Young, effeminate teenager takes my seed like the good and submissive teacher’s pet that he is.




I had just started my current vacation of three weeks in total, when I traveled to Sweden to visit my parents for a few days, staying in the guest bedroom of their small but comfy house, located in the outskirts of the harbor town Gothenburg. The world cup (in soccer) had just started, with my dad intent on watching most of the matches. Having been reassured, both through their own words and from my own observations, that everything was indeed more than fine with my now elderly, retired parents, I rented a car in order to drive southward for a couple of hours to get me to our family’s (or should I say my parent’s) summer cabin. I was looking forward for some alone time. A chance to recharge my batteries, so to speak.

I arrived at the cabin late on Sunday night (the week before I am starting to write this down). The two bedroom, with a small kitchen and adjoining living room, cottage is nothing fancy, but neither is it in bad shape. The furniture, as well as appliances and cabinets in the kitchen, are somewhat outdated, but everything still turned out to be working just fine. It had been years since I last spent time there. As they had told me when I visited them, my mother and father had been there almost the entire month of May. Judging by how tidy everything was, with barely any dust anywhere, it was evident that it had been cleaned thoroughly before they left.

What it perhaps could be deemed to be lacking in decor, the cottage makes up for (and then some) in terms of location. On the other side of a short ridge, there is a sandy beach. A speck of other summer houses constitutes the neighbors, but there is also a popular camping site nearby.

I made myself a late snack of a couple of sandwiches and some soda that I had purchased at a gas station along the way, and lay down in the sofa to watch the match between Brazil and Switzerland on the fairly small flat screen television that my father has bought for the cabin. At least I figure that a 32-inch screen is considered small nowadays. Although I prefer American football, especially after having lived in the US for some time, I used to play European football (i.e. soccer) in my youth and it being the world cup, held once every fourth year, helped spark my interest once again. The match was nothing in particular though, ending 1-1, with Brazil failing (in all honesty) to get the W. Rather tired I went to bed in the master bedroom, if it could be called that, consisting of a large king-sized bed, matching bedside tables in oak on either side of the bed and a closet.

I woke up later than expected, having set no alarm, and what ought to have been breakfast became lunch, or rather: brunch. Having no plans made up, whatsoever, which in itself was part of the overall plan for my stay there, I went to the beach. There were a lot of vacationing families there, with the beach and its long wooden jetty as well as diving platform further out in the water, being the go-to destination when the sun was out. Today, however, the sun was only partially out, with thick white clouds hiding it most of the time. Situated on a towel a bit further up a sandy dune, so as to not be in the thick of all the families with their kids running around and fathers as well as mothers trying to keep up, and keep an eye out, I soon found myself being somewhat chilled. It wasn’t as warm out as could be expected. Checking my phone, the weather station said that the local temperature would be about 70 degrees Fahrenheit. With it being rather windy, and the sun only shining for a few moments at a time, I put my t-shirt back on.

Maybe I wasn’t as warm-blooded as everyone else. Though seeing young girls run around in bikinis did inevitably cause a flow of blood to a certain part of my body. I admired them and their lithe young bodies from behind my sunshades. Moving about most probably helped keep them warm. Teenage girls had become my favorites. Although, as my fantasies had become more controversial as time went on, I now found myself being aroused by, and from fantasies of, even younger lasses. Yes, preteen girls. At this point I ought to point out that I was, and had been for some time, rather sexually frustrated – I was acutely aware of it myself, and unable to deny it.

It had been quite some time, more than two years in all honesty, since I had been with anyone. I had not had intercourse since my last girlfriend – a relationship which lasted only a couple of months. She had become to find me uninteresting, and dull I suspect. She had started dating me shortly after I first came over to work in the states, and at that time I had been in better shape. Having become complacent and having an ever-eroding discipline towards fast food (which was just so much more accessible than I had been used to coming over from Sweden), I had let myself go – and I knew it. Having been around 180 pounds for most of my adult life, I had quickly surpassed the 200s and it wasn’t until I reached around 250 pounds that I became sick of myself. It may not sound like a lot but bear in mind that it wasn’t muscle that I had packed on. I never exercised, truth be told. Being about 5 feet 10 inches long, I had become a lesser version of my earlier self, appearance-wise.

As time went by, and my sexual frustration heightened, a will, or rather a need, for change was sparked. I have been going to the gym for more than a year and keeping a stricter control over what I fuel my body with, and although I would never presume to call myself fit, I am at least no longer overweight. I am currently about 200 pounds, give or take a few, with a little bit of muscle mass, though far (far) away from a hunk with a six-pack (my abdomen still has its share of excess fat).

What has remained is, however, a lack of self-confidence and being an introvert certainly hasn’t helped with engaging the opposite sex. It having been such a long time since I was intimate with a woman, I now found myself nervous about the prospect – thinking that I might have trouble with sexual stamina, or even be desperate about `getting it up´, and thus failing to do so. My more and more elaborate thoughts about fit, young girls during times of self-pleasure may be troublesome in that regard as well – have I been turning myself of from age-appropriate females? I had certainly been considering it as time and fantasies progressed, but nowadays I couldn’t help it anymore; younger was better in my mind.

There I was, sitting with a hard-on, watching younglings playing and relaxing in the sand. I knew that in Sweden, the legal age (assuming it was consensual) for sex was fifteen. I my mind, I played with the idea of getting a girl in that age with me back to the cabin. It soon became too much, and I turned from my spot, keeping my sandy towel in front of my groin during the short walk back from the beach, for a quick session of self-relief.

My excursion had been brief, and hence the match between Sweden and South Korea, with kick-off at 2 pm local time, was right about to start when I had finished myself off. The former played better than I think most had expected – at least judging by the so-called experts and commentators – and secured a win. I decided that it was a good time to leave the cabin and stock up on food and nourishment for the coming week, and maybe gauge if the winning had lifted the spirits of folk out and about.

Returning from the nearest city, which is one among the more noteworthy on the west coast – those familiar with Swedish geography know that there aren’t that many to choose from – I made myself a large, yet sort of wholesome, meal. With perhaps unrealistic fantasies of turning myself into someone girls of all ages would gladly follow home, I did numerous sets of push-ups, toe-raises, squats and crunches. There were no free weights at the cabin, thus limiting the number of options, though I figured I might purchase some cheap ones during the coming days and merely leave them there when I were to depart. If I truly wanted to make a change, then I shouldn’t let a week go by without making an effort to properly exercise. Having said that, I knew that I probably shouldn’t postpone what I always seemed to do: to go for a run. I promised myself that I WOULD do proper cardio the next day, before settling down, after a quick shower, to watch England versus Tunisia. It was a match which the brits fairly won, 2 to the score of 1.

