Karate Master By Tom Cup
Karate Master by Tom Cup
Copyright 2001 – 2004 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816
This is a fictional story involving youth/youth and adult/youth sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This story is part of the Tom Cup Short Story Galley
To support this, and other stories by Tom Cup, visit: http://www.tomcup.com
By Tom Cup
“Why do I have to go?” I asked mom for the fiftieth time. This time she didn’t answer. I knew of course the reasons she would give: I was always moping around the house; I needed a male role model since my father wasn’t around, and (the every so convincing) it would be good for me. I wanted mom to admit that the real reason she wanted me to take karate was that she, like myself, was beginning to suspect that I might be gay.
I wouldn’t have used those words exactly, I don’t think mom would have either, but it was clear that I was… different from the other boys my age. I wasn’t weak, sickly or effeminate but I didn’t like gym class or sporting venues. Mainly, I think looking back, because too many times you wound up getting undressed in front of the guys, wrestling or some over manly activity that I would respond to in an unmanly manner.
I knew that strange feelings ran through my body when I saw nude guys or when a guy I fancied touched me. At some point, I decided to avoid those kinds of situations. I turned my attention to things less arousing: reading, model car building, helping mom with chores around the house or grocery shopping as we were at the moment of the present conversation.
“I really don’t want to go mom,” I began as my eyes caught a couple of kids from school coming my way. The two boys greeted me as they passed. I hid partially behind mom, mumbling greetings back, shyly watching their asses as they walked away shaking their heads at my inability to function socially.
“That’s why,” mom answered flatly turning to face me, “You’re thirteen years old and so shy you find it hard to talk to people you already know. It’ll give you confidence.”
After my sorry display of the social graces, I knew the argument was over. We went silently through the checkout, loaded the car, and headed home. I was to meet with Master San for my first lesson in a half hour.
Master San was our next-door neighbor. He’d moved in three months earlier. He was pleasant and kept pretty much to himself. He first peaked mom’s interest when he planted a Japanese style garden in his front yard. Everyone on the block started taking a new interest in his or her own yard. Next, he was digging a hole for a koi pond in his backyard. It was too much for mom to bear. She had to visit for a chat, with me in tow because I didn’t want to be left out.
Master San was about fifty, a bit stocky but not fat, graying hair, dancing blue eyes, and golden suntanned skin. He welcomed us eagerly, put on water for tea, and escorted us through the house to the back for a view of his progress on the pond. He introduced himself as Peter, explaining that when he was a boy, he lost both his parents in a car accident; a friend of the family, Dr. San, raised him. When the old man died, Peter changed his name in honor of the man that loved him more than a father.
Mom smiled at the story and ruffled my hair. I knew she was hinting that Peter and I had something in common because my dad died in an accident when I was three. I did my best to personify the essence of boredom.
As I walked through the house, I was struck by how bare it looked. I soon realized the house wasn’t bare. The placements of the items were such that the house had a very open feel. I liked it and could feel myself relax in the atmosphere.
The pond was already filled with water. Peter already had the water lilies in place and many of the plants he wanted along the edge. Mom and he talked about this plant, shrub, or tree as I walked around the yard. There were still patches, here and there, where you could see the conventional landscaping of the former owner. It was obvious that these scars on Peter’s masterpiece would soon disappear.
I found myself wondering back through the house. I came to a mantle that held two Japanese swords. In the center of the display there was a photograph of an older Japanese man with his hand on the shoulder of a young Caucasian boy. They were both dressed in kimonos and Japanese skirt pants, which I would learn was called a hakama.
I guessed that the man was Dr. San and the boy was Peter. It took me awhile to figure out what I liked so much about the picture. Then suddenly I realized that it wasn’t as formal a picture as I first thought. Peter and Dr. San were leaning slightly toward one another and Peter’s hand was gently…caressing? No. It’s hard to explain what the hand, near the older man’s right thigh, was doing but I knew that the placement of that hand was an act of love.
