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From: Scat Boy <coproman69@hotmail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay.moderated
Subject: ST: "What Can Brown Do for You?" - Part 1 (M/b, oral, ws, mild scat)
Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2005 04:10:15 -0600
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===================

What Can Brown Do for You? - Part 1
by Coproman


I guess it was inevitable that I would end up working for United Parcel 
Service.  I've always admired those UPS uniforms because brown has always 
been my favorite color.  Most of my clothes are brown, my apartment is 
decorated in shades of brown, and I even prefer brown eggs.  But the brown I 
like best of all is the kind that comes out of little boys' butts.

That's right; I'm a pervert.  A scat freak and a pedophile.  I'm also brown. 
  I'm a six-foot, dark-brown scat freak/pedophile who happens to live in 
that internationally famous enclave of brown folks--Harlem, U.S.A., which is 
also where my delivery route happens to be.  I've managed to work out my day 
whereby I alternate between dropping things off for others and picking 
things up for myself, as I play toilet games with various shades of 
brown-skinned kids.

But Harlem is changing fast.  Today, as real estate developers deconstruct 
and reconstruct the area in their aggressive gentrification, Harlem has been 
getting lighter.  Take my route, for instance.  It used to be all black 
folk, most of whom lived in tenements; now it's almost half white, with most 
of the new residents living in spanking-new condos.

I wouldn't mind the change so much if it weren't shrinking my sexual base so 
rapidly.  Many of the boys I used to spend quality time with, boys I'd 
carefully primed, have moved away; and while cute little white boys are now 
answering the door in their place (and gradually getting to know me as a 
friendly face) I was, for a long time, apprehensive about approaching any of 
them because I'd never attempted to seduce a white kid before.  But I 
quickly learned that boys will be boys, no matter what color they happen to 
be, and the kid who taught me that valuable lesson hadn't even finished 
third grade.

His name was Parker, and I think I fell in love with him the very first time 
I saw him.  Eight years old, he had a head full of red hair--which covered 
the tops of his ears and fell in bangs across his forehead--along with red 
eyebrows and eyelashes, which accented his bright blue eyes.  Then there 
were the pouty red lips, the button nose, and that healthy splash of 
freckles across his cheeks.  Elsewhere, though, his skin was amazingly pale 
and so translucent in certain places, like his legs, that I could easily see 
his blue veins underneath it.  Whenever I had a package to deliver to his 
house, I always got so horny just thinking about seeing him that I had to 
strategically reposition my hardening dick under the elastic band of my 
briefs before getting out of the truck.

Parker, his mother, and his four-year-old brother Connor (who was a mini 
version of Parker) were one of the first families to move into the latest 
newly renovated apartment building on my route.  A single white woman and 
her two little boys.  People referred to them simply as "The Redheads," as 
if that were their last name.   Actually their last name was "O'Shea," and 
it seemed as if Ms. O'Shea--Bridget--must have furnished her whole apartment 
piece by piece through Internet orders because I found myself returning to 
her place with deliveries so often that she, the boys and I were soon on a 
first-name basis.

It took me a while to figure out the family's routine, and I was encouraged 
to see that it offered some possibilities.  It started when Bridget 
explained to me that she had called UPS and made arrangements for Parker to 
sign for whatever I delivered.  She felt he was mature enough to do that and 
whatever else needed to be done around the house before she got home from 
work.  This included picking up Connor from his preschool program, walking 
home with him, and fixing the two of them something to eat--all without the 
supervision of a babysitter.  She also mentioned how she'd told him never to 
buzz anyone in except me, and when I heard that I smiled to myself and 
thought how it was like telling the chickens to open the door to the coop 
only when the wolf came around.

So from about 3:15 until about 5:30, I figured, I could have Parker all to 
myself, if things worked out.  Even if I had nothing to deliver, I could 
still pretend that I did.  The main thing was to get inside that apartment 
any way I could, so I could be with the eight-year-old.  And I fondly recall 
the first time that happened.

That day I did in fact have a delivery for the O'Sheas.  As I drove up to 
and stopped in front of the apartment building, my heart was beating so hard 
I thought it would come crashing through my chest.  Gathering myself--and 
again making sure that my hard cock was secured in the waistband of my 
underwear--I tucked the package under my arm and made my way inside.  I rang 
the intercom and after several long, agonizing seconds, Parker answered.

"Who is it?"

