Date: Wed, 13 Aug 2003 17:00:13 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: HEAD - TO - TOE

Head-to-Toe

(Bisexual pedophilia and heterosexual incest.)


       "I don't like to complain or anything, not my first night here, the
place seems pretty wicked, but what's this all about?" Timmy whispered.
Again the raspy adult voice dominated the campsite.  "Gentlemen, gentlemen,
head-to-toe, head-to-toe."

       "Camp Gofor" is wicked," seventeen year old Josh assured his eleven
year old tent mate, "that's just a ritual they have to go through."
       "Well," the younger boy sighed, "like Audrey says in the movie,
`Weirdorama!'"

       Both scouts were taking off their boots and socks, and Josh could
sense his new little friend's tension as he removed his last sock, the next
step being either his shirt or shorts.
       "I can turn my back if you're embarrassed," he murmured softly, "I
was one my first night."
       "I guess what Mr. Richards said has me a little confused," the boy
whispered in response.  "It's just something I never thought about."
       "I don't think they even do it in the Army," Josh said, "probably in
any army in the world, but these days every kid has a lawyer for at least
two of his uncles, so it's due-diligence by the numbers, a/k/a, The Game.
Little boxes.  `Head-to-toe, gentlemen,' and our safety and moral purity is
assured, tucked neatly away and labeled: `problem solved'."
       "But what is the problem?  Cooties?  Spitting?  Germs?  Bad breath?"

       Jason laughed.  "First," he said, "there are no more checks.  If a
boy cries out, someone will be beside him in ten seconds, there are such
things as scorpions, but otherwise, it's the ritual, then lights so they
can't be seen, and everyone gets to sleep by eleven, which is cool because
we don't have to get up until eight-thirty."
       "That's civilized," Timmy agreed.
       "Camp Go-For is," the older boy said.  "They make a bluster for the
parents with uniforms this and hup-two that, but the commandant, Mr. Nevis,
thinks the best thing to do with kids our age is mellow down and chill out.
The world's complicated.  We grind all year in school, so the best thing is
to let most of it go for the summer; let the kids drift and read, hack
around at this and that, without taking anything too seriously.  If
anything, the head/toe thing is a reminder of how it could be and how lucky
we are to be marching to a softer drum."
       "So we don't have to sleep that way?" was Timmy's next question.
       "Another reason they say it is to give younger boys the option,"
Josh continued with his explanation.  "If they're more comfortable not
sharing a pillow, then they get to make the decision and the policy is on
their side.  The choice is always the younger scouts, even if it's
identical twins separated by a few minutes."
       "So if we get caught, I'm the one who gets in trouble?" the younger
boy asked with a cute giggle.
       "No, silly," his friend laughed quietly back, "because you'd be the
one reporting the infraction, so how could you?"
       "'Catch Twenty-Two," Timmy whistled softly.  "Someone must think
we're pretty mature to truck with something like that."
       Josh laughed.  "I picked the right one, and just from your picture
on your application," the seventeen year old said.  "You have a bright face
and glasses and you look like you read a lot."
       "With my parents," the boy admitted.  "It's mainline outcast, but
walking around school I don't see all that many I'd want to be cast-in with
so I live with it."
       "Same boat, here," Josh said.  "Always the library, never the field.
Of course, that's an ideal.  I do swim, and I even like it."
       "I read that on your matching-up sheet," Timmy responded, "that's
one of the reasons, the first two being your picture and your glasses, I
opted in as a possible choice for you."
       "It WAS your choice," the older boy reminded his friend, "remember
about the twins.  In casual social situations, youth rules.  When it comes
to the boats and safety, it's merit or age, and usually both, but after
retreat, it's the boy's world."

       "And it's only quarter to nine," Timmy noted, "so we don't have to
play beat-the-clock or anything."
       "Not unless one of us gets stung by a scorpion," Josh agreed.
       "Okay," the eleven year old said, trying not to evince haste in his
chance of subject, "there must be a theory or something behind the rule,
something for the lawyers to gnaw, if someone cuts them a check, and I'm
guessing it's not cooties."
       "You're right, of course," Josh said, his voice becoming low and
raspy.  He yawned twice, though not sleepy, and added: "if boys share a
pillow, sometimes they get talking about mature things.  Have you ever done
that?  Had a private talk with a guy, a man or a boy, about the locker room
stuff, only serious?"
       "No," came the answering whisper, the same sick slackness creeping
into the child's clear soprano.
       "Well, it happens," Josh said as both boys sat Indian style on their
sleeping bags, facing each other in the pup tent.
       "And that makes them talk all night so they can't get up even at
eight-thirty?" Timmy asked, feeling he was on to something.
       "I don't think that ever happens," Josh replied with a shy smile.
The twilight was fading and they experimented with their flashlights,
finding cloth to filter them to a soft glow.
       "Then what does?" Timmy said, his older friend's voice a hot and
irresistible magnet.

       "Well," the older male whispered, "there's something more mature
than whispering together, and, if two boys really like each other,
sometimes that's what happens if they don't sleep head-to-toe."
       "Assuming they're mature enough not to try becoming blood brothers
by nicking their carotid arteries," Timmy mused, "I don't see how there can
be anything wrong."
       "Timmy," the older boy said in a fraction of voice a moment before,
"sometimes, and don't freak out or anything, but, you know, a younger boy
wants an older boy to pretend something.  It's all make believe and fantasy
and play and a game, and it doesn't mean anything in the morning, but
sometimes, in the privacy of a tent, or if you're out walking together and
don't have anything important to do, well, this is what happens: the
younger boy likes the older boy to pretend he, the kid, is, you know, a
little girl and he lets his older friend slip his hand into the sleeping
bag, unbutton his pajama top, and touch him as if he were a chick."
       "For how long?" the voice of curiosity and wonder responded.
       "Not past eleven," his friend said.
       "Is that homosexual?" he asked.
       "Highly," Josh said, "and not only that, it leads to other touching
and to telling really private stories, and that's homo, too."

       "But not gay, right?" the younger boy asked.
       "Never," the senior scout affirmed.  "Gay is something you wear like
a fluorescent medallion in the middle of your forehead; it's a play, or
perhaps plea, for identity, not an orientation.  It's artificial,
contrived, annoying, and often gets those of the fag persuasion in deep
shit trouble.  Boys teaching each other and men teaching boys is as old as
language and undoubtedly prehistoric.  Acting effeminate, not being bred
effeminate, which means nothing, but acting it out with public prancing and
lisping and mooning and hand holding is aesthetically offensive, to say
nothing of biologically and psychologically repulsive.  Taken to extreme,
it amounts to bearded dudes in Vermont kissing on the lips on television,
which always works for me as the conceivable extreme of ugliness."

       They shuddered together, thoughts of savage and searing scorpions
banished.

       "But it usually starts with talking?" Timmy wanted to know.
       "Yes," his friend said, "especially with as much age difference as
there is between us."
       "And I'm in command?" was his next question, to which the answer was
affirmative.
       "Then let's sleep the way we should and you can tell me everything,"
the boy commanded softly.
       "There's something that comes first," Josh noted.
       "What?" the boy whispered.
       "Well," the older boy said with a shy smile, "I guess I'd call it
not sleeping in our uniforms."

