeling him, exhausted from excitement, but nothing can stop me after hearing him beg ‘faster’. I’m not sure I can go any faster, but I try. The bed complains like a rusty cattle gate every time his anus slides down my shaft. Occasionally, he squeezes, his inner muscles gripping my cock as he learns what to do to increase his pleasure, an ever-present reminder of what’s in and what’s out, and what I’m doing to his garden-hose rectum.

“Uh… Uh.. Uhhhhh…. Uncle Bruce…” He can’t stop himself.

Without warning, he makes a funny ‘ng ng’ sound and whimpers for the last time. He gives one final shuddering gasp before clamping down, squeezing on my cock so hard that I have to stop thrusting.

I poke my tongue in his ear, slurping, sucking. He convulses again, shuddering even harder, arching against me, his slippery insides compressing my cock again and again, groaning so softly that I barely hear him. There’s something hot and wet on my fingers, but it’s not spunk, not from his undeveloped balls. More of it trickles over my hand. His breathing slows. My cock is still stuffed inside him, throbbing urgently, but I wait for him to recover, lying behind him in surreal silence now that the bed has stopped squeaking. He’s damp behind, like I’m damp in front, sweaty hot, both of us as slimy as can be. The musky smell from between us is unmistakable, the sweet scent of sodomy.

I fantasize about fucking his ass for an entire hour, giving him climax after climax, but I can barely stand the heat that flows from his violated body. It’s as if we’ve melded together, no longer uncle and nephew. With no more warning than a breathy sigh, he weakly squeezes my cock before slackening around it as if to say ‘thank you’. Only then, I realize that the frenzied grasping pressure inside him has turned into something resembling jelly, quivering whenever I move. I try to hold my urge back, but I can’t. My cock leaks semen, not in profuse spurts like it usually does, but pulsing dribbles. Hurriedly, I jab at his butt, frantically humping to get the rest of it out, a couple of pathetic squirts, mostly oozing. Suddenly, it’s sloppy inside him. I keep fucking, denying my orgasm, hoping for a second one, churning his rectum into a loose mushy tube, making squelchy sex sounds as our juices intermingle.

I clasp him against me, unable to keep going, nuzzling his hair, my cock shrinking back as my sperm swim up his colon. What is he thinking? Still pretending to be sound asleep, he progressively excretes my cock, no longer needing it inside him, as if forgetting that for a few precious minutes it’s given him insane pleasure. My limp, slick cock flops against my thigh, its work done for the night.

I wait for him to leave, thinking thoughts that should be depressing. He goes back to his mother in eight days. Just seven more nights remain, just seven more gifts for the 12 days of Christmas. A minute passes, another, almost five minutes before he stirs. I’m almost asleep when he lifts the covers back and gently moves my arm from his abdomen. He shifts away hesitantly, almost reluctantly breaking the squishy seal between our bodies. After a moment, he rises awkwardly, no longer the same boy who constantly teases his older sister. He starts to leave, but I catch his hand.

“Sleep here with me,” I whisper. I tug to make him lie down. He stares at me in the darkness before he tries to pull away. “Does it hurt?” I ask.

I worry until he shakes his head. He pulls again, but I draw him closer, down onto the bed until he’s lying beside me. I place my hand on his hip, caressing the side of his belly, gradually inching towards his groin. He seems so girlish that his tiny balls are uncalled-for. Still, I stroke his shriveled gonads, smaller than two peanuts in a wrinkled walnut shell.

“I need to go, okay?” he implores.

I wrap my arm around his chest, my other arm under his head. I brush his hair from his face, touch my finger to his lips, his button nose. I want to French-kiss him, teach him how to enjoy the ensuing bliss and escape his guilt, but now isn’t the time.

“Please? I’ve got to poop,” he mutters.

“No you don’t. The feeling will go away in a while.”

“It feels yucky,” he snivels, clenching his cheeks, his pulverized sphincter trying to hold my seed in.

I poke my limp cock between his slick buttocks like a poorly placed bung. I stroke his tousled head, pull a wet curl from his mouth. He sniffles. There’s a gurgle from behind him. I know he’s ashamed. Only time and understanding can change that.

“Having my cum in your bum won’t hurt you. It’s what we both want,” I whisper.

MORNING

I wake before him. The sun is just rising, stretching skeletal shadows from the eucalypts on the hill. He’s moved away slightly during the night, still on his side with his back to me. For a while, I’m content to wrap my arm around his narrow chest. With the heat of passion long gone, he’s comfortably warm, baby-soft, and deliciously smooth. His hair is mussed to platinum-blond tangles, more like his sister than I care to remember. I caress his long silken locks, enough to braid. A few more weeks without a haircut and he’ll have a ponytail.

I finger his delicate rounded buttocks, wanting to fuck him. Soon, my urge overwhelms me, a need far stronger than any man can withstand. I’ve never done it with a sleeping boy. I position my cock between his cheeks. It’s painfully piss-hard, but I delay getting out of bed to relieve my bladder—my need to make love to him is far greater. Trembling, I reach behind and feel around on the shelf, finding the jar of Vaseline where I left it. I stick a finger in and scoop out enough to fill a tablespoon, but I don’t put some back. His chest rises and falls, deep slow breaths occasionally interrupted by a twitch. Perhaps he’s dreaming, but he doesn’t wake up when I press his buttocks apart and dab grease on his hole. Almost without thinking, my finger seeks entry, getting some of the Vaseline inside him before it smears on his crack.

I exhale dreamily, relishing the intimacy. There’s a noticeable pulse with my finger inside him, impossible to tell if it is his heart beat, or mine, but we’re joined either way. Slowly, my finger penetrates through nearly an inch of muscle, seeming as tight as the first time, pressing deeper into him, into his lush mushy tunnel. The pressure around my finger fades quickly, less than a minute before I try a second one. I risk everything as I push through, but his anus accepts both fingertips. It is almost too easy, but it’s reassuring as well—his body is already adapting. I tremble with the thrill of what I’m about to do. It’s all I can do to control myself. His oozing heat overwhelms me, so slippery inside that I really didn’t need Vaseline.