"It's Damon, Parker; I have a package for your mom."

"Okay."

Right away I heard the buzzer.  I pushed the lobby door open and headed for 
the elevator.  On the way up I reviewed every step of my plan to lure Parker 
into my sexual trap.  As soon as I got off the elevator I spotted the cute 
eight-year-old standing in the open door of his apartment, and I couldn't 
help smiling because, as if anticipating my arrival, he was wearing a dark 
brown tee shirt, tan corduroy pants, and light brown house slippers.

"Hey, Park, how's it going?"

"Okay."

I sat the package on a table near the front door and began to enter the 
information into the electronic signature box.

"So how's Connor?" I asked, trying my best to make the question sound like 
idle conversation.

"He's sleeping.  He always takes a nap when we come home from school."

"I guess preschool can tire a guy out," I chuckled, after which I handed 
Parker the pen and held the signature box for him to sign.  He wrote slowly 
in script, carefully forming the loops and swirls of the letters in his 
first and last name.  It always turned out to be the most legible signature 
I got.  When he handed the pen back to me, I thanked him and started out the 
door but then stopped myself, turning back to face the boy again.

"Park, do you mind if I use the bathroom?  I've been drinking a lot of Evian 
[coincidentally, the same brand of bottled water his mom drank] and I've 
really gotta go."

"Sure," he said, and he pointed.  "It's over there."

"Thanks," I said, dashing into the bathroom.  I really DID have to pee, but 
instead of closing the door, I left it open.  Unzipping my brown shorts, I 
took a deep breath and forced myself to think about my ugly boss in order to 
get my super-hard dick to shrink enough for me to piss.  Once it started, 
though, it came out easily...and noisily, hitting the water so forcefully 
that I knew it would be clearly audible through the open door, hopefully 
attracting Parker's curiosity.

It did.  When I was about half-way done, I glanced over and was pleased to 
see Parker standing right outside, to the side of the doorway, quietly 
staring at me.  As I was finishing up, I slowly turned my head until I 
caught his gaze.  Surprisingly he didn't duck away; instead he met my stare 
with a smile, which compelled me to continue with my plan.

"Come here," I said to him, as the last of my piss squirted into the toilet.

At first he hesitated, but after I said, "It's okay," he drifted over until 
he was standing right next to me.  The little redhead seemed fascinated by 
my cock and the leftover drop of urine hanging from the piss slit; then he 
stared down into the bowl at the foamy golden contents of my bladder.

"Wanna see something cool?" I asked, shaking my dick to fling that last drop 
of piss into the toilet.

Parker nodded.

"Okay, but you've got to promise not to tell your mom, okay?  'Cause I'll 
get in trouble."

"Okay.  I won't tell," Parker said.  "Whatcha gonna do?"

"You'll see.  But first, here," I said, sticking my palm under his chin.  
"Spit in my hand."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Without questioning me any further, the eight-year-old leaned over and began 
to drool into my hand.  I was surprised by the amount of spit the boy was 
able to produce at the drop of a hat; he had a very juicy mouth.

"Now watch," I said, and I carefully brought my spit-filled palm down to my 
crotch, grabbed my dick, and began to stroke it.  As my fingers moved back 
and forth over my lengthening rod, it made a sticky, squelching sound.  
Parker seemed to be delighted by what I was doing, for his blue eyes were 
stretched wide open as he watched me.

"Wow!  Your penis is getting so BIG!" he said.

"Yeah," I said, "and after a while it's gonna do something special.  But I 
need your help."

"How?"

With my left hand, I reached into my fly and carefully pulled my balls 
through the opening.

"Wow!  Your testercals are big, too!" Parker exclaimed.

Smiling at his butchered pronunciation, I said, "If you squeeze my balls, 
it'll make my penis get harder even faster.  Wanna try that?"

Without hesitating the boy reached over and grabbed both of my balls in his 
small hand.

"Not too hard," I said, wincing at his heavy touch.  "Gently.  Like it's an 
egg that might break."

Parker was a quick study and was soon handling my nuts like a pro, squeezing 
them with just the right amount of pressure, and the added stimulation, 
along with the sight of his small white hand on my big black balls, was so 
much of a turn-on that I found myself quickly double-clutching my cock.

"Okay, Park," I groaned, "now watch."  And after quickly tugging at my dick 
a few times more, I gasped then let out an "Nnnnnngghh!!"