Tuesday arrived, thus marking the second day on my intended week-long stay at that cozy corner of the world. With less overhanging clouds during the afternoon, although still somewhat chilly for a summer day, I indeed went running. At first on the sandy beach, but that quickly became too exhausting, even though there is no shame in being spent quicker with a higher level of effort, I wanted the run to last a little bit. Hence, I soon went running through the camping site to reach smaller roads which I could remember from years being spent at the cabin as a kid and young adult in the company of friends and family.

It was at my return to the summer cottage that I happened upon something unexpected, and which ultimately lead to a life-altering experience which I will find myself unable to not crave more of. There at the driveway next to the small house, stood an unfamiliar car parked. A Maserati. More than a little upset, thinking that it was some rich neighbor or out-of-towner who presumably thought it was OK to park anywhere, I instantly became flustered as the front door opened while I was in the process of unlocking it. My consternation only barely subsided as I was greeted by my younger sister, whom I had not seen in person since Christmas two years before. My god, she was just as attractive as she had always been.

Having recovered from my initial befuddlement, it turned out that Sandra, my sister, had persuaded her partner, Eric, to spend some time at one of her childhood favorite places – our parent’s cottage. I had heard some of this companion from my parents, who weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of a man in his mid-50s dating my merely 27-year-old sister. I soon came to share these misgivings. The discrepancy in age was equally, if not more so, reflected in their relative appearances. Where Sandra truly was a Swedish beauty, with long blonde hair, fair features and a striking body, Eric embodied no external characteristics which I would deem attractive. He had even more excess pounds than I had had before taking steps to ensure that my weight started declining. Much of it was, as is inevitable for most of us, around his gut, though being a little taller than me probably helped disperse the mass more. His head was shaved, with the top now being slightly sunburnt, which I later noticed with him sitting down. I suppose I wouldn’t outright call his facial features unattractive, but neither were they something whatsoever that made up his otherwise heavyset, middle aged appearance.

The Maserati parked outside, as well as other more or less obvious hints which the more and more vexing fellow didn’t seem able to keep to himself, made me realize that the only possible explanation for this relationship was that my sister was a gold digger. Maybe she had gone from being a model and personal trainer, to a full-time girlfriend for monetary benefits. I dared not ask whether she still occupied her former professions.

Perhaps it was his way of establishing that he was the foremost individual under that roof, or it was just his mannerism, but it seemed important that I, for example, knew that it was not Eric’s choice to spend time at my parent’s summer cottage. He would rather have preferred some exotic resorts, but when the jewel of his eye (i.e. my sister) made it abundantly clear that she much preferred this location, with her fond childhood memories of it, then what was he supposed to do? The asshole had the indecency to suggest to me, mano-a-mano I suppose he figured, that she’d better find ways of making it up to him – if I knew what he meant – wink wink. For me that was more than crossing the line of how one ought to behave having just met each other, but more than that he touched a nerve. I had always, ever since being a young adult and seeing my sister blossom into a striking teenage beauty, had a thing for her, and thus seeing her with this charmer was more than a little upsetting.

I quickly learned that Eric, as he considered himself a man of much import, was a prominent (in his own words more or less) plastic surgeon. I couldn’t help but notice and speculate on whether or not this man had augmented Sandra’s body as well. I wouldn’t, of course, presume to ask her or inquire about it, but it seemed to me that my sister’s bosom, which I had always deemed not large per se but rather in good proportion to the rest of her toned body, now seemed to be out of proportion. Had I earlier imagined she was a firm B-cup, she would now most probably be a D in bra size. As time went by, I became certain of it; my sister had enlarged her bosom – even though she had been more than appealing across the chest before.

Almost forgotten during this whole initial meet and greet, and the time that followed after I had showered and gotten to know, or should I say loathe, this outspoken individual (Eric), there was also his son Jonas. Considering how Sandra and Eric were engaged, but not yet married, I suppose the boy wasn’t technically my sister’s stepson, though he would be if they tied the knot. Sort of the opposite of his bothersome dad, he was a shy kid of few words. His hair was some shade between blonde and brown, and it reached down to his eyebrows. His skin was pale and spotless. His wrists like brittle branches. Judging by his small stature, and noticeably skinny body, I would have guessed he was around twelve, but apparently he would be turning fifteen in December. At first, I thought they were kidding me around. How could he be about to turn fifteen later in the year? But the others gave no indication of it being a hoax. Really? They continued with what they were doing and didn’t appear to have noticed my confusion. It dawned on me that they weren’t joking. I had no real experience with children, but I surmised that it was a good thing I hadn’t explicitly asked if he was twelve, since I could image it being a sore subject had I gotten it so significantly wrong.

While Sandra was scurrying here and there getting things in order after their arrival, us others watched soccer. Me and Jonas on the couch, while Eric resided in the barcalounger. He probably thought he had the best seat, whereas I actually didn’t prefer the too soft armchair. Judging by his incessant commenting, Eric knew exactly how everyone was supposed to play the game – and Russia handily outplaying Egypt didn’t impress him much.

As for their unexpected arrival, though my sister had been told I would be there after checking in with our parents and letting them know of her plans, she apologetically wondered whether it would be OK with me if I surrendered the master bedroom and instead settled for the other, smaller bedroom with the sofa bed. With a faint smile she hinted that as far as she could recall, it was after all a quite comfortable bed once made. As I conceded that it was a fair inquiry, and thereafter agreed to the request, she further wondered if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience to let Jonas spend the nights there as well. She pointed out that otherwise, maybe she’d take the couch while father and son occupied the master bedroom. At this point Eric’s interest had been peeked. Before I could answer, he apparently felt the need to elucidate the obvious: Jonas didn’t take up much, if any, space at all, and it being a sofa bed of almost queen-size itself, it ought not be a problem for the two of us, right? I could understand his desire - his need - to be next to my hot sister, of half his age, at night time, though what I did not understand was his blunt, almost coincidental, browbeating of his son. Not even being the most social person myself, indeed far from it, I could tell that his father’s comment bothered the boy as he sat there next to me on the couch.

