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Verse
Star
- Joined
- May 8, 2011
Samuel didn't really know who he was anymore.
Growing up in this house, with a father who was now gone, and a mother who'd been his world, he'd taken on the role of a good son. It was easy. Really. They told you what to do, and even how to do it. He was a content little brat running around this home, making memories and stupid stories. It had been enough for him. It had been all he had. He liked it.
But then he started not to. He wanted other things. In fact, he wanted whatever was the opposite of what they told him. His impulses were ballistic. He tested them on other children, until their cried and their noses bled. There was something in that exchange that Samuel liked. It made him feel good and excited, and then, when he looked at the actions that had brought him there, he felt guilt. And that only fed further outbursts.
For a while he thought that's why dad wasn't with them anymore. Whatever. But it wasn't whatever. Not to a young boy. He tried to keep busy, tried all kinds of physical activity; boxing, track, a stint of volleyball. It fed his body. Girls did too. They gravitated toward him and this whirlwind of things he'd become. He indulged in their bodies and learned the value of his own. He'd built himself into something large to fit all the things he wanted.
He was thinking about it now, in the shower. He had all these things that other people wanted, wanted to be part of, and worship. The young man, recently an adult, grabbed himself to get some release. The fleshy rod had seen a lot of new indulgences lately, and he meant to sate it and let the product run down the drain with the water. And then he thought about something else. Some better use. It was the worst idea; ideologically bad. But he hadn't been able to quell his impulses lately. He was angry and full of vengeance and uproar and-- want. He wanted comfort, but the kind that he could take from someone. Comfort. Like
"MOM!" he shouted and turned off the water. It was a bad idea, as he stepped out of the shower, and stood on the rug in the bathroom with every reflective surface fogged up. His shoulders were hulking, and there were shadows between every muscle even in this blurring light. But most of all, when the woman came in, because she always did when her son called, there was his limb. She'd remember it to be larger than her husband's. Thick and proud, dangling there between athletic thighs. Samuel wore all his weight on his shoulders and his cock. Heavy thing, long with a bulbous head. His black hair was slicked to his cheeks while he waited. "Get me a towel, mom!" he added. He wanted her to see him. And what he'd grown into.
Samuel didn't really know who he was anymore. But he liked it.
Growing up in this house, with a father who was now gone, and a mother who'd been his world, he'd taken on the role of a good son. It was easy. Really. They told you what to do, and even how to do it. He was a content little brat running around this home, making memories and stupid stories. It had been enough for him. It had been all he had. He liked it.
But then he started not to. He wanted other things. In fact, he wanted whatever was the opposite of what they told him. His impulses were ballistic. He tested them on other children, until their cried and their noses bled. There was something in that exchange that Samuel liked. It made him feel good and excited, and then, when he looked at the actions that had brought him there, he felt guilt. And that only fed further outbursts.
For a while he thought that's why dad wasn't with them anymore. Whatever. But it wasn't whatever. Not to a young boy. He tried to keep busy, tried all kinds of physical activity; boxing, track, a stint of volleyball. It fed his body. Girls did too. They gravitated toward him and this whirlwind of things he'd become. He indulged in their bodies and learned the value of his own. He'd built himself into something large to fit all the things he wanted.
He was thinking about it now, in the shower. He had all these things that other people wanted, wanted to be part of, and worship. The young man, recently an adult, grabbed himself to get some release. The fleshy rod had seen a lot of new indulgences lately, and he meant to sate it and let the product run down the drain with the water. And then he thought about something else. Some better use. It was the worst idea; ideologically bad. But he hadn't been able to quell his impulses lately. He was angry and full of vengeance and uproar and-- want. He wanted comfort, but the kind that he could take from someone. Comfort. Like
"MOM!" he shouted and turned off the water. It was a bad idea, as he stepped out of the shower, and stood on the rug in the bathroom with every reflective surface fogged up. His shoulders were hulking, and there were shadows between every muscle even in this blurring light. But most of all, when the woman came in, because she always did when her son called, there was his limb. She'd remember it to be larger than her husband's. Thick and proud, dangling there between athletic thighs. Samuel wore all his weight on his shoulders and his cock. Heavy thing, long with a bulbous head. His black hair was slicked to his cheeks while he waited. "Get me a towel, mom!" he added. He wanted her to see him. And what he'd grown into.
Samuel didn't really know who he was anymore. But he liked it.