Half a second later, a stream of come shot out of my dick, surprising the 
eight-year-old so much that he snatched his hand off my nuts and just stood 
there with his mouth open.

"Wow!  What IS that stuff?!" Parker asked, dumbfounded.

I couldn't answer him because I was too busy emptying my balls not only into 
the toilet but all over the bowl, the underside of the raised seat, and the 
tank top.  Then I turned toward Parker, and before he could avoid it, a glob 
of come landed right on top of his red head.

"That's it," I panted, "I'm done.  So what'd you think?"

"Wow!  That was SO cool!  But what is it?"

"Before I tell you, will you do me a favor?"

Without any further information about what that favor might be, Parker 
nodded enthusiastically.

"See that?" I asked, pointing to the thick white drop of semen clinging to 
my piss slit.  "I want you to lick it off for me."

With a look of uncertainty, Parker shifted his gaze back and forth a few 
times from my face to my sperm-leaking dick.  Then he surprised me by 
leaning forward and slipping my whole cockhead into his mouth.  Staring up 
at me, he repeatedly flicked the tip of his tongue over my urethra before 
pulling back and smacking his lips.

"Shit, Parker, that was great!" I said, and the boy beamed from my 
compliment. "So how'd it taste?"

"Sorta like snot," he said.

"And that didn't bother you?"

"No. 'Cause when I was little, I used to eat my own snot sometimes," he 
snickered.

Now I was the one frowning, but with a little smile buried in it, so Parker 
would know that I wasn't serious.

"Well," I said, "that's okay.  Because I've done ever nastier things than 
that.  As a matter of fact, I still do, and I'd like to do some of those 
things with you.  Would you like that?"

"Yeah," he said, "but you still didn't tell me what that stuff was."

"Oh--it's called 'sperm' or sometimes just 'come,' and when you get a little 
older, whenever you think about doing nasty things with a boy or a girl and 
pull on your hard dick for a while, that same stuff'll shoot out of yours 
too."

Parker's eyes lit up.  "It will?"

"Yeah, absolutely," I assured him.  "But right now, I want you to do 
something else for me."

"What?"

"Well...you think YOU might have to pee anytime soon?"

Looking quizzically at me the boy said, "Yeah.  I was gonna go as soon as 
you left."

"Well, instead of waiting, I want you to go now...but I want you to do it in 
a special place."

"Where?"

Smiling at him, I proceeded to open my mouth and point inside it.

The eight-year-old gasped, his mouth and eyes stretched open to the max as 
he stared at me.  Then his expression changed as though, on second thought, 
he wasn't quite sure what my gesture meant.

"You mean, you want me to PEE in your MOUTH?"

"Right," I said, nodding.  "You think you can do that for me?"

"I don't know," he said.  "I think it might be too hard for me to go, right 
now."

For a moment I was confused because he seemed to be contradicting himself.  
Then I realized that I was misinterpreting "hard" as "difficult" and that 
Parker meant "hard" LITERALLY--that he had a boner and didn't think he could 
piss out of it.  That's when I smiled.

"Well, I'm gonna help you out with that, little man," I said, stroking his 
hair while simultaneously massaging that blob of come into his scalp.  "But 
first I wanna see something.  Lift up your arms."

Parker followed my instructions and didn't seem surprised when I began to 
take his tee shirt off, struggling a little to pull it over his head.  When 
I finally got it off, I took some time to admire the boy's bare torso.  
Other than a sprinkling of freckles on his shoulders, it was milky white, 
which made the two tiny pink nipples on his chest stand out boldly.  He was 
a bit skinny, but this didn't bother me at all as I squatted in front of him 
and began to caress his smooth, tight skin.  The boy was a little tense as I 
did this, but I managed to relax him when, after asking him to raise his 
arms again, I stuck my nose in each of his hairless armpits and began to 
quick-sniff them as if I were a dog, relishing their sweaty aroma as the 
eight-year-old giggled away, saying how it tickled.

Moving along, I turned my attention to Parker's lower half, unbuttoning and 
unzipping his corduroys and pulling them down to his ankles.  Again I took a 
few moments to just gaze at him standing there, looking so cute in his 
"tighty-whiteys."  Finally, after taking a deep breath, I grasped the 
elastic band of his briefs, pulling them away from his waist, and began to 
inch them down, taking special care not to catch his penis as I lowered them 
off his hips and down his thighs.

