The Visitor

by The Scholar

Part 2: Breakfast

I awoke the following morning to the sound of birds chirping in the trees outside my bedroom window. I looked at the alarm clock by my bed, which read six o'clock and stretched, feeling every bone in my back click into place. I climbed slowly from my bed and sat on the edge for a few moments, not fully awake, but knowing that I had to move because I needed to pee. Damn it! I had a hard-on. Peeing with a hard-on was not easy.

I left my bedroom and walked to the bathroom, turning on the shower and then I stood over the toilet bowl attempting to make my erection a little more flexible in order to get a better aim. I managed it. It wasn't easy, but I managed it. I felt better, relieved and no sooner had I finished then the damn thing stood to attention again.

I climbed into the shower and the warmth of the water as the spray hit my body felt good, giving me a tingling sensation as the sharp jets attacked my skin. I readjusted the showerhead to get a more even flow and the water cascaded down, soothing and relaxing. I reached out for the shampoo and lathered up my hair, then allowed the water to send the suds down my back as I tilted back my head. My body wasn't bad for a guy my age - not great, but not bad, even if I say so myself. I could still turn a head or two. It wasn't that I worked out at a gym, or anything - I didn't. No, I kept fit by walking, gardening, swimming, that sort of thing. Nothing strenuous, but active and I felt good about myself, so that was the main thing.

Reaching for the soap, I began to work up lather, which I worked into my body feeling revitalized with every stroke. I worked my hands over my chest, twisting and tugging at my nipples as the water continued to stream down my body. I toyed softly with my nipples for a few minutes before running my hands through the light smattering of dark hair on my chest.

I moved my hands slowly down to my abdomen - not as taught as it once had been, but still firm and rippled. My hands continued their tour, moving now to my waist and round to my lower back, my arms bending and the back of my hands climbing to rub softly against my spine before turning again, so my palms were encircling my buttocks - round and full; and my head tilted backwards as my fingers worked their way into the cleavage. I moved my legs apart slightly in order to gain better access and gently probed at the skin between my balls and my hole. The sensation sent a shiver through my body and I felt my breathing becoming heavier.

I reached for the soap and again worked up lather. A new direction was needed. My dick was standing to attention and I knew if I touched it now it would explode. I bent over and began to rub the soap into my skin, working up from my feet to my ankles to the large calf muscles of which I was proud and higher to my knees, front and back and then higher still to the back of my legs, then the front and eventually to my inner thighs, careful not to touch my dick or my balls.

My hands continued their ascent to my waist and back to my abdomen, before descending to run my fingers through the wetness of my pubic hair, tugging at the hair, pulling the skin away from body. I lowered one hand to my now firm balls and rubbed them gently, feeling the mat of wet hair, as I did, sending another shiver through my body. The other hand took my erection, long and thickening as I eased the foreskin of my uncut member gently back and forth over the head of my dick, a silvery thread of natural lubrication oozing from the slit. My body shuddered slightly as I ran my fingers along the tip and back along the shaft.

I could feel a tension building within me as I took a firm grasp and quickened my stroke. I had no control over my body as it bucked and I had to lean forward, outstretching my free arm to place my hand on the wall to stop myself from falling as I came - there, in the shower, I came as I pumped at my erection until I was spent. I released my grip and stood under the water as it continued to fall onto my skin, breathing heavily, trying to relax as the water fell, washing away the evidence and I felt my erection subside, my dick returning to normal and I began the process of cleaning myself once again.

I suddenly felt hungry. I had worked up an appetite. I could smell bacon. It must be my imagination. No - I could definitely smell bacon. Tony! My God, I'd forgotten about Tony. I quickly turned off the shower and stepped from within it, grabbing a towel I ran it through my hair and then over my body, before tying it around my waist and I left the bathroom and headed downstairs.

"Morning, John," Tony smiled his greeting as I walked into the kitchen. "Breakfast won't be long, you've time to get dressed, if you want," he nodded towards the towel.

"Right. Thanks. I'll not be long. You okay with that?"

"I'm fine, I used to cook breakfast all the time."

"Okay. I'll not be long," I repeated as I walked from the kitchen, glancing back just once to see Tony, still wearing that oversized t-shirt, as he broke eggs into a frying pan.

I returned to my bedroom, removed the towel and gave my body another quick once over, as I still felt slightly damp from the hurried wipe over I had already given myself. I thought of Tony in my kitchen, cooking breakfast - his black, shoulder-length hair all tousled, that t-shirt looking more like a dress on his small frame and I smiled at the image in my mind. I wasn't sure what was going on, how he came to be here, but he seemed happier than he did last night - more like the Tony I knew from school, the Tony who paid attention to everything that was going on in class and was one of the brightest kids I had taught. I still didn't understand, but I would find out.