It being the first time, in a long time, that I spent time with my sister, I wasn’t about to be unreasonable, and I could tell that she wanted us all to get along. Ergo, I granted that it was no more than a fair a reasonable suggestion, and assured my sister when she, to her credit, genuinely seemed to want to be reassured a second time that it was actually fine by me.

The first night spent in that arrangement was, however, not fine by me. The sofa bed was indeed relaxingly soft, without being too soft, and while it wasn’t quite as long as a normal bed, it at least had the width of a queen-sized one. While the larger bed in the adjacent master bedroom was perpendicular to the window in that room, the sofa in our, mine and little Jonas’, bedroom stood beneath the window. It was an oblong room; around 2 yards wide and about twice that in length. The wall containing the only window and the opposite one sporting a few wardrobes from IKEA, were shorter than the sides. Thus, the sofa could only be turned into a bed when arranged in that way, with the heads beneath the windowsill. Even so, the makeshift, yet comfortable and sturdy bed, filled most of the room, though thankfully some space remained between the foot end and the wardrobes, as well as the door next to these.

Hence, it wasn’t the quality of, for example, the mattress that bothered me, nor was it the small, silent boy lying on the other side of the bed. Instead, what vexed me was the noises coming from the other room. My sister was undeniably getting fucked. What sounds that didn’t carry through the wall, did so through our partially opened window, and I could only surmise that Sandra and Eric had also chosen to let the chilly summer nights air ventilate their room.

I couldn’t help but toss and turn. While a part of me was inevitably upset about what I was hearing, considering my jealousy, the other part was turned on. On the one hand I didn’t want to hear what I was hearing, and on the other, I wanted to hear it more, even louder and clearer. It bugged me that what was to be my period of calm and serenity, spent alone I my own version of a fortress of solitude, far away from my everyday life, would now most likely entail unwanted everyday conversations with a man that pushed my buttons, and uneasy hours after dark.

I didn’t think the young boy was managing to sleep either. Had he not fallen asleep before they started, he would most definitely have a hard time doing so now. Furthermore, he was lying closest to the wall through which the muffled sounds of pleasure were travelling. Intermittently I could filter out my sister’s feminine voice hushing through giggles, urging her partner to go about his business more silently, though it seemed to have no effect, and it wasn’t as if her moans were non-existent either.

I couldn’t be absolutely certain, but by now the little fellow, whom I was observing more intently, must have been awake judging by his increased number of subtle movements. By his age, he should surely have a pretty good grasp of what was going on between the adults in the other bed. When I was his age, I had already (as so many of us) begun exploring my own sexuality – not knowing much, but being ever so interested.

I wondered if his little pecker would be stiff at this point. If one were to be a horny little kid, I figured it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be around my sister - or yet again, perhaps it might. With implants, she had gone from being a gorgeous next-door neighbor type of girl, to being a good looking pornstar kinda gal; fit body and asymmetrically top-heavy. I would assume that at home, there shouldn’t have been too many times, if any, were they boy would have been privy to their love making – unless it was a thing of theirs; that it turned them on to know others would hear them. One could never know for sure. Though, wanting your own wimpy son hearing you seemed a bit excessive. On the other hand, this Eric fellow seemed like a true jerk. I wouldn’t, however, expect Sandra to be of such an inclination. From what I had witnesses so far, she doted on the boy, acting every bit as motherly as anyone could hope for. Speaking of mothers, I had heard from my parents back in Gothenburg that Jonas’ real mother was now a single mum, in her early forties, working as a nurse, in whose care Jonas was most of the time.

The penetration, at least that’s what I was assuming, of sister continued. It was a struggle not to start masturbating. I was envisioning how it was me who had unhindered, even encouraged, access to her naked, slightly suntanned body. Those large breasts, unnaturally firm and perfectly symmetrical, bouncing while I thrusted away between her spread legs. I felt like I really needed the release of an orgasm, though what could I do but lay there with a raging erection within my underwear.

I wondered if the diminutive boy next to me had the same urges. I recalled how, a long time ago, me a close friend of mine during the latter years of elementary school, had been eager to experiment with each other. We had been dry humping each other and getting stiffies. Also, we had made up grand plans of how we would get naked during a sleep over the coming day, and for the lack of a better word, try out different things. Those plans had fallen apart as his father had walked in on us humping each other, while clothed, in doggystyle on his parent’s bed, and though his parent’s to the best of my knowledge kept it to themselves, me and that friend never really hung out together any more due to our mutual embarrassment.

Letting my aroused mind wander, I wondered of this runt of the litter, lying there so silently, yet regularly moving as if to find the optimal sleeping position (as if that was the problem keeping him from finding true shuteye), had any similar experiences of his own? I suppose he, in a way, reminded me of myself at that age, though I had been lanky whereas he was girlishly slender and probably underweight. I couldn’t imagine any of his friends or classmates being smaller than him; I envisioned him taking on the role of a girl whereas whatever friend he would be with inherently had the role of the guy. Though lacking in any muscle development that I assumed active young boys would have (from my impressions thus far he was not that type of kid), I supposed he had a rather cute little behind. Drawing on memories of having seen him standing some hours earlier, I knew that his slender backside didn’t automatically pass over to his skinny legs. No, there had definitely been a wee, yet noticeable, rump there on the back of his trousers.

An image crept into my head, of how it was me dry humping him while he stood on all fours, and a moment later we were both naked in doing so. My cock was suddenly harder than ever - in recent memory at least. I grasped it tight beneath my comforter and couldn’t complete stifle a grunt. A flicker of issues regarding morality, and the absolute decadency of what I had been imagining set in, but these concerns were of equal swiftness brushed aside. I couldn’t help but to want to - need to - envision myself naked with diminutive Jonas. Bear in mind that it was the first time in over two years that I wasn’t alone in bed.

Though I had not consciously checked out his petite ass before, I had a strong urge to do so now. Although I wouldn’t, of course, do anything as brazen as pulling down his comforter and thereby allow me to feast my eyes, and maybe even hands, on what must be a splendid butt, I sure didn’t mind imagining it. Even though my earlier predatory fantasies had focused on young teenage girls, they had in all honesty been drifting recently towards girls not dissimilar in stature to the undersized boy, who was strikingly feminine now that I allowed myself to fully think about it without (normal) mental roadblocks.