With Parker's pants and underwear both bunched up atop his slippers, I sat 
back and drank in his nakedness from top to bottom, ultimately focusing on 
his genitals.  His prick, which pointed at me from his hairless crotch like 
a pale middle finger, was about three inches long, topped off by a small red 
helmet, and at its base was a tight red walnut-sized pouch.

"Wow, that's nice," I said.  "Now let me see your butt."

With a sheepish smile, the boy shuffled around, trying not to trip over his 
pants and drawers as he turned.  Once he was facing away from me, he bent 
over, holding his knees for support, giving me a nice full view of his 
little white ass.

"Wow," I said again, as I examined the boy's butt, running my fingers over 
its flawless surface.  "That's nice too.  Can you bend over a little more?"

When he did, I got my first glimpse of his asshole, and I couldn't resist 
spreading it open to get a look inside.  As soon as I did, my heart began to 
beat faster than ever because I could both see and smell the residue of 
Parker's last bowel movement, which had apparently not been that long ago.

"So tell me, Park," I said, trying my best to stay cool as I covertly 
sniffed at the tiny brown smears in his anus.  "When was the last time you 
did number two?"

"Today, after I got home from school," he hesitantly replied.  "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know.  I just wanted to know if I could--" but instead of 
finishing my sentence I just leaned in and stuck my tongue up the boy's ass.

"Ooh!" he gasped, so startled that he stumbled forward; but my hold on his 
ass let me move with him, preventing him from falling and allowing me to 
keep my tongue buried in his anus.

"Mmmmmm!  Mmmmmmm!" I moaned, as I began to lick away the remnants of the 
little redhead's shit; and while the boy remained dead silent as I slurped 
his shithole, I could tell by his labored breathing and the way he pressed 
his ass against my face that he was indeed deriving pleasure from the booty 
lick.

Just as I was finishing up on Parker, he was apparently feeling very 
relaxed, because the moment I pulled my tongue out of him, he farted right 
in my face, snickering as his gas sputtered straight into my nostrils.  Even 
though it smelled like rotten eggs, I still found myself sniffing it up, 
actually admiring the fact that such a cute little boy was able to produce 
such a hideously reeking fart.  After I was done smelling it, I stuck my 
tongue right back in his asshole, almost as if I were trying to lick out the 
rest of that awful scent.  When I finally pulled my tongue out of him, the 
eight-year-old immediately turned around to face me again.

"So how'd you like it when I farted in your face, Damon?" he asked, still 
laughing.

"Whew!" I said, frowning and fanning the air.  "That was one of those killer 
farts.  I have to admit, though, you got me good."  I then looked at 
Parker's erection again and saw that it was even harder than before, 
pointing further skyward.  "But we still have to take care of this little 
fellow here, so you can give me what I asked for," I said, and pursing my 
lips, I reached behind Parker, clutched his ass cheeks and pulled him 
forward, allowing his entire prick to slip right into my mouth.

"Ooh!" the boy again gasped, and he instinctively reached out and grabbed my 
head.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the heady odor of the 
youngster's sweaty pubic area, and began to wash his cocklet with my tongue, 
causing him to moan.  Whenever I hit a certain spot near the knob, his whole 
body would flinch and he would utter a sharp gasp.

After a while I loosened my grip on Parker's ass just to see if he would do 
something else instinctively.  Sure enough the eight-year-old began to buck 
his hips, fucking his weiner in and out of my mouth and bouncing his balls 
off my chin.  As he went at me I could feel his glutes flexing in my hands 
and hear him breathing a little more heavily with every stroke.

A few minutes later, Parker's whole body suddenly jerked and, grabbing my 
hair with both hands, he plunged his pecker all the way in my mouth and lay 
trembling against my face.  At the same time, I edged one of my fingers off 
his ass and poked it about an inch deep into his anus.

"Aah, Aah, Aah!" the little redhead moaned, and I could feel his asshole 
contracting around my finger while his stiffy throbbed between my lips.  
Unfortunately nothing spurted into my mouth, but I wasn't all that 
disappointed, because by then my finger had sunk all the way into his poop 
chute, and I was thoroughly enjoying the incredible heat and tightness of 
him back there as I continued to suck him.

