Date: Thu, 1 Mar 2001 19:48:38 -0600
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: Dennis the ...

Sex between young adults and young children.  Incest, brother with young
sister.  Overtones are romantic, literary, cultural and social.  No s/m,
`sports, or anything like that.  No inference should be drawn from the
author's use of media personalities.


Dennis the...
by
Feather Touch


Dennis, do you want the door open?

Is it okay?

Sure.

I thought you were going to be a girl.  Glad you're not.  Do you want to
come in and talk to me?.

Change of plans.  You're in the tub.  Your mom might think....

I won't tell.  Come on.  There's a chair behind the sink.  We're both boys.

Okay, I mean it's not like a big secret or anything; you know...

Loose lips lose sips.


Are you mature, Dennis?


I let one of my teacher do mature stuff with me, after school.

Do you like it?

Beginning, middle and especially the end.  He reads to me.  A lot.  That's
why I talk like a dorky twelve year old.

Well, don't stop on my account.

Come on.  All the way in.  I'm not going to jump up.

Yeah, don't.  Slippery.

Not a problem.  This is the new kind of tub with soft poly sides.  You
could even sit on it if you want.

The chair looks more comfortable to start.

Okay.


How old are you, Dennis?

Six, almost seven.  How old are you Dusty?

Nineteen.

Awesome; you drive?

Yeah; I drove here tonight.

Is mom gone?

Yeah, she left the minute I got here.  Where's you dad?

Conference stuff.  `That which `subjugates the belt of daily fear to the
reality of total nuisance,' his words for any meeting of over two people.
He'll be back for a month, thank god.  But he gets home day-after-tomorrow.

You like him?

Yeah.  We're getting along really nicely now so he'll have good memories
when I'm a teen.

I think you are very attractive.

I think you are, too.

Nah; I've got zits.

How tall are you?

Six -four.


You look like the boy in the ad for acne medicine.  I think he's a fox.
Wish I was his cute little sister.


Do you like girls?

Not at all.  Mr. Bennington is Mr. Wilson's nephew; he's my neighbor,
Mr. Wilson.  Mr. Bennington is my drama teacher.  Sometimes he brings in a
bikini for me to wear in secret with him.  That's as girly as I get.

Do you like that?

It's neato.  I'd never do it out and about; but, when it's just him and me,
I like to come out from behind the curtain like a little girl; bikini,
school uniform, pixie costume, wig, perfume, touch of makeup.  He lets me
pick anything I want.

What's your favorite?

Jane, when he does Tarzan.  That's totally awesome.  We do it on Fridays.


Dennis, I have to ask you this, just to be sure.  When you say you do
something with Mr. Bennington....

Paul, but I never call him that except when nobody else is around.

Paul.  He sounds nice.

He's brilliant.  All the boys like him; girls, too.

Okay, but to get back to what I was going to ask you.  It's really
personal, is that okay?

Yes.

Okay.  I won't get mad, whatever you tell me, but I just want to be sure
before I act really stupid.  When you say you do secret things with Paul,
you know, like dressing as a young female, does that mean he's sexually
molesting you?

Yes.

How long has he been doing it to you?

Six months and a few days.  I forget exactly how many.  Our anniversary
isn't until the eighteenth.

Does Paul molest other young boys?

He has two other boyfriends.

How old are they?

One's eleven and the older one, Pat, is thirteen.

Does he have sperm yet.

He just got it a month ago.  It was an occasion, and he let us drink
champagne..

Does Paul save his sperm for you.?


From Tuesday.  Thursday is torture day; we're together for two hours, but
we don't let anything happen until we do Tarzan on Friday.  That's when we
do most of our reading, on Thursday.

Do his other boys get lots of his sperm, too.?

I get the most.  He's been with Ricky and Pat for years; plus he videos us
while he's molesting me so they can watch later.

I'm glad to hear you say the word, `molesting,' so that I really know you
know what it's all about.

He taught me that.  And masturbate.  I love that one.  English may have its
ups and downs, but not when it comes do doing that on a man's penis.


How old is Paul?

Twenty-six.  He looks like a guy that does travel shows on television; the
dude with the pony tail.  Sort of tall and craggy; even taller that you.

So he's masculine?

Yeah, but not woodsy; no beard, no hair on his chest.

Do you like looking at his chest?

Definitely.

I like looking at yours.

I like having you look at me.

Do you have a boner?

Yes.  Do you?

Yes.

How big?

Mine is nine inches long.  Goes with being so tall, I guess.


Paul has a book called "Boys."  It's not porno, just pictures and a lot of
the little boys are naked.  Paul says my penis is bigger than any of the
kids in the book that are close to my age.  That's because he lets me
swallow just a little of the sperm the second time I masturbate him to the
point of ejaculation.

Do you remember the first time you did that?

It sort of happened twice.  Two first times.  The first, first one was
three forty-five p.m., October seventeenth.  It was a Tuesday.  Paul had
been with his eleven-year-old, Ricky, at lunch time because he wasn't sure
I'd stay after with him and he didn't know if I wanted to do stuff.  He
wanted my real first time to be exciting, so we made a date for Friday,
after school.  But I really wanted to see cum.  He gave in a little.  Said
he remembered being six years old, himself, and we compromised.


How'd you do that?

We didn't get naked and he didn't molest me.  He just unzipped, wouldn't
let me do it for him, and then when the tip of his penis was showing up
through his underpants he let me come and look.  He took my right hand in
his and showed me how to fingel him, just on the tip.

Did he spray some for you?

Yes.  I had my finger on the little slit and there was a squirt that went
all around and got all over his purple part.  He said, that's enough for
now, and turned away from me, but I had some on my finger.  He said it was
nothing, because of the things he'd done to Ricky earlier in the day, but I
thought it was awesome, anyway.

That doesn't sound too bad, for a first time.

For me it was perfect.  I'm not old enough to have lust feelings or passion
or any of that big-boy stuff.  It's mostly curiosity, plus really liking
somebody and wanting to make them feel good.  I guess that's a little like
feeling love.


Dennis, it sounds fine for a guy that's less thant seven.

It was a start.

Then you had to wait until Friday?

Don't remind me.  The week of a thousand hours.  Especially Thursday.
Reading day.  He actually spanked me -- for my own good -- so I'd stop
pestering him about you-know-what.


He didn't do anything with you?

He let me unbutton his shirt and take it off.

Did he strip you to the waist?