The young damsels of my mental utopia sometimes had only the smallest of breasts, and possessed small, verging on tiny, yet hauntingly firm assess. In other words, except for the reversal of genitalia, there wasn’t much of a difference between them and this toyboy. At his point it dawned on me that Jonas’ father must have ultimately climaxed one way or another, because the ruckus had finally stopped. Hence, I found myself trying to settle down, which happened slowly but gradually. Rationalizing, or rather attempting to do so, this turn of events in my head, I took comfort in the fact that older men throughout history had found themselves sexually attracted to young boys. If the conquering Romans of old could actually have boys on retainer, as sexdolls to do with as they pleased, then I shouldn’t feel the need to be overly appalled by my mere thoughts. And also, once turned on it is easy to find unnormal relations enticing – something I knew far too well from these last years. Furthermore, I could swear, and still can, that somewhere I have heard the saying “a hot girl, with an ass like a little white boy”. I am absolutely certain that I’ve heard something like that being said. Sure, I’d had the thoughts, but it wasn’t as if I had acted on them like some pervert who couldn’t control himself...

Sleep came eventually for my part, though it was irregular, and I had trouble finding peaceful thoughts every time I woke up.

As the morning arrived, and Sandra gently tapped on the door to ask whether we would want scrambled eggs and bacon, I was undeniably still tired, yet also thankful that a mentally arduous night had come to an end. Having both announced that we would indeed like a serving each, I lingered in bed with a throbbing morning glory as Jonas got dressed and left the room. Last night’s fantasies had evidently not been a singular aberration; as the tiny fellow left the bed, my gaze took in as much of him as possible in the dim morning lights seeping in through the still closed blinds.

He did indeed have a perky little butt, framed by a pair of tight black boxers. I had a hard time envisioning him gaining any favor with the ladies in his current physique, frail as he looked. At least he wasn’t ugly, so he had that going for him. But, ladies of his own age would probably go for athletic boys that were outgoing and did sports, instead of a shy and quiet one who looked weaker than gals even younger than him.

As soon as I was alone, I began pleasuring myself. With a closed door, I had taken one of yesterday’s socks, and made sure I could easily, and quickly insert my dingdong into it as the orgasm neared, which it promptly did. I suppose I could have been forgiven for imagining having intercourse with my sister, especially considering the sounds of last night, but it was neither her nor thoughts of teenage girls I was stroking my dick ever faster to. Instead, fixed on my mind was me and sweet Jonas engaged in full-on, hardcore nude action.

The ensuing day, I found myself having to consciously try to act normal. Despite having already jacked off, the wicked ideas had not left my mind. I found myself sneaking in glimpses of adorable Jonas here and there as I could without attracting attention. That was how I considered him now; absolutely marvelous. He was a boy, but he was also much like a girl. Having stood up next to him, I now knew that he measured in height to slightly above my navel. As for his weight I could only speculate that it would be low, lower than it should have been, but I wasn’t about to outright ask.

As it was a rather overcast, albeit warm day, any hopes of getting to see the slender fellow in tight swim trunks dissipated fast. Eric spent most of the time, much to my liking, snoozing in the barcalounger and watching soccer, whereas his nimble son sat outside, in the backyard, in a hammock reading on his iPad. As Sandra prepared a meal for us all, I snuck in a bit of conversation with the boy by taking a garden chair and placing it next to the hammock, reading a novel myself. Even though there was plenty of extra room next to him, I didn’t want to impose too much. I asked what he was reading, and found out that it was a comic book, stored on his tablet in digital form, of the comic book hero, or as he said an `anti-hero´, called the Punisher. He was reading it in English, I supposed that by now he had no trouble with the language. Evidently, the Punisher was one of his favorites. As he went on to explain, the others were Batman, Wolverine and Spiderman. The latter being perhaps the most fun, and others being the coolest as he saw it. But as I got him talking, he started naming more and more of what series he liked. It was rather endearing how he lit up as he went along, talking more now in a few minutes than I’d heard him talk since they arrived yesterday.

I expressed my somewhat sincere interest in comics myself, though I had admittedly not read a lot of them. Mostly, I had watched the films and, actually, seen many of the animated series. As he had proceeded to show me and scroll through his collection of series in digital form, I had advanced to sit next to him in the hammock – making sure to sit a respectable distance away and not do anything inappropriate or alarming. Talking and getting to know one another was the name of the game now. For him, it seemed important that I understood how the compilation of series on his tablet was but a small fraction of all the comic books in physical, tangible form, that he had at home - both at his father’s house and mother’s apartment.

As the kid had started to open up more, I made sure to ask pertinent follow-up questions whenever I could. He had started showing me one of his latest acquisitions, a series named Teen Titans. At this point I hadn’t been able to help but notice that almost all of the female characters, and perhaps especially the Starfire girl, was drawn in a very, very sexy way. Between the two of us, I pointed this out in a lowered voice, and expressed my admiration for her nice body and enticing hooters. Somewhat flustered, and little bit red on his small cheeks, Jonas nodded.

Shortly following this, I returned to my garden chair, but we continued discussing, amongst other things, the Marvel movies. He might not be the most outgoing kid, but I found him quite insightful and sharp as far as I could tell.

As we dined on Sandra’s meat and vegetable stew, with boiled potatoes on the side, we watched the conclusion of the match between Portugal and Morocco, in which there would be no goals in the second half. Apparently, it aggravated Eric that his son had not finished his plate, as he urged his junior to eat up or he would not be excused. Jonas, who had thanked my sister for the meal, meekly stated that he was indeed full and could manage no more. The little guy seemed disheartened on his corner of the sofa in front of the tv, furthest away from his father. Sandra attempted to diffuse the situation by proclaiming that she didn’t mind at all, and that he could heat it and consume it later if he wanted to. Eric exclaimed: “He needs to eat more if he is to get bigger. A growing boy needs plenty of food”. Though he had a point, I hardly recognized this as the way to go about it; it was obvious that the little guy didn’t exactly thrive under confrontation and pressure.

A minute passed, seemingly under a stalemate. I wanted to avoid getting involved. This was none of my business. Sandra broke the gridlock by saying that she would go for a run, and wondered if anyone wanted to join her. I felt it was a good idea, and agreed to tag along – as well as I could, that is. Having both gotten up, she rescued Jonas from the sofa by asking, or perhaps suggesting, that he’d help her with the dishes before we set out to get our aerobic exercise on. Not having changed attire myself, from the shorts and T-shirt I was wearing earlier, Sandra now exposed more of her knockout body in a pair of short shorts, and a sports bra. She looked banging.