       Josh was a near image of the youngest son on "Home Improvement",
tall, gangly, immature looking, but with a beautiful oval face framed in
soft, black hair and featuring huge gray eyes.  The new camper was a
slightly edgier version of Macauley Culkin; intensely blond with big blue
eyes, like his tent-mate, slim and delicately built.  Both were now
barefoot, and there was not where else to go.  They gazed nervously into
each other's eyes.

       "Do you want to pretend I'm in my pajamas," Jimmy whispered very
softly, "and touch me under my shirt?"
       "I want to, yes," Josh whispered, "very much, but you have to be
sure.  There're not many rules here, about this kind of thing, just that
the younger boy always says what happens and doesn't happen, but there's
also an unwritten doctrine of fair-play, and that says that once you start
something, you go all the way.  No teasing."
       "That's as civilized as the reveille," Timmy Flagg said, "even
though it seems kind of abstract.  I mean, has any kid ever wanted an older
boy to stop pretending he was a little girl?  Hard to imagine such a
thing."
       "I don't know," cute Josh said with his shy smile, "I guess the
world is made up of people who write stories, people who write texts, and
people who write rules."
       "So if you have people who write them, they must be written.  That's
pretty Zen."

       Both giggled nervously, but, be it noted, had managed to somehow
close the distance between them until their bare knees were an inch apart.
"I've got to pull it out anyway," the eleven year old observed, looking
Josh in the eyes.  He pulled the green shirt from his shorts, his eyes huge
and hot, then looked down at the immature teen's hands, then back into his
beautiful face.  Instinct told him to lace his fingers behind his neck and
arch his chest toward the older scout.  Josh responded slowly, his hands
creeping to the younger boy's waist, then up inside the loose jersey.  He
unbuttoned his way up, his delicate fingers tracing the incredibly white,
smooth skin of the child up to his tiny nipples.  Neither spoke for long
minutes, their fiery breaths bestowing permission and acceptance and a
`thanks' they'd have been loath to verbalize.

       "This is child molesting," Josh explained, the boy's birdlike chest
now bare to him.  "They say in school, where they're in the habit of
getting things confused if not completely wrong, that `bad touching' is
inside on your bare skin where you wear a bathing suit, but any touch like
this, lingering, for it's own sake, and otherwise unnecessary, is sexual
assault, even two seconds a boy or girl doesn't want."
       "It's the best feeling I ever had," Timmy murmured.
       "And you feel beautiful to me," his friend responded.  "Men will
always say how soft your skin is while they're starting with you, it's sort
of a cliché, but yours really is.  Incredible.  Beautiful.  And I'm
really glad you're letting me do this with you."
       "You know what I feel like?" the child responded.
       "What?" Josh whispered in a quavering voice.
       "Like a little girl who wants her big brother to teach her," Timmy
said with a shy smile.  That did it for Josh's voice, completely, if
temporarily.  After a wide-eyed minute he hissed into the game.  "Oh,
Becky," he stammered, "yes, you're so pretty and all the boys at school
want to do this with you."
       "I'm glad it's you, Jeffy," the preteen played, eyes glowing,
"you're smart, and you've got a quiet smile that melts me, and you read to
me and help me with my models, and you're cool and even tempered, and I
like you best of best of any other boy."  As he whispered, Timmy began on
the older scouts buttons, starting at the top.

       "Becky," the husky whispering went on, "do you want to play a little
game?"
       "Yes," the eleven year old said.
       "It's just pretend, okay?"
       "Okay."
       "You're sitting in my lap with your back to me.  Your blouse is
still buttoned.  Your teacher, the one who looks like Rick Schroeder is
sitting on a stool between our legs.  His eyes are staring at you as I hold
you with my arms around your tummy.  Since you're eleven years old, you've
started to grow.  We both like Mr. Scott, he's really nice, and we want him
to teach us about having incest.  Would you let him unbutton you?"

       "Am I to assume the incests are not cooties?" the wry cutie asked.
It was a nice touch, bringing both boys back to the reality that they were
boys and just fooling around, and particularly nice because it gave the two
panting beauties an opportunity to start all over again.

       Back to tricks.  "If he unbuttoned me, " Becky said, "would you
unhook my training bra and pull it away from my chest and let me unbutton
him so he could put his bare chest against where I'm growing?"
       It was an idea too good for words.  Both boys shucked their shirts
completely off, folded them, and passed them to a corner of the tent.
Spontaneously, they rose to their knees and displayed like mating birds.
Torsos arched to each other, they crept forward, both gasping as the
sensation of muscular teen against developing child.
       "Does Mr. Scott want to be a man with me?" Becky asked, eyes round
and innocent, but not overdone.
       "All the boys do, sis," Jeffy said.
       "But wouldn't it be more real with a twenty five year old swimmer?"
the pixie wondered.
       "He'd be the most likely to leave something very real in your
tummy," the play brother agreed.
       "I'm glad I'm eleven," Becky said with a shy smile, "that could
happen.  It makes it more of an experience than it would be if I was eight
or nine."
       "For the male, too," came the returning whisper.
       "Does it give a man more, you know, energy if he knows there might
be a baby?" the child almost pretend simpered.
       "Partly," Jeffy said, "but what makes a man use you hard and fast
and leave you very wet after he whispers is if he knows you have another
males seed between your legs."
       "Is seed sperms?" she asked.
       "Yes," came the broken whisper.  "Cum.  Semen.  Sperm is singular
unless you're a doctor examining the sperms of three boys.  And a whole lot
more for the locker room and the fat kid at the back of the bus."
       "And so Mr. Scott will be really interested in me, you know, as a
female, it would help if you put your sperm in me with your penis, right?"
       "Yes," Jeffy choked, eyes glowing down at his petite nymph of a
sister as they continued experimenting with moving their bare chests
against each other, "and erection's okay, and boner for boys under
nineteen, and when a boy or man makes sperm he cums or ejaculates.  With
boys your age, it's more like a spray when it happens, so that's okay.
Just not dick and cock and those words.  Girls do have one secret worth
knowing, and that is that what happens is a lot more intense if it's
serious and romantic, not like splashing water on each other in the pool."