No.  Had to wait.  He made a joke out of it, sort of.  Said at my age,
waiting even another day would be like waiting years, so I'd get the
rewards of a life time of patience over the days between Tuesday and
Friday.  Imagine a child molester citing moral chapter and verse to a six
year old.  His words were so clever, expedient, self serving, and just
plain fun, I wanted to be a writer from seven minutes after we started
talking to each other.


Did he look good, stripped to the waist?

Like an athlete, but not over -trained.  Swimmer.  Really powerful chest,
but no steroids or buff stuff.  More sleek, like a panther; except he's
white; really white skinned.

Do you like that?

Kinda.  I always thought I liked tan, and I do, but I'm really, really
white, too, so I guess it's just natural.  I hope my outlook broadens when
I get older.


Have you ever watched Paul molest Pat...?

...And Ricky?  No.  We all want to be together; they've never molested a
six year old before; plus, I can let them come in my mouth, and swallow,
because Ricky just has a little seminal fluid and Pat's sperm is still thin
and watery; because he's so young, not heavy and white, like Paul's.  But
he wants it to be really special, and I learned enough between a certain
Tuesday and Friday in my life to trust his judgement.  Maybe you could
come, too?

Are you going to tell Paul about me?

If it's okay.

I hope you'll have good things to tell.

Well, I'll give you massive amounts of help to make them good.  I'm betting
on the best.  He really wants me to have a partner of my own.  You're
freaking perfect.


Have any of your other babysitter tried to play with you?

No; mostly they're ladies; and one boy, but he's a `tude case, so no wiggly
little six-year-old, white-skinned bubble butty squirming around in the
semen on his chest.  Too bad, because he is cute.  But that doesn't mean
shit if the personality isn't there.  I'd rather be with a really fat, ugly
kid I like than with a dreamy prick, any day of the week.

Hope I pass the test.

You passed it by not coming in and hauling me naked into my bedroom and
mounting me like a bull.  That's what Slick Slim, he's the bad babysitter,
would have done if he'd been a homo.  Lucky for me he was just a couch spud
so we made out okay.


Has Paul ever tried to mount you?

No.  He says Ricky can, he's the eleven-year-old, if I want to have that
experience.  Maybe Pat after Ricky.


How do you feel about it?

If I get a crush on him I'd like to have him inside me, as long as Paul was
holding him by the waist in case he got too excited.  Would you like to do
that; hold Ricky for me?

Yes.

Cool.  Paul will be happy.  Dusty, how much can we date?  I mean if you
like doing stuff to me after you get me dried off and onto my bed, do you
think at least once a week?

No problem, Dream; got the ride, got the grades, two or three times a week,
and weekends won't be a problem, if you can hang while I write.

You have books, a chair, and a light,?  I'm about like a cat when I have
them.  And if you want to play with other boys, it's okay, too.

Think you'll do; I don't picture myself much of a Twinkie hound.  Most kids
your age are so obnoxious it's disagreeable that they're alive, at all -
and even fantasizing about them is a Not.

Then we can kind of go steady; I mean no romance stuff, and nothing at all
that isn't behind locked doors.


You took the words right out of my mouth.


Do you feel the way Paul does about trying to go inside me?

Absolutely.  My penis really is nine inches long.  I wouldn't do that
unless someone was going to kill you or something totally freaky like that.

Good.  Because I know I'm going to want you to, very much.

If it works out, I'll hold Ricky and molest you while he's being a young
stallion inside your bottom.

Will you kiss me while he's cumming inside me?

If there's room at the mouth, and if it is your wish.

The last part is easy; the first part, I'm not so sure about.  I might
really like Ricky.  He's dorky looking with glasses, shaggy hair, really
long legs and big feet.  Knobby knees.  I might get a crush on him and want
him to kiss me, especially if I can feel what he's doing way up inside me.
If you put your penis between our bodies while he's mounted, you might get
so excited you don't want to kiss me too much, anyway.

Yes.  Many factors to consider..

Cool.  You and Paul could both do it that way and Pat could ride on Ricky's
back; he looks wiry and strong, and molest his chest while he's getting
excited inside me.


Dennis, do you want to be kissed on the lips.

Very much.  Come kneel beside the tub so I don't have to get up so you
won't see my penis until after you've got me in bed with you.  Is that
okay?

Sure.  This bathmat is perfect; I'll put it here on the edge of the tub.


Do you want to come in with me?

No.  I want to take you like a wife.  Both of us under the covers in our
underpants.  Is that okay?

Yes.  We've got candles, too.  And mom and dad have a big dressing mirror,
the kind that tilts, in their bedroom.  We can roll it into my room in case
we want to get on top of the covers.

How long will we have?  Is your mom dependable about the time she gets
home?

No problem.  We've got six hours at least.  The lights give plenty of
warning, plus the garage door.  We'll be lambs by the time she comes into
the house.

Okay.  I just want to be sure you're comfortable.  You're only six years
old, after all.

Yeah, it's so amazing to be that young and have a dad that reads to me, and
a teacher, too.  I'm not bragging.  Mozart wrote an opera at nine and I'm
still turning out childish kids' stories.  Will you read to me?

As if my future happiness depended on it, and nothing else in the entire
world, except getting you to read to me, mattered.  Only fair.


I'm going to be a famous writer someday.  Books are so far beyond awesome.
Nothing else even comes close.  Writers have the A-list of artists all too
themselves.  Just avoid Sallinger and the poison crowd, and you can carry
the world in a paperback.  Try that on film.  Do you want to help me be a
great writer?


Lord, child, I turn on a tape recorder and sit here inches away looking
into your Dennis Dream blue eyes and there's a book, presto chango.


Does anyone write about the things Paul does to me after school?

Yeah, they do.  In fact there is a pyramid on the Net called Nifty.  It's
stories of our age, many, many thousands of them.  Other sites, too.

Have you read those stories?

Some.

Did you ever try to write one?

That's for later, prune child.  You're wrinkling.

Not sexy?


 Well, I wouldn't go that far.

If I was a grape, you couldn't peel me, because I'm already naked.

If I wrap you in that yellow bath towel, you can be a banana.

I even know phallic.  Did you know that when you were six?

I doubt it.

Do you know it now?

I'm having, forgive this, a very hard time thinking of anything else.

Is your boner still really hard?

You remember the line about the cat in the movie?

Cat couldn't scratch it?  Yeah, but he was old.  It was gross.  I'm glad
you're nineteen.  That's perfect.


I don't want to charge your mom and dad, you know.  For sitting you.

Don't say anything right away.  They call me a menace around here, which
means I can leverage better behavior into having us hang out, with no
embarrassing money stuff.  Did you take this job for money?