We started out merely walking. She seemed in a talkative mood, and apparently she wanted to vent a little about Eric’s frustrating paternal skills, which I didn’t mind since I figured it was a good opportunity to find out more about my new favorite youngster. I sincerely agreed when she pointed out that she took issue with Eric’s direct and dominating approach, but evidently she had been unable to have a satisfactory impact on his ways. She exclaimed how she tried to be as supported as possible, and how she genuinely cared for the boy though he wasn’t biologically hers.

Asking me to keep it to myself, she went on about how Jonas didn’t really have any close friends, and his calm demeanor and feeble physique wasn’t exactly a deterrent for being teased. From what she had been able to gather, he wasn’t getting bullied at least – but some kids, mainly other boys, took some exception about him being an A-grade student; assiduously applying himself in school didn’t exactly make him especially cool. As for Eric, what mattered to him was Jonas’ academic performance (both now and in the future). He encouraged his son to study hard so that he could follow in his father’s footsteps and be a doctor, or something of equal prestige. As long as the teachers reported how happy they were about how respectful and ambitious the boy was; they were more than happy with his performance and results, and in most subjects he was at the top of his class. This confirmed my earlier perception of him as being intelligent. It mattered little to his father that Jonas’ class teacher had also pointed out that the boy seemed lonely. Eric more or less didn’t care about that as Sandra perceived it, and he had said to her that his son simply needed to toughen up and not take it personally if other kids teased him, and that “being lonely wasn’t a real issue as it builds character".

We had walked for quite some distance, eventually catching up on other things as well. I tried hard, doing my best to avoid obvious exaggeration, to make my life in the states sound more impressive and interesting than it really was. Having started to run, I soon found myself unable to keep up. Her level of cardio far exceeded my own.

As darkness arrived, or what passed for darkness in a Swedish summer (which is quite different from winter), I again found myself in bed with Jonas again. Since the day before, my state of mind had been altered. Perhaps I could only detect it now that I, for once, found myself almost giddy with excitement, but I had been (at least borderline) depressed before. I had probably been dejected and bummed out for so long that I had been unable to distinguish it. As I lay there, reading a book, I found my thoughts wandering in anticipation, and contemplated all sorts of different scenarios that could soon come to pass, and how best to proceed with my naughty flights of imagination.

I turned pages at maybe half the normal speed, since I found myself not really reading the words. Sure, my eyes wandered across them, but my mind was elsewhere. Time passed. Almost an hour of me reading a book, and the fine child next to me using his tablet. Jonas looked at me a few times, as if wondering if it was truly all right to stay up so late in bed, or perhaps he was tired and wanted me to turn off the lamp on the window sill but was too well-mannered to ask. I figured I might as well discontinue with my poor efforts of getting anywhere in that spy novel, and subsequently switched off the light having first asked if my bedmate wanted it on. Jonas simultaneously shut down his iPad.

Lying there on my back, staring at the ceiling with a semi-erection underneath the comforter, I was disheartened. Yesterday, I had not wanted to hear my sister being screwed at first, but now conversely found myself irked by the absence of such noises. However, the melody of moans could soon once again be heard rising from the other bedroom, until it had reached a steady level of audibility. This had been what I had waited for, and if they, in the other bed, had thought that waiting sparsely about an hour would suffice for us to fall asleep before they could begin their shagging, then they were mistaken. I couldn’t imagine Jonas having already fallen asleep in the short time since he stopped looking on his device.

“You asleep?”, I asked in a whisper.

“No”, he answered, equally quiet.

I rolled onto my stomach and supported myself on my elbows. While looking at the small lad, who lay on his back, I said, indicating with my head towards the wall through which the sounds came from: “It’s annoying, isn’t it?”

“Yeah”, he faintly replied.

“One would think that they could be a bit quieter, it’s kinda disrespectful to us, don’t you think?”.

At this, he nodded.

Muffling my voice, I added: “Hey, while we wait for them to... uhm, finish what they’re doing, you wanna play a relaxing game?”

“What kinda game?” He wondered.

“Like this”, I instructed while leaning on my right side, and urged him to turn about and lie flat on his stomach. I started softly drawing numbers, between 1 and 100, with the fingernail of my left index finger on his slender and hard back, and had him quietly guessing what it was. Minutes passed. It indeed appeared to be quite relaxing as his lungs seemed to take increasingly deeper breaths. I, on the other hand, was getting more worked up.

When I had pulled down his comforter, I had brought it down to his bony knees, thus exposing his pert, little ass with his tight, blue boypanties on. Having had my gaze fixed upon it most of the time, mindlessly drawing numbers, I had become erect, but as I was still dressed in underwear and underneath my own cover from the waist down, this was not something the boy could have noticed. No longer able to subdue the urge to try and proceed down the path I had imagined, and since his father could still be heard giving it to my sister, I figured now was as good a time as any to get a little handsy.

Leaning down a bit closer to his youthful face, which was angled towards me as he serenely lay sprawled on his frontside, I whispered enthusiastically: “Hey, why don’t I give you a massage?”. As he had opened his little eyes, faintly shining in the dim room, the blinds not completely being able to shut out vague lights on the sky around midnight during the summer in Sweden, I went on, with a wry smile: “I’m not gonna be able to find any sleep until they calm down”. The little scholar approved.

Having moved to sit up, I decided to, as inaudibly as possible, leave the sofa bed and lock the door with the key, sitting in the lock on our side of the room. The mechanism softly clicked, and while Sandra and Eric certainly wouldn’t have heard it, I didn’t image that Jonas had either. On my way back to bed, I snatched up an Aloe Vera tube of gel, without any fragrances or other added specialties, that I’d acquired on my way down to the summer cabin.

Not that we’d had any real sun exposure during the gloomy daytime, but I supposed technically it could be beneficial for the skin, which I also related to the boy.

At first, he reacted to the cool gel by temporarily tensing up the weak muscles of his back, but as it quickly warmed up, he yet again became laid-back as I slowly, and carefully, massaged his upper back and neck. Sitting on my knees, one on either side of his slim body, my lower abdomen in line with that little ass of his, my throbbing dick pointed in an upward direction and wanted to protrude from my underwear. I started laboring lower down on his back. Reaching the lining of his small boxers, I scooched down a bit, and went on to work on his skinny legs. I gave some attention to the ankles and shins, before focusing on the slender, smooth thighs.

