Twink Scouts of America Ch. 01

Chapter 1: The Coach and the Cookie Caller

???? Disclaimer & Content Warning ????

This is a work of fiction intended for adults (18+ only). All characters depicted are 18 years of age or older, and all interactions are fully consensual. The Twink Scouts of America is a fictional entity, not affiliated with any real organization.

This collection explores explicit gay and trans erotica, featuring young twinks (18+) and straight Daddies navigating power, pleasure, and forbidden desires. Expect themes of age gaps, dominance & submission, and the irresistible pull of experience meeting innocence--all wrapped in the safety of fiction.

If you're under 18 or uncomfortable with steamy, uninhibited queer storytelling, this isn't for you. Otherwise... enjoy the ride. ????

The cul-de-sac buzzed with suburban hum--lawnmowers, sprinklers, kids on bikes--but Dave's house stood quiet, a two-story brick number with a manicured lawn and a basketball hoop over the garage. At 45, Dave was solid--broad shoulders, a buzzed head going salt-and-pepper, a whistle still dangling from his neck after coaching the high school team to a win that afternoon. He wasn't lonely or lost; he had Lisa, his wife of 15 years, off at pottery class, and a life full of game plans and barbecues. But Saturday evenings left him restless, the victory high fading as he cracked a beer on the couch, TV muted.

The doorbell chimed, a sharp ping through the quiet. Dave hauled himself up, expecting a neighbor, but found a young man on the stoop, framed by the golden haze of dusk. He was 18, lean and tan, with a mop of sandy hair and a grin that crinkled his eyes. He wore the Twink Scouts of America uniform--pink shorts and shirt, snug and bright, a sash with a single sun badge slung across his chest. Every Twink Scout was 18 or older, a rule baked into their quirky, tender operation, and this one held a tin tray of penis-shaped cookies, golden and glossy with cream filling.

"Hey, sir," he said, voice bright, steady. "I'm Noah, Twink Scouts of America. Selling cookies door-to-door--double-cream special, fresh-baked. Want some?"

Dave raised an eyebrow, leaning on the doorframe. "Cookies, huh? What's the pitch?"

Noah's grin widened, tray steady. "No pitch, sir. Just good treats for good folks. Five bucks a dozen--supports our troop." He shifted his weight, pink uniform catching the porch light.

Dave chuckled, crossing his arms. He'd seen the Twink Scouts around--pink-clad hawking cookies, charming the neighborhood--but Noah up close was different, all earnest shine. "Alright, you got me. Hang on, I'll grab my wallet." He jerked a thumb inside. "Come in--don't stand there like a salesman."

Noah's eyes lit up, and he stepped over the threshold, tray in hand. "Thanks, sir. Nice place--smells like victory." He nodded at the whistle, sneakers scuffing the hardwood as Dave led him to the living room.

"Coached a win today," Dave said, rummaging in a drawer by the couch. "Team's finally listening." He found his wallet, fishing out a ten, but Noah set the tray on the coffee table, peering at a framed photo--Dave, Lisa, and their dog at the lake.

"Cool family," Noah said, genuine. "You coach basketball?"

"Yeah," Dave replied, handing over the bill. "Varsity. Keeps me sane." He took the tray, popping it open, the sweet scent hitting him. "These as good as they look?"

"Better," Noah said, plucking one. "Try it. My batch--proud of 'em." He bit into his own, crumbs dusting his pink shirt, and Dave followed suit. The cookie crumbled warm, cream thick and sweet, a jolt of comfort that made him hum.

"Damn," Dave said, swallowing. "You weren't kidding." He sank onto the couch, patting the spot beside him. "Sit a sec--rest your legs. You been at this all day?"

Noah hesitated, then plopped down, close enough Dave felt the heat off him. "Yeah, since noon. Last house, though--you're my win." He stretched, pink shorts riding up tan thighs, and Dave caught a whiff of sugar and sun.

"Long haul," Dave said, leaning back. "You like it? The scout thing?"

Noah nodded, licking cream off his thumb. "Joined once I turned 18--keeps me busy, meets cool people. Not big on the badge stuff--just like this part." His eyes flicked to Dave, warm, curious. "You ever get bored, sir? Coaching's gotta be nonstop."

Dave snorted, sipping his beer. "Sometimes. Lisa's at pottery tonight--house feels too quiet after a game." He offered the can, a casual gesture, and Noah took it, their fingers brushing as he sipped, lips wet when he handed it back.

"Quiet's not bad," Noah said, soft. "But I get it." His hand rested on the couch, inches from Dave's, and the air shifted--something unspoken, easy.

Dave's chest tightened, not from guilt but a spark he hadn't felt in years. Lisa was his rock, but this Scout, pink-clad, all grin--stirred him. "Noah," he said, low. "You always this friendly?"

Noah's blush crept up, but he held Dave's gaze. "Only with people I like, sir. You're... nice." His hand slid closer, brushing Dave's knuckles, a question in the touch.

Dave's breath caught. Lisa's hands were steady; Noah's trembled, alive. "Wife's back in an hour," he said, testing.

"Don't care," Noah whispered, fingers curling around Dave's. "Just wanna make you feel good. Can I?"

Dave could've stopped it. But the beer, the cookies, Noah's voice--they wove a spell, real or not, and he leaned in. "Yeah," he murmured, and Noah moved, straddling Dave's lap, arms looping around his neck--a hug first, tight, sugar-scented. Dave's hands settled on Noah's back, feeling the slim frame under pink fabric, the heartbeat racing.

"This okay?" Noah asked, breath on Dave's ear, voice a needy hum.