No.  My kid sis.  One of her friends needed her, so I caught.

Like a detective?

Yeah, call me Luckule Poirot.

You're pretty funny.

Dah, don't mention it.  Take my advice, please.

Can't I even smile?


Well, I wouldn't go that far.  Just don't encourage me.  I've read guys on
the Net that think they're a riot.  If you want to keep witting when you
get older, don't try being a humorist.  Only one writer in history has
pulled it of.  Mr. Wodehouse.  William F. Buckley, Jr., and Trevanian, get
in some laugh-out -louds.  Thurber made it halfway, but was such a prick I
wouldn't put him on any list.  Plus, no one has ever written a book as
funny as "The Gods Must Be Crazy."

Oh, I knew we were going to total out in the buds department.  That's my
favorite, along with the original "Vacation."

How about "The Brady Bunch Movie?"

It gets me so horny I never have actually laughed.  But definitely,
definite, definitely; both of them.  How rare is that?.  And "Adamms'
Family Values," and Camp Chipawa.


Would you like to get molested by the little Jewish boy?

He's cute.

Would you?

Yes.  He's really quiet and shy.  Do you think he'd like to spray on me
like Paul does when I lie under him, playing Jane?

I think he'd be scared shitless, but I also think if you could get him
alone he'd cum all over you in about ten seconds.  Just has that look about
him.  Quiet, but powerful, underneath.

I mean just pretending, but if it happened would you hold me on my back
against your chest while he was on top of you, so you could put your hands
on both of us and maybe go between us, down low, and masturbate both of us
at the same time?

Yes, I'd do that.  Anything's cool with me as long as it does not amount to
a hang-up or another tedious addiction, like cigarettes and food are for
like half the morons in the world.

I'll bet you'd look awesome even if you were a few pounds overweight.

Thanks.  That one I won't take you up on.

How old is your sister.  I think mom said twelve.

No, she's big for her age.  She says she's twelve to get jobs.  She just
turned eleven.  It's a stretch, she looks closer to ten, but she's better
than most older kids, so no complaints.


Did she ever get molested?

Yes.

Did she tell you about it?

Yeah.

Can you tell me? or it a secret."

It's a secret, like you and me.

What happened to her?


She kept begging me to take her on a picnic when I got my license, three
years ago.

Awesome, so it really was like you and me?

I hope it will be.  Put my consumer confidence index at extreme, even
though I doubt you have much to consume.

Hey, I'm almost seven.  You'll see.  Is she beautiful?

No.  Just a pretty girl you'd see anywhere.  She looks like the girl that
plays the grownup travel agent in the television commercial.

Did she have a crush on you when it happened?

It was mutual.  We were in love from the time she was your age, but mom
made us wait until her eighth birthday to be alone with me, so she, Becky,
would be sure.


Remember what you were saying about prunes?

Sorry, are you melting?

It's cool, I mean the water.  I'm ready to come out if you'll hand me the
towel and turn around.  I left my underpants in on my bed - you could bring
them in if you want.  Left down the hall, second right.

Okay.  You know, we still haven't kissed yet.

I wonder why.

All talk and no action.

I'm off for your underpants.

Thanks.


Your room is nice.

Thanks.  All books and no pop stars.  More for the imagination that way.
Speaking of which, why don't you strip in the bathroom and come to me in
your underpants before you take my towel off, okay?

Yes.  I'll be back in a minute.


Oh, dude, you look amazing.

Better than Paul?

Bad question, but yeah.  You're more like a boy man and he's more like a
man boy..

Sorry.

No.  It's cool.  What does your sister look like?  Did she wear a bra on
the picnic?

Yes.  First time.

Did you buy it for her?

How did you know?

If I had a little sister to play with I'd buy her lots of stuff.,
`specially that kind of stuff.

Well, we bought them together.

Panties?

Yeah, and some frilly stuff.  She thought it would be cool to wear it in
the woods and run through the forest barefoot and gamin, to be chased.

Did it happen that way?

No.  It was really slow and tender.  She cried a lot.

When you took her bra off?

Yes.

Did she push her chest out for you, or was she stooped over and scared?

Stooped over.

And she has really long brown hair, like the girl on television?

Yes.

Does it feel nice?

I guess.  I think that's one thing that really doesn't make much of a
difference.  Long hair or short.  Hers was incredibly soft though, now that
you mention it.  I did play with it for a few minutes before I started
unbuttoning her blouse.


Was she shy?

Very.

She cried a lot?

Just three times.  We were brother and sister.  She was eight and I was
sixteen.  It seemed natural and she kept laughing through her tears and
telling me it was okay, she was just scared because she was in love.  I
told her I felt the same way.

Did that make it okay?

After awhile.

Did you take her bra off from the front, or from the back like you are
against me?

I unbuttoned her while I was looking into her eyes.

Did you have a boner?

I was all hard cock.


Did she say anything?

No.  She just looked down at my hands while I was working on the front of
her blouse.

Had any other boy ever looked at her with her blouse off?

No.  She wanted my dad to, but he was scared to touch her.  That can have a
bad effect on a child.

What did she look like when you had her naked to the waist, except for her
bra?

Like a sweet little girl.  Very delicate.  Oval face, big brown
eyes. Boyish, in a way.

Did you feel her up while you were getting her naked on top?

Not until I had her blouse off.  Then we stood kind of leaning against a
tree and she said she was ready, so I got behind her and put my hands on
her waist.

Where she was naked?

Yes, just an inch above her skirt.

Was she wearing a mini?

No her school-girl uniform; blouse and skirt.

She wanted it that way?

Yes.  She wanted to wear the blouse as much as she could, so a school one
was best, and the skirt was because mom told her never to let me see her
legs much above the knee.

So she was standing, stooped over, with her blouse off?

Yes, hanging in a tree.  The blouse, not her, she was just hanging her
head.

And you stood behind her with your hands on her waist?


Yes.  Her head came just to my nipples.

Then what did you do?

I just felt her hair against my chest and she asked me if she could take my
shirt off.

Had she ever seen you that way, before?

No.  I had to be careful until her birthday, too.  Mom said that she never
saw her brother's naked chest until their first time together, and that
made it extra special.


And you dad doesn't touch her?

Not yet.  I'm going to print out some Internet stories and leave them where
he'll find them Becky thinks he's sweet to be shy about it, but being
uptight is a different thing.

What kind of things did you talk about when you were standing behind her
with your hands on here waist?

Getting her pregnant.

Awesome.  If I had a sister like that, I'd probably like girls, in general,
more than I do, so far.