Slowing down the pace of my hands further, I let them glide all the way onto his tight little butt. When gently massaging it, Jonas lifted his head a bit and strained to look backwards towards me. “Everything OK?”, I wondered, not stopping to rub his behind on the outside of his underwear with my hands. He was just so cute, so firm, and so perfect. The kid didn’t protest, but he seemed puzzled as he nodded. I was definitely aided by the noises of the others, not yet quite done with their carnal activities, though thinking about it, I mused that surely there had a decrease in the tempo or rhythm of it.

Jonas being an bright but very reserved boy, more of less dominated by his father, and lacking close friends as a teacher’s pet, it probably would have taken significant discomfort or concern for him to raise objections. Furthermore, I believed that what was happening played on this curiosity, to my advantage. I gathered it was about time to try and peek that interest even more.

Whispering: “Making a minor adjustment here”, I thereafter gently dragged up his small bottoms so that more of the asscheeks were exposed, and his sexy buttcrack became more defined. I saw that his eyes had once again opened, but he didn’t look backwards this time. Acknowledging the absence of verbal or physical objections, I took this as a relative degree of consent, and I caressed him lightly. My hands went from upper things to his tushie and back again. I started sliding my thumbs in the inside of his legs, up towards his genitalia, which I couldn’t see as he lay there unmoving on his flat belly. Having spent probably half a minute focusing on getting close to what ought to be a wee pecker, I then suggested that we would be in remiss if we didn’t at least somewhat quickly tend to rehydrating the skin on the frontside of his body. This made the boy noticeably anxious. As I, with a paternal feeling about myself, waited for him turn over, he cordially protested in a low voice and, as if that would settle the matter, thanked me for what I had thus far done.

I insisted, however, and assuring that I didn’t mind at all I tenderly but with a certain degree of force and authority, turned him over. Having done so, he didn’t seem that much at ease. Obviously very shy once again, not saying anything more, he held both of his small hands in front of his nether region, cupping it. Proceeding to act as if I didn’t notice, I started rubbing a little gel on his flat chest, down the abdomen and towards the sides. In doing so, I nudged apart his hands. As I suspected, and much to my delight, he had a stiffy. Small as it appeared, a little tent was clearly pitched.

It was difficult to discern in the lack of lighting, but surely he was blushing considerably. He didn’t look me straight in the face, opting instead to look away, as if not wanting to see me seeing him. I had noticed his eyes find and linger on the bump inside my own boxers, which must have been visible even in the dim illumination. I didn’t spend close to as much time as I had on his backside, and having worked on the quads of his skinny legs, ever increasingly upward, I made sure to graze against and linger on his erect boyhood a few times, giving it a soft rubbing. He had moved to cover his predicament a few times earlier, but now he let it happen. Having felt him up in this manner for a minute or so, and realizing that the lovemaking seemed to have stopped in the adjacent room, I reckoned it was about time to finally stop myself from touching the boy any more for the time being.

Softly proclaiming that I figured we had done some proper skincare, I raised his comforter before taking my place next to him and lying down on my back while simultaneously covering myself up. In a hushed tone, I said: “I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but to react... physically, if you know what I mean, when they go at it”. I turned my head towards him, without saying anything more. He looked back at me with some amusement, but he never said anything.

“Hey, I was wondering... But no, you know what, never mind... Best just to lay here and do nothing, even though it sure is frustrating having heard them go at it...”. I acted out being disheartened and sighed. Thankfully I had sparked his curiosity, as he wanted to know what I had been about to say.

Hence, I continued: “Well, this might be a weird question... But, by now you know about self-pleasuring, right?”. Seemingly somewhat thrown off, he quickly recovered and indeed nodded almost fervently as if proud to be knowledgeable on the subject.

“So basically... I was wondering if it’s OK with you if I tug one out...”. His eyes flickered downwards on my covered body, and then up again. Having looked towards my hidden privates yet again, he nodded once more.

Whilst slowly uncovering myself, I kindly droned on: “You’re really not supposed to see an adult do something like this… and I should not be doing such a thing here and now, which is why I asked for your permission”. With the cover down at my shins, I also lay flat on my back, head on pillow. With my hands holding the lining of my boxers and pressing them down, I shifted my hips up so that I could more easily pull them down, and simultaneously I sought the boy’s reassurance once again that it would be our most secret of secret. With his little, shining eyes fixated on my half exposed, hard unit (which was struggling against the fabric), I continued in as much of a friendly and reassuring tone as I could muster: “Do you promise to keep it a secret – something between just the two of us, as buddies?”. He softly spoke the best of words: “Yes”. With that, I pulled the boxers all the way down, and my hard dick bounced against my belly.

Having tossed my underwear beside the sofa bed, I was delighted by how the little teen next to me kept looking at my elongated phallus. In the shower earlier, after said run with my sister, I had made sure to do some meticulous manscaping. Around my shaft and balls, only a very short stub of hair remained – I had gone as close as my body hair trimmer allowed. Since all men kind of know their own measurement, I knew that my male member was slightly short of seven inches, and as for girth I would assume that it is average (and perhaps even a bit lower than that if I’m being honest).

As he lay on my right side, I stroked my shaft slowly with my left hand so that he would have as much of an unhindered view as possible. I didn’t want to make it weirder than it perhaps already was by looking straight at him. Therefore, it felt like the little glimpses of him, that I got in the periphery of my vision, was sufficient. In my own twisted way of trying to be paternal, I whispered: “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to”. Still, he kept observing. A moment later, I added: “It just feels so good, you know? Especially with them having gone at it in the other room… and to be thinking about Sandra’s naked body... I know she’s my sister and all, but she’s really attractive nonetheless”. He didn’t answer, but having seen him look at her, I would have bet good money on that he had a crush on her.

My ejaculation was getting near - I could feel it. Not doing, or wanting to do, anything to hinder or postpone it in any way, I shot my load in streams over my upper body. It was one of the more intense orgasms in a long time. I let the fireworks in my head dwindle to nothing before I, still in a sense of serenity, cleaned myself up with countless tissues. Jonas certainly didn’t seem marred by the experience; more intrigued and excitedly fascinated if anything, and in a friendly tone I reminded him that this was to be ours, and only ours, secret. No one else could know. To my utter delight, he smiled at me as if glad to have been witnessing such a forbidden thing. Having put on my undergarment once again, I soon afterwards enjoyed a blissful slumber.