I think again about waking him, stopping the pretense and telling him how much I love him before properly fucking him. Instead, I carefully withdraw my fingers, slather what’s left of the Vaseline on my cock, and move closer. My cock touches his opening, throbbing hard, bathed in greasy heat when I press in. Asleep, there’s almost no resistance. With a tentative push, my bulging knob easily slips through his lubricated anus, gripping comfortably behind the rim, an incredible feeling. He hasn’t sucked me yet, but I imagine his lips will feel the same when he does.

I can barely restrain myself, so great is my desire. I’m afraid I’ll cum early so I don’t wait very long, only a few seconds before I penetrate deeper, shuffling my hips closer, driving my cock into him. He doesn’t move, just inhales and lets it out slowly, but this time he’s not pretending. He doesn’t know my cock is nearly halfway inside his body. I stroke his firm little belly, pretending that my seed has already fertilized him, that our baby boy is growing inside him. I imagine him giving birth through his anus, his belly distended, agonizing contractions when he tries to deliver it. This time there are no tightening spasms, it’s as if his body hasn’t noticed my presence. I thrust gently, just an inch in and out, loosening him further. It’s still like fucking a garden hose, but it’s been left out in the sun. In, out, gently rubbing his belly, hard to believe how soft his skin is—it’s like touching a baby. Suddenly, hot silky flesh bumps my hand; his boy-toy is hard again, but it’s so small that he’s almost not male.

I’m awed, overwhelmed by this simple, yet natural response before he wakes up. Doubtless, he needs to piss too, but I tell myself it’s a good sign; it’s because of what I am doing. Not even halfway inside him, my thrusts concentrate on his immature gland. He would be writhing in delight if he was awake. Instead, his body jerks slightly each time I drive my cock into him. In and out, rocking my hips, slow and steady, gliding inside him, nothing at all like ‘impaling’ one of Nifty’s hackneyed ‘vise-tight boy-asses.’ My cock is thick and throbbing; his rectum is just as hot and it’s exquisitely tight, but not so tight that we can’t move smoothly together. His beautiful little bum is a far better fuck than any vagina.

I wonder if he’s starting to wake up when he tenses. What will he think? Say? Do? I expect he won’t mind, not when he comes to my bed wanting my cock in his bottom. It should be disturbing for a boy his age; but it’s not. The surprising thing is that it’s taken us this long to have sex; years have been wasted.

I thrust leisurely, intentionally levering my cock into his gland, trying not to go too fast. I want him right on the edge when he wakes. He stirs, trembles, not quite awake. Surely, he can feel my cock surging inside him. He shudders all of a sudden and tries to pull away, but I hold him tightly against me, lovingly fondling his morning erection, slowing down but still thrusting deeply. I don’t stop despite his struggles. It doesn’t last long. Within moments, he’s gasping, wide awake, no doubt disbelieving what’s happening.

I make love to him, tenderly stroking his boy-pussy from within while I rub his aching boy-cock, kissing his shoulders, his neck, the side of his face. I think I feel him pushing back at me, little anxious shoves when I pull away, humping his narrow pelvis as much as he dares. He shudders again, already on the brink. Then, he stops moving, back to brutal reality by pretending he’s asleep, still too scared to admit what he wants, or the sensation is too much for him. My cock goes even deeper, moving easily, sucking noisily in last night’s fluids. He winces when my pubis hits his tailbone, leaving no doubt that he’s being fucked by his uncle. Nearly seven inches and still not a murmur, not a sound until I withdraw completely. Then, he whimpers like a spoiled brat until he gets what he wants. I shove in and skewer his bowels, and he groans softly, a sure sign that he wants me deep inside him, but we both know it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t.

I fuck him harder. Nothing can stop me now. It’s as if he doesn’t have an anus, just a hot hungry hole that I need to plug with my cock. After five trips to Bali, I’ve learned the trick to fucking a boy, not too deep if you want him to cum without touching his cock. I retreat halfway, thrusting slowly and as gently as I can, yet still pulverizing his trembling body. I reach for his front to make sure, his shriveled boyhood between his thighs confirming he’s close.

“Uh...Uh...Uh...Uh...” he groans each time I stab through his rectum, precisely placing my cock-head, demanding his sanity, his innocence, whatever is left that makes him male.

I slobber on his blotchy neck until his back arches. Suddenly, he goes wild, kicks off the covers, shaking frenetically, spasms one after the other, grasping my cock with his traumatized bowels.

I hear him whimper, "Ohh... Ohhhhh..." A high-pitched cry like a girl, a haunting, unforgettable sound. And again, like he’s in delirious pain, "Uhhh... Uhhhhh..."

Every slim muscle tenses as he strains against my cock, little feet squirming, toenails scraping my shins, throbbing inside. His orgasm lasts only a couple of seconds. It’s too much for me. I punch into him two, three, four times.

"Ah... Ah... Ah... Ah..." Soft moans escape as he gasps, his little pelvis jerking again, bot like he’s trying to get away. It feels like I’m inside his belly, every tremor becoming part of me as my jolting thrusts become part of him, sharing incredible heat, the slightest movement making both of us quiver.

I ejaculate, bucking wildly, Kyle clinging to my arm, unable to stop himself from humping back, biting my wrist, writhing uncontrollably as I spurt my seed deep in his colon, yanking it all the way out, splattering hot white splashes over his little bare buttocks and lower back. I smear it over him while I wonder what he would do if I peed inside him. Hurriedly, I reinsert. My cock slides in easily even though my erection is fading. I hold him tightly, his slimy cheeks flattened against my pelvis, semen and mucus matting my pubic hair. The smell reminds me of earth, rising dough, sweat in the sun. I strain to urinate. It begins with a dribble. He trembles against me, not at all sure what is happening.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“Peeing in you,” I reply. “Don’t worry. It’ll come out when you poop.”