I suddenly realized that Tony had been the last person to use the shower last night. That grubby boy who had stood on my doorstep had obviously cleaned up after he had finished. Amazing - he had sat on the piano stool rather than the armchair and he had cleaned the shower. Now he was in my kitchen cooking me breakfast. What a thoughtful boy he was.

I finished drying, found a fresh t-shirt and pair of shorts and got myself dressed before returning the towel to the bathroom and heading back downstairs.

"Just in time," Tony grinned. "Come on, before it gets cold."

I sat at the kitchen table and Tony placed a plate of food in front of me. Fried eggs, mushrooms, bacon and tomatoes - I felt fat just looking at it.

"I hope it's okay," said Tony, sitting at the table with a similar plateful.

"It looks delicious," I said, smiling back at the boy.

"Good - well, tuck in."

I did. It was. I knew that I would need to go swimming at some stage during the week just to get rid of the excess fat it was bound to pile on. But what the hell, it wasn't every day that someone cooked me breakfast. In fact, I can't remember when anyone had last done so. Tony's voice suddenly broke into my thoughts.

"I've made a list of everything I've used, it's on the pad by the fridge. I've included the lasagna and the fries, too. I'll pay you back as soon as I can, okay?"

"There's no need for that," I mumbled between mouthfuls of bacon and egg.

"Yes, there is. I don't want to just bum from you. I'll pay my way. Honest, I will. It's just that I don't have any cash right now."

"We'll see," I replied.

We continued to eat the rest of our breakfast in silence and I found myself glancing every so often at the boy who sat opposite me. He was a handsome boy - perhaps more beautiful than handsome - his light brown skin, black hair, beautiful dark brown eyes - no wonder he was a popular and I felt contented and full.

When we had finished, Tony jumped up, cleared the table and began the process of washing up. I didn't stop him. He seemed to have got back his energy after last night. I left him to it and walked to the living room. The blanket I had draped over the sleeping boy as he lay in my armchair was neatly folded and The Oakland Tribune had been placed on the coffee table. I sat down on the sofa, picked up the paper and began to read, though my mind wasn't really on the words and I found I was idly flicking through the pages waiting for Tony to join me.

"All done," he smiled as he entered the living room. "I'm making coffee, how do you take it."

"Black, two sugars."

"Okay, won't be long."

He disappeared again, returning moments later carrying two mugs of steaming hot coffee, one of which he placed in front of me, the other in front of the armchair, as he sat down.

I thanked him, replaced the newspaper on the coffee table and looked at him. He was certainly looking brighter than he did last night.

"Have you had a shower, yet?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I'll go up in a moment, if that's okay?"

"Sure - not a problem. I've put your clothes on the washing line to dry, should be okay now. I'll give them a run over with the iron."

"Thanks. Is it okay if I wear these today?" he asked, indicating the shorts and t-shirt I had put out for him last night. "I mean it's going to be another weird day, weather-wise."

"Yeah, I guess so. They're a bit big, though."

"Airy - just what I need," he laughed.

I laughed with him. I hadn't thought of it that way.

There was silence again. I needed to break it. Dare I risk asking why he had turned up on my doorstep last night? Should I wait for him to volunteer the information? I was saved - he must have read my mind.

"I suppose you need an explanation?" he asked.

"It would be a good idea. If you feel like it."

"Okay. Let me take that shower and then I'll fill you in."

"Fine. You know where everything is."

He nodded as he climbed from the armchair and headed to the staircase and the bathroom.

I busied myself ironing his clothes while he was gone - it wouldn't take long - a pair of jeans that had seen better days, blue faded denim, holes at the knees, a t-shirt that had once been yellow, but was now fading with a print of some rock band or other on it, I couldn't make out which one it was that worn, a second t-shirt looked newer - white, with a print of the Golden Gate Bridge on it - I guessed the two had been worn together as they were inside each other when I'd picked them up from the bathroom door last night. I wouldn't bother with the socks - I guessed they had once been white and I knew that no matter how many times they were washed, they would still be gray when they came out and boxer shorts - again, an undeterminable color.

I had just finished when Tony walked back downstairs. I put away the ironing board and took the small pile of clothes into the living room, placing them on the piano stool. He sat in the armchair, looking clean and fresh, hair slightly damp, falling across his eyes. He sipped his coffee and thanked me.

"So," I began, as I placed myself on the sofa, picking up my own cup. "What's the story?"

"I don't really know where to begin."

"Well, as Lewis Carroll once wrote, 'start at the beginning, go on until the end and then stop.'"

"I'm not too sure it's that easy."

"Well, okay, how about telling me how you ended up at my front door last night. And what about your parents, should we 'phone them, let them know where you are and that you're okay?"

"No!" Panic in his voice.

"Okay, okay, calm down. We won't do anything you don't want to do. Let's just take it a step at a time."

He nodded. Calmer. He sipped from his mug. I did the same, waiting for him to begin.