Date: Sun, 22 Apr 2001 11:56:11 -0700
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: "The Sex Circus"

			     "The Sex Circus"

				    by

			     Timothy Stillman


 Cathy Sue, as usual, noogied her little brother. In this
instance, as they went into the church building.

 "Drip."

 "Spaz."

 They said to each other. Stuck tongues out at each other.


 It was Friday night cub scout meeting. The meeting was
held as usual in the basement of the First United Methodist
Church. The basement was well lit and had a concrete floor that
could be used for basketball games. There were two hoops on
poles at either end of the oblong room that was also used for
church socials, Boy and Girl scout and Brownie meetings.

 Cathy Sue was just turned 15 and she was icky as girls go,
and Jetty, her 10 year old brother got tired of her pinching him all
the time on his elbow and his ass, and was at the moment ticked
off to a farethewell that the den mothers, his own mom and
another woman had had to attend an Eastern Star meeting tonight,
and had left Cathy Sue in charge. This happened occasionally.
Mostly what she did, as substitute den mother, his tall thin dark
haired sister with the silver braces that made her face look like an
automobile grille when she grinned, was leave them to their own
devices, and tell them once again, especially her brother, that they
were drips and they played drip games because they were drips.

 And she would shake her sausage curls, she looked not
unlike Margaret in the "Dennis the Menace" comic strips, and she
would plow her head back into Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys
books--whatever she was reading the Hardy Boys, Jetty didn't
know--just that she was weird and she was the drip. And the other
boys, not Jetty, were drips themselves because they were running
themselves ragged in those hot cub scout wool uniforms with
those yellow kerchiefs around their necks, with the wolf head
clasps holding the scarves, all blue blurs, the boys, playing basket
ball hard and fast and furious.

 To impress Cathy Sue sitting, legs crossed, pigeon toed
shoes turned inward, on a metal chair on the side lines. And of
course she paying no attention at all to any of them. Jetty watched
her from the opposite side of the room. He watched his cub
brethren turning blue in the face trying to impress, tripping each
other up, diving for the basketball, getting into shoving matches,
close calls for fights. And Jetty was so embarrassed by the whole
thing that he could spit. What he wanted to do was get old Cathy
Sue, who still didn't have titties, and as old as she was already,
flat as an ironing board, her chest, and just take off her clothes
and tie her on top of a mound that red ants lived in and let them
do their job. Jetty and his buddies would stand by and laugh.

 No. They would be heroes and they were not his buddies.
They would kill him or each other if she gave the word and the
veins in her forehead and her neck that was slim as a pencil made
her seem as though she was a wind machine and those were the
machine levers. And every time a vein beat, more boys would be
bent into her direction. He sat on the concrete floor in the
overheated room and looked up at the dripping steam pipes in the
ceiling. Right above them was the sanctuary. He didn't know if he
believed in God or not. He knew he would like to take some
cellophane and strangle everybody here with it. Just wrap them up
in it until their breathing stopped and they were dead dead dead.

 Cause this was embarrassing. His buddies weren't
embarrassed though they should have been. It was his sister and
he was nine thousand times better than she was. He was
handsome and he was sincere and safe to be around. Because he
knew about the photos of them. The naked photos. Of the boys
and girls he knew and a lot of the others at school too. He saw
their clothed bodies in Math class and at lunch. He saw their
naked ones in pictures, and they were doing all kinds of things.
He figured it out, because he was swift and observed while other
boys wanted just for girls to observe them. And vice versa. Evans'
Drug Store was where there was this door way at the back, in
shadows, and he, in surveillance, would watch the man who ran
the place every so often go to it, with some customer who always
seemed shifty and nervous and looking round like he, the
customer, was going to rob a bank. Just an average old wood
door. But something about it--sinister, intriguing. Like it should
have ghostly cobwebs on it and should squeak horribly when
opened.

 The door would be opened with a key. And with a last
looksee, both men would go inside. The door would close and
lock again. Jetty was the wind. Jetty was the Shadow. And finally
the two would come out again. The customer with a suspicious
something or other in a plain brown wrapper and getting the hell
out of the store by walking fast and faster and half running to the
door. So after a time of this, when Jetty kind of figured it out, (i.e.
it had to do with sex, because it just had to is all, dirty magazines
maybe) because he liked the Hardy Boys too, and he loved to find
mysteries around him, he had a little talk with the man who ran
the place. Jetty had guts too.  And had led the man who ran the
store to believe Jetty knew more than he did. The man looked, as
the books say, askance, and he massaged the man's sweat with his
words and the man let him go in that little room too. And what a
trunk load of surprises were back there!

 If the other boys had hung round the paperback rack at the
drug store, they would have noticed this furtive business going on
too. He loved drug stores where he could get a soda and just
looked at the book  and magazine covers all day long in the
summer and on weekends. This drug store was always cold in the
hottest summers, and he would suck his Pepsi and dance his eyes
down the rows of books. He didn't read the books themselves.
Bought one occasionally. But mostly Jetty was always amazed at
book covers and magazine covers. They entranced him. They
seemed to direct him to other world of mystery and science
fiction and horror stories and it was as though those paintings and
crude drawings on the back and front of paperbacks said, after a
time, hey, look over there at the door of that mysterious back
room and the doings around it, so slick and nefarious--so they
thought. Without their guidance, he never would have known.
See, all you illiterates, he wanted to say, what you don't know
about. But of course they knew about it. The pictures were of
--god, he laughed himself silly when he got home with that first
batch, locked his door, poured them out on his bed. Then he got
excited as hell.