You think you'd like to do what I'm doing to you to a girl?

Yeah.  But I'm too young.  I like you and Paul.  Are you going to try to
get her pregnant when she gets older?

No.  I want dad to do that.  He brought her up to be a sweetheart; then
she'll have a daughter and sister; if I fathered her the baby would be her
daughter and niece.

But you talk about it?

Yes.  She wants mine to be her third child.  Her first from dad, her second
from her boyfriend Gregg, or husband, I hope, and then one from me.  She
wants to have six daughters.

How long does she have to wait?

Not much.  I found a special clinic in Denmark.  They run a bunch of tests
and review photos of the female, then they can take the baby by induced
delivery before the child is too big to be born without too much labor.
They supply a home health aid, slash college student, slash ersatz mother,
so the real mother can grow up reasonably free of her incest child.  I
guess it works and is safe as any delivery.  Happier young mothers, though,
because...  It's more like a big club than anything else.  They get a lot
of data on genetics and birthing in general.

And it's all girls?


Yes.  In a lot of families the young girl gets pregnant from a strangerm
with a boy child, then she mates with her father or brother for the second
child, which will be female.

Sounds a little complicated.

You're six.

Forgot.

Makes two of us.

So, is Becky going to have a boy baby first?

She might change her mind, but she really wants dad's first, and that will
have to be a female That's why she couldn't come and baby-sit you.  She
flew off to be with him.

She's ovulating?

Yes.


That must be really exciting for your dad.

Well, if it works, I won't have waste a lot of ink printing out Net stories
to drop the hint.

Do you think he's doing to her what you're doing to me?

I hope so.  But she's cool about it.  They're more like total buddies, like
the girl and her dad, the one that wants to keep her a child forever in the
car commercial with the sunroof, so it's no great passion and romance like
it was with us at the picnic.

That might even make it better for her.

I think you could be right.  She'll be able to concentrate on what he's
doing insider her body instead of all the necking and making out we do when
we're together.

How is she going to lie for him?

She wants to lie spread-eagle on her back after he has her panties off.
Then she wants him on top of her in they way you do it so you can look into
each others' eyes.

Is she going to wrap her legs around him?

 She doesn't want to cum with him but she's not sure if she'll be able not
to.  She just wants to lie still while he inseminates her, and she wants
him to go up on his forearms just before his sperm comes so she can see
where they're joined together at the waist.

Does she like to look at you that way?

No.  She likes her legs tight around me, and scratching my back, and
whispering and mewing in my ear.

Would you like to take her the way she wants your dad to?

Very much.  She promises, but my penis is nine... you know.

From talk.  I haven't seen it yet.

Well, push back, six-year-old boy, and you can feel it against your back.

Like that?

You tell me.


Is your dad big like you?

I don't know.

You've never seen him, like that way?

No.

Do you want to?

No.  I mean it wouldn't freak me or anything.  I just don't like adults;
male or female.  You and Becky are perfect, and I think I'd like watching
Paul touch you, but I doubt I'd want to do anything serious with him.

So you're not gay?

Not even one percent.  I see guys, even young guys, look at each other, in
public, it turns my stomach.  Any p.d.a., except young, attractive,
heterosexual couples should be banned by law.

Wow, I'm glad.  I feel the same way.  It should be okay, but it isn't
anything but gross like Hume Cronin with a you-know-what.  Private,
private, private.. How about taking Becky with your dad in the room.  Would
you do that?


I don't think so.  I'll try to be sure the situation never arises.  No
reason it should.

Will you like listening to her tell you about what he did to her?

Yes.

Do you think she'll tell?

Possibly.  She tells me about what Gregg does to her, he's fourteen, he's
her boyfriend.

Have you ever watched them together?

Not yet.  They want me to, but we'd want at least half a day alone
together, the three of us, so it's still in the planning stages.

Cool.  Do you like being with Becky when you know she's got Gregg's sperm
in her?

I love it.

Does she tell him when she has yours in her?

Yes.

Does that get him excited.?

 It gets both of us excited.  It's sort of a macho thing when you're with a
female.  If you know she carries the seed of another male, or other males,
your body compensates.

Did you feel Gregg's sperm on your cock?

Yes.

What was it like?

It was just a tiny bit stingy,

Were you glad it was in her body?

Yes.

Do you fuck your kids sister every time she has a date?

I do it very gently after her dates, Gregg is premature with her, which she
adores.  But, no.  It's happened eight or ten times.

Does she tell you when she wants you?

Yes.


So the first time you took her blouse off, how long did it take you to get
her bra off?

Ten minutes or so, I guess.  We were really comfortable on a fallen tree
with loads of moss on it, so everything happened really slowly.  That's why
I wanted to bring you into the bedroom and not get in the tub with your.
With Becky it was over an hour before she lay all the way back on the log,
with her arms above her head, and let me pull down her panties.

Were you naked?

Yes.


You know what I want to do, Dusty?

What, Dennis?

 When we're stripped, I want to hold hands with you and walk all over the
house; attic, cellar, everywhere.  If we both have boners it might feel
exciting.

It might, at that.

Did you like seeing Becky in just her bra and panties?

She was slim, tawny, and totally beautiful.  I could not believe, minute to
minute, that soon I was going to hold my darling sister in my arms and cum
deep inside her.  I don't know what heaven's like, but that's as close as I
care to get.

It sounds massive.


Work on your mom and dad.  If you have a baby sister, the age spread will
be perfect.

But I can practice with you, in the meantime.

Either that, or be baby-sat.

No.  I'm going to be a writer when I grow up.  They need more practice than
any other artist, by about ten times.  So I want to get off to a positive
start in my young life by learning to practice and practice and practice.

Well, your idea of walking around the house after I've taken you underpants
off is a good one.  You might be able to turn that into a story.

Wow, being sixteen and being with an eight year old girl, especially your
sister.  I keep thinking of the boy and girl in the acne ad; the one where
the mom's always wanting to take pictures.  I haven't seen it for awhile,
but you know the one I mean?

Yeah.

Is Becky as cute as that girl?

Not as cute, but prettier; more feminine and dainty.  Lighter boned.  She
only weighed seventy-five pounds when we went on the picnic.


Were you scared about being inside her, because you're so big?

I'm not real thick.  Mostly long; long and slim.  Plus girls have babies,
right? so a big penis isn't a problem unless it's like ten or twelve inches
or the girl is really small .  Then it can effect gait and even cause hip
displacement.

How big can a penis get?

