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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.


By anonymous.a
I resisted getting a smart phone until, as the Borg might say, “Resistance is futile.”

I’m not a Luddite. I don’t fear the future, and I’m not afraid to learn new technologies. Having worked in graphic arts all of my professional life I’ve had to embrace all things digital, from the actual production of content to its distribution, and even communication with my coworkers and clients. So it’s not as if I’m a technophobe.

I think it’s fair to say I resent the intrusion a smart phone represents. I don’t want to spend my idle time working for the company, browsing through web garbage, taking absurd pictures, and responding to banal text messages. I work my tail end off, when the day is over I want to relax, have a beer, read a book, or just sit on my front porch and watch the world go by. I don’t want to spend it mesmerized by another glowing screen.

But at one point my employer insisted I get a smart phone so I could perform certain aspects of my job while mobile. I was miffed to be sure. My phone bill doubled and now I had this digital rat following me everywhere I went, beeping at me with notifications. When the weather alert went off one morning as I was driving to work, I nearly ran off the road. Eventually I got used to it.

I initially tried the Samsung Galaxy but that phone didn’t like my carrier. I switched carriers and got an iPhone. I had used a company-supplied iPhone in the past, so the learning curve wasn’t steep.

That is until the damn thing broke.

“Broke” is an exaggeration. One day it simply stopped backing up my contacts to the cloud. I didn’t care about the photos or videos, but I did want that contact database saved, especially after all the work I’d done putting them in the phone.

I tried everything I could think of to fix the stupid thing, and when I failed I caved and called Apple tech support. I wish I’d done that right from the get-go.

After a short wait, during which I endured loud, shrieky “popular” music, I was greeted by Brandon, who was very polite and seemed eager to help me resolve this cloud problem. In fact, the longer Brandon spoke, the more intrigued I became. I had never given much thought to the notion that the sound of a man’s voice could make a difference in my level of attraction to him, but Brandon had raised the issue. His voice was handsomely boyish – not in the child sense of the word at all. I suppose you could describe it as wholesome and maybe a bit callow, as if he still had some maturing to do.

He walked me through the process of disabling and then re-enabling the cloud settings on my phone, and then told me how to update to the cloud manually. We were on the call about 10 minutes and when we finished, the phone had backed up to the cloud and everything was working perfectly.

And I had a hard-on.

I thanked him and then said, “You have a voice for radio. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

He laughed and said, “A couple of people have told me I should do commercials, but I’d be too nervous. Probably say something I wish I hadn’t.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. And since I would likely never hear from or see Brandon again, I decided to risk a flirtation.

“Well if you look as good as you sound, I think I’d like to marry you.”

That elicited an even heartier laugh. He didn’t comment on my “proposal” but he did thank me, and with that we ended the call.

An hour or so later I received an email message from Apple. It was one of those questionnaires where they ask you to rate your experience, and evaluate the person who had helped you. Of course I gave Brandon all A’s. In the comment box I complimented his patience and willingness to help, and repeated my joking offer to marry him if he looked as good as he sounded, throwing in my desire to see a photo of him. I clicked the “submit” button, chuckled to myself and closed my in-box.

I then went about my day, happy that my phone had been restored to functionality. I eventually forgot all about Brandon, until early that evening when I plopped down to watch me some Netflix. I actually enjoy watching movies on my PC. I don’t have to hold anything, the screen is big and close to my face, and the sound is terrific. The only drawback? I often eat while I’m watching, and my keyboard looks like the bottom of a garbage can.

I checked email before heading into Netlfix and spotted a message that stood out from all the twitter and Facebook notifications. I opened it and gasped. Attached was a photo of a hot-looking guy, along with a Skype account number. Was that Brandon? If so he was gorgeous. I have different tastes in men, depending on my mood for the day, and this guy definitely fit my “fresh-faced twink” category. He looked almost exactly like that kid who played Dez on the old Disney Channel show “Austin and Ally.” His feathered red hair hung over his forehead, giving way to a wide, cheerful face and a dazzling smile, tapering into a strong chin. Wow. I was smitten.

I cranked up Skype and typed in the account number. When the screen resolved, it was he, my pseudo-Dez. He gave me a thousand-watt smile and said, “Hi, I’m Brandon. Who’s this?”

“I’m from Cloud 9,” I joked, and he laughed. “Oh yeah, you’re the fellow whose phone wouldn’t back up to the cloud. I hope it’s still working OK.”

I told him it was, but now I had a different problem. His smile dimmed to a concerned frown.

“I’m in love,” I quickly added, “with the man who fixed my phone. He’s every bit as luscious as his voice.”

His face lit up and he gave me a goofy grin. “You are way too nice!” he gushed. “I wish you could talk to my boss. Maybe she’d give me a raise!”

“Happy to do it,” I told him. “Now, I need to know everything about you.”

So we commenced chatting. I learned his name really was Brandon, and he lived near Cuppertino, Calif., which was a shame because I live half a continent away in the Southeast. He was 23 years old and working on his master’s degree in computer science. The tech support job was a way to help pay the bills as he was living on limited student loans.

I tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, bringing up the question of his sexual orientation. He didn’t commit to one way or another and instead, tried to tease his way out of not answering. Having exhausted all my wiles, I took a more direct approach.

“Brandon, can I see you with your shirt off?”

I was afraid he might sever the connection, but he seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then quickly yanked off the DIY Network T-shirt and adjusted the webcam so that it showed his chest all the way down to his shorts. His skin was pale, which I suppose is to be expected for somebody who is going to school and working at the same time. He didn’t have the overbuilt physique of a gym rat, but he wasn’t fat, either. You could see the hint of a six-pack, and his waist narrowed girlishly, divided vertically by a noticeable treasure trail from his navel to points south. I was hopeful I’d get to see those points south.

“You’re a hot boy, Brandon. You know that?”

He smiled bashfully, and then a note of impishness crept into that smile. He said in a low, husky voice, “Would you like to see more?”

“Are you kidding me?” I blurted. “I would LOVE to see more.”

He stood up and, almost shyly, hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts and slid them down. He was not wearing underwear.

And let me tell you: It was glorious.

There, hanging between his moon-white thighs, was a long, slender dick, springing from a big bush of ginger pubes and topped with a champagne cork of a cap. I’ve had dicks like that in my ass and I prefer them to some of the thick clubs I’ve come across. They don’t stretch your rectum to painful proportions, yet you still get that satisfied feel of penetration. He reached down and took that magic wand in his hand and began stroking it, revealing a set of huge, egg-shaped balls suspended loosely in a scrotal pouch that was so big you almost expected to see drawstrings.

“I don’t know why but I’ve been horny all day,” he purred in that sexy radio voice. “Maybe it’s your doing.”

I fished out my dick, which was a struggle because it had already gone full mast. My shorts and underwear pulled painfully at my pubes, but I got it out and took it in hand because the urge to stroke was now rampant in me.

He sat down in his chair and continued stroking his cock, which was now adding some length due to its increasing rigidity. He spread his legs so I could see those massive testicles nestled in the V of his thighs. I swear, I could almost smell the musk coming off those balls.

“Let me get into a more comfortable position,” he whispered, and with that, he did the thing that guys online sometimes do that drives me absolutely wild with lust. He slid a little lower into his chair and raised his feet, propping them on the desk either side of the cam. Now not only was his crotch visible but the crack of his ass. And if I used my imagination I could almost see his hole, nested amid a thatch of butt hair.

That ache you get when you’re crazed with sexual need – on a scale of 1 to 10 mine was about 15. I wished to God I could have thrust my head through the computer screen and plowed my lapping lips into that butt crack, then slurp those musky balls and cram that cock down my throat. At this rate I would not last another 30 second – I needed to spew. Right, now!

But Brandon had something else in store for me. My heart nearly stopped when I saw it.

He spread his legs even wider, so I actually could see his brown cherry, and then he licked the middle finger of his left hand, fingered his asshole a moment, then slid it all the way in. His eyes closed and he began jerking his cock faster and faster, as that finger plunged into his fun hole faster and faster, twisting this way and that, no doubt tickling his happy button, causing his balls to draw up against his body as he prepared to empty them all over his chest. I couldn’t take it any longer. I threw myself into the orgasm and poured out spurt after spurt of thick, creamy cum. At the same time Brandon moaned and a thick rope of cum shot out of his cock, spreading a slippery trail across his skinny chest. More blasts of sperm erupted as he finger continued to plunge into and out of his anus. He arched his back and yet another blast of cum spurted. It was such a turn-on that for the first time in my life, I had another orgasm right on top of the previous. This time the cum was thin and watery. I shot it into my hand, where it mixed with the pearly spew of just a few moments ago.

He held that position for another 30 seconds or so. And then his eyes opened and he lowered his feet, pulling his finger out of his ass. His chest was covered in jizz, which reflected wetly in the glow of his monitor. He waved his finger under his nose and it wrinkled.

“Whew! I’ve got to go wash off that stinky little fella,” he said.

“Wait, Brandon – ” but it was too late. The connection went dark before I could say another word.

I’ve called up his account a couple of times since, but he’s never been on. I think the kids these days don’t do PCs – they’re too mesmerized by their mobile phones. But he hasn’t answered any of my emails either, which suggests this was a one-time show, maybe because my flattery had gotten him so horny.

Oh well. Good thing for webcam capture software. I can watch Brandon any time I like.

See? I’m not a technophobe.

Check out Part 1 of my erotic novel “One Day in the Life of Josh” at Amazon. It’s only 99 cents, but I guarantee you’ll get more than a dollar’s worth of hot action. Follow this link:

I’ve collected all my Nifty daddy-son stories into a single volume, “Daddy’s Boys,” on Kindle. Take a look at it here:

Let’s hook up on twitter. I’m at @anonymous_sexie . Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone.

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