 The first he looked at was of his sister, naked as a June
bug, legs spread, as she sat on a mattress before a painting of
flowers in a vase, her fingers opening her snatch to the close up.
Her boy chest with the tiny red dot nipples. Her lips open and her
tongue tip darting out. Suddenly Jetty saw her as someone other
than an annoying brat who hogged the bathroom all the time and
talked on the phone endlessly and was such a snot to him. Oh, did
he have something over her now. Made him hard too. The photo.
And what he would do with it. Bathroom time and phone time for
him forever more. Grovel, Cathy Sue, grovel big time. But he
decided to not be precipitous. To see what would happen, if
anything.

 Because not all the Polaroids were just of his sister. No,
they were of a number of young girls and young boys too for that
matter. Some older than Jetty. Some younger. A mix and match
thing. Because this was a long time ago and it happened right
beyond the paperback rack (not much traffic in that area of the
place, safe to go to that mysterious room) in the drug store with
its bland yellow walls and racks of Valentine candy boxes year
round, and its swim and surf trunks and snorkels in summer, and
its soda fountain, and the medicine counters, and the pharmacy
with the step up to the glassless window the pharmacist was
behind, and its medicinal smell, and such things as what would
one day be known as kiddy porn were not even considered in such
a small town so far away.

 It was fun, the photographer once told Jetty, it was fun
trying to pull one over on a town that was so sleepy eyed and
defenseless that it was no trouble at all. Put the things on sale in
church, he told Jetty once he knew he could take the boy into
confidence--the photographer, for all his wariness, was pretty
sleepy eyed himself--have the girls and boys autograph them and
hand them out in service, they still wouldn't see what was there.
But the photographer didn't seem like he was having fun when he
said it. Even when he took the pictures of Jetty.  As he and Jetty
came up with all sorts of creative things for the boy to do with
himself while looking at stroke magazines, including, wearing
only a shirt, pushed up to his armpits, and rising up on the
upthrust on his back, with his butt cleared off the ground, his
penis, hard and clenched and firm, in his hand trying to make a
jetty to the boy's own throat, so thrusting hard and climatic that
exact moment the camera captured was. So intensely personal,
and all those very close up pictures the camera made of him.
Some parts of his body, he wasn't sure what they were for a
moment in those photos. They were like close up photos of a pink
planet with odd landscape. In which he somehow lay and had his
being. Mysterious and interesting in a painterly way.


 Jetty always requested his photos "shoots" be with no
other boys.  Pretending himself braver than he was. He hoped. No
problem, the man had said. The man who had seemed like he
always had a sore throat somewhere deep within him. A sore of
sadness. Sometimes when Jetty went in for his "shoot", he
thought he caught the man weeping just a little bit. But he was
always pretending otherwise when Jetty, and when, Jetty
believed, the other kids were around when their turns came.
Sometimes the man would be angry at something Jetty didn't
understand. Sometimes the man seemed so damned lost. Jetty felt
a friendship for him. The man did not offer a friendship back.
Politeness. Nothing else. An ear for listening, yes. He made Jetty
feel good. But it began and ended there. And that was the
problem.

 Jetty was swift, like he reminded himself, and he knew
things, did things that his parents would split a gasket about if
they caught any of it at all. And every other parent in town too.
They didn't know he would, of a summer's eve while lying in his
room with the door locked--he was not sleepy eyed--stretch his
short naked body on his bed, he on his right side, extend his legs
as far as they would go, cup his little hot balls, twist his nipples,
elongate himself as only naked children can, feel his hard globe
buttocks, rush Vesuvius in his stomach, building, kiss his inner
arm, and he would rub away at his little penis, the texture of it
hard and warm and comforting, while he looked at the photo of a
pyramid of children, like in gym class, except these children were
quite naked. And their faces were of dewy eyes and their grins
were of charm, some rested their arms on the backs of the
children next to them,  and their little kid penises or their little
girl front slits were little rosettes of splendor that seemed to
caress his eyes. He had x ray eyes. The boys he had not "sexed"
that he passed by in the school corridors, he knew their nakedness
anyway, and it was so wonderful that he could look at them in
science class as they worked away at a test problem, and he knew
what was under that shirt, and which boy had a foreskin and
which did not, how each brought himself off in their own
individual unique way. And Jetty knowing that some day he
probably would feel their bodies genuflecting underneath his, and
their stomach muscles grasping hard as he pushed his penis into
their abdomens and jacked off away on them. He had fallen into
the lap of sexual luxury. He had to keep mum on the thing though.
All of it. Because he had realized life mostly is a series of lies and
kiddings. He might have been lucky to learn that early on.