“You like them?” Peter’s voice caught me by surprise.
“Yes,” I answered quickly looking up at the swords, “Are they sharp?”
“Mmm,” he affirmed, “Very.”
“Cool.” What else could I say?
The water for the tea was ready. Peter treated us to real Japanese green tea and pastries. The tea was really bitter but the pastries sweet. With practice, I learned to savor both tastes separately and at the same time. I was enjoying my newly found skill when I realized that the conversation had turned away from horticulture and on to me. Mom and Peter were staring at me like they were expecting me to answer a question.
“What?” I said in self-defense.
“Mmm,” answered Peter and I felt crushed.
“Peter is an expert in karate,” Mom explained, “Andy, weren’t you listening?”
“I was thinking,” I responded regaining some of my dignity.
“A very good quality,” Peter smiled. I felt vindicated but blushed shyly.
“Then it’s settled,” Mom beamed, “You can help Mr. San finish his garden and he’ll teach you Karate.
Helping with the garden I didn’t mind at all. I would have agreed to do that no matter what. But the Karate thing, I just didn’t want to do. I quizzed mom, after we left, over and over trying to find out when the conversation turned to me taking Karate. All she really ever said was, “We were just talking.”
Peter dropped by the next day. He gave me a Gi: a Karate uniform consisting of pants, jacket, and belt. When I said, Thank you, Peter,” he bowed slightly and said, “You are welcome but you should never address me by my first name. It is disrespectful to address your master in that way. See you tomorrow evening.” I nodded and decided, at that moment, to talk mom into getting me out of taking the lessons.
When Peter, Master San, opened the door he was already in his Karate uniform. Mine was still in the bag he dropped off to me the day before. He bowed slightly at the door. I waited for him to invite me in. He bowed again and I half-heartedly repeated the movement. He stepped aside and let me enter.
Once inside he took me to the room with the swords. He bowed again and I repeated the movement. He stared at the bag at my side.
“I didn’t know how to put it on,” I explained truthfully. I also didn’t want to be seen in public wearing the thing even if I was only going next door, but I left that part out of my explanations, “And I think you gave me the wrong one. The belt is black.”
Peter smiled, “It is not a rank insignia. It is to secure your jacket.” He reached out his hands and I handed him the bag. We sat on the floor together as he removed the items. I watched the gracefulness of his movement. The “V” cut of the closed gi top he was wearing exposed enough of his chest that I knew I had been correct in thinking that he wasn’t fat. I began to feel my cock stir in my pants.
“Here,” he said holding up the gi pants, “This is the front. Stand and put them on.”
I was suddenly frightened and embarrassed. The adrenalin rushed in me – knowing I was getting sexually arouse mixed with images of taking my pants down in front of this man and of him noticing my hard-on – I was turned on and frightened by the prospect.
Peter noticed my struggle and said, “We are both men. What happens here – remains between us.”
I nodded and stood. I removed my shoes and then undid my belt, unzipped my pants, slid them down my thighs and step out of them one leg at a time. I meant to turn around, show my shyness and my modesty, but somehow I wasn’t feeling embarrassed about allowing Peter to see me.
He held the gi pants out to me. I think I was supposed to take them and put them on myself but instead I placed my hands on Master San’s shoulders and stepped into the pants. I was completely hard. My cock made a tent in my underpants revealing my excitement. Peter took a moment to admire me. He ran a hand over my brief covered hip and down my thigh before sliding the pants over my ass. He then showed me how to tie them in front.
None of it felt awkward and I removed my shirt as soon as I was told. The uniform added to my erotic state. When you wear a western shirt and pants, you feel concealed, somehow distant from your body. At least that’s how I feel. Wearing the Japanese uniform, however, I felt completely different. My body felt free. I could move like I wanted without restraint.
We started by stretching. Master San would direct me, teaching me by example, sometimes having to physically touch me. I was trying to focus on the lesson, (I suddenly wanted him to like me), but each time he touched me a flash of pleasure would run through my body like electricity.