Weather-wise, Thursday was a bland day. It wasn’t hot, and neither was it cold – though the wind had a certain chill to it. With scattered white clouds on the sky, the sun peeked out for periods of time every now and then. While Eric enjoyed a mid-day nap, I got to experience the beach alongside my sister and her stepson. There weren’t all that many people in the water, and as we took a short swim I could tell why; it was uncomfortably cold. Scrawny Jonas had it worst, and didn’t endure for long in the ocean, despite having considerably more insulation, so to speak. Being there at the beach, I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about my appearance next to Sandra in her bikini. Were people judging me as a strange choice of partner for her, imagining we were a family? In a way not unlike how I had judged her current companion? You reap what you sow, I figured. Most likely though, they didn’t really care, and if anyone was looking, which I gather at least some of the dads must have been when they could get away with it, they’d be too preoccupied by her to give me any attention.

We took to sunbathing. Sandra having brought sun-lotion, with both medium and high level of protection, she applied the latter to Jonas’ back, and mine as well. I couldn’t help but to be wishing for more muscles, something that would be impressive to the touch. Already having a bit of color herself, I, in turn, reciprocated by administering the medium-grade lotion on her, where she couldn’t reach. Somewhat struggling against the urge to indulge myself, wanting to run my hands too intimately on her and grab a feel on the side of her breasts, or pert buttocks, which – like her breasts – were on display in her skimp bikini. I (hopefully) managed to be as clinical as possible during my brief assistance.

Having all voiced our disappointment of the temperature of the Nordic Sea when back at the cottage, Eric for once did something that I could wholeheartedly approve of: He borrowed my rented station wagon, since his Maserati didn’t have much extra room, and both my sister and his son went along with him to buy and above ground pool. Upon their return, I helped assemble it. There was no denying that I quite liked it. It wasn’t all that large but it was acceptably sturdy, with a frame of steel tubes. 4 by 2 by 1 meter, which translates to about 4 yards in length, 2 yards in width, and 1 yard in height (it thus corresponded to about the same area as the smaller bedroom of the house). One wouldn’t be practicing serious swimming in it, but it would be enough for having fun and for relaxation. The outside, which was made up of PVC plastic, was lime green, while the inside had a white-and-blue mosaic pattern. A ladder, as well as a pump was included, and furthermore Eric had separately acquired a solid and robust looking heater. Throwing in a pair of floating chairs, and assuring that it could all remain once they ended their vacationing there, I was actually warming up to the old geezer. All-in-all the total value had to be around a thousand USD, converted from Swedish krona.

This change in sentiment wasn’t merely based on Eric’s willingness to spend a sizeable amount of cash. Following the time since the evening of our initial encounter, he had gradually been less and less of a jackass. Sure, I could question his parenting skills, but he was no longer behaving as if needing to assert himself towards me. During the introductory phase, I suppose he could have been trying to justify why my sister was with him, and the way to go about for him had been to (in a painfully arrogant way) act as if being very wealthy somehow made him into an important person, worthy of respect and therefore, by extension, also a suitable partner. As he had become more laid-back as time passed, I gradually also found him much more tolerable, verging on pleasant. Furthermore, I found that his complete lack of shits given about being politically correct was seriously refreshing. That he fucked my sister with passion when opportunity presented itself, I could scarcely blame him for – she had a body made for it. Also, the level of volume during those activities had become something advantageous for me.

Afternoon had turned into evening as we were ready to start filling the pool up with water from the garden hose, and thus the first swim would not take place that day – which was just as good seeing as the heater would preferably have to be employed for some time beforehand. Spending what remained before nightfall watching Argentina take on Croatia in the world cup, my mind was mostly elsewhere, and with the game having concluded 0-3, I was itching for Eric and Sandra to hit the sack. I figured it was the normal thing to do, to keep watching tv with them at least for a while after the match had ended, even though Jonas had been encouraged to brush his teeth and go to bed.

When the others finally decided it was time to retire, I was internally elated as I could do the same, having first freshened up in the bathroom. As soon as I entered the bedroom, and noticed Jonas was still awake and watched some show or movie on his tablet, I silently but swiftly locked the door. I didn’t want to forget about doing so later. Upon any unlikely, but conceivable, attempts to enter by Sandra or Eric, I had already planned out that I would jokingly suggest that me and Jonas had agreed it best to lock the door in order to keep the monsters away, which might come hunting from beneath the surface of the ocean at night.

Time passed while I had my book out in front of me, and I more so listened and watched the clock tick away than read anything. Half an hour went by. Then, as forty-five minutes had passed, Jonas’ movie, as I figured it had been since I hadn’t disturbed him and asked what he had been viewing, ended. It was now passed midnight. Still no indication of the others fooling around. Closing my book and moving as if to switch off the lamp on the window sill above us, I asked (as if it was something I had just came up with): “Hey, how about a massage again?”. He seemed to mirror my excitement to at least some extent as he agreed.

“Light on or off?”, I inquired. He shrugged his tiny shoulders.

“Nah, I’ll turn it off”, I said, and reached for the lamp. He seemed pleased by that decision. I added: “But we have to be extra silent now… since they aren’t making any noises tonight”, at which point I smiled and inclined my head towards the presumably sleeping couple in the other room. The boy’s affirmative nod conveyed his understanding, and his grin his amusement – yes, it had indeed been fun to hear the others copulate.

Having nudgingly indicated that he should turn about and lie on his belly, I proceeded as the night before. First, fatherly applying the rehydrating gel to (unnecessarily) revitalize his already smooth and soft skin. Then, not so fatherly (in normal fashion), I started touching him more and more intimately. I had reached a point where I was grasping his behind firmly, concealed as it was by a pair of tighty whities, and had been gracing his little testicles with my thumbs many a times.

Rolling him onto his back, he once again moved as if to conceal his stiffy. I gently assured him that there was no need for embarrassment, and jokingly pointed to my own visible hard-on inside my black trunks, and furthermore added that everything that was seen and transpired would stay between the two of us. Seemingly encouraged by that, he soon shut his eyes and started breathing deeply while I, as nicely as possible, caressed his little willy through the fabric of his underwear. Quite possibly, I had him as aroused as he had ever been.

Upon starting to lift up the edge of this last piece of clothing on him, and gently pull as if to remove it, he tensed up again and opened his eyes while shifting his feeble hands downwards as if to try and intervene. Another round of assurances and encouragement from me seemed to do the trick; I figured a large part of him wanted this to happen.