 He especially loved the photos of the boys and girls in
their respective pyramids  formations from the back side. Those
tender little mounds of mounds, and those sweet little anuses
staring back at him. And since yesterday had been Thursday,
Cathy Sue had come to his room. Knocking on his door their
coded knock. On Thursday night, with their parents at  the city
council meeting, held in the basement where the boys were now
playing basketball so desperately, so manfully, trying to get Cathy
Sue's nose out of that damned book, But on Thursday nights, for
three months now, solid, Cathy Sue had not been a drip and Jetty
had not been a drip. Neither had been the three boys who came to
the room a bit after Jetty and Cathy Sue had taken each other's
temperature in various ways. The three boys were from Jetty's
cub scout troop. Last night. Each Thursday, three different boys
showed up. Jetty never knew how they decided among
themselves.

 The boys always entered Jetty's bedroom through the
window. Jetty and Cathy Sue were only partially disrobed. Jetty in
a t shirt. Cathy Sue in panties with little roses round the rim. The
boys always wore their Cub Scout uniforms because Cathy Sue
loved "to see Jetty suck off a man in uniform." Last night's batch,
heroes or arch villains, rapists, murderers, thieves, or the Cavalry
to the rescue, entering the bedroom of Jetty to save fair damsel
and to struggle manfully with Jetty while untying invisible ropes
from Cathy Sue's arms and legs as she lay spread eagle in the bed.

 "Gar," one liberator said, "What is going on here, matey?"

 "Unhand her, you cad," Jimmy had called out. While Jetty
caught Jimmy in a bear hug--Jimmy far stronger, larger, one year
older, had pretended that he could not escape Jetty's grasp as Jetty
kissed Jimmy on his rosy cheeks. Jimmy pretending outrage. And
Jetty pushing his naked groin against Jimmy's crotch and legs.

 "Sacrifice thyself for fair maiden," Jetty said, as the other
boys had come to the girl and had looked down on her with such
lust, as she told them to unburden themselves with their armor
and let her see the close up of their penises hard manfully so, as
they stripped each other and went to her and were naked with her
as she brought their penises close while she lay naked on the bed,
put the tips of the uncut one against the cut one, and then hurt
them as she pulled those dicks, and their owners to their knees, as
she sucked them hard for a moment, then pushed them away.

 During this, Jimmy was "reluctantly" taking off his
uniform, and playing with Jetty's uncut member at the same time.
Both boys were naked soon enough, and they knelt in front of
each other, their rods beating time against each other. And thus,
let the games begin. Jimmy's washboard stomach, and his dick
that was one inch longer than Jetty's as they turned on, with each
other, playing each other to a fever pitch, as the boys and Cathy
Sue moaned their soundtrack behind them. The games had begun.

 They had formed their own pyramid. They had examined
each other. Cathy Sue loved to see the boys examine each other.
Play doctor with each other and slide those little open wide sticks
into little openings here and there. The play of puppies, the play
of little sheep in gambol dell. And they were all rolling all over
the floor, all over the rugs with cowboy stars embroidered into
them. Their legs were round necks and their hands were rushing
to find new stiffies before there could be a chance from soft to
hard, but they never managed that. The little erector sets were
always penny candy canes hard and stiff before a hand could get
to them in surprise.

 And Cathy Sue sitting naked, playing with herself, and this
boy or that, playing with himself, looking on, and Cathy Sue lying
on Jetty's bed, fingering Jimmy while Jetty sucked Jimmy's long
slender cock and played with those very heavy balls, while
looking deeply up at his friend of blue eyes and shaggy black hair,
as Jimmy put his hands to Jetty's shoulders and sighed and
whistled through his mouth as he dug his dick in Jetty's mouth,
knowing there was more where that came from

 A kaleidoscope of naked children. A kaleidoscope of
children exploring like a familiar and yet unknown country that
was each other in the bedroom. Looking at every microcosm of
skin. Filled with the human warmth of their own sexuality. And
budding power. In all sorts of positions and sharing secrets they
would never otherwise have shared. Little newly formed bodies
and little pink cocks that were sticks of magic that seemed other
worldly. That turned and tapped and rushed feelings that were
like no others had ever been. The idea of it. The fact of it. Jacking
off. Watching each other. Watching Jimmy jack off Jetty's sister.
All primed and ready with those sweet faces and those innocent
smiles. The eyes of children watching in amazement as their own
part in the world was finally coming to them.  And it all depended
on their bodies as much as anyone else's and that was an
extraordinary thing to know.

 And they lay with each other and stroked each other's
chests. And sometimes one of the boys would suck Cathy Sue's
boyish titties, like he was a little baby and she would pretend as
she held him in her lap on the bed, to rock him and tell him
bedtime stores. As hands went and touched and prodded and
whispered shadows. Watching three boys turn each other on. Pals.
And something of hands that put love fingers crawly and tickly on
the legs and thighs, the interiors of those thighs, up to their apple
valleys, and the mouths that captured penises like little songs that
had to be played only with smiles and laughter and great and
wondrous blow jobs that seemed to seltzer the whole thing with a
clowny atmosphere. And boys looking up, from the penises they
sucked, to the eyes of the boys who owned those lucky penises.
And sucked some more. Sure that there was only the abandoned
nakedness of themselves and Cathy Sue who would flick her
sausage curls back and forth, shake her torso, extend her naked
body in a catlike stretching manner, though it excited Jetty far
more when the boys did that same thing, sometimes next to her,
mimicking her, and doing it better than she, in Jetty's opinion,
and would be pink and curvy in her way as the boys were in
theirs. Hot, watching a boy mimic fucking his sister. Hot, his
sister watching her little brother rubbing other boys. She
somehow was the catalyst for approval of anything at all. Like
when they "fucked" her, they were "fucking" a part of him as
well. She so prissy everywhere else. Laugh stories and sexual
largess here.