       "You must have had a totally cool teacher," Timmy observed as both
boys broke off their game and moved their hands to each other slim, heaving
flanks.
       "You were on the right track when you brought in Mr. Scott," Josh
said.  "I learned about it when I was six, but that was just curiosity.  I
was your age, eleven, when it really happened and I was led all the way."
       "There was another track I was on," Timmy responded, "when I started
the game story.  Can you guess what it is?"
       Gently holding each other, staring into each other's eyes, they
paused as Josh reviewed the question, then his eyes lit with more than
intelligence.  "A little girl," he whispered, "a little sister.  Becky."
       "But she's only five," Timmy said with a nod.
       "Is your penis like totally bigger than all the boys in gym?" the
seventeen year old asked, trying not to appear flustered, made easier by
the fact he was already flushed and openly panting.
       "Just, well, you know, quite a bit, but not totally," the child
murmured.
       "And does she like you and you like her?"
       "Yes.  All the time.  When we find each other playing hide and seek
it's like the whole rest of the world is lost."
       "Then," the senior scout advised, "don't worry about her being five
years old.  If she's normal size, a normal size adult could mount her if he
was very patient and gentle.  Do you think you're bigger than that?"
       "I guess I measured once," Timmy whispered.  "Almost but not quite
six and a half inches."
       "And not thick like a cucumber or anything?"
       "I can't think of anything I'm, you know, thick as.  Not my neck or
anything."
       "Then it's okay," Josh encouraged.  "Do you spend a lot of time
alone together?"
       "Yes," Timmy said.  "We call it `our house is our house' and we make
a game of how responsible we can be and how much we can read and how good
our homework is and even kind of play husband and wife and feed her dolls
dinner.  That makes Mom and Dad happy and tickle us when they get home."
       "And you've never touched her or tried to peek or thought of
sneaking into her bedroom at night and raping her really quietly and gently
so no one will hear what's happening?"

       "I guess I thought she was too young," Timmy said.
       "The only thing she's too young for, guaranteed," Josh responded,
"is getting a baby from you.  There's a video on Kazaa of a cute little
three year old being held around the chest by her daddy as she goes lower
and lower on his adult penis.  The only sound she makes is an almost
inaudible, "Oh, Daddy," when he's about half way up between her legs.
She's tiny, probably three, not more than four, but he was gentle with her,
probably used something like KY gel to help, and after awhile it became
totally successful between them, you can tell by the look on her face, and
that's even with someone standing right in front of her and her dad making
a video."
       "We love playing at being romantic," Timmy responded.  "Everything
is so brutish and industrialized these days, schools, churches, stores,
big, cold, music, buffer overflow, and manic for money morons charging at
it night and day.  So we get all hearts and flowers and dainty with ribbons
on our plates and calling each other pet names like Fifi and Baboon."
       "Well romance without something serious is ten times better than
something serious without romance," the older scout observed, "and I
wouldn't want to spoil anything, for sure, but when you get home, well, if
it were me, I'd at least try picking a basket of wildflowers, then strewing
them from the living room of the house up to her bedroom, then across the
floor to her bed, then on the bed, you know, like a snow-angel.  When she
came in and saw them I'd say, `you can leave your door open, if you want
to.'"

       "After you waited a little while," a hoarse whisper asked, "would
you take your underpants off and take a chance?  Go and stand in her door
with a boner?"
       "Yes," the older tentmate said.
       "Would your arms be hanging at your sides, or would you have them
up, like we were with each other when we touched our bare chests together?"
       "At my side," Josh replied after a moment's thought, "I'd be really
shy, afraid, too.  I'd probably just look in for a minute, reach down and
pick up a few flowers, hold them out to her, then turn slowly and walk back
to my bedroom and like on my bed."
       "With your penis so she could see if she followed you?"
       "Yes."

       Well, they were on the same page, romantically speaking.

       "We're going to have to kind of strain ourselves not to, you know,
like fall in love," the teen observed.  "I mean, here in the tent, you
rule, but, like we were talking about earlier, nothing outside."
       "In the Navy," the boy responded "they say `take a steady strain'.
It will be cool going around all day pretending that this isn't the
happiest day of my life or the happiest day I ever heard of and that you're
not the cutest and nicest and friendliest and most perfect friend anybody
ever had since the snake taught Adam about women, something Becky will
never be because she's too intelligent."
       "I'll pretend, too," Josh agreed.  "That I'm not thinking of you
when someone else is talking to me, and that it's not you quietly going off
into the woods with another scout or one of the leaders when there's free
time, and that I'm just as lucky as Becky."

       "Will I see you, too?" Timmy asked: "Taking other boys off in
private during free time?"
       "Yes," the senior whispered.  "It'll happen with both of us.  Two or
three times a week.  With other boys or the leaders."
       "I'm glad," the younger nodded.  "Because like we get talking and I
feel like my heart is going to kind of burst, and we're boys, and we like
listening to ricochets, and don't like mushy stuff."
       "Well, it is complicated," Josh observed, "because I think Mr. Payne
really likes you, and I know he'll be really gentle with you, but I'll
still be a little bit jealous that he was alone with you for an hour."
       "I kind of notice how the albino boy in tent six was looking at you,
too," Timmy whispered, "and I'll feel the same way, especially if you hold
hands when you think you're out of sight."

       "Timmy," the teen whispered, "there's kind of some flexibility as to
do with privacy here.  Most homosexual experiences occur in secret, but not
all.  If we settle on bravo partners, and if you want to know what Selly,
the albino boy, looks like in my hands, you could come with us into the
woods.  If you wanted me to watch you with Mr. Payne, the two of you could
invite me."
       "Would you bring Selly?"

       Josh nodded.  The boys became silent, their fingers tracing from
flanks, up over shoulders, to necks, to ears, to jaws, to cheeks then to
lips.  "Do you want to jump way ahead for just a minute?" the older scout
asked.
       "Okay," the panting boy replied.
       The teen parted the child's lips with his right index finger,
prompting the boy's tongue.  "A week from now," he said, bringing his
immature teen mouth within an inch of the boy's rosy lips, "I'll be kissing
you and my lips and tongue will have Selly's sperm all over them."
Literature for all ages abounds with first kisses, and both boys were
insatiable readers, but neither had glommed eyes on a passage delineating
the first touch of their lips, nor any which came close.  Was the fourth
dimension promise and anticipation?  To the youngsters in the tent, with
the thought of the slim thirteen year old albino, glasses as thick as their
own, and without his glasses, it was a slam dunk to a fifth dimension,
because it took less than a minute, as they experimented with nuzzling,
licking, and nipping each other, to realize that Shelly's lips and tongue
might also be slicked white with their seed.

       They left it there.  A kiss of a lifetime was a kiss of a lifetime
and dueling tongues would have been superfluous.  Their lips separated, but
they remained leaning against each other, forehead to forehead, their hands
tracking each other's chest and belly lower and lower until the younger boy
led to his senior's scout buckle.

       "Have you started touching yourself at night?" Josh asked,
"masturbating or jerking off?"
       "I just know the words," the boy flushed.
       "It's usually what men like to do with boys your age the first time
they're together," the leader explained, "that way, a man can tell how
mature a boy is.  By how much semen there is and what color it is, either
thin and kinda watery, or thick and heavy and very white."
       "What' yours look like?" Jimmy said.
       "Still thin," the seventeen year old replied, "I'm more like a
thirteen year old when I'm naked than my real age, except, well, for one
thing."
       "Your penis?" the understudy asked.
       "I guess so," the boy colored, "I guess it's kind of like a man's in
a way, except all around it I look like a little kid.  Maybe not even as
mature as you."
       They kept at each other's buckles, head to shoulder, panting lightly
in each other's ear.  Then sippers, and a little shuffling and they were in
only their briefs, now squatting, muscular legs spread widely, knees
pressing, staring at each other's hugely tented underpants.