It sort of depends on what you mean by penis.  Boys that swallow large
amounts of semen before puberty sometimes grow organs two feet long.  I'd,
personally, almost rather have none.  Keep that in mind, okay Dennis?

I know.  Paul told me that, too.  That, and if that you sperm really a lot,
like a few times a day, if you're not saving for your partner, you won't go
bald.  I think the docs don't really have their eye on the ball there.  I
mean, they're still performing vasectomies, and the statistics show they're
very likely to cause major prostate problems twenty years down the road.

A guy would have to be insane to get one of those.  How many ways are there
to prevent pregnancy?  Lots. Tying off essential bodily passages has to be
a joke.

How are you going to prevent it with Becky if she's not pregnant when she
comes back from your dad?

Foam.  Really early pill abortion if there's an accident.  She tests every
five days and we have RU 486.  But the foam is great.  It's a totally
amazing thing to come up to a little girl with the plastic applicator and
watch her spread her legs wide apart so you can insert the spermicide into
her vagina.

Sounds awesome.

It's an extremely nice way to start things off.  Fifteen minutes for the
foam to reach maximum effectiveness.

Do you use a stopwatch?

Yes.

That must be really exciting.

Yeah, especially when we spend half the time talking about her baby.

If she's eleven she must have some hair down there.

A tiny bit.  She wants me to shave her in the shower, so she can be like a
child to dad.  She knows how excited I got the first time I pulled her
panties down her legs, and part of it was because she looked so young.


That's not a problem I have.

I should let you shave me.

Would you?

We'll have to think about it.  I'd like to be that way for you, Dennis.

You'd look like a kid if you were.  But we better use sugar because it must
be itchy if you really shave.

I don't know.  They do it all the time in hospitals.

Yeah, but they do lots of moronic things in hospitals.  Vasectomies.  Kill
fifty thousand people a year because you're no boss hog in the docin' biz
lessen you scratch at scrip like a chicken.  Plus, most docs are very, very
poorly educated, in any general sense.  Guess asking more would be too
much, if penmanship is..

You've got that dialed in pretty well, Dream.

My dad's a doctor.  He says Lance Armstrong just proves how totally bogus
chemo is.  The flat-out best athlete in the world, and they almost had to
kill him before the drugs stunted his tumors.  Think of having cancer, and
then barfing your guts out, being totally dizzy all the time, and losing
your hair in big handfuls.  Plus the maximum discomfort tolerance, which
they use to determine dosage.  That's gotta hurt.

Yeah, then there's the trach tube at the end, just so they're sure they've
done everything they can possibly bill for.


Let's talk about what you did to Becky at the picnic.  Did you unhook her
bra from the back, or reach around her from the front?

I stayed behind her while we talked about babies.  Then I started doing her
tummy a little, because that's where her child would grow.

Did it feel good?

Exactly identical to yours.

How does mine feel?

Excellent.  Have you ever done this to a little boy, like a four year old?

 No.

Well, maybe you'll get a chance one day.

I could go in the book of records for being a child molester at age six.

Would you rather go in for something else?

Yes, making a mature male climax for eighty-five seconds.  But they let you
enter in any category, right, as long as you're the champion?

I guess they'd be flexible.

Yeah, because if I did it to a really little boy, I'd just want to do it
for a minute or two like you're doing it to me now.  I wouldn't really be
interested in his pee-pee.  Maybe like pretend wrestling in a swimming
pool, as long as it was long enough so the little boy knew something was
happening.

Four probably is too young, although, twice in my life I've seen
three-year-old girls clinging passionately to young adult males.  In both
cases it was obviously an extended and very deep relationship.  So, if you
can find an eager younger child, and you can be friends in other ways, it
might work out well for both of you.

I really love getting Paul's sperm on me.  I'm not old enough to feel the
deeper stuff.  I think girls focus that way younger than boys.

You may be right.  I've never seen a boy display like those girls did,
right out in public with people watching.

Well, for a little girl an older male is big and powerful and a father
figure and protector and giver of presents.  Taking the seed of such a man
would seem natural enough to go practically to babyhood.  Were you
interested in Becky before she was eight?

No.  But then, like I said, we run a Puritan household; no nudity or semi
nudity -- except when

So you never even saw her legs before you went on the picnic?

Nothing.  We never even went swimming together; sports, anything but Just a
pretty, pretty, brown-haired, brown-eyed heart-throb with slightly big
teeth and a shy girl's smile..


And you filled her with your seed?

Yes.

During the picnic?

Yes.

Was she embarrassed when you took her bra off?

Very.

She cried, then, right?

For two or three minutes.  I had the clasp undone and I pulled her gently
to my chest and held her very low down on her tummy, like I'm holding you,
until her tears stopped.

How long was it before you got it all the way off.

About then minutes.  Like I said, we were braced against a fallen log so it
was really comfortable to take our time.

Did you knees shake?

You know about that?

It hasn't happened to me yet, while I was standing.  Sometimes Paul shakes
so much he can hardly keep on his feet.  I like to stand beside him, with
my left arm around his waist, and masturbate his penis with my right hand.
But we always have to lean against something toward the end, and I wouldn't
even try it when we take a shower together, because we'd both end up on the
floor..

Not a real problem, certainly not the worst I've ever heard..

Not on a stage set.  We had loads of stuff to play with in our Tarzan and
Jane games.  But you tell me your stuff, first.  How tall were you at age
sixteen?

Five-eleven.

How much did you weigh?

One-sixty-two.

How long was your dick?

I was just coming up on seven inches.

Was it the biggest one in your school?

Yeah, but not by much.  Maybe an inch.  But that's a guess.  The only other
boy I ever saw with a full boner was Gregg.

Awesome.  I wanted to ask if you'd ever touched him.  So, I'm picturing a
very tall, handsome male, yeah, with a ragged complexion, standing behind
his dainty eight-year-old sister, the girl naked to the waist, and the big,
powerful male fondling her tummy, down low, with gentle, circle motions.
Is that accurate?


Just add that it was deep in the forest; mossy old trees.  Ferns and
dappled light filtering from the sky.  Both of us were really pale.  So the
picture is, from the side view, a slim girl wearing an inappropriate heavy
skirt, with her lean little girl torso naked above the somewhat heavy blue
fabric.  She has on her school oxfords and long white socks.  She stands
with her long brown hair against her brother's naked chest.  Neither has
seen the frontal view of the other.  The brother, almost six feet tall, and
sixteen years old, holds the female child gently to him, his fingers just
below her belly button

What is the powerful male animal wearing?

Heavy jeans and a thick leather belt; cowboy boots.  His hair is cropped
short.  I guess he looks pretty good for a male of his age, but nothing
beauteous.