 But they could never please her. Never. The best part of
this was what she would do in retaliation. They feared one time
they would please her and go on doing so, which would take the
cherry out of the Coke. So they tried not to think about it.

 And so the paddling would commence in a while.. And the
little pyramid of boys would edge upward against the movie
posters on the walls and the buns would be there, trembling with
excitement, and shivering in the cool wind from the bedroom
open window because it was Fall now and the cool was a good
respite from the endless heat of summer. They felt so wonderfully
helpless and vulnerable. Though before then, Cathy Sue picking
their pink bodies in her eyes and settling them down on her
brother's bed, and telling them what to do. To see her brother.
The boys to see their friend masturbate like when he was alone.
Naked and heart pounding. Being alone. Being together at the
same time. Secret interior lights on outside for everyone to see, as
boys put their hands on his legs and waited for him, encouraged
him like he was a private singular football team, to pop his nuts
big time. Like when he had those pictures from the drug store in
his mind.

 When he took them out later, looked at photos of the boys
he had just done the night before. It made everything absolutely
perfect. It formed a perfect warm circle somehow for him. He
knew never ever to tell especially his sister. She would kill him.
He didn't know why. Just that she would. He had seen them in
photos naked in ways they would somehow never be in all this
sexing. And in the sexing, he had seen them in ways no one ever
would see in those graphic photos. It tickled sadly something deep
in Jetty. That even in such openness, there were still secrets.
There was still a closing off. It was holding secrets from them at
the same time as they held theirs from him. There was complicity,
and there was further to go. Keeping silent about these things and
that formed a frustrating bridge between them all.

  And he would lie on his side on his bed, as instructed, and
he would massage his tiny balls and his tiny cock that was a slant
against his slanted belly. He held his left leg up in the air--"gonna
piss like a dog" someone always said, and he would laugh and tell
them to fuck off. As Cathy Sue would slap his butt cheeks and tell
him, "Stop cussing. Momma would be so ashamed." But that was
how he jacked off. That  leg in the air. Who knew why? He
didn't. Just that he always had. And the boys, last night, Jimmy
and Joel and Ricky, other Thursday nights, other combinations of
boys, never another girl but Cathy Sue, would study Jetty's penis
and the way the hardness looked. She would examine it like a
scientist examining a rare archeological find, up close and with
patience and delicacy. Sometimes, at Cathy Sue's instructions,
they would lick it on the side and in the front. While her brother
kissed another boy or her, hard and tongues inserted. And that
made Jetty's dick stretch almost to the bursting point, there in his
house fashioned above and below him and to the front of him
with sex.

 Sometimes, the boys would kiss Jetty's balls which made
the balls shiver and contract a little. And of course Cathy Sue
would tell the boys, in combination, and in no matter of fact way,
which was to suck Jetty's hard barber shop pole penis, and who
was allowed to kiss him and to kiss her at the same time.
Sometimes Jetty wanted to tell the boys in the room, and in the
basement here tonight, and his sister that "I know something you
don't know," in the sing song rhyme of it. But he was having too
much fun at how everybody pretended all differently. Everyone
would have been ashamed, Jetty believed, especially his sister,
that he was in on the picture deals. Having his taken as well.
Naked and in his briefs, exposing his penis, hard and soft, a little
more, and then his balls, and grinning at the camera, proud of
himself even if he had lost his front two bottom teeth-it added to
the fun somehow. Made it all seemed regal in a way, and then so
many more pictures of him naked, as he practiced what he would
do at the "shoots" while he pleasured himself without shame,
what he would, in reality,, do this Thursday or the next. And the
camera clicking away at him. As it had and would with the other
boys and girls. On this same mattress. In this same darkened
room. He communed, did Jetty, there, with the ghosts of yesterday
and the coming ghosts of tomorrow. Pictures. Boys and boys.
Girls and girls. Doing all manner of things. It hurt him to think
they wouldn't believe he was part of that. Why would they not?
After all of this? Was there even further to go? Had they? How
could anyone go further than this?

 They would deny it to the inth degree. As, he knew, they
would equally deny that their soft pink baby fat flesh was
unwrapped also in Jetty's room and Thursday night was sex night.
Thursday night was the bedroom light on and ears cocked for the
sound of Mom and Dad driving in the garage--but that was part of
the fun back then, the danger of it, like the "fun" of the
photographer and of the man who ran the drug store with the back
room--the thing was some knew somewhere in all of this and
others might know and you never knew who to trust. So you were
careful. And you had sex. Because trouble and sex went together
all the time. And you learned, Jetty decided years later, that you
do the best you can before you're marched out of the room in
shame. To whatever fate awaits.