       "Do you think Selly's getting molested?" Timmy asked.
       "If the wind doesn't come up," the older male replied, "you'll hear
noises from some of the nearby tents.  We try to be really quiet,
especially on calm nights, so as not to embarrass the leaders and put them
on the spot, but sometimes things happen unexpectedly and you can't help
making some noise.  This is Shelly's first night back with David.  He yips
softly, like a puppy, when David's successful with him, so we'll hear that
pretty loud, because everyone knows the leaders will say to themselves,
`that's just Selly,' knowing that anyone of them, if they were alone in a
tent with him, would make him noisy, too.  In fact his camp name, and it's
affectionate derisive, is Furthest in the Woods because you have to take
him furthest in the woods if something's going to happen, you know, to be
polite and unobtrusive."

       "I really like that part," Timmy said, "that it is refined,
restrained, whatever you want to call it and not, as you said, like
splashing water on each other."
       "It's kind of an opportunity to indulge in extremes in a controlled
situation," the older boy noted, "like firing a bazooka on a rifle range.
That would probably be pretty safe, however big the thrill."
       "Cool," Timmy said.
       "Yeah," his friend agreed with a nod.  "We can be sister and
brother, boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, scout leader and
camper, explore all of those things, but when you go home Becky will be as
safe as she ever was, and probably about ten times happier, plus, at no
extra charge, while other kids your age are mooning about this or imagining
that, about ninety percent of what you see on the soap operas, and writing
each other notes and telling friends to tell friends stuff and asking
friends to tell you stuff, you'll have it all in perspective; not `been
there and done that' in any ironic sense, but in the sense that you don't
need to it for the sake of doing it out of curiosity or for bragging
rights.  You can stay home and read and let the Power Ball buyers of
tomorrow dance the jealousy fantastic and hum the lovelorn blues.  Then,
dawnesth the light and behold our loquacious and worthwhile man of twenty,
not only able to have any girl he wants, but cute enough and deep enough
and rich enough, and for damn sure sexy enough, to keep her."

       "I'm glad to hear that from you," Timmy responded, "I keep hearing
it from old guys, and they seem to have messed up things so badly I can't
help finding myself cynical."
       "Well," the older scholar said, "for a modern day cynic, the diet is
rich and plentiful, as if we could eat pavement and have it taste like
lobster."
       Bookworm II replied: "Not rich and plentiful, cheap and plentiful."

       They were finished with staring into each other's eyes from minimal
focal distance.  Been there, done that.  "Does the older boy show his penis
first?"
       "Yes," Josh said, "in case his friend changes his mind."
       The boys returned to a kneeling position on their sleeping bags,
adjusted the soft glow of the maglite, and moved together until their
foreheads again touched.  Josh displayed at his little friend's first
touch, and the boy went quickly to the band at the front of his briefs,
first pulling it out, then down as the boy brought his legs together.
"We're kinda twins, I think," he whispered as the older scout's fingers
found him and stripped him.  Leaning for a moment into a huddle, the
skinned themselves naked, then regained their knees, Timmy spreading his
legs modestly and Josh more widely so their belly buttons could press
together.  They tucked their heads to each other, breathing harshly, and
Josh began masturbating himself to show the child how.  They took turns,
watching each other, whispering, then touched each other and experimented
with spreading pre-cum and peeling down their foreskins to show each other
their swollen, purple glans.

       "I have a feeling the splashing-water part could start any second,"
Timmy panted.
       "Sometimes you can make your friend splash right away by just saying
something," Josh advised.
       "What?" the boy asked, hardly feeling in need of an aphrodisiac,
just curious.
       "Timmy?  Do you love your little Becky?"  That might work.
       "I get your point," the younger boy grunted, forcing himself by dint
of willpower and character to pull from his friend, hug him, and pant away
the tenth of a second miss.
       "Cool," Josh said, "it's meant to happen with me, first, because
sometimes a younger boy has a let down after it happens, and that's not the
right time for him to be getting sperm all over his belly and chest."
       "I just love talking to you," the panting child responded.
       "I love it too," the teen said, "and we've got an hour before
eleven."
       "What do you want to talk about?" the eleven year old asked, as, by
accord, both boys lay back on top of their sleeping bags, the child's slim
right leg over the muscular left leg of the tall, rangy teenager as they
carefully experimented with masturbating while the other watched and
stroking each other.
       "If there are any men where you live," Josh answered.  "Probably not
your dad, that's kind of rare, but a teacher or coach or neighbor; usually
you can tell if a man sort of looks at you, and, even with Becky, it might
be exciting for you to have an adult male.  They're way intense and it can
go on for years."

       "Not to change the subject," Jimmy responded, "but you said
something before about being six years old.  There's a boy who plays with
Becky from down the street.  What you said about looking, he's the first
one I though of, because it kinda seems like he's always looking."
       "Is he nice?" Josh asked.
       "Very," the younger boy said.  "Real quiet and he build's models as
well as I do."
       "Well," the leader mused, "assuming he's not fat, because that's
about the only universal downer when it comes to how someone looks, you
might want to be a little bit bold with him.  Not flowers strewn to the
nuptial bed, necessarily, but spill some Coke on your pants when you're
alone together, then get out of your pants and underpants and stand close
to him.  If he has any objections, you'll be sure to hear about them, but
as long as he looks, you stand, and if it's for more than half a minute,
you can get a boner and say something like, `Becky likes it when this
happens to me.'  That should open up the can and let the worms out.  And
keep in mind, boys as young as five or six can be almost
killer-so-you-don't-wake-up lovers.  They love to watch mature boys cum off
and get sperm all over them.  Just be really careful to warn them about
what's going to happen, and I don't mean two seconds before you start
spraying all over everything."

       "I understand," the younger boy said.
       "And the same for you," Josh continued, "it's going to be very hard
and violent when it happens with me because I haven't jerked off or done
anything for the last five days.  For days is sort of an unwritten camp
rule for boys who are coming."
       "Do you think Selly goes by it?" Timmy asked, again bringing a
stifled gasp from Josh at the very mention of the lithe thirteen year old
with his translucent white skin and delicate tracery of blue veins.
       "With David and him it's probably been more like a week," Josh
allowed, "but it can't be much longer or you lose control while you're
sleeping and it spills on the sheets."
       "I'm glad that's normal," Timmy said, coloring slightly.
       "When did it happen?" Josh whispered.
       "More than four days, I guess," the thirteen year old answered, "but
less than a week."
       "It's been five days for me," the older boy repeated, "because I
though your picture was way cute and you looked intelligent enough not to
buy into sleeping like they pile corpses after a disaster."