In other words, a smaller version of you.

Who says six isn't the age of enlightenment?  You're doing well.  Yes, he
looked a lot like me.

Drop dead.  As in drop dead...

Average.  Will Gere, Harry Hamlin and the young slickers on LA Law along
with Troy Donahue were drop-dead gorgeous.  They look vapid; prob63ably
are.  Pomade for the trailer trash.  I'd read a thousand books before I
raped my little sister.  I may not have been pimple free, but I was plenty
dumb free, and that's what counted then, and always will.


Yeah, I know what you mean.  If you're just pretty for the t-trash you end
up in South Beach; glowing during the day, and as empty as a wino can get a
bottle of Black Label when the discos close.  They say it's the loneliest
place on earth, but real good lookin'.

I doubt you'll end up there, Dennis.

I'd hate that.  Look how Tom Cruise's face has fallen apart.  And he was
rich.  Looks ain't shit.  A guy can lose `em in a week, and a girl almost
overnight.  Scary.

That's why god invented books.  But I'm preaching to the choir.

Indeed you are, and, since I'm the only choir boy you've got, maybe you'd
be interested in what happens to other.  But you've got to tell me about
raping you little sister, first.


When she'd stopped crying, we had a duel.  Not with pistols, we didn't have
any, unless you want to make a phallic joke about me; other than that, no
pistols.  No rifles either, so we decided to use our eyes.


You mean a duel, like in a western?


More English; ten paces, each, making a total of twenty.  Then we closed
our eyes and turned toward each other.

Oh, that must have been so awesome, especially in a deep, mossy forest
glade.  How long before you opened your eyes?

We talked together first, that was interesting.  We didn't have to shout,
but we couldn't exactly whisper.  I wanted to be sure she was ready; that
the rape I was going to do on her was statutory, only.  Then I asked her
how she wanted me to stand, and I told her how I would like her to stand.

And how was that?

Well, on her feet, for openers.  Just kidding.  I wanted her to stand up
straight, or nearly straight, with her hands at her sides.

I don't see how Becky could be straight if she was about to take her
brother's sperm, but, I get the point.  How did she want you to stand?


Show-offy.  With my hands behind my neck, arching my back.


Not bent over, like the Jewish camper?  That would be my choice.  Shyness
and shame.

You're a writer.  Becky was about to give her virginity, in every way, at
once, or almost at once, to a male that outweighed her by eighty pounds.
Different priorities.

Yes, a different aesthetic.  I can see that.

Well, a writer should.  There are three kinds of genius: retentive,
creative and discretionary.  The latter means choosing the best of a
hundred options that might be only fractionally differentiated from each
other.

So, you standing like a stud on display was what, genius or hormones?

I think you answered your own question.

I could answer some others if I exercised my retentive genius.  I mean, if
you took me to that place and that log I'll bet something would stick.
Especially if you got really creative while I was lying back on it like
Becky was when you first pulled her panties down her legs.

I might come up with something, at that.

Will you take me?

There?

Your choice, but I would like to go there, yes, anytime but right now.

And right now?

I want to see what we look like together.  In front of the mirror in mom
and dad's room.  Shall we take a walk?

Okay, Dennis.  Lose the towel, and we'll just wear our underpants,okay?




What do you think? Dusty.

I'm glad you're full-size for almost seven.  If you were any more a
pipsqueak I think we'd look a little odd.  What do you think?

Well, put it this way.  I have no doubts at all why Becky lay for her big
brother.  She's an awesomely lucky girl.

I'm feeling fairly lucky myself, looking at your beautiful young boy body
in my arms.  My hands circling low on your soft, white boy belly, just like
they did on Becky's flat little-girl tummy.

If I have kids some day, will you come over and teach them?

I think you should let Paul do that.

Both of you.  Not a big club, or anything.  Just like a dozen or so people
who can be free spirits without letting it fuck up their lives.

Sounds good.  If it works the other way, and I end up with rats, you could
come visit, too.

How old would they have to be?

I don't know.  How old would you want yours to be before I molested them?

Probably six or seven, if they were precocious.  On the other hand, I might
never want anybody to touch them.  It all depends.

Well, we seem to be on the same page.  Glad we have something to do while
we wait.

You can say that again.

I'll just say glad, again.

Thanks, Dusty.  You make me feel really good.  It's hard to be smart and
have read a lot.  Real hard.  The kids at school are like potatoes and
squashes.  The girls try to talk through their tits like the ones on
television.

Maybe that's why they call it the boob tube.

Dunno.  Isn't `boob' for bird-brained?  Anyway, it sounds so fakey and
phony.  Alicia wanawanawanabes.

As if.

I mean I'm not even seven, and I can't stand the sight of them.  Luckily,
the libe is the one place they almost never go, so there's some relief.

You could get a pair of absolutely gigantic round eyeglasses like Harry
Potter.  That would clear a swath.

Publisher's like those.  It' is deeply ingrained in them; status through
lensware.  The Swifty Lazar hall of fame.  Build a jig out of teak, they'd
be useful as a coffee table.  Great big round glasses.  Mink hats like
fungi on steroids.  It is repulsive, but some people just love it that way.
A deep need of show, glitz, gloss, tack and display.  Fabulous when they
fail, as they always have.  The great glowing comedy of human history.
Noisy rubber-faced roaches and the heel of the boot.  Makes one
quintessentially glad to be molesting a kid with a brain, never mind the
tiny little boy pink nipples and long, slim neck.

It's great to be a WASP.

It's great to be an educated human, Dennis.  And don't go overboard on the
wasp thing.  Remember, tender young bucko that I'm going to cum all over in
half an hour or so, a Japanese man read an Englishman had learned pi to
five thousand places.  He learned it to forty thousand.  We invent.  They
develop and execute.  Both are essential if common people are to have nice
stuff.


Okay, sorry, point taken.

Yeah.  Okay.  But remember what you, yourself, said about cute versus nice.
Be proud of being white.  Detest sniveling urban socialists, because their
doctrine is not survivable for the long haul.  Give others a chance.  Don't
ever make nice; always be nice, when circumstances permit.  There is a
total, absolute and colossal difference between the two; probably the
entire distance between heaven and hell.

Form over function, and vice versa?