As the tension drained out of Parker's body and his sexual urges died down, 
I wondered what his post-climax reaction would be.  I hoped it wasn't a 
feeling of guilt or embarrassment because the last thing I wanted was for 
him to pull away from me and try to put his clothes back on.  So you can 
imagine how delighted I was when the boy stayed right where he was and began 
not only to play with my hair (whose kinky texture seemed to fascinate him) 
but also deliberately clutch at my invading finger with his sphincter as his 
penis rapidly shrank in my mouth.  After I responded by wiggling that finger 
in his butt, which made him giggle, I slowly withdrew it while easing my 
lips off his weiner.  When we were disconnected, I sniffed my shit-stained 
finger then looked up at the little redhead and smiled.

"That was really nice, Park.  You did a good job.  So...think you can go for 
me now?"

Still holding on to my head, he nodded.

"Good.  I'm just gonna hold the tip between my lips, and whenever you feel 
it coming, just let it flow, okay?"

Again he nodded.

Carefully retrieving the boy's softening weiner with my mouth, I held it 
snugly between my lips, cupped his ass again, closed my eyes, and waited.  
For nearly a minute there was nothing, and I began to think that he had 
either lost the urge to go or had confused it with the urge to come and 
never really needed to go in the first place.  But then I felt something 
warm squirt on my tongue.  This was followed by another squirt and then a 
warm trickle, which quickly increased to a gentle flow.  In no time I found 
myself swallowing a steady stream of boy-piss.

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" I hummed, savoring the taste of Parker's pee.  A part of me 
wondered what the eight-year-old was thinking as he stood there pissing in 
my mouth.  He certainly understood that what we were doing was something 
people didn't normally do with each other.  I was pretty sure that whatever 
he'd heard about sex didn't include one person going to the bathroom in 
another person's mouth.  On the other hand, maybe he was thinking that one 
of the special ways young black men played with little white boys was by 
drinking their piss.  Whatever was going on in Parker's head, I sensed that 
he wasn't judging me and that, like most little boys I'd encountered, he was 
curious and excited about doing such a naughty grown-up thing with such a 
naughty grown-up.

In less than a minute, the delivery of Parker's urine from his bladder to my 
stomach was completed, as I drank the last drops of pee that dribbled into 
my mouth.  Afterwards, with the boy's penis still between my lips, I burped, 
and the third-grader shuddered and giggled from the burst of hot breath on 
his dink.

When I released Parker and looked up at him, I was met by an expression that 
reflected both satisfaction and confusion.  To reassure him, I smiled, 
winked and whispered, "It's okay, little man; we're just having a little 
fun, right?"

Forcing a smile, he nodded.  I responded by winking at him again then 
gingerly taking the his now-limp noodle between my thumb and forefinger and 
giving it a kiss right on the piss-wet tip.  Then I helped the little 
redhead put his tee shirt back on and pulled up his underwear and pants, 
making sure the latter were securely zipped and buttoned.  After that I tore 
off a wad of toilet paper, wiped my drying semen off all the surfaces it had 
managed to find its way onto when I'd jacked off, and tossed the paper into 
the toilet bowl, which was still filled with my piss.  I nodded to Parker 
and he pressed the lever. After we both watched everything go swirling down, 
we walked back into the living room.

"I hate to leave, Park, but I still have a bunch of packages to deliver."

Parker poked his lip out.  "But I wanna play nasty some more," he whined.  
"I like doing that."

Again I smiled at him.  "Tell you what.  I'll come back tomorrow, and we'll 
play some new nasty games then, okay?"

"You PROMISE?"

"Yes, I promise.  But only if YOU promise to do ME one more big favor."

"What?"

Stooping down in front of him, I looked him straight in the eye and said, 
"When you get home from school tomorrow, try to hold off doing number two 
until I get here, okay?"

Parker was no dummy.  It only took him about half a second to put two and 
two together, and I watched as his mouth and eyes stretched open and this 
look of absolute incredulity came over his face.  Then, just as quickly, his 
expression morphed into a frown, his face squinching up as if he could both 
picture and smell what I was suggesting.

"You mean, you're gonna...you're gonna...like..."

"Listen, right now I've gotta go," I said, smiling at his shock and disgust 
as I stood up, "but I'll give you all the details when I see you tomorrow, 
okay?  Thanks."

Kissing the still stunned boy on the forehead, I unlocked front door and 
slipped out, closing it behind me and waiting to make sure I heard him 
relock it before making my way to the elevator.

Yes, sir, I said to myself as I started up the UPS truck and took off to 
make my next delivery, this changing face of Harlem might not be such a bad 
thing after all.


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