Having him lying there, submissively, waiting for me, was amazing. “Show me”, I urged. Not that it bothered me the slightest, but I reckoned that his relative smallness was one of the reasons behind his hesitation, and as such I complimented his now revealed nakedness earnestly. His thing was indeed modest, maybe two, or two and a half inches, tops. While pleasuring it in my hand, in which it could fit with ease, his pleasure was palpable. His breathing was labored, his body was twitching, and slight, silent moans of satisfaction echoed from his parted, delicate lips.

Mentioning how it was no more than fair that I got naked too, little Jonas nodded fervently as I had not stopped wanking his short and slim piece off in my hand, while stating my intention to become equally nude. During the short intermission, he opened his eyes which then fell on my boner as it was displayed for him in full sight where I sat, now naked, on my knees. His skinny legs ran straight underneath me.

My tip was wet with precum. Maybe he could see that, maybe not. As I continued pleasuring him with my right hand, he shut his eyes again. I started running my left hand over his torso. Caressing his teeny-tiny, pink nipples. Then his frail neck, and after that his minute ears. I stroke his cheek and subsequently moved my thumb across his narrowly parted lips.

I lost track of time, but after some minutes had passed, I became convinced that the toyboy had a dry orgasm. From the noise he made, to the way his eyes expanded and his petite body twitched, and also the way he pressed his prick upward seemingly as hard as he could. I noticed no bodily fluids from him, and he didn’t exactly go limp afterwards, but he must have climaxed. He appeared spent but happy at the same, as if very pleased. Maybe, from the looks he gave me now, he was a bit self-conscious and unsure of himself again.

Still sitting as I had been before, I started tugging on my own device. He looked on with what I discerned as interest, and didn’t look away. “Wanna feel it?”, I asked hopefully. With an acknowledging gesture of the head, he raised one of his diminutive hands towards it, but soon had both hands grasped around the shaft and mimicked what I had done as best he could. My foreskin was gliding easily on the precum I had produced. Having my own eyes flickering through the ecstasy of my pleasure, I had to suppress my own moans. Looking down on the splendid scene before me, I gathered it was somewhat arduous for him in that position however, and as such moved to take place beside him.

On what was implicitly my side of the mattress, I was now half-way sitting up, stacking pillows against the backside of the sofa bed. The back of my head was slightly grating against the wooden window sill, but considering the circumstances I wasn’t about to take issue with that. I did, however, move up even further so that I could rest the top of my head upon the window sill instead of bump against it. Putting my right arm across his very narrow shoulders, I encouraged the kid to come closer. While leaning his lightweight body against mine, he again started jacking me off, this time only with his right hand since his entire left arm was somewhat pinned between us.

Having guided him to focus on moving the skin back and forward over the tip of my erect limb, he started to diligently beat me off with a look of mingled concentration and fascination. My dick had seldom, if ever, seemed so big as it did now. I wasn’t eager to shoot my load up into my own face, as I feared I would, and thus, as the first stream of hot goo was loaded into the base of my manhood, I lent the wonderful boy a helping hand and angled it more inwards towards my torso. A river of semen appeared to come forth, and I had had to slow down Jonas’ now sticky little hand during my orgasm. He deserved roaring accolades and compliments, but whispered praise and many a words of approval had to suffice for the time being. Cleaning myself up required even more tissues than the night before, and with concerns of having one of the others noticing a smell of semen during the morrow, I stuffed these into a bag which I then rolled together and hid away in one of my suitcases. The last thing I did was to unlock the door again, like a ninja.

Friday, the day of midsummer in Sweden, had arrived when we woke up. The weather turned out to be better than the preceding days. There were only specks of thin, white clouds here and there. Jonas was thankfully very good at keeping our secret and acted as if everything was normal. I suppose that it helped that he wasn’t especially talkative, and that everyone else pretty much left him alone – as usual. No one seemed to want to intrude on his reading.

Midsummer is generally celebrated with family and friends, but as I had kept in touch with no one of my old friends, I would not be going anywhere. Neither would my parents come down to their cottage; they wanted to stay at home in Gothenburg, without doing anything fancy. However, Sandra and Eric had made last minute plans to visit a friend of Eric’s, about an hour’s drive away, for a late luncheon. They were to return in the late afternoon at which time we would all enjoy a good meal and refreshments at the combined pub and restaurant of the nearby campsite. Due to how high the expected turnout was, to which the scheduled entertainment from a touring band - singing popular hit songs from old golden days, both Swedish and English tunes - had added, those who organized the event had generously expanded upon their outdoor seating. We had already went by for a look and had made reservations for seats at a table.

Having, in good humor, relayed my own exciting plans of mowing the lawn, and testing out the pool during the time that Sandra and Eric were away, the latter added (in equally good fun), that I’d better not let his son drown if he unexpectedly decided to leave his iPad for a moment or two. As if superstitious about having jinxed himself, or rather his boy, by joking about such I’ll fortunes, he became more austere and added “No, but seriously…”. Amused, I gave him a solemn vow not to leave the boy unattended in the water, lest something dire happen.

The pair departed shortly after the sun had reached its zenith. Not remaining idle for long, I filled up the riding mower with gasoline, and was pleased with the ease with which it started. With the green grass on the limited front yard of the cottage trimmed, it was time to deal with the more spacious backyard. Cutting the area behind the house - which was largely secluded due to neighbors’ hedges as well as trees and natural vegetation - would probably be made more difficult by the pool, having to take care not to get too close or risk making a rupture in the plastic.

Getting a view of my young, new love interest lounging in the hammock as I was riding around the perimeter, I couldn’t help but to yearn for his taut body. Thus, I drove over to him and asked whether or not he would be interested in trying out how it was to drive the mower for a while. He was ready for that challenge. Moving back as far as I could on the seat, and spreading my legs wide, I made space for his little exterior in front of me. The set of earmuffs that I’d been wearing to cancel out the noise, I instead placed on the boy. Unfortunately, but understandably, they were a bit too big for him, even after being adjusted as much as possible. It had radio in them, and the radio channel I had them tuned into was (according to themselves) playing the most popular summer beats, not that I had any idea what that entailed. It was all rather generic to me. In any case, considering how we proceeded to unhurriedly cut the remaining grass on the slowest possible speed, the earmu



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