I close my eyes, not believing that he’s stopped pretending, even more thrilling that he’s not complaining. It’s a moment that I’ll never forget. My dribble turns into a gush, squirting into him, hot piss filling his lower intestine like an enema as my cock shrinks back. As soon as I’m done, it exits with a juicy pop and I flop onto my back, breathless.

“You okay?” I ask quietly.

I don’t expect him to answer, but I also don’t expect him to turn away and sullenly bury his face in my pillow.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers accusingly.

“Done what?”

“You know!”

“You wanted me to fuck you last night.”

“You still shouldn’t have,” he whispers.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“What you did… It’s wrong!”

“Hardly mate. You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had. You’re a very sexy kid, you know.”

“But… you did it…. you did it while I was asleep.”

I smile and gently caress his hip. “I thought you were awake.” I wait for him to say something, but he misses the irony. “Anyway, you might as well get used it because it won’t be the last time.”

“I don’t want to get used it.”

“Being fucked is nothing to be ashamed about, especially when you enjoy it as much as you do.”

I wonder what he’s thinking as he turns away, not that he has a lot of time to think. In less than a minute, his cramps begin. He tries to get up, but I drag him back onto the bed. I lean over him, gazing down, remembering when his mother confided to me that he should have been born a girl. He was seven. Even then, he was outrageously pretty, although his hair was buzzed like a bristly rug. It wasn’t long after that when his mother enrolled him in ballroom dancing for kids; like he needed more teasing!

I lick my lips. He blinks nervously, the pressure building rapidly in his bowels.

“I have to poop. Really,” he mutters.

“I know. You can go as soon as you give me a kiss. A proper kiss.”

I see panic in his wide-open eyes. Lipstick and eye shadow, that’s all it will take to complete his transformation; no need to pluck his already thin eyebrows. I lower my head. My lips brush his lips, dry and unresponsive like he’s giving a farewell kiss to his mother. He tenses when my tongue swipes his lips, but he doesn’t try to dislodge me when I lick back and forth. I’ve often kissed him on the cheek and forehead, never on the mouth, never like a lover. He doesn’t do anything until my tongue pushes through. Then, he shakes his head and locks his jaws. I go to work on his lips and he struggles under me. Half over him, grinding my cock against his slender thigh, I pin down his wrists, his slim brown arms like a halo around his head. I keep kissing until he gives in and kisses back, timidly at first, but at least he’s using his lips.

I gradually introduce my tongue between his lips again. He has beautiful lips, full and pink, girlish lips that have never been properly kissed until now. His reluctance probably means that he still thinks kissing is gross, so I extend my tongue only as far as his tightly clenched teeth until he relaxes. Finally, I press my fingers on his cheek and make him open his mouth. My other hand reaches down, cupping his boy-balls and stiff little cock, sure sign that at least part of him likes it. Between kissing and fondling, I slowly but surely train his tongue to play with mine. When we break apart, he’s breathless. His wide-open, blue-green eyes have a vaguely frantic look. His too-pretty-for-a-boy face steals my heart, his luscious lips shiny-wet with shared spit.

I kiss him once more, wet and hot on his exquisite mouth, and push my tongue inside again. He responds instantly, always a fast learner, kissing and sucking on my tongue until I lift away. After a few quick pecks on his button-nose and his chin, and a tweak of his now very hard cock, I roll off him. He swipes his hand over his lips and clambers unsteadily to his feet, a frightened caught-in-the-headlights look on his blushing face.

I chuckle as he hurries to the bathroom, his buttocks pinched in like a malnourished boy, his prick bobbing in front. He makes it onto the toilet with seconds to spare. I hear pellets of excrement like hail on the bowl. Soon, he has another bowel movement, gushing splatters before weakly squirting the rest of my piss from his ravaged rectum.

I clean my cock with his nightshirt while I reflect, so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t hear him come back.

“Why did you kiss me?” he demands from the doorway.

“Because I love you, Kyle. People kiss when they love each other.”

“I love you too, Uncle Bruce,” he murmurs, self-conscious, self-evident truth.

I pat the side of the bed. He approaches hesitantly; nervous and confused, so young, so innocent, so beautifully nude. He stands before me, arms folded, eyes flickering, shy but none the worse for being fucked twice in eight hours.

“It’s time to stop pretending,” I say quietly.

I watch him until he nods before glancing down. His pitiful balls peek from behind his floppy dick, more than a half inch of skin extending over the end. Limp, it’s little more than a knob with a nozzle, his stubby pink shaft so tiny compared to mine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He swallows, blinks, sniffs, trying to come to grips with himself.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.’

“I think I’m gay.” He wipes snot from his nose.

“You’re too young to know. Most boys experiment with guys. A lot do it because they don’t have girlfriends. Some try it to find out what they like. It’s part of growing up.”

“What if I like it, and I don’t like girls? It means I’m queer, doesn’t it?” he mumbles. He doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he stares at the floor.

“I wouldn’t take bets on you getting married when you’re older. Personally, I don’t give a shit, but your mum will be pissed.”

I smile when he looks up. He swallows, his pouty lips compressed, trying to decide if I’m making fun of him. I extend my hand. He takes it and I draw him closer.

“You haven’t done this with anyone else, have you?” I ask gently.

“Course not!”

“Who told you about putting it in your bum?”

“No one.” He shrugs. “I kind of figured it out… from jokes and stuff… You think I’m gay, don’t you Uncle Bruce?”

I smile and reach behind him, gently rubbing his bottom. “I won’t lie to you, Kyle. When a boy wants a man’s cock inside him, it probably means he’s a homo. You’ve always been a bit different, you know.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” He steps back and pulls at an unruly wisp of hair. “Even mum says I should have been a girl.”

I sigh, not surprised. “Sometimes other people can see something inside us despite how much we try to keep it hidden.” When he doesn’t say a word, I add, “Is that what you’d like to be? A girl?”

“A girl…” he repeats, and frowns as if it’s the first time he’s thought about it.

“You’re very good looking, Kyle. You could easily pass for a girl.”

“I can’t help how I look. Everyone says I look like one….” He exhales. He’s miserable at school, constantly teased because of his pretty-boy appearance, which he makes worse with shoulder-length hair.