Phony over true; veneer compared to oak.  Sweet young virile male versus
snide, sneaky, scuttling maggot.  Remember, my little child, contemplating
and dissecting the suffering of people who richly deserve it is the truest
of all intellectual pleasures.  I've only read a thousand books, and I know
that.  And it's a lasting joy.  Goes on and on, century in and century out.
Regrettably, in a theoretical sense, the joke will be on us for our
tolerance.  No kindness goes unpunished.  But we're doomed, anyway.
Socialism is the most relentless of grim reapers because the very people
are conned into sustaining it with their votes for liberals.


[LIBERALS ARE DEFINED AS FOLLOWS: THEY HUG EVERY TREE, FISH AND FOWL.  THEY
DRINK WATER FROM FOUR-OUNCE PLASTIC BOTTLES WHICH ARE EXTEMELY DIFFICULT TO
COMPRESS OR RECYCLE, AND WHICH LAST FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS.]




Since the educational system has been dumbed down to about eight percent of
what it should be, more and more manipulating can be done at ever lower
cost per thousand.  Insidious, but exceedingly thorough.  No survivors.  We
will be extraordinarily lucky, because we will get to see it happen, and
know that we've lived at the apex of human culture, invented by white
geniuses, executed by Asian geniuses, and destroyed by a compulsive need to
share, thus allowing the powerful poison to be brought to the belly.
Wal-Mart, and gutted ghost towns; Ricki Lake, and the true end of anything
that could possibly be left to live for.

Thank god for Bill Gates, eh?

So amazing.  We should have all died in the late eighties.  Then along
comes Microsoft, and gives us more than a decade, like a denizen of the
death bed suddenly given a maximum delayed-lethal dose of adrenaline.  Look
at him hop, look at him go.  But you know what the show must do, and that
is not go on.

Wow, you really can write.  I mean, if you wrote that it would be cool.
You didn't answer me before; do you write for the Net?

Yes, speaking of which, if I don't get back to molesting your superb young
Dennis the Menace boy body my readers will punch out.  Nifty has twenty six
thousands stories.  The competition is daunting.

That's not much of a compliment to me.

Oh, child, don't take it personally.  It's just that it's been an hour and
I haven't even touched your Dennis penis, much less seen it.

Yeah, and I've only felt your pressing against my back.  Like a log on
fire.  Isn't it burning you up?


Definitely.  Definitely.

Well, I'm not seven, but I'm pretty smart for my age.  Could I suggest a
cooling spray?

Yes, Dream, you certainly could.

When?

If you stop asking me questions about every single little detail of what I
did with my little sister, things might progress faster.

But what would your readers think?

See, here the trick is to story along with cute and fun characters, then
the reader stops thinking.  He may build a picture of Becky and I standing
in the woods, twenty paces apart, her slim body offset by the thick waist
and belt of her blue skirt, mine, showing off like it was on display for a
health-jobber zeen.  Having thus positioned our reader, looking on from the
side, about the length of a bus away, we no longer deal with his thoughts.
They have been reduced, by no uncommon slight of hand, from thinking to
wanting, to wishing, to lusting, outright, for no more than a frontal
glance of my little sister, standing demurely in her oxford shoes, her long
white socks, her blue tartan wool skirt, and her slim nakedness framed
above the skirt by her long, soft, brown hair and her big, scared brown
eyes.

Hey, don't be so hard on your readers.  I'm not thinking much, either.

Well, Dream, think of her.  Her breasts, tiny.  Not a small as yours; she's
a female child; the size of quarters, where yours are the size of pencil
erasers.

Is that what you saw when you opened your eyes after the duel?

Yes.  Two perfect little-girl breasts.  A little bigger around than a
quarter, actually, and protruding from her flat chest maybe a bit more than
the diameter of a poker chip or a checker; no trace of soft mounding yet to
be seen.


She must have looked really feminine.

That's the word.

Especially in the deep forest.

That helped, though I guess she wouldn't have looked half bad on a street
corner in Gary.

Did you want to rape her right on the spot?

Yes.  I'm damn glad she was my beloved little kid sis.  Otherwise, I just
don't know.  I'd never, ever, get a girl in that position unless I knew it
was okay.  Boy, either.

Phew.

Not to worry, Dream.  Your tender butt is safe around me unless someone
pulls a knife and hold it against your long, white throat with all the
sweet, delicate child veins.

We've got a good alarm system, plus a noisy dog.

And that makes you feel safe?

Well, I wouldn't describe it as safe, exactly, not looking at what you're
doing to me from behind, two feet away in a floor-to-ceiling mirror.  How
safe can it be?  Every cop in town would shoot first, and ask questions
later.

Glad I'm an artist.  I want to ask loads of questions before anything
really exciting happens; before any kind of discharge.

All well and good, but can't it be overdone?  I mean, what about your
precious readers?

Lord love a duck, child, they're watching me turn a cartoon character; a
freaking comic strip into a living, breathing child -- more poignant and
full of charm, wit and life than anyone that has ever been rendered short
of the baloney-bopping scene.

Do I come off that well?

For a six year old, you beat every record to the dawn of time for coming
off.  Trust me.

I really like that scene.

Me, too.  Rusty and Vicki's brother.  Which one did you like?

The brother, but just by half an inch.  I liked when they were playing
football and he was wearing a cut-off.

Yeah, that was awesome.  If you were a man, do you think you'd like to
stand behind him in the shower and rub hot, soapy water underneath his
belly button.

I'd like to do that, and I'm six.

I almost forgot.  My little cartoon character; so full of life and lore,
sometimes I think you're older than I am.  Smarter, anyway.

How can that be?  You feed me all my lines; we've been together for over an
hour, and not a word of narrative.  How can I grow in people's minds, that
way?

Remember what I said about thinking?  Think about it.

That it turns into lust.

Bull's-eye.

Eye?

See how well I've done with you?  The hair trigger response?  That's what
all the reader's are going to have, the second I pull down your underpants.
Ergo, you've done all the growing you need for this story.  You don't have
to worry about anybody but little Dennis Mitchell.  I'll take care of
everyone else.

How many people do you think are looking?

That's a good one.  I don't know.  ASSTR sends a count.  I got a thousand
on my first story with them, in a day or two.  Then it dropped.  Nifty
doesn't report, so the story I sent them, I don't know.

How about fan mail?

Well, on Tech TV, which is on world-wide cable, they usually get less than
a thousand responses to a poll or quiz, and all you have to do is click a
mouse.  I do get enough to make me happy.  Quality over quantity.
Remember, real hard, that I am the best writer who has ever lived.
Thousands and thousand of people will read our story.  Many of them will be
hooked up, biz wise.  None of them, for any amount of anything, will even
write, much less offer as much as a sow.  If you want to be a champ, learn
to knock a bruiser on his butt under the rules of pugilism.  Millions and
millions for that.  Prove, with every paragraph you write, that you're the
best, and it's yawn city.  To answer more specifically, I don't get
quantity.  Cher gets quantity.