 And to see his sister sucking a boy while his best friend
was sucking Jetty and getting a little jealous of it, while another
boy jacked off watching the proceedings--it was to Jetty, these
wordless excursions into well just what will our bodies do tonight
that we aren't to blame for?--so wonderful bending down to his
sister as she fondled him as he sat on the side of the bed, and his
best friend in the world, last night, Jimmy, he would have another
best friend next Thursday night, leaned against his back. And
eventually pushed Jetty to the bed while the others watched, and
cuddled him and wove his delicate lace buttocks in the shadows
and light from the bedside table lamp, as Jimmy pushed into the
stomach of his friend.

 It was like, Cathy Sue one time said, a circus of sex.
There in the bedroom with its model silver planes on wires and its
book shelves filled with comic books and its slim short boy's bed
with the bed covers akimbo and the horror movie posters on the
wall and the wood study desk in the corner. A circus where she
was the ring master and how they loved to see her naked and
standing in the center of the room as they went round and round
her, faster and faster, and they held hands, the boys, and they got
closer and closer to her. Touching their hard dicks to her snatch.
To her legs. To each other's bodies as well. That circle of little
hard ons, as she played with herself and with them.

 Some of the boys breaking out of the circle and kissing
each other in mock, and sometimes real, passion. One boy pulling
his friend to where he was standing and almost over as he kissed
his eyes and nose and mouth, his tongue down his boyfriend's
throat, while balancing him as they went into the shadows of each
other, so the boy being bent backwards as he was being kissed
seemed to be missing a head and the upper part of his chest in this
tribute to the way manly men kiss womanly women in the movies.
The kissed boy with his dick hard and the veins in his legs
straining to keep him upright, as his partner plunged him into
passionate sexuality. With their sighs. Their arms and hands
trying to make each the other forevermore.

 One boy falling to his knees with his arms round the other's
naked hips, looking up at his captor with such longing and such
succor, his friend putting a hand on the boy's face and tracing it in
such adoration, or sucking his friend and being sucked by him,
with his friend looking down at his little dick in the other boy's
mouth, being slurped, and putting his tiny hands on the sucking
boy's  head pushing his head and mouth up and down, eyes of
both boys filled with wonder and sunshine morning summer
excitement and something akin to awe and majesty. Then
pretending to fuck his friend who bent over, while the little boy
rubbed his dick on that warm slit of the behind. That little stick of
flesh and such happiness it could give to someone else and to the
person who was giving the pleasure too. What a nice
arrangement. And the hard on of the boy thus kneeling who would
be sucked next. Barber cut hair. Warm soft eyes. Little delicate
noses. Petal flower lips. Giving each to the other. To find
themselves there all along.

 She had told them that she would always be a virgin and
they relaxed because then no one would get her pregnant, she
wouldn't allow--that. So that took the pressure off the boys who
really didn't want to fuck her anyway. That would have made the
whole thing fall apart somehow. Though she let them touch her
down there in her somewhat heavy muff of black hair. She let
them put their penises to the tip of it, but no further. And all of it
dislocating. All of it disorienting. The boys--thin shoulders, lanky
long musculature, legs beginning already to be very downy, or
heavy stomachs, inward pulling stomachs, nipples that were
orange or red or dusky like a sunset, hands with long or short
fingers, penises that would hold the cub scout kerchiefs draped
over their hard dicks for as long as they could. The longest time
was one hour of sheer rock hard, not even a quiver, and everybody
applauded him, and Cathy Sue had then directed old hard rock
Brad to polish his  Samson dick with that kerchief till it shone
like Sunday. He happily did so.

 The best thing about those Thursday nights was though
Cathy Sue thought she was the star, she wasn't. Though all the
boys made obeisances toward her. Though they lived it seemed
for the times they would be allowed, only for five seconds, to
touch her somewhere, but the thing was, they were more
interested in each other. And they would dance crazy in the
shadows and they would weave penises between others' legs and
pretend they were fucking from the front. Sometimes they would
lie on their backs on the Roy Rogers rug and they would pull their
legs over their ears, and another boy would go in with his penis
guiding almost into them and right at the edge, but then someone
would always get scared and they would tumble out of it again.

 But it was never enough for Cathy Sue. They never, as she
put it, "sexed" each other enough. And she always had the boys
pile, all of them so giggly and eager, they scurried on each other
so quickly, so expertly, these, pyramid boys. As she got the paddle
out of her brother's closet--he had taken it from a teacher's room
one day after school, successfully, for he was, need I remind
again, swift--and would paddle their hind ends until they glowed
rosy like a cherry fire in the hearth in a country inn in the middle
of winter snow. And they loved it. They loved the way their blood
sang. And they loved the way she would then make them paddle
each other. Then pyramid falling sprawled onto each other.

 As she, then, made them bend over and paddle each other,
not hard, not hurtful, but enough that their penises sometimes
popped without their even being touched. There was such wisdom
in teachers about paddling. It made you feel close. It made you
feel happy. It made you feel you were a part of some sexual
membrane and it kept your joint jumping for the rest of the school
day, or the rest of the night, as witnessed here. Cathy Sue never
invited girls to these little parties. She thought of her own accord.
But it was Jetty who maneuvered her into that decision.