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t take advantage of it.”

“No reason, except I’ve got this?” he mutters, glancing down at his crotch.

“You have a beautiful body.”

“I can’t be a girl with it.”

“Not a real girl, but we could pretend if you wanted.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” he murmurs.

“I love you, Kyle. All I want is for you to be happy, and the only way for that to happen is for you to be who you want to be.”

“Mum says that all the time.” He looks me straight in the eye. “She doesn’t mean for it to apply to me.”

“But I do. While you’re here with me, you can be a girl if you want. No one else would know.”

“I could wear girl clothes?” he asks suspiciously.

“Day and night. And make-up too, if you want.”

I nod reassuringly to make sure he knows that we’re on the same team. He glances at my middle, at the cock that took his virginity. He watches it grow. Suddenly, he realizes that it’s getting hard because of him and he swallows nervously. His little boy-cock twitches in instinctive response. He’s confused. He licks his lips and swallows again. I wait, knowing that he’s thinking about it. I dwell on what I‘ve done to him while he pretends to be asleep—it’s only right that I give him the one thing he wants in return.

“You won’t make fun of me?”

“Not about this.” I hold my arms out for a hug and he steps closer. After we embrace, his little dick is standing up. I flip at it playfully. “We’ll have to strap this bad boy to your thigh when we go into town.”

“I wouldn’t care if it got cut off,” he giggles as he pokes it down between his slim thighs, transforming his groin into a girl’s. “In Kings Cross, there are these ladies, you know… One of the kids at school said they’re really guys dressed up. Trannies, he calls them…”

“It’s short for transvestites.”

“Um… Do they have their dicks cut off?” he asks nervously.

“I expect some of them have had their guy stuff removed. That’s years away for you.” I pause. “It’s probably more important to have your balls removed first.”

“My balls? Why?”

“A boy grows into a man because of his balls. Without them, it’ll be much easier for you to be a girl.”

“I’d like to be a girl, Uncle Bruce. While I’m here, I mean,” he adds nervously.

I smile reassuringly. Admitting that is a big step for him. “Being a girl is more than putting on makeup and girl’s clothes. You’ll have to learn how to walk the walk and talk the talk.”

“You could teach me. You taught me to ride better than any girl.”

I don’t tell him that horse riding is different. It’s the only sport he’s good at—first place in the open division of the Under-12s at last year’s regional gymkhana, the only boy among 14 riders who made it to the state finals. It was quite an accomplishment for a boy who’d just turned nine.

“It took a lot of practice, didn’t it?” I ask. He nods, still enjoying his moment of fame. “You’ll need to practice being a girl too.” I take a deep breath. “There’s no going halfway with something like this. Once you start being a girl, you’ll be one until you go home.”

“I’d like to try, just so I know what it’s like,” he says with a nervous smile, yet far more eagerly than I expect.

“There’s something else, Kyle.”I wait until he looks up. “If we do this, you’ll have to sleep in my bed at night.”

“Will we… will you… you know….will you do it to me?”

“It? What’s it?”

“Will you fuck me?” he murmurs, shifting away, avoiding my eyes.

“Do you want me to?”

“I guess…. When I feel your stuff going in, it’s like something warm spreading out inside me. I pretend we’re making a baby.”

“So do I. We’ll make babies a couple of times a day, and there’s no pretending to be asleep either.”

I pull him in close and he hugs me tightly, scraping his determined boyhood against my chest while I fondle his bottom, easing my fingers into his narrow crack. He’s wiped himself thoroughly, warm and dry with just a hint of moistness at his anus. It feels like it’s a bit puffy, but nothing like it’s going to be.

“Are you sure, Kyle?”

I wait, three long seconds before he nods, barely moving his head for one of the biggest decisions of his life, as important as taking his clothes off and getting into my bed. With one hand on his shoulder, I draw him closer. Instinctively, his eyes close, his lips puckering up properly. I lick his lips, swirling my tongue back and forth while I caress his still-tender anus with a thick calloused fingertip, a reminder of what’s in store for him.

“Say it. Tell me what you want… Kylie.” Changing his gender will be as easy as changing his name. It just takes an ‘i’.

“I want to be a girl, Uncle Bruce…. until I go home.”

I kiss him, my tongue touching his, sending tingles through me. He quivers against me, his slim body much hotter. Suddenly, he takes the initiative. His lips open against mine, trembling as he takes another big step. He extends his tongue into my mouth and I suck hard, pulling him into me.

“That was nice.” He’s actually shaking when we part. “What else?” I prompt, pressing gently but firmly into his bum, no longer as tight as it’s supposed to be.

“I want you to…” He gulps a quick breath. “I want you to fuck me… You can do it as much as you want. And I won’t pretend to be asleep.”

I smile back at him. We gaze at each other, my finger just inside him, feeling his heat, the little nibbling muscle already wanting more.

“You’re going to be a lot looser back here after I fuck you a few more times.”

“I guess...” He smiles shyly and adds, “I don’t mind.”

“You like being fucked, huh?”

“It hurt at first, but it’s nice now. Last night, I was so happy, and this morning, wow!”

I hug him again, pressing deeper. He squirms as my finger sinks in all the way, my knuckles wedged in his crack. I feel him sigh, not pushing back—that will come soon enough. At least he’s not pulling away, just accepting the violation of his rectum. He squirms again when I abruptly withdraw my finger, his muscle tightening, leaving no doubt that he’s trying to keep it inside him, but I’m ready to introduce him to oral sex. He stands before me, still shy, but sexually charged, looking down between us. As eager as I am to take the next step, I decide to save it for later.

“Your sister left some clothes here when she visited a couple of years ago. I put them in the closet in your room. I bet they’ll fit you.”

I smile at his embarrassment, red-faced not because he’s naked and excited, but he realizes I know his secret. He’s already tried them on. I take his hand and lead him to the adjoining bedroom. The closet door is open, a flimsy blue and white-striped sundress lying on the bed where he left it last night, two pleated miniskirts still on their hangers.

“I bet you look stunning in this,” I say.

