Date: Thu, 3 Oct 2002 16:01:15 -0500
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: THE TARZAN MUSHROOM HUNTERE BOOK VI
THE TARZAN MUSHROOM HUNTERS
by R. Forbes Emerson
(Bi-ped, inc., rom.)
BOOK VI
"There's no control on hideous mothers, no laws, no
codes, no strictures, save they inflict no physical wounds. Other than
breaking bones and drawing blood, they are free to maintain a savagery akin
to the hungriest cats in the wildest jungle."
"What if their sons were allowed to kill them. Taken
aside at the age of eight and told this. That they would not be prosecuted
because the only rights a child had was vengeance. Wouldn't mothers tend
to back off knowing the children they flayed with their tongues and tempers
could one day gaze into the matrix of past hell and throttle the life right
the fuck out of them?"
"Maybe we should be more tolerant. Toxic mothers, a,
cause self-esteem issues which drive some kids to the furthest recesses of
the library, or off to their rooms with a book, and, b, most of the best
comics were roasted, feet first, for years, and, c, they also cause sexual
dysfunction leading to homosexuality and pedophilia, which, we all know,
are two or three hundred times as stimulating as post-honeymoon marital
sex."
"Besides, what would we do with all the bodies? Most of
them are so fat We'd have to divert thousands of backhoes from construction
sites to dig graves. There would be economic consequences."
"You could heat a home for a year on the gas it takes to
reduce a whopper, a la crematoria "
"Bill Gates gave us the personal computer, an essentially
useless device, and saved the world. Now that they've become an appliance
item, maybe shuffling moms, essentially worse than useless, off to their
final rewards could, you know, take up the slack."
"Watch out below!!"
"There are bright sides in addition to the geek/pervert
vector."
"For example?"
"Not having to worry when they get sick. Not having to
even show up, much less mourn them when they die."
"And if you achieve anything in life, no cuddly,
affectionate mom to share the credit."
"But she can take all the blame if you end up a bum or a
jailbird. Maybe not in the eyes of society, but in your eyes. The one who
knows the truth."
"The greatest sentence in the English language delineates
the difficulty in tolerating mom-junked men, however you might wish to
empathize."
"There has to be some good news, somewhere."
"If you're with a girl you don't like, and want to get
out of the relationship, they come in mighty handy."
"But they work even better on girls you do like. Blame
mom for anything, and you're on your onesies with the slamming of the
door."
"And tears."
"Ah, yes, but not for you, with you, or because of you."
"Ironic, because the one thing a mad mother can bestow is
a sense of humor."
"Survival is the lowest form of wit."
"They'll laugh a thousand times, laugh every day, then a
boy who loves his mom comes along and you're yesterday's joke."
"Good idea, celebrating Mother's Day on Friday, the
Thirteenth."
"I like this club, it does everything right."
They were at Waist Two, the oversize camp between Waist
East and Waist West. If the symbolism was on the crude side, the location
was convenient to all, and the valley-floor terrain was a welcome break
after the perennial grades of the mountains. Mother's Day had coincided
with their second million in gross revenues, twelve days earlier than the
milestone had been achieved in previous summers. They were staring at five
million by November first, when they'd close out even the part time
school-in-session schedule, so the mood was as good as it could be, under
the circumstances.
Alex was not enthusiastic about encounter sessions or
group therapy. They were throat gloss; a meaningless exercise in
pretentious futility composed of equal parts of pseudo dominance and ersatz
judgementalism. Whether they were more boring than destructive, or vice
versa, was the only interesting facet of the psycho trend. But for most
rules there are exceptions, and so a biodegradable poster had been glued to
a number of strategic trees. "Don't let her go Unremembered," it was
headed. A penis pie motif for the illustration had been suggested and also
a shield of the crossed implements of castration. Both were finally turned
down as too subtle. The winning drawing of a boy on a spit half roasted
over a bed of coals, had, everyone finally agreed, just the right flavor.
Additional copy suggested that attendees bring along a story of a few
thousand words if they wished to do so.
Alex hadn't expected two hundred Hunters. That was a
wake-up call even if he could do no more than he already was. Fortunately,
the hunters had sensed a major turnout and each had brought food and drink.
Their theme song was an alteration of "Kumbaya" with a solemn chorus that
went "Someone's birthin' lord, what a day." (Those who could not sing with
the appropriate pathos substituted "rue the day", so there would be no
misunderstanding.)
Campfire.
Story time.
Picture it. Epping, Vermont. A recent Harvard Divinity
graduate running around in a Chevy wagon with a seven-hundred horsepower
crate mill. A dead body.
There was no putting a fine point on it, Have (Hav-eh)
Cox had stopped swinging many these long hours, was ambient temperature,
which felt stone cold.
"Tell me about your new teachers, Have," Evangeline Cox
instructed her son. The hawk-faced boy grinned lewdly across the table, an
unruly hank of lank brown hair pasted to his brow.