 It was fun watching the boys pile on top of her and pretend
they were group fucking her and then to pretend they were group
fucking each other and she watched and traced their bodies and
told which parts of each body she liked the best and which she
liked to think about and masturbate to when they had all left for
the evening. And they wanted to sustain their youth, their
goldenness, even if their hair was raven dark and their skin was
tan from the summer. They loved hugging each other. They loved
the being somehow one. They loved closing their eyes and
hugging another person and not being allowed to touch the other's
genitals at first, thus made to guess if they were hugging a boy or
Cathy Sue. It was not surprising how so many guessed wrong.

 For the boys' skin was just as sweet. The boys' bodies
were just as soft and delicate and it was good for them all to
know, all the cub scouts, for they had all been initiated, that it
didn't matter what sex one was, it was how much joy one person
could bring another, and they loved getting close to see one penis
rubbing atop the other, to see the ridges and the bands round the
shaft, to see the head and for someone, the owner or not, grab the
head, and press it just a little, make it dark with blood and deep
with suction as the slit was made to go in and go out again.

 But here, now, in the church basement, the boys, all of
whose bodies Jetty and Cathy Sue had known almost as intimately
as it was possible to know them, they and she and Jetty too for
that matter, were pretending that no Thursday nights had ever
involved the children in their underwear being pulled down and
dicks pulled hard on through the slit, no Thursday nights of the
boys wearing some of Cathy Sue's underwear, and strutting back
and forth in Jetty's room, pulling at their long pretend sausage
curls, and putting a hand on a hip as they imitated their version of
a woman's walk, blowing kisses to the wind. Not the paddling or
Cathy Sue's or the boys' look up close as tummy met tummy and
penis worked against penis as the paddle hit the buttocks of the
boy on top and made him feel extra naked, even more so than
having suck jobs with out his clothes, for some weird reason, and
the penises quivering like little snakes or thud heavy paddle
worms onto each other as hands felt chests and felt shoulders and
the paddled boy lay on top of the boy he had just dry come on.
Quite wonderful. Fulfilling. Deep in the heart so.

 They explored the differences and the sameness. And
afterwards, the boys would dress, would window exit, and Cathy
Sue and Jetty would dress each other for bed, kiss each other good
night, and his sister would go back to her room, as like clock
work their parents came home each and every time to the very
second. So Jetty thought, this Friday night, and how everybody
pretended that these things had not happened. The boys were shy
and diffident around Cathy Sue tonight. They worked sweatily
hard and panting breath and blotched shirts at the chests and
underarms to get her to notice but she was too busy reading a
book. And boys were once again drips. And girls were drips to
boys. And never the twain would meet.

 Crazy. Jetty thought. He leaned against the wall and
watched as he put his hand in his left pocket and massaged his
hard on. He didn't wear underwear much any more. It was easier
to come in school or church or Sunday school or MYF or the cub
scout meetings that way. He did it delicately. Looking at the boys
playing ball. Looking at his sister engrossed in her book over on
the other side of the room. He would have been so terribly
embarrassed if anyone had looked at him and figured out what he
was doing. He kept his expression neutral. He worked his fingers
on the same dick that every boy in this room, and Cathy Sue too,
had sucked and rubbed at one time or another, as he had, at Cathy
Sue's instructions, she was a mean one all right, sucked and
rubbed every boy dick in this room. And one or two of them had
eaten her clit. Jetty hadn't. That seemed too ooky.

 They had all together, in different groupings, jacked each
other off. She kissing their butts and they hers and each other's.
They had explored each other's nummies in all manner of ways
and had put fingers up each other. A boy would stand with his
back to the others and he would masturbate so they would see his
arms working and he would throw his head back and brace his
legs, his buttocks pulled back on themselves. And just work
absolutely everybody up to a fever dream zenith. They had kissed
each other all over. They had peed out the window once or twice
just for the hell of it and everybody thought it was so funny and
laughed at the boys who did it. They had taken off their clothes
piecemeal and they had rubbed each other hard and fast in various
stages of undress. They had held to Cathy Sue's boyish tits while
other boys had rubbed their penises on the backs of the boys on
her, skinny boys and weightier boys, boys with stubby little
penises, boys who were beginning to get pubic hair, boys who had
hard rocks and penises that seemed to be getting larger by the
week, the knobs of the penises on the knobs of the boy's back
spinal column knobs. Feeling the rush of each other, as they
rubbed themselves to climax on the spinal columns, as the boys
on top of Cathy Sue kissed her, tongue kissed her, and then she
had ordered them to tongue kiss each other, and they did so
willingly. Their boy bodies tight against each other. As they knelt
before each other. And their arms decisively wrapped around.

 Then falling into each other, in a spiral on the bed or the
rugs or the bare wood floor as they kissed and fondled and
worshipped each other and rubbed their penises on the bellies of
the boys on the bottom, and their little bottoms would go into
wild spasms as they worked themselves up and out and the
paddles would fall precisely, one two three, on their naked bums,
as they were called in Jolly Olde, Cathy Sue told them once. Like
Jetty didn't know that already. She thought he was stupid. And
drippy. And he thought her so. Except on Thursday nights.