       "There is a man, too," the younger male said after a pensive moment.
"He runs a bookstore I go to a lot."
       "That's perfect," Josh enthused.  "Someone like that could even get
away with being a little fat.  Just bring back the books you borrow so
he'll let you take more.  If he's a lousy lover, don't sweat it, because
there's a whole lot more to life than jerking off with a guy."
       "It's kind of a whole new paradigm," Timmy agreed, "all this, and
life, too."
       "On the other hand, it does make you wonder why anyone bothered
inventing the canoe," the older by allowed.
       "Worse, god," the eleven year old responded, "if life in the old
days had been devoted to building summer camps for young scouts and older
scouts, the war and pillage ethics would never have materialized."
       "I dunno," Josh said, "brass buttons are brass buttons and a bass
drum is a bass drum and someone to join to fight.  Remember, this is just a
novelty act, kind-of, anyway; I mean, how much time in your life have you
devoted to lying back beside a friend and watching him jerk off while you
did?  Even here, we'll do it two or three times a week, and, since we kinda
know about it, won't miss it if it doesn't happen, though I doubt we'll
ever lose complete interest in a next time.  That's why the gay thing is
such a bummer.  My god, it's an hour or two a week for even a pretty ardent
couple; less time than you spend pooping, well, that's probably an
overstatement..."
       "Or understatement as overstatement," the quick kid said with a
giggle.  Josh was delighted the boy was following so avidly, and continued
with his conversation as both boys began tensing with the inevitable rapid
buildup of cum between their long, coltish legs.  John Wayne might not
approve, but with these youths it was talk or shoot, and both were turning
out to be plumb gun-shy.

       Josh laughed.  The subject was bound to come up, and pronto, so he
lead off.  "'Understatement as overstatement,'" he said, "is a pretty good
summary of the first time something happened with me."
       "The time when you were six?" Timmy said.
       "Yes," Josh replied.  "It was at a time of a big day-care scandal.
Everyone in our town saw what it cost and how it ruined a town and everyone
in it because a woman thing gassed off, so we smart folks took the opposite
tack and everyone left our place, Happy Makers, completely and totally
alone.  Parents would call twice if an unscheduled appointment came up, and
a lady whose house was on fire actually sat in the parking lot in her car
while we ran to get Freddy, her seven year old."
       "Very cool," Timmy said, and Josh felt a warm glow.  It was so hard
to impress the sophisticated kids of the maturing digital age, "did it
work?"
       "Yes," Josh replied in a word, but novels aren't made of words.
"They showed us the scene from "Auntie Mame".  I mean, the showed us the
whole film, because it's great even if the daiquiris are a little swe-eet,
but they replayed the part where the banker is talking about finding the
bohemian teacher, naked, in a room with his little kids, showing them how
fish spawn I always imagine it with maybe two or three eleven or twelve
year olds that can really show the younger boys and girls a lot, and even
spray it on their naked bodies like it really happens in the ocean
sometimes.
       "After they showed it and explained it a little," Josh continued,
"they said any boy or girl who wanted could play the same game with the
adult males on the staff, but the rule was we had to start off in a group
so no one would be embarrassed and everyone would learn.  Then they were
really cool, and, looking back, it might even have been a little
manipulative, because Chick Giles, the supervisor, said for any kids who
did not want to go upstairs should raise his or her hand."

       "That sound like one of those you-had-to-have-been there stories,"
Timmy said.
       "No one breathed," Josh agreed, "not a breath.  Every kid on the
floor sat on his hands and the kids in back sitting in chairs did to.  It
was like at an auction where a blink or a gesture could cost you a million
dollar you didn't have.  The could have launched a shuttle from the parking
lot and no one would have heard a sound.  Then Chick looked very serious
and said: `you're sure?'  He might as well have said do you accept this
Powerball check for a hundred million dollars.  Everyone was very, very
sure.
       "And there were older boys, just like in my fantasy.  Six of them,
twelve and thirteen, all who'd attended when they were five to seven.  Plus
the four adult male staff, plus two girls who the little girls insisted on
by gang-banging them, twenty to two, up the stairs to the rec room.
       "Then it was like church.  Everyone stood around the edge of the
room, facing the walls, and undressed.  After a minute or two, Chick said,
`you can turn around now, children,' and we all did.  The men had the boys
in the middle of the room and were standing behind them with their hands on
the boys' shoulders.  Chick explained how a child molester worked, since we
were all interested in that kind of thing as well as spawning.  Some of the
boys pretended they didn't want to get molested, and moved away.  Others
stood still to let the man know they wanted to be touched.  Then the men
did molest the boys, first on their tummies, then pulling their shirts out
and getting on the bare skin, then stripping them to their underpants, then
getting naked, the men, and holding them from in back so the little kids
could come up and get them completely naked.
       "Chick asked if any of the class had been molested and four girls
and two boys raised their hands.  He had them come up front, and tell the
older boys what had happened so they could show the class.  That wasn't
part of the spawning, either, more like a safety lesson for when you don't
happen to be swimming."

       Timmy giggled, feeling it was okay to be a little lovey-dovey in the
tent, but wondering how he'd fare if his older friends streamed off on one
of his dry absurdities during lunch, especially if he was drinking milk.
It would be a dead giveaway because you had to follow the shy, droll boy
intensely to catch the savagery of his fiery humor, and doing so would be a
tacit proof of being in love, at least until he started gagging on dairy.

       "Chick noticed Cindy Keller was crying," Josh went on, "so he picked
her up off the floor and sat in the middle of the older boys and the kids
they were with.  "You start," he told her.
       "It hurt," the little girl said.
       "It's going to hurt all the girls," the teacher said softly.
       "But he shouldn't have, it says in the bible."
       "The bible is full of killing and burning and torture and sacrifice
of innocent animals and it begins with a ludicrous, conceited, and
preposterously arrogant lie," Chic said firmly, his voice filling but not
dominating as those of the preaching class tend to.  "It is the devil's
book of misery, hopelessness, and weird hysteria.  Asylums around the world
are full of dangerous and documented lunatics who believe in it literally
and implicitly.  Its money hungry disciples tell you it's yours and you
must fight anyone who would take it from you, and make that very fight a
cause and a reason for being.  Sweetheart, if you move to certain stunted
and ignorant areas of the country, mostly in the south, you can be around
people who believe, they're called fundamentalists and revivalists, and
there you can be happy because empty drums do make the most noise, but if
you're going to grow up here and be a big girl and a constructive girl and
have a happy life and make others happy you have to politely ignore not
only the bible but everything that comes with it.  The only sacred thing in
the world is freedom from any hint of the folderol and flummery of religion
with its insidious and overt indoctrination and manipulation."

       "By that time she'd stopped crying," Josh said, "and you could sort
of tell it was the first time anyone had talked to her like a grownup.  At
first she was huddled in his lap, then she relaxed.  That gave us all a
chance to really see her.  She was one of the older girls, almost eight,
but she had breasts like a twelve year old, mounts really high on her chest
and nipples the size of blueberries.  Between her legs she looked different
than the other girls, sort of puffy and swollen.  The six kids who'd come
up to let the older boys start by touching them seemed to realize this
wasn't part of the spawning game and went and sat vack down at the front of
the semi-circle, and, since it was more like show-and-tell than a pageant,
you know, with just Chick and Cindy, everybody moved in close while the
older boys, still in their underpants, huddled close, too.