I hold up the sundress. He shrugs, looking around, trying not to stare at my cock, avoiding the dress, pretending he doesn’t know why it’s there, but his penis is throbbing hard.

“Put it on and show me.”

“Promise not to make fun of me?”

I nod and step back, sitting on his bed to watch him. Awkwardly, he gathers up the dress, lifts his arms, settles the hem over his head and shoulders. The dress drops down, veiling his bare body. Only the flatness of his chest and the little bulge below his belly reveal he’s a boy.

I inhale, my cock throbbing. “You’re beautiful, Kyle… Kylie.”

I stare. He is beautiful. She is beautiful. He turns around, embarrassed again; too much too soon. The view from behind is spectacular. Without briefs, the thin cloth pulls into his crack. His plump little butt is much sexier than his sister’s. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s a girl.

“You won’t tell anyone?” he squeaks as I slowly turn him around.

“I won’t, if you don’t tell anyone about what we did last night.”

“And this morning,” he adds quickly as if I need reminding. “I’ll never tell, Uncle Bruce.”

“What about your mum?”

“No way. I’ll never tell anyone,” he insists.

I know that our secret will always be safe simply from how he looks at me, eyes downcast, not ashamed, but overwhelmed by emotion. He’s in love, feeling a lot more than the first stirrings of puppy love. He’s as infatuated as I am. How could I have wasted so many years? I hold him like a fragile porcelain doll, this too-pretty-for-a-boy who I’ve loved since the day he was born, brought screaming into an inhospitable, confusing world.

I lift down a suitcase that I stored in the closet three years earlier, unexplored only because it’s too high for him to reach. With him looking on, I unsnap the latches and throw back the lid. Like a treasure trove, his eyes open wide. I scavenge though girl’s clothes, his sister’s things that she said she’d grown out of when she stayed with me for the summer—like her mother, she had lots of excuses to shop. There are silky lace-trimmed panties, tiny shorts, a blouse, a couple of training bras, four halter tops, a purse with a few bits of jewelry inside it. At the bottom of the case is a bikini swimming costume, minuscule triangular patches of cloth patterned with neon-bright flowers. His sister wore it once and decided she didn’t like it. It’s perfect for him.

“Put this on.”

I hand the top of the bikini to him and he smiles shyly. Slowly, he hikes up the sundress, shamelessly showing off his slim smooth boy-body. His little cock is stretched tight, probably stiffer than it’s ever been. He has yet to learn how to put on girl’s clothes. He struggles to get it on, until he realizes he needs to take off his dress. He smirks and raises his arms over his head so that I can undress him.

“You need tits,” I observe, wondering if I can ejaculate so soon.

I admire him, the prominent ridges of his hips, the way the ‘v’ of his trim lower belly tapers into his groin, his flat-chest with tiny Braille nipples. The bikini top looks silly on him—except for his narrow waist, he’s built like a boy. His sister was the same age and a few inches taller when she wore it, but she already had the beginnings of breasts.

“We could use handkerchiefs, or cut up a sponge, or something?” he suggests hopefully, poking at the top. It sags emptily on him.

I nod absently, thinking of the tube of silicone adhesive I bought to repair a leak around a window. It’s tan-colored, like suntanned flesh. It would be easy to make two breast-shaped mounds, enough to shape the cups of bra, or a bikini top, but that can wait. I tighten the bikini cords at his back. He steps awkwardly into the bottom of the bikini. I draw it up until a tiny triangle barely covers his crotch, a slightly larger triangle behind, but still too small to do more than cover half of each plump little buttock.

“You’ll have to work on your tan before we go swimming,” I murmur in awe.

I watch him look down as if seeing himself for the first time. No bikini ever looked so obscene.

“Now you see why I hate it,” he murmurs.

His boy-bulge is small, yet absurd, the swollen head peeking out from under the flowered cloth, like a fingertip pointing to his little whorl of a navel.

“Take it off, Kylie. I’ll be right back.”

I leave him fumbling with the cords and go down the hall, into the kitchen, to the laundry cupboard where I keep household tools. I tear off a strip of duct tape and return.

“What are you going to do?” he asks as I guide him down onto his bed and lift up his legs.

I sit beside him. For the first time, I see his anus up close. It’s swollen around the rim, and reddened in his crack as if the skin is irritated. A tell-tale purple-brown ring of bruises replaces what used to be puckered. It looks sore. I rub, blowing very gently, barely touching, relaxing him, again letting him know how important that part of his body is to his pleasure and mine. He smiles, watching my wrist, blinking every few seconds.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Tickles,” he whispers. “You can… if you want….”

“What do you want?” I wait until he shrugs. “Do you want me to put my finger in your bum?” Again, he shrugs. “Something else?”

“Um… whatever…”

I keep the pressure on my finger. It has nowhere to go except deeper. I feel his excitement as his anus nibbles. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Ah... It makes me feel funny inside… shaky sort of...”

“Getting the trembles means a boy wants to be fucked.”

“You can if you want,” he offers again.

“I’d love to, but you don’t want to overdo it, not until you’re used to it.”

I begin to insert my finger, watching his face. It’s easy to see what he likes even though the feelings are still strange, his eyes half-closed, his mouth open slightly, concentrating. I stop at the second joint. He looks up at me and sighs with lust, a silly smile. His mother would be shocked. Her little boy is no longer virgin; turned on simply by having his uncle’s finger in his bum. I push deeper, up into his still-slippery core, his sphincter grasping even as he tries to relax. My knuckles cram into his crack, my finger fully embedded in his hot tight rectum.

“Uncle Bruce, please…” he sighs, lifting up his bottom to offer himself.

I feel his gland, just a bump. I press the button and he gasps, a little harder and his pelvis twitches. I grasp his cock in my fist, squeezing the blood out. I rub firmly, turning his twitches into wriggles, his expression uncertain. Slowly, his erection recedes.