 They had stopped blushing at each other on those nights.
But here. Tonight. In school. In Sunday school. The boys would
fall all over themselves trying to speak to Cathy Sue or the other
girls, whether they were plain or beautiful or half way between. It
wasn't an act. They meant it. It was like amnesia took all of them
the rest of the week. Like they could enter from one door to the
other and never see the jarring it made. Never see how odd it was
to be at opposite poles of the earth one minute past the next.
Sometimes Jetty wanted to show them the pictures he had gotten
from the drug store. Of himself and of them. He went every week
to get some more. Jetty asked the photographer why there were no
photos of boys and girls together, and why most were of
individuals. The photographer said it was safer that way, though
Jetty didn't know what that meant. The building where the photos
were taken was about two miles outside of town at a deserted
limestone quarry. Jetty rode on his bike there at certain specified
times. He never saw other kids there. Jetty had not been afraid of
him after a time. The man was like a butterfly at the end of the
day, when the wings are harder to maneuver in the heavy late
flower scent filled summer air. Jetty was afraid for the man more
than anything else.

 Jetty came. And he watched the long blonde boy dribbling
naked. And he watched the basket ace with his dark whippet thin
physique, like a silver fish straining its naked body of plate like
musculature into the air from a long way down in the ocean where
it had been only a moment ago, with a huge hard penis that was
coming in silver squirts so far and so fast, and he jumping higher
than gravity would allow, this boy who slam dunked the basket
ball in the hoop, knocking down a short heavy little red haired
boy who was also naked and had a little plump pudding fist of a
penis that the boy could twist around and around and he said it
didn't hurt at all--honest. And let the others do it too, all that extra
skin bending round the dick's corner and finding it meeting itself
again. Curiouser and curiouser.

 They weren't naked of course except in Jetty's eye and
memory. He would not show them the pictures. He had no idea
who the pictures were for. He had not thought that far. He knew at
least he suspected none of the kids knew about him, including the
ones in the pictures, so he wasn't as swift as he thought. He just
had never cared beyond the point of himself and his buddies and
Cathy Sue and Thursday nights and how sweet Jimmy kissed him
sometimes on those nights when it was Jimmy's turn to be among
them. All Jetty knew was the drug store provided magic. And
Thursday night was the night to live for and make the magic
happen.

 He wondered as he came down from his orgasmic high
tonight, he happily observing no one had noticed what he had
been doing, remembering those pictures the man had taken of him
hard and standing, hard and lying on his side, hard and the come
expression on his face as he lay on the pallet with that same
painting on the wall behind him as in all the other photos of the
other kids. With his legs spread and his dick photographed so
close up, the camera lens almost tickling his penis, from that
angle, making his little hard dick (Jetty's face blurry in the
background) look like a sandstone column he had seen once at a
state park in New Mexico, all bumpy and massive and strong
seeming, with glowy evening red going down sunlight on it of a
July's evening, with the camera looking up to his face, close ups
and little dollops of Burma Shave on his thigh and dick tip, to
fake cum (the photographer said, lying to himself more than to
Jetty, that these photos he took would make him famous some
day.)

 That they were to be the photographer's ticket into art
galleries all over the world and you will be famous some day kid,
sharing in my glory, your being my model and all, what say you to
that? and he added that cum shots are the best ones, for whatever
reason Jetty didn't know)--who was buying them? Who was
getting off on them? On him? Jetty would wonder if he had seen
the man, the men?, who bought his photos in the drug store back
there in the mystery room.  And that thought made for an odd
cumbersome feeling. Did adults have sexual feelings? Could his
mom and dad? God, it was a very prickly thought. Like a cactus
sitting on top of his brain. Pushing its needles inward.

 The photographer was very distant to him, Jetty thought,
more scared of the boy, even more fluttery as the sessions went
along. But in the photos of other children, the faces smiled and
there was happiness in the eyes and the bodies, the abandon, and
that could not be faked. Am I different to him?, Jetty wondered.
Does he not like me as well? But the pictures of Jetty contained
the same happiness as did those others. Do we smile more
because he is so troubled?  Why was he so uptight, this
photographer?

 The man took photos that made them immortal. He
listened to them. There were all sorts of loneliness, he told them.
They felt such things too. There was honesty, as much as dared,
there somewhere in the center of the thing. And he made Jetty and
the others, though they didn't know this, feel as though they were
more clothed naked with the man than being naked in front of
him. The man was always willing to let Jetty talk. He never
violated what they thought. He was somewhat drunk on children.
He loved to listen to them. He loved to know what they thought
about absolutely everything.

 He told them not to talk with anyone about the pictures.
He said it like someone else was saying it through his words. He
said it fast, mumbling. Like it was the law or something. He
rubbed at the back of his neck hard as he said it. And sighed as he
said that to Jetty. He narrowed his eyes to the wood flooring of
this grimy room where he took such lovely sunny pictures. Jetty
decided these photos had made it possible for the Thursday nights
to happen. Made them,  at certain times at least, unashamed of
sex and their penises and vaginas and their feelings and their
imaginations.