"Yeah," Dave growled, and Noah's lips met his--soft, sloppy, tasting of cream and hops. It wasn't a play; it was a gift. Dave kissed back, slow, then hungry, the couch creaking as Noah's fingers tugged his hair. A groan slipped out, and Noah pulled back, eyes wide. "You good?"

Dave nodded, pulse thumping. "Yeah. Been a bit."

Noah's smile was soft, thumb tracing Dave's jaw. "Good bit?"

"Good bit," Dave echoed, pulling him close. They sank deeper into the couch, limbs tangling, Noah's pink shirt riding up as Dave's hands roamed tan skin, warm and smooth. Noah's breath hitched, hips shifting in Dave's lap, pressing against the growing hardness there.

"Dave," Noah whispered, thick. "Can I...?"

Dave's heart roared. "Yeah," he said, softer, and Noah's hands dropped, fumbling with Dave's jeans. The room's quiet broke--zipper down, Noah's fingers trembling as they freed Dave, thick and aching under the denim. Noah's touch was gentle, stroking slow, thumb circling the tip where precum glistened, and Dave groaned, hands gripping Noah's hips through pink shorts, feeling the heat beneath.

"Like that?" Noah asked, eyes locked on Dave's, voice a shaky plea.

"Fuck, yes," Dave rasped, tugging Noah closer. Noah shifted, peeling off his pink shirt, tan chest heaving, nipples peaked as he tossed it aside. His hands moved to his shorts, unbuttoning slow, teasing, revealing lean thighs and a bulge straining his briefs. He pressed against Dave, grinding deliberate, a wet spot blooming where their cocks brushed through fabric, the friction sparking heat up Dave's spine.

Dave's hands slid under Noah's briefs, tugging them down, baring a wiry torso, nipples dark and peaked. He leaned in, lips brushing one, then sucking, tongue flicking soft, and Noah whimpered, arching into it, hands clutching Dave's shoulders. "Dave..." The sound was a plea, desperate and sweet, and Dave growled, lifting Noah higher, flipping them so Noah sprawled across the couch, cookies tumbling to the floor.

Noah kicked off his shorts and briefs, cock springing free--small, hard, leaking, flushed against his stomach. Dave shed his shirt, jeans pooling at his knees, and pressed between Noah's thighs, their bodies a mess of heat. "Need anything?" Dave asked, voice rough with care, one hand bracing the armrest.

"It's not," Noah breathed, legs parting wide, pulling Dave in. Their cocks slid together, slick with precum, skin hot and sticky as Noah's thighs clamped around Dave's hips, urging him closer. Dave thrust, slow at first, savoring the drag, the wet sound of flesh on flesh, then harder, building a rhythm that shook gasps from Noah's throat. Spit dribbled from their sloppy kisses, Dave's tongue chasing Noah's, tasting beer and cream as he sucked Noah's lower lip, then nipped it gentle.

"Goddamn, Noah," Dave groaned, hands sliding under Noah's ass, lifting him, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drove deeper into the friction. Noah's cock twitched against Dave's stomach, leaking steady, and Dave shifted, wrapping a hand around it--stroking firm, slow, matching the roll of his hips. Noah keened, nails raking Dave's back, leaving faint red lines, his body trembling under the weight.

"Dave--more--" Noah's voice cracked, hips bucking up, chasing Dave's F hand, his thrusts. Dave spat into his palm, slicking Noah's cock further, the wet slide drawing a shudder from them both. He kissed Noah's neck, sucking a mark below his ear, then trailed down--collarbone, chest, a nipple again, teeth grazing as Noah arched, a sob of pleasure spilling out.

"Don't stop," Noah panted, hands fisting Dave's hair, guiding him back to his mouth. Their kisses turned frantic, tongues tangling, spit-slick chins brushing as Dave's thrusts quickened, cock sliding hard against Noah's, balls tightening. The couch creaked, springs protesting, but Dave didn't care--Noah's heat, his gasps, his clinging arms were everything.

"Dave--gonna--" Noah's warning broke, body seizing, and he came, hot and thick, cum pulsing over Dave's hand, streaking their bellies, dripping onto the cushions. His flushed face, sandy hair plastered with sweat, eyes half-lidded, tipped Dave over--orgasm ripped through, spilling onto Noah's skin, mixing in a sticky, warm mess as he groaned Noah's name, hips jerking through the aftershocks.

They slumped, panting, Noah's arms still around Dave, holding tight. Cum cooled between them, couch sticky beneath, but neither moved. Noah nuzzled Dave's neck, humming soft. "You good?"

Dave laughed, deep and real. "Better than good." His hand traced Noah's spine, reverent, sweat-slick, and Noah sighed, content.

"These cookies," Dave mumbled, glancing at the scattered tray. "They're something."

"Just tasty," Noah chuckled, kissing Dave's jaw. "You did the rest."

Dave grinned, chest warm, the house alive again. A car rolled by outside--pottery class ending soon--but Noah stretched, smirking. "She's got time. I'm your win tonight."

"Guess you are," Dave murmured, pink uniform crumpled nearby, and they curled together, cookies forgotten, cul-de-sac humming beyond.

Hours ticked toward Lisa's return, but they stayed tangled--kissing, touching, laughing over crumbs. Noah's gentleness held, even in the drawn-out sex--affection drove it, not agenda. Dave's whistle dangled off the couch, jeans half-on, Noah dozing against his chest as headlights swept the street. He didn't move. The game could wait. For now, he had Noah, a tray of damn good cookies, and a pulse against his own.