       "'Go ahead and tell us," Chick urged to the girl now with wide,
wondering eyes.
       "I love being with my dad and my four brothers," she stammered,
"they're gentle and make me feel like a wife.  I always smile when I feel
them being men inside me.  Reverend Luthor wanted me to try on an angel
costume for a pageant.  He asked me a lot of questions about my dad and my
brothers, then he tore my costume off and threw me on the floor and started
yelling stuff about the wrath of god and sins of the sinner.  He's big and
fat and when he fell on me I couldn't move.  I was so scared and I hated
him so much I wasn't like I am when my dad and my brothers are ready to go
up inside me, so it was like being ripped.  I bring my dad and my brothers
into my bedroom a lot, and sometimes they stay for an hour, so I guess I'm
pretty experienced and could kind of tell what was happening.  I played to
get him off his guard, made my hips do like I do with Dad and Eddy and
John, then, when I knew it was time, I kneed him as hard as I could and
rolled from under the dirty walrus.  I was in the changing room before he
could chase me, and a few minutes later my mom came and picked me up.'"

       "While she was talking," Josh said, "Chick took out his cell phone
and made a call.  When she finished, he told her the police would come and
pick her up at the end of class and that she'd have to testify in court,
but everyone would be there to stand by her.  He asked her if she wanted to
leave so she could go home or just hang out with Paula, a girl on the
staff, downstairs.  That made everyone laugh because her eyes got big and
round and she yelped, `are you kidding?' before she even knew what she'd
said.  Then she got embarrassed but her nipples were really swollen so it
was hard to tell exactly why she was flushed.

       "Have you ever been with a strange boy?" Chick asked and she shook
her head.  She shook her head. "Do you think it would hurt you?" he
quizzed.
       "No," Cindy whispered, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
       The six experienced children, sensing a return to normal, again
gathered with the mature males and older boys at the front, as pageant
seating was restored.  Brad was the closest to her age and youngest of the
guest instructors so Chick turned so his left side was to the class and put
Cindy face-down across his lap.  Karen Tryder pulled Brad's underpants down
so we could all see his boner, then he sort of huddled in back of Cindy,
and Chick helped him.  Then he rose with his hands on her hips and began to
spawn with her.  Everyone got up and gathered around, and sort of circled
so we could all see everything up close and from different perspectives.
George and Henry, two off the staff teachers were masturbating the two most
mature visiting boys on Cindy's back, so we'd know what happened when the
actual mating act took place.  Rich was the first boy to cum off and that
got it so all the girls were touching all the boys.  Then the other
teenager, Niles, squatted down and sprayed on Cindy's face.  We all got on
hour hands and knees to watch, and many of the girls didn't get up again
because they had an older boy on top of them.  Chick was in an office
chair, so he slowly swiveled around so we could all see Cindy with sperm
all over her back and Brad being her husband.  After about five minutes he
got really tense behind her.  Chick whispered to him, and then a lot of
sperm dripped, I guess it was more like a tiny waterfall, from between her
legs.  As soon as that happened, all the girls rolled on their backs and
spread their legs and the older males moved over them on their hands and
knees, and, well, I guess the only way to say it is at that point the
spawning school began."
       "Reverend Luthor died violently two days later under what the police
termed extremely suspicious circumstances, but two other girls and a boy
came forward in private, and the town council voted five dollars a year to
continue the investigation.  Since that amounted to about ten cents a
suspect no arrests were ever made."
       "Was Cindy okay?" Timmy asked.
       "I guess it's kind of ironic," Josh replied, "because her family
started treating her more like a grownup and she settled right down.  Her
dad's a tire distributor and they're pretty well off, so they let her have
a family baby when she was ten.  Cindita is five now and if the rumors are
true her mother's fiancée and her uncles are teaching her about spawning
so she'll be ready for day care, and, while there's no proof they burned
Luthor's church to the ground, there's none that they didn't.  Anyway, one
cleaned up town, and yes, three attractive young clergymen are having
relationships with small groups of willing children, but they do a could
job, tend their flock instead of making it tend them, and they get invited
everywhere."

       "If I wasn't satisfied with my small background," the leader went
on, "I'd head into the middle of the bible belt.  I'd write a check for
five grand to a congregation picked at random, assuring myself of a welcome
on Sunday's and at other times.  It is my bet that, assuming I was an
average guy, reasonably young and attractive, that both girls and boys
would be offered to me within weeks and maybe days.  Be friendly, buy a few
dinners, help discreetly with a cash emergency here and there to the tune
of five hundred dollars, and for a total investment of, say, seven or eight
thousand dollar you could pick from a smorgasbord of attractive children
between five and fifteen as company to ball games, dog shows, tractor pulls
or whatever, with overnight privileges, not that they matter, granted on
the first trip.  The kids would want it, the parents would want it, it
would liven up the congregation, and it would be serving god by making
people handy."

       "Little hard imagining a congregation displaying any reluctance to
turning their first-borns over to you if you came in as a beggar on a
stick," Timmy observed.  Both though "steady strain" and smiled shyly.

       "It's a bet," Josh affirmed, "it would happen.  We could run away
and try it, together.  I mean I haven't asked, but I assume you want to be
a writer, duh'uh."
       "Duh'uh," Timmy echoed, as if anything else made any sense at all.
       "I've got some money coming in from a patent, but I think it would
be more fun to do it your way.  Turn up as brothers..."
       "In a pretty place like Chattanooga, with lots of mountains and
lakes around," the younger boy chimed in, loving his first experience
jerking off with a buddy.
       "Definitely," the older boy said, "and, yeah, with a check for a
thousand.  Remember what it is that talks and walks in the real world..."
       "And ride the wave," the wicked kid said, "girls and boys, young
husbands and young wives, relatives in from out of town, we'd end up
weighing two hundred pounds each just from the food we had to eat to be
polite."
       "And imagine getting caught.  `Oh, aren't you being playful,' or
something like that, probably with `cute' in the first ten words."

       "And," Timmy added, "we'd do loads of yard work and clean everything
that wasn't radioactive and all without being squeamish or namby-pamby and
getting in the way."
       "So we'd always be welcome," Josh nodded, "good point, and we're
both readers so we could help by reading aloud like our parents do."  They
had to high-five over that one, because it meant sitting on chairs, if not
lying on secluded blankets under drifting clouds.

       "Jeez, you wanna?" Timmy hardly dared whisper.
       "I think so, you know it?" his friend said, "a year off school
wouldn't hurt either of us an iota, and we could practice with a blog, so
when we did hit the hallowed halls we'd be packing."
       "How long do you think it would last?" Timmy asked, "you know,
teaching cute kids?"
       "Six months, maybe," the older boy replied thoughtfully, "I mean,
you'd probably always want to go back and visit a few favorites until you
were old enough to laugh about kids stuff, where your kids could hear you,
but as a day to day thing, one boy or girl after another, well, yeah, six
months.  One of the main points would be encouraging others to try it, so
it would be polite to make room for another brother/brother couple."
       "Do you think you could ever make it legitimate?" was the eleven
year old's next question.
       "That would be the real challenge," the leader said turning his head
to the left to catch Timmy's eye with a look of respect.  "Try to write it
so it was pretty plain what was going on, say how much time we spent alone
or with small groups of children, say, if we could do it without bragging,
how we were always welcomed back to homes where we'd been house guests for
a few weeks, and maybe a hint like a special hug and squeeze from a younger
sister.  Wink, wink.  It's fiery, because you could do it.  Not outright
punky images like some summer camps use in their brochures to attract
boylovers, but maybe a close up of a special smile here and a clenched hand
there would get the message across, then, slowly scaling up, ratcheting I
guess they call it, to where it was more and more obvious what this
congregation was all about and how much time and thought it put into the
well-being of its children, and how what seemed to work was a high level of
tolerance for said children spending time with attractive and focused other
children their age or young adults."