 Jetty had tried to talk with, at lunch, a couple of boys he
had had sex with Thursday nights. Just to joke about it. But the
boys looked at him as though he had gone mad and had
immediately with scared eyes left the table for another. As with
the photos, he believed, so with the sex plays on Thursday,
everybody but he got amnesia. And he too, in a way.

 He remembered how Cathy Sue had come to his room at
times and had acted so oddly, so awkwardly, (she had never
noticed he existed before, except to browbeat him and pinch him
hard--he wondered if she had been photographed naked and this
gave her ideas or did she have them already? He guessed he
would never know. Did it work with the boys that way as well?
But he had sex feelings long before he knew about the photos, so
it was anybody's guess) how she had sat on the bed with her
brother, and they were close together, and she had asked him,
nervously certain things. Both had blushed. Both had been
embarrassed. But in that blushing and in that embarrassment, one
night, the door securely locked, she had kissed him and felt his
crotch and it was Katy bar the door at that point,  and she and he
had done things he had never seen done before. Then one
Thursday night, when she was in Jetty's room and they were lying
on the bed half dressed, her mouth on his navel, tickling it with
her tongue, one of his cub scout friends appeared at the window.

 Jetty and Cathy Sue were sore embarrassed. At least Jetty
was. He later learned this was Cathy Sue's idea. And the boy
came into the room and the boy was strong and handsome and he
caught Cathy Sue's naked butt in his hands as she tried to roll off
her brother and Jetty tried to roll off the other side of the bed.

 "Wait," Michael commanded. Michael the star athlete of
the stick ball games and the back yard basketball games. Michael
who had eyes that bore into you. That willed you to do what he
somehow knew was inside you. Eyes that saw more than you
wanted him to. Michael and Cathy Sue working in tandem on her
brother.

 "Say," Michael said, "What you got down there, Jetty?"
And coming over to the boy and feeling him up as Jetty lay
doubled over in mortification. He knew Michael would tell Jetty's
parents that he had tried to rape his own sister and they would
murder him but good. But Michael had other ideas. And in time,
in time, Jetty came out of his fetal position and grudgingly,
gurgingly, let Michael stroke him as Cathy Sue watched on,
platonically so. For a time. And it felt so good to Jetty as that sure
boy's hand stroked Jetty's penis and it seemed he was in warm
relaxing soothing bubble bath cleansing bath water and when he
popped  in the boy's hand--how grand to have someone else jack
you off, and you just lie there in the pleasure of it all--it was sheer
heaven, to look at Michael, holding Jetty's naked thighs, and who
was, it seemed, excited by Jetty. Michael stroking his own dick
thrust through the opened zipper. Tongue tip stuck out just a bit.
So sexy.

  This wunderkind boy Jetty had had such a crush on, who
also had not seemed to know before that Jetty existed, who smiled
down at him, and Cathy Sue embraced her brother with such
ardor. They both did. Was Michael's having been photographed,
the origin of his entering into these things as well?  Jetty treasured
the photos of Michael above all the other photos. And to actually
have that little Polaroid superstar here in the flesh... And they lay
with the younger boy and held him so tenderly. After that, it was
Katy bar the other door, cause the last one was beaten to a pulp.
And all of this was simple and inexorable and natural as mountain
streams running into a collective lake. Later, another boy,
nervous, and not nervous after a short time. Then another came to
the window of Jetty's bedroom where he was awaited with open
arms.  And went inside.  It just all felt so good. So good.

 Jetty shrugged as the game wound down and the boys,
depleted, fell to the floor, breathing hard and tight and expelling
sweat from their faces and arms and necks. Jetty's dick was still
flexing. Ready to go again. All he knew was somehow a real old
emissary (30 years old at least) of the adult world was making it
all okay. That what he and his friends did was all right. It never
seemed wrong to him. When the Thursday nights had started he
didn't remember exactly. Only that they made him and his friends
feel so close and important. Why did everything have to have an
answer?, a rationale?, and spoil the good times that just were
because they were? He believed they never saw his pictures (it
would have embarrassed Jetty if they had seen them?, but why?)
or each other's. At this point it got confusing, so he let it alone.


 Jetty lay spent himself against the wall, his legs spraddled
out on the concrete floor. He looked over at Cathy Sue. She just
happened to look over at him at that same exact time.

 "Drip." He whispered loudly to her.

 "Spaz." She whispered loudly to him.

 And the boys between them looked first at one and then at
the other. A boy smiled at someone. Another boy frowned. Then
the smile and the frown were wiped away. Just in time.

 "Jeez," somebody said. Coughing from the hot tough
game. Cathy Sue still reading along.


 After a while, the kids got together some money and
pooled it for Cokes out of the machine in the hall way. They hung
around for a time. Then they went home. Jetty turned out the
lights as he left. And Cathy Sue locked the main outside door to
the church. The kids split up. Cathy Sue and Jetty walked the
three blocks to home. She noogied him a couple of times. And he
called her a spoiled brat a couple of times. He walked ahead of
her. She called him names. He could not be seen with his sister.
No boy could be seen with old toad face.

 And that's the end of this. Of course, there is always  next
Thursday.

				    end