“You’re not listening,” I suddenly heard him say.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked and I began to blush. “Ahhhh,” he said smiling knowingly, “You are having trouble dealing with your feelings?”
“Yes,” I whispered nodding.
“The martial arts are not only about fighting and self-defense. It’s about learning how to deal with the struggles of life. I can help you through this, if you like,” he finished.
“Are you sure?” He asked to further explain, “It will mean you will be my disciple. You will do everything I tell you. In return, I will teach you everything I know about life.”
“Yes,” I answered, “I understand.”
“Stand up,” he ordered, “Remove your gi bottoms and underwear.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t hurry. I simply did as I was told. I stood in front of him, naked from the waist down with the tip of my hard penis touching the front of the stiff oriental gi top. Peter lifted the front of the top and examined me. He looked up into my eyes and told me to lie on the floor. I did as I was told.
He folded the gi top away from my cock. I felt his thumb and two fingers begin to massage my stiff member. I took a deep breath.
“Breathe slow,” Peter instructed, “In through your nose and out through your mouth. Force the air down, into your belly.”
I tried. I focused on breathing like I was instructed. The feeling in my cock continued to grow but I didn’t feel like I was going to lose it immediately anymore.
“Good,” Master San said bending over me and taking me into his mouth.
“Oh God, Oh God,” I began to pant franticly at first. I was breathing rapidly through my mouth like some pregnant lady in a documentary. I involuntarily gulped a larger amount of air and tried to exhale slowly. On my next intake, I forced myself to breath through my nose. Slowly I regained some control but I knew no amount of breathing was going to stop what was coming.
“Good,” Master San said again releasing my cock, “That was a very good start. You show excellent promise.”
“Please,” I whispered from somewhere within the mist of ecstasy.
He lifted my legs over my head and told me to relax. I felt his mouth on my anus, followed but his tongue pushing its way in.
“A martial artist must be relaxed and flexible,” He instructed.
I continued to breath and focused on relaxing my body. I began to feel his tongue gaining easier access to my inner regions. The muscles in my legs relaxed. Nothing was left but the pleasure of the Master’s tongue. My natural flexibility took over and I opened myself to him, enjoying having his tongue darting in and out of me.
“Good,” he said again letting my legs fall. My cock was jumping in small circles and leaking pre-cum. “Shall we finish your first lesson?”
“Yes, please what?”
“Yes, please master.”
“We must be balanced in our approach,” he said as he bowed and took my cock in his mouth. Two fingers of his right hand found my anus opening and slid in. I breathed in deeply and allowed the muscles to relax. He probed my ass, stretching it and pumping it, while his mouth and tongue washed over my cock. A flame ignited in my loins. My entire body seemed to be lifted from the ground as he stabbed my accepting hole while sheaving and unsheaving my cock in the hot wetness of his mouth.
His fingers pushed deeper into me. I grunted. Again he pushed. My cock became full with hardness. It was alive with the feeling of his swirling tongue. He pushed his fingers again into me and I yelled for release. My ass clamped on his fingers, refusing to let them go. My hips thrust upward forcing as much of me into his mouth as possible. My cock began to twitch and pump cum out of me, and into my Master, each time my ass contracted upon the fingers buried in my ass.
Mom asked how the first lesson went. I told her that the martial arts were more than fighting and self-defense; that they were a way of life. I told her that I had learned to breath properly, to be relaxed and flexible, and to maintain balance. She was really amazed that Master San could teach me so much in just one lesson. I admitted I was wrong for not wanting to go.
“Well,” she said ruffling my hair, “If he can teach you that much in one lesson, I wonder what you’ll learn in the second lesson.”
So did I. I couldn’t wait!
“Karate Master” is part of the Tom Cup Short Story Galley
All Rights Reserved
To support this, and other stories by Tom Cup, visit: http://www.tomcup.com
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