I slide my finger out. He watches curiously as I wrap half of the tape around his softened shaft before tearing the rest of it down the center. I poke his little knob out the slit, like a chubby clitoris encased in its foreskin. I pull the tape securely, pushing his balls inside his groin and out of the way, adhering the strips to his perineum and either side of his crack, far enough from his anus that I can fuck him without tape get in the way.

“You’ll have to sit down to pee.”

“I don’t mind. That’s what girls do.”

I smile. He smiles. He stands to examine himself in the mirror on the closet door, not at all certain that he likes what he sees. The tape is crude and it looks ridiculous, but it has effectively desexed him despite his cock trying to stiffen. I sort through the suitcase to find panties and a training bra that match, creamy satin with lacy frills and tiny bows in front.

“Hm, sundress or halter and shorts?” I lay clothes on the bed. “What do you think Kylie?”

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d go into town for breakfast.”

He’s surprised, but he doesn’t say no. “Can I wear a halter and shorts?”

“My choice too. I think we’ll go shopping afterwards.”

“What for?”

“I want to buy some sexy clothes for my favorite niece,” I explain.

“Cool… Umm… please, Uncle Bruce, I need some makeup.”

“That too.”

“What happens if I have to go to the bathroom?” he asks, slipping one foot, then the other into the panties I’ve picked out. I draw them up his trim silky-smooth legs. He smiles coyly, looking down at himself. His boyhood is concealed, his stubby erection finally gone. Under the delicate sheen, his little squashed scrotum resembles a girl’s fleshy labia.

“If you need to go, you’ll have to use the ladies.”

I hold the bra for him, guide his arms through the straps, tighten the clasp, and adjust it so it sits tight on his chest. The little A-cups look more realistic after I tuck handkerchiefs into them.

AFTERNOON

“Hey Dawson, buy your mate a schooner, will ya?”

“Bugger off, Poodle,” I reply, but I nod at the barmaid. “Another Four X, Dolly.”

“Who’s the girl?” Poodle asks, staring rudely.

I know what Poodle likes. For three years we’ve travelled together to a village at Phuket, Thailand. It’s off the tourist itinerary; a few guest houses and hard to get to without a car, but with an abundance of beautiful brown boys. The last time, we shared Kam, a wiry, eye-catching lad who was nine years old. His grandfather propositioned us as soon as we arrived. According to an older brother who translated, Kam did things with two men that most boys did with one man. We got the weekly rate plus a discount on a room at his uncle’s house.

“Kylie. She’s staying with me over the holidays. Here for another week.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Might be, mate.”

“She’s a doll alright, but I thought you liked...” He winks and taps his finger to his lips in a crude imitation of me sucking Kam’s juvenile penis.

“Jesus. Stop staring, will you? People might start thinking you’re some kind of pervert.”

“Sorry mate. I’m surprised to see you runnin’ around with a sheila, that’s all,” Poodle chuckles, his eyes never leaving my nephew.

I almost laugh when he winks and Kyle smiles back shyly. He’s already flirting, delightfully girly in his tight lime-green halter top and skimpy white shorts, clothes that show off his body. His skinny brown arms and legs, big somber blue-grey eyes, and long platinum-blond hair are guaranteed to get lots of stares.

“Bit of a tomboy, is she?” Poodle lowers his voice to a whisper, smiling back.

“She’s a he,” I confide with a smirk. “My sister’s son, actually.”

“Christ almighty! From the gymkhana? Yer bloody jokin’?”

“Nope.”

“You mean… Jesus. He’s a bit on the young side to be dressin’ up, ain’t he?”

“He’s ten. Poor kid’s as queer as they come.”

I watch Kyle flick through the teen magazine I bought him to study, articles on applying makeup, what’s in fashion, and movie star boys. Just five hours have passed since he changed gender, but he’s no longer awkward, taking to the girl’s role as if he was born to it.

“Yer ‘avin’ me on, mate.”

“Nope. He’s always been a bit of a pansy.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that. He’s sure got the body for wearing girl’s clothes, ain’t he?” Poodle says with a smirk. He’s burly with tufts of hair sprouting through his sweat stained shirt, brown arms as thick as Kyle’s thighs. “Looks like ‘e’s got a nice little butt. I bet ‘e’s a squealer, ain’t ‘e?”

I smirk and let his imagination do the rest. “I thought you liked them younger.”

“You know me, mate. Sex before eight or else it’s too late, but I’ll make an exception for ‘im. Just as long as he’s not makin’ spunk.”

I smile. “He’s not. We won’t have to deal with that little problem for a couple of years.”

“Two little problems, but they’re easy to fix. Snip, snip,” Poodle laughs. He clicks his fingers like scissors.

I laugh. “Good idea, but what if his mum finds out he’s been nutted?”

“Might not be as big a problem as you think, mate. Not if you get to ‘em in time. He looks like they ain’t dropped.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s a cutie, that’s fer sure,” Poodle chuckles and takes his beer from the barmaid, almost drooling as he stares at Kyle. “If a man was to like that kind of thing... He likes guys, right, not just dressin’ up?”

“He’s as queer as Jacko and then some. Will you stop staring, Poodle?”

I clink his glass and swill my beer, but Poodle keeps staring. Kyle or Kylie could be doing commercials on TV.

“It’s easy to fix him so he don’t get all hairy, y’know,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, snip, snip.”

“Or you could ‘lastrate him, one of your lamb bands ought to do it, slip it on him when he’s not lookin’. They’d drop off in a week. At his age, I reckon it wouldn’t be too painful, ’cept you don’t want his mum finding out he’s a eunuch, do you?” He nods at Kyle. “‘is balls ain’t dropped, ‘ave they, mate?”

“Not yet. I reckon our little boyfriend in Phuket had bigger nuts.”

“What if you could stop his from droppin’ for a while and no one would ever know?” He smiles slyly. “Would you do it, Dawsy?”

I can tell Kyle knows we’re talking about him. He keeps glancing at me, then at Poodle. “And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Give him a couple of shots, mate.” He winks at Kyle.

“Shots?”

“Immunize him like I do for me pigs. No one likes boar taint, so I give ‘em shots in the 16th and 20th weeks. Shrinks their balls right up. Guaranteed it’ll keep his nice and small for a couple of years. Maybe even longer with a bit of luck.”