Yeah, and her voice is like she's singing from inside a giant bottle.  All
the engineers in Hollywood can't make her sound even good.

She's a cheap sell.  Big.  Glossy.  Very noisy.  What else does it take?

Not talent.

Good.  All the more I can use on you.

Now I need talent?

Think, Dennis.  Remember about wanting to be a writer?  Say this turns out
for you.  Who are you going to use your talent on?  The character?  Or the
reader?

Thanks for reminding me I'm six.  I can't decide.

If we felt ambitious; a terrible thing in a writer, by the way, we could go
after two birds with one stone by getting naked and walking around the
house with hard cocks.  It would feel really good to us, and make the
reader forget to breathe, much less who does what with any stray talent
that might be left lying around.


Do you want to pull my underpants down in front of the mirror?

Think like a writer, Dennis.

Does the audience want you to pull my little boy white underpants down in
front of the mirror?

There, see how well I've done with you?

Do you ever populate your work with your own ego?

Yes, Dennis.  Only one writer on earth is allowed to do that, because no
one can write well enough to pull his chain.  That writer is the best
writer, not only in the present, but through all of time.

And, if I remember correctly, you described writers as sole inhabitants of
the A-list of artist's, ergo, as you said yourself, I am being molested by
the greatest artist yet to live.

Dream, thank you for saying it for me.  Gracious of you.  If I ever do
manage to write myself into an embarrassing corner due to exuberance not
untinged with megalomania, I hope I have you, and not Paul, because I'll
need you more than he does.

Psychological dependence on a six-year-old?

THINK LIKE A WRITER, DENNIS.  Multiply by thousands and thousands.  Their
dependence, not mine.  And that is not to say I'm not depending on you.
Psychologically, too, I suppose.  But now it's more physical.


Cute.  You say that and pull my half-naked little boy body to you to prove
your point.  How do you want me to take you?

If you were with Vicki's brother, how would you want to take him?

Like I do Paul some of the time, especially in the shower (now that he's
stopped collapsing from the things I do with my hand to his big penis).
Stand to his right side holding him very tightly around the waist with my
left arm so I can feel all the muscles shaking; then masturbating until
he's ready.  When he tells me he's ready, turn of the water, and maybe use
a little soap on my hand to make him grunt harder.  When he gives the final
warning, I move from where I'm pushing my penis against his thigh, quickly,
directly in front of him.  Then we both bow our head to see the sperm get
both of us wet all over our fronts.  Would that be okay?

Du'uh.

Hah.  Great writer you'll turn out to be.  Throw one bit of narrative your
way, and you start quivering like jelly.

Yeah, boss, that narrative will do it every time.

Do you love me, Dusty?

No.  I'm going to pull your underpants down because I'm a lurking brute set
on ravishing and defilement.  I'm going to lunge over your bent young body
like a bull off an island after five years.


Yeah, but I know you.  Just on paper.  In reality, you're going to take me
gently and sweetly; teaching while not intruding on the child underneath.
You're going to build on the secrets Paul showed me, and maybe show me some
more.  In other words, do what I want, all your fancy typing aside.

And were is this tender and affectionate act meant to place?

Anywhere we are after you've finished your story about Becky.  You've left
every single one of us with a strapping sixteen male posturing for a
half-naked, eight-year-old girl.

They're in the woods, right?

Shut up, moron, and talk.

Okay, you win.  We did a count-down from a hundred, Becky subtracting a
digit, then me.  Anyone looking on would have thought we were a pair of
escapees from a failed asylum.  To us, it added a nice little touch of
drama.  I guess sex, too. Made it something we'll both remember all our
lives.

Both?  Don't you mean all of us?  Speaking of which, are you're going to
treat your readers to every chapter between one hundred and zero?

I read a story, not half bad, where a woman describes a very young and very
pregnant girl over fifty pages or more.  They'll cut me some slack.  There
are thousand and thousand of other stories.  They know that.


But your guess is you have enough talent to keep them here with us?  With
you and Becky in the woods?


You know what, it might be fun to try.  Whaddya say?


It's like "Marjory Morningstar."  Are you going to get laid, or aren't you?
Inquiring minds are going to want to know.

All any mind has to do is write a better story.  Slam, bam, thanks, ma'am.
I'll read theirs, and stop writing my own.  See how simple life is when you
never fail to put your reader first?

Maybe clarity is in the eye of the beholder.

See, Dennis; you do have it.  Instinctively you went what to what they once
called, lo, the poor reader.  Congratulations.  That was quick,
spontaneous, and dead on target.  Your lesson is learned with your grade as
student only surpassed by mine as teacher.

We're a new dynamic duo.

Pat Boy and Rubhim?

Who's driving the Patmobile?

The beloved reader!

High.

Fives.

Now get back to work.

Okay.  We counted down from a hundred.

Did Becky's voice get scared at the end?

Quavery and quivery; yes.

Did she go really slow?

We both tried.

Now whose a cartoon?  You couldn't even count slowly?  With your little
sister there to help?

Dennis.

Yeah, yeah.  Story, story, story.  John D. MacDonald said it years ago.


I went to Becky.  I knelt in front of her.  I loosened the belt of her
skirt, and it dropped.  I did not look down.  She knelt in front of me.
She undid my belt, my zipper, and let my jeans fall.  She pulled them free
of my boots while I balanced by touching the top of her head.  She did not
look up.

Dusty?

Don't interrupt, Dennis.

I want to be naked with you.

Thank you for not interrupting.

In my bed.  We've still got hours.

Okay.


I love kissing you.  Am I as sweet as Becky?

You'll have to guess from kissing her child, but not until you have lots of
sperm for her.  Satisfied?

Yes.  Now it's your turn.

Okay.  What do you want to do?

Get on top of the covers.  Bring the mirror and place it beside the bed.
Get the angle right Then I want to straddle your inner right thigh, with my
penis almost in your groin, and masturbate you just like I did to Paul on
that Friday afternoon when he was playing Tarzan and I was Jane.


Dennis?

Yes?

You look beautiful.  I wish we had two mirrors so I could see the muscles
working in your little-boy shoulders from a rear-on view.

Dusty?

Yes?

I know of a hotel where mirrors are a dime a dozen.  Will you take me there
on a date?

Can I bring Becky and Gregg?

Du'uh.


. . . .


I'd suggest writing if you want another chapter.  --TE Thomas@btl.net