       "Then a nudist camp," Timmy suggested, "that's for fitness and
overall development."
       "Super," Josh laughed, "you're a wizard.  Some kind of contest where
the kids in the congregation could write and essay..."
       "'What Clothes Mean to Me'" the younger boy suggested as a title
       "Shut up you moron," Josh gasped, "you'll get us down there, then
get us all famous comedian, and we won't get within a stone's throw of
little Audrey and her twin Amanda."
       "Sorry," the younger scout said, "I'll put a sock in it."  There
were no hard feelings, and the paintball conference continued.

       "No, you're right," Josh said, "that's perfect, maybe even the
title.  Child A and Child B, very likely older brother and younger sister,
win an all expense month at camp Breeze `n' Sneeze where sunshine and
health are deemed to have psychic as well as physical facets, you know, the
symbolism of casting off more than clothes."

       There was a pause as each boy tried to find a chink in the plan.
They soon gave up and relaxed, still as hot to watch each other jerk off as
they had been when they first linked their legs.

       "Josh," Timmy asked after some quiet minutes, "what does David look
like?  I must have been off somewhere when he came in."
       "You must have for sure," the older boy laughed.  "David is a
six-four Gurka, fifteen year old.  You will never mistake him for anyone
else unless you travel to India, and then it would only be theoretically
possible, not at all likely."
       "How about if we took them with us?" the younger boy wondered.
       "We're kinda kids to play at that level," Josh said after a
reflective moment, "just like the comedy thing; we don't want too much.
You know that ad on television where the counter starts real slow, but by
the end of thirty seconds they've got a million orders which is worse than
none because they're going to piss off a million so-called customers.  We
highball into Tennessee with David and Selly and we'll be causing traffic
problems in Atlanta.  You can be arrested for creating an `attractive
nuisance', and that leads to a fine based on how attractive the nuisance
actually is, and then the prosecution hauls a five-five albino child and
six-four black male with dazzling Anglo features and Olympic body and
someone's going to throw away a key."
       "But god," Timmy whistled, once again impressed, "it would be
chapters all by itself.  And we could take PDA's with us and those little
fold up keyboards and have time to collect our thoughts and remember
specific details of everything that happened along the way."

       "But I go back to my main point," the older scout said kindly, "yes,
it would work, it would be blinding, but it would separate us from regular
people, probably for years and maybe forever.  We'd get one absolutely,
insanely thrilling tell-all out of it, then never have a true life
adventure again beyond how the port stabilizer on our Fedship jammed and we
ran low on ice."
       "But what if it didn't jam?" the boy wanted to know.
       "Remember Chick's sermon to Cindy?" Josh said, "well wealth is as
bad as religion.  It is no fun being around rich people.  They are
different.  They are capricious and arbitrary and definitely an example of
chasing something you don't want to catch."
       "I guess I'm at an age when groupies seem kind of appealing," the
boy murmured.
       "A little girl in a red pokadot frock holding your hand on the way
to a picnic on the far side of the meadow will have more to say than fifty
groupies," Josh promised, "and she'll even listen, and you can even teach
her something rather than having her give you three home remedies for what
she's given you, all of which probably work."

       "The joke is it actually sounds wholesome," Timmy whispered.
       "The joke is, it actually is wholesome," his friend responded.  "It
is poisoned entirely by poisons brought, not poisons there.  Chick proved
it.  Thirty two kids in that class between five and seven.  All the girls
were fully mounted by a male of at least twelve.  All the boys wanted to
help make a man cum.  It went on for an hour and a half, then we napped for
almost an hour, put our clothes back on, and were a little stiff from all
the exercise.  That's proof.  Any group of kids, even ones who've been
indoctrinated and raped would be pretty much the same.  Japan to Greece.
Lead the kids in gently, make it fun, gym without uniforms, biology without
the sea, it doesn't need fancy wrapping and the only kids who won't go
upstairs are the fat, disagreeable ones who you wouldn't invite in the
first place.  Worldwide, every month of every year, and anyone who says Not
is strange in the head and an enemy of humankind and, like god,
unwholesome."

       Was it novelty for its own sake?  Ranting for sake of the echo?  Big
kid impressing sprout?  None of their business.

       "I don't mean to be critical or arbitrary," Josh went on, "and if
the situation were neutral, that's the corner I'd love.  But it's not.
They're after us, not some paranoid abstraction, they're after us.  They'd
put me in a facility for jerking off with you.  If I was eighteen, I'd get
twenty years, and you wouldn't come out of the interviews and scab picking
the way you went in.  It's slanderous aggression, ripping the truth to
shreds in the name of some kind of tin pot morality by a fat, dumb, culture
absolutely mad with greed and self-righteously insane when it comes to
beating up on perverts in the name of how wonderful they are.  Half the
morons out there, the only good thing they've done in their entire lives is
not molest their children, and it doesn't matter if the kid weighs two
hundred pounds at age twelve and can't read "The Cat in the Hat", they
didn't fondle the child, and they are better than we are and not only want
to squash us, but say so, keep coming after us, and someday they're going
to pull the wrong chain and some guy's going to spin on heels and blow
their sanctimonious heads to vapor, and it will be the greatest show on
earth, and a healthy and sane world will have a chance, new-born like a
tarantula that's just shed it's old skin and crawls forth looking like a
coin the day it's minted."

       Timmy giggled because Josh put a real effort into making it fun.  It
was so serious all you could do was laugh at the whole cockamamie phantasm.
When the second lung becomes involved you'd better see the humor in it
because you scarce have time to let a thought stray elsewhere.  But
fascinating as it all was, there were yet other matters begging the eleven
year old's attention.

       "I saw on television," the boy said, "how the Russians considered
building an H-bomb in a ship, a thousand megatons, that would actually
split the planet.  I mean, maybe it's a stretch, but what do you think
would happen if it was the two of us and David and Selly, plus Becky?"
They began masturbating hotly, thrusting their hips, visions of the
beautiful albino and themselves huddling over the wildly tall and
attractive East Indian as he lay over the five year old girl, as anxious
for her as she was welcoming to him.  Both pictured his buttocks dimpling
with each careful thrust, and it going on and on minute after minute until
there was a loss to urgency and abandonment to feral need, the dimples
staying dimpled, the girl gasping at the assault of the mature boy's
boiling seed, and the slick, heavy whiteness of her belly and thighs when
he moved to lie panting beside her flushed and gasping young body.

       But they were better boys than a glib and superficial description of
their activities might indicate.  Almost out of control, they nudged
shoulders, and panting, heads lolling, by accord their pumping hands
stilled.  For relief they fondled each other openly, whispering plans.