“I’ve read about that. Improvac right? I was thinking of trying it on the lambs next spring.”

“You oughta give it a go, mate. It works like a charm and it’s a heck of a lot easier than using a ‘lastrator.” He smirks. “Think about givin’ him shots, Dawsy. Be a damned shame to ruin something that pretty with puberty.

“You reckon it’d work?”

“Dunno why it wouldn’t, mate. What’s ‘e weigh?”

“About 35 kilos.”

“I do me pigs when they’re near 50 kilos.” He scratches his head. “Reckon you could use the same dose for him. Two mils. Bit more than you need, but what the heck. I betcha it’d make him even more girly.”

“He doesn’t want to be a boy, that’s for sure.”

“ ‘cept for not havin’ tits, no one would know he’s not a chick. From the looks of him, he’ll be happy as Sally afterwards.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. We talked about it just this morning. He’s already dreaming about being a transvestite.”

“Hell! I did a boy once who had little boobs. Something wrong with him. Bit of a turn-off actually. You want to give him a dose?”

“What’s in it for you, Poodle?”

“I wouldn’t mind stretchin’ his arse a mite.”

I laugh, watching Kyle. Coyly, he brushes hair from his eyes, now smiling shyly, as if he knows what we’re talking removing his manhood. A normal boy would be ashamed, but when our eyes meet he flutters his eyelashes, blows me a kiss, and runs his fingers along his bare tanned thigh, from the hem of his shorts to his knee and back again, already far beyond flirting.

“No way, mate. I like him just the way he is, nice and tight.”

“So you’ve done the dirty, eh?”

“What do you think?”

“I think if he was mine, I’d be in his arse non-stop. He’s hot to trot, I bet?”

“He only started on Sunday... Six,” I add, before he asks.

“That nuthin’! He likes it, right?”

“Seems to.”

“Tight?”

“About like Kam was that first day.”

I watch Poodle smile. Kam wasn’t a virgin, his grandfather and uncle had seen to that, but they hadn’t overdone it. They knew what men liked.

“How about you fuck him and I watch?”

“Now that might be arranged.” A big step for Kyle, but it would be fun fucking him in front of Poodle.

“Do we have a deal, Dawsy?”

“Christ, you’re eager. It depends on the kid, Poodle. Assuming he agrees, how soon could we do it?”

“Right away; now if you want. I got some with me, fresh from the store. It only takes a minute or two.” Poodle takes a swig of his beer.

“How’s it work, mate?”

“Not sure exactly. It immunizes him against his own hormones, gondatrophin-something-or-other, that’s as much as I know. If it works on him like it does me pigs, it’ll well and truly put the brakes on his balls. No spunk that’s for damn sure.

“Any side effects?”

“Other than his pretty little dick will stay just like it is?” Poodle smirks. “I bet it’s tiny, ain’t it?”

I just smile. “You said his balls will probably shrink a bit?”

“With me pigs, the knackers get so tiny they’re hard to find.”

“Bit hard to suck on.”

“Yeah, but it’s a long ways better than cutting ‘em off.”

“Too right. His mum would be pissed if I sent him home without nuts.”

“That’s the best part. There’s no way to tell he ain’t naturally slow growin’ up, know what I mean? Your only problem is how long it’ll last.” Poodle pauses. “He’ll need a second shot. The pigs get one after 26 days. Makes it last longer.”

“How long?” I ask.

“Dunno. A year it says on the sheet, but I reckon it might be longer.”

“Meaning a couple of years, or permanent?”

“Could be. There’s warning labels on every pack about not injecting yourself. ‘specially a second time.”

“So in a month...” I’m already planning a trip to the city in February.

“You ought to do it, mate. I’d hate to see somethin’ that beautiful get hair. He ain’t got any, I bet.”

I smirk. “Just on his head.”

“Hard to see fuzz on a blondie.”

“He’s ten, Poodle. He’s as bare as a baby.”

“Yum! Ten’s at ‘is prime. If he was mine, mate, I’d be nippin’ him in the bud this arvo, and giving him a booster this time every year. He’ll thank you when he’s older.”

AFTERNOON

“If you don’t tell your mum, she’ll just think you’re a late bloomer,” I say with a supportive grin.

I can tell Kyle’s digesting the details. He glances at Poodle, suddenly awkward in his girl’s clothes now that his secret is out, but he’s excited too, looking around like a nervous filly, considering what I’ve just told him. Easter, eight months earlier, he won his first gymkhana in the very same showground, now deserted in the dry heat of summer. Then, he wore brown corduroy jeans and a yellow flannel shirt, a red cowboy scarf around his neck; boys’ clothes, yet he still looked disturbingly like the girls who he’d competed against. Most of them were tom-boys with denim shirts, brown jodhpurs and polished knee boots, but he was better looking than all of them.

“I’ll still be a boy after the shots, won’t Uncle Bruce?” he mumbles, staring at his feet as if they didn’t fit in his sister’s pink and white Nikes.

“More or less.” I can tell he’s uncomfortable talking about it in front of Poodle.

“It won’t go away, will it? My dick I mean.”

“’fraid not. It’ll take a doctor with a scalpel to do that, but this is the next best thing.” I look to Poodle for support.

“If it works like me pigs, it’ll stay like it is now; just big enough to keep Bruce interested,” Poodle jokes. “Your balls will shrink though.” He grins at the thought.

“How much?” Kyle peeps.

“A fair bit. You’ll notice the difference,” Poodle snickers.

“How much?” he persists.

I give him the answer he needs. “He doesn’t know, but enough that you won’t start puberty, Kyle. That’s important if you want to be a girl.”

“It’s not like you’ll need ‘em to make babies,” Poodle adds, gazing at him with infatuated eyes.

“So I won’t get hairy like you?” Kyle asks, ignoring him and looking at me again.

I nod reassuringly. “You’ll stay smooth as a baby.”

“What about the other stuff? You know…. The stuff that happens at puberty.”

“You’ll stay like you are now until it wears off.” If it wears off; but I don’t say that.

“You’ll look and sound just like a girl,” Poodle adds with more sympathy than I expect from him.

“I don’t want to…” He sighs before he can say it. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want the stuff to come out, Uncle Bruce.”

“You’re ten, so you won’t start making spunk for a couple of years. With the shots, it’ll take longer.”

“How long?”

“I don’ know. Maybe a lot longer.”

I watch him think about it. He nods abruptly, his decision made. Manhood isn’t for him. I feel relieved, happy for him.

“What do you reckon, mate?” I ask Poodle.

“If he wants to be a girl, you’d be crazy not to let him do it.”

“Once it’s done, we can’t undo it. It’ll have to wear off.” I still haven’t decided. It’s a big step for both of us, bringing him closer to becoming the girl he wants to be, but farther from the boy who I’ve fallen in love with.

“He’s got 26 days to change his mind, Dawsy.”

“I really, really don’t want them. I know I’m supposed to want to be a man, but I don’t,” Kyle says softly. “Please, Uncle Bruce?”

“A couple of years from now you’ll be glad,” Poodle says to me. “And the best part is…” He lowers his voice. “No one’s going to know it isn’t natural because he’ll still have his balls.”

“Please, Uncle Bruce?”

I meet his eyes. “You have to promise never to tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

“Your mum will realize something’s wrong eventually. When she does, she’ll take you to the doctor.”

“A month from now, it’ll be too late.” Poodle can’t help smiling. “Improvac is out of system before the pigs go to market. As far as anyone knows, he’s a late bloomer with small balls.”

“They’ll give him hormones.”

“So? He’s immunized, aint he? Think about it, Dawsy. There’s nothing a doctor can do about it. You’ll have your very own permanent boy.”

“Shut up, Poodle.”

“Uncle Bruce, he’s right. If Mum notices, I’ll pretend I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Kyle interjects. He smiles at Poodle as if they’re in it together.

“Dawsy, he really wants it…”

“You ought to go back to Thailand. I bet Kam’s grandfather would love you to spend some more time with him,” I chuckle.

“Please. I don’t want to be a man.” Kyle blinks on the verge of tears, but he’s always been quick to cry.

“You’re a boy. No shot can change that.”

“I know, but you said it will stop the changes from happening…”

I glance at Poodle. He shrugs ambivalently, but he’s not. Like me, he likes his boys prepubescent; ‘hairless and harmless,’ he calls it. If there’s a way to extend those two or three years before Kyle starts puberty, I’d be a fool not to do it.

“Your balls will be really small.”

“I wouldn’t care if they shrank to nothing. I hate them. I want to get rid of them as soon as possible,” Kyle persists.

“How about right now?” I tease, not really expecting him to agree.

“He could lie down in the back of my ute?” (ute = pick-up truck)

I know Poodle is joking, almost laughing as Kyle looks uncertainly at his beat-up ’82 Ford, the remains of bales of hay in the rear, iron rails attached to sides for transporting his pigs. The smell is awful.

“The bonnet is cleaner,” Kyle peeps.

“It’s not like we’re cuttin’ ‘em off, but you’re right. Don’t want you getting pig shit on your arse, do we Dawsy?” Poodle smirks at Kyle.

“Why do I have to lie down for a shot?” he asks nervously.

“Don’t worry. Your balls don’t get the shots,” Poodle laughs.

“My arm?”

“We’ll do it in your bum,” I decide.

“Only takes a minute, but it’ll be the most important minute of your life.”

I know what Poodle means. I want it to be unforgettable too, not hurried, not bent over the bonnet of Poodle’s ute with his shorts at his ankles, or crouching on the front seat of my car. Suddenly, I know how I want to end his manhood. The stands are empty, and there’s a crow strutting on the stage where he received his trophy, surrounded by 14 adoring, but very jealous girls, but it will still be a once in a lifetime memory.

I take his hand and draw him close to me. “I wouldn’t do this unless you really wanted it. I love you,” I say gently.

“I know Uncle Bruce. I love you too. I really want it.”

I squeeze his hand, completely in love with this beautiful boy, not a single freckle to mar perfection, pink full lips that don’t need lipstick, grey-blue eyes already enhanced with dusky eye-shadow, silvery blond hair reaching his shoulders. Except for his groin, he’s already a girl. With his hand securely in mine, I lead him off to finish what nature has started. Poodle just grins and watches until he remembers that he needs his equipment. He follows with a purple plastic case, like a cheap Woolworth’s tackle box. The stage is lower than waist high, a less-than-workmanlike assembly of splintery eucalyptus wood. In silence, Kyle and I watch as Poodle opens the box. There are racks like trays inside, a hundred thin slots each holding a clear plastic cartridge. At the bottom of the box is the injection mechanism, not at all like a nurse’s needle. It has safety features, a splash guard, a metal guide that is supposed to be placed against the animal’s shoulder, a trigger that inserts the needle and injects the fluid.

“Okay then. If you’re sure?” It’s his last chance.

“I’m sure,” he peeps, nervous yet completely automatic.

I watch as he reaches down to his middle, pushing aside his halter top, his fingers plucking at the elasticized waist of his miniscule shorts. There are no buttons, no zipper, no place for a belt. His sister wore the same shorts until she realized how much of her thighs were on view. Showing bare skin doesn’t bother her brother at all.

“Do I need to take my shorts all the way off?”

I know it’s a big step for him. Some boys never like being watched having sex. Others take to it like a duck takes to water. Kam was one of them. After a week, Poodle and I had nothing to hide from each other. Sometimes, we took him from both ends. However, I’m not interested in sharing Kyle like that. I want Poodle to see how much I love him. I glance around—no one in sight. Even the crow has gone.

“You need to take everything off,” I reply.

“Are we going to do it, Uncle Bruce?” he asks, a step ahead, yet warily regarding Poodle as he pops in a fresh cartridge and locks the chamber.

I nod. “I’m going to fuck you before I inject you. Your last time as a boy. Do you mind if he watches?”