       "The two-to-a-tent rule is kinda sacrosanct," the older camper said
to his still panting young friend, "but an exception could be made."
       "If ever there were a time to do so, this is probably it," Timmy
noted.
       "And what's a camp without legends?" Josh wondered rhetorically.
       "Should we go naked or put our underpants on?" the boy asked.
       "I love being naked with you," was enough of an answer to make Timmy
nod happily.

       Slowly they left each other, languidly they turned on their sleeping
bags and rose to hands and knees.  Josh unfastened the flies of the tent,
and, as guide, led his young friend on the biggest adventure of not only
their lives, but of all living boys of their age.  Tent four, tent five.
One more and they paused, silently, at the entrance, ears attuned as boys
haven't been since the time of the Mohawks.

       "I think they like us, too," they heard whispered, "so maybe we can
all hang out together until we have some free time."
       "I'm not into checking out packages," a second voice whispered,
"except on the night of the twenty-fourth, but I think he'd be perfect for
you."
       "And if you sort of huddled over us while it was happening to
protect me and keep it hurting too much."
       "I'd want to protect you while I was lying on my back, so I could
look into your eyes while it was happening."
       "And you think I'd survive?  I almost lose it looking into your eyes
while you're eating pea soup."
       "So that's what happens in the kitchen.  Wouldn't it have been nice
of you not to tell me?"

       "You're a kid so I like to kid."
       "And you're the wildest thing on two legs, and I'm not kidding."
       "Was it hard waiting?"
       "Yes."
       "Me too."
       "But it's going to be so worth it.  If you can't figure out how much
I love you when I cum on your face..."
       "And after I've sprayed all over your black chest, you'll know my
side of the story."
       "Shall we just jerk off ant let it happen?  Are you ready?"
       "If we're going to do it three times, we better start."
       "Are you really close?"
       "Yeah."
       "Me too."

       They'd found the right tent.  Sometimes I feel I should warn readers
when something funny is coming up.  How is a writer to know his reader
isn't just out of the hospital with stitches, or reading in a quiet place
where laughing out loud would be inappropriate, especially if he was
required to show what he was laughing at?  So this is the best I can do.
If you have a medical condition, skip ahead.  If you can't bark out loud,
skip ahead.

       They'd found the right tent and knelt staring into each other's
eyes.  Josh wasn't mischievious or any kind of teaser, but Timmy saw
something flash in his eyes, even in the near dark.  "Oh, you wouldn't," he
whispered very softly, knowing Josh would, couldn't help himself.  He was
likely to play only one trick in a season, and it looked to the younger boy
as if this were the time for it.

       Josh put his lips to the seam of the tent fly, parted the fabric
with his fingers, took a breath, and whispered hoarsely in puppy tones:
"Yip-yip-yip."

       There was a harsh giggle from inside.  The older camper breathed a
sigh of relief.  Hardly a time to be clowning around.  "It's Josh and
Timmy," he said.  "We can go back to our tent if you want."
       "No," came the immediate response, "just a sec."  The tent was
opened and the naked teen and boy crawled into its warm glow.
Instinctively, all four males went into full display, Selly lying back on
the sleeping bag beside the tall beauty on his right, hands under his head;
Josh and Timmy at the foot of the two head-to-head sleeping bags adapting a
like display of their tawny young bodies and huge, jutting penises.  "Hi"
they all whispered shyly in welcome.
       "We heard a little while we were outside," Josh said after a long
silence during which they'd drunk each other in until they were giddy.
       "About me wanting Selly to lie on my chest?" David asked.
       "Yes," both visitors nodded.
       "And about you getting sperm on your bare chest," Timmy added, face
slack, eyes glazed.
       "He's never seen it happen," Josh explained.
       "Do you want to masturbate me on him?" Selly asked the eleven year
old who was nearly as blond and milk-skinned as he was.
       "Yes, on his boner," the eleven year old said, looking into Josh's
eyes for permission.  The leader nodded immediately and the three of them
shifted until the seventeen year old knelt at the tall black's left bracing
the albino boy as Timmy huddled at Selly's right hip.  Josh found David
with his right hand, his left arm around Selly's neck.  Timmy's left arm
circled the waste of the ethereal thirteen year old, his right hand holding
the child's slim, six-inch erection against the eight inch circumcised
penis of the panting, arching black male.  They began slowly as if making
friends rather than racing to win some kind of award as the last of the
red-hot papas.
       "Have you guys ever been to Tennessee?" Josh asked their hosts, and
went on to outline their great scheme for turning at least one church into
an edifice to truth, justice and the children's way.  It helped, the
secular conversation, but it could only count as a slight delaying action.
The site of watching his totally white bread young tent mate being held
intimately by one boy and molested by an eleven year old, after a week's
celibacy had the expected effect on David.  With difficulty he kept his
hands behind his neck and finally gave up.  He reached for a nearby
backpack and tugged it under his head so he could see everything.  His
hands ran over Josh and Timmy's bare backs, his hips thrusting rhythmically
to bring him in hard contact with Selly.  For five minutes the tension
gradually rose, then it was time.

       "Timmy has an affectionate sister," Josh hissed, "Becky, she's
five."  Minds don't have to be strait to think alike and the kaleidoscope
of images of the tiny girl with the four of them cut the wire.  "I'm
cumming," David whispered.  The experienced Josh held him low and hard and
Timmy copied, freezing his hand at the base of Selly and pressing the
flaring pink glands of his almost childlike penis firmly against the near
ebony of his young adult lover.  Five seconds as all drank in the sight,
then there was sperm everywhere, in impossible amounts, showering freely
from both boys as they growled, moaned, and went yip-yip-yip. A feeding
frenzy ensued, the pearly pools and puddles thick all over David's heaving
chest evaporating under the assault of three tongues with frequent side
trips to the mouth of the lolling David so there's be room to lap up more
and repeat the process.  Totally relaxed ten minutes later, they went ahead
with Selly's first mounting, both David and Josh helping and encouraging
the young boys as Timmy first experimented then became successful.  David
only took his tent mate partially, then Josh lay on his back and all three
of his friends coaxed him into a hot, showering display which took them to
eleven o'clock and home for a good night's sleep.

THE END

Again, with thanks to reader and correspondent Mystery Mark for the
nucleus.

"Clark Kent, Preteen" is posted in the Celebrity archive.  Others stories
are in the Bi-Incest and Bi Adult/Youth archives.

Errata: In an essay published a month or so ago the writer blamed socialism
for a tragic industrial fire.  Socialism did not cause the fire, it was an
accident, socialism caused the loss of over a hundred young lives because
the back stairs of the factory were barricaded to keep out union agitators,
men and a few women always ready to commit anti-capitalist sabotage even if
by the simple means of stealing product.  It is my specific advice that you
kick all unions off the continent and leave the factory doors free to open.
The silliness of such a position is illustrated by the fact old-line
manufactures are seeking governmental intervention in staying the havoc of
senior workforces.  Which is more important?  That GM wants socialism, or
that I don't?

xxx