"Three men," he replied, "so it should be a good year."
"You just keep your weight down," the woman said,
grabbing away a half-eaten plate of pancakes, "because this is our year to
go European. Come June, if not before, the Lexus is history."
"I'll bet I can get it for you by Christmas," the sharpie
said, "the Mercedes or the Jaguar."
"That would make a happy mother, sweetums," Ms. Cox
crooned.
"Has Al Verrick paid?" the boy asked.
"Only four hundred."
"So he stills owes two," Have murmured and finished his
skimmed milk.
"Perhaps you can see him at recess," the woman suggested.
"No," the boy said, "I'll get a note from Fred Sawyer and
visit him in his room."
"Yes," his mother enthused, petting the nine year old on
the head, "he won't want to negotiate in front of his class."
"A little applied psychology never hurts," the boy said
with a wink.
"It can even be profitable," the woman observed, with a
cackle, and they shared an uproarious moment that could have been clipped
from history's worst B movie. (I believe Mary Tyler Moore stars.)
"Homework done?" Evangeline asked.
"Yes," Have said, "would you like to see it?"
"Of, course, sweetums, you know your mama wants to keep
an eye on things.
Have ferreted in the backpack on the kitchen floor and
pulled out a three-ring binder. He opened to a red tab and passed the
notebook across the table. His mother adjusted her glasses and began to
read:
Dear Mr. Apthorp, (the letter read, and she sighed, "I
always love it when you're at the `Mr.' stage with them, it's so new and
exciting.")
I think you are a very good music teacher. I like
playing the drums and I hope I will be good enough to play in the band this
year.
This is my first year in Epping. Where I was last year
the music teacher, Mr. Collins, he was my special friend and I used to talk
to him about things that were important. What is happening now is my uncle
Jed is coming. I'm nervos about him being here in the house because there
is only my mom and me at home. I used to be able to talk to Mr. Collins
about things like this and I hope you can have some time after school so I
can talk to you.
I think you are a very handsome teacher and I think you
are very nice. All the boys I know say you are the best teacher in the
school,
Your student and friend,
H. Cox fourth grade
"Yes, sweetums, you get better every year," Evangeline
said, tugging her son's ear and adding that it was sweet of the schools to
provide the skill sets necessary for a boy to support his loving ma.
"It's so much fun I'd do it even if you were dead," the
boy rejoined cheerfully, caught up his back pack, and, more-or-less the
turtle from hell, followed his mother out into the driveway.
"I don't think he'd hurt us," Have said, "it's just that
my mom is out of the house a lot at night and we'd be watching television
like late on Saturday night and he might want to watch adult stuff and ask
me if I have a girlfriend, or something."
"Have," Richard Apthorp said, "if he even says anything
lewd that's a crime by utterance. Just call the police. Tell him you
don't want to talk about things like that, and if it doesn't work, either
tell your mom or call the precinct."
"It's not that simple," the boy said, "because I really
like him. If he asked me stuff it might be okay. It's just that I don't
know what he would want to do and he might not like me if I acted dorky and
did the wrong stuff."
"Well," Richard said, "you're a little out of my field
which happens to be a certain type of madrigal that I doubt would interest
you, so my advice is to ask the nurse or the guidance counselors; someone
in social services.
"As far as I'm concerned, Mozart wrote operas at nine,
ergo, some nine year olds are very mature. Assuming he's free of disease,
and assuming he's gentle, and assuming you like him, you may want to let
him teach you. If anyone finds out, he'll be in trouble with the law, but,
on the other hand, there is considerable tolerance for men hanging out with
boys as long as community standards of decorum are met."
"What kinds of things will he teach me?" Have asked.
"Nothing you won't learn in five minutes on your first
heavy date," the teacher answered.
"But that'll be when I'm a teenager. Nobody ever had to
live that long, before."
"The only thing you have to worry about for the next few
years is getting good math grades," Richard said. "Your letter shows
you've got enough English to get by, and nobody pays for it, anyhow. Learn
math inside out, and a handsome boy like you will not have any long-term
problems, whatever happens or doesn't happen when your uncle Jed visits."
"Can we talk some more, or do you want me to go?" Have
asked.
"I'm through for the day, I was just going home to hang
out, be my guest."
"Cool," the boy said, shedding his pack and placing it
carefully in the corner of the teacher's office. He sat on a sofa at the
side of the desk.
"Can we talk at least a little, sir, or would it make you
up-tight?" Have asked.
"They have..."
"I know," the boy interrupted, "classes, specialists, and
dolls with details. It's like learning out of a can. That's okay for
spelling, but when a kid's uncle is coming and he's nervous, it doesn't
exactly fill the bill."
"And you don't have any friends you can talk things over
with?" Richard asked.
"We just moved here, sir," the boy replied, "and we have
a lot of money so we're in an acre estate. You have to take thirty one
turns, exactly right, to get to our house, and there's only one other kid
I've even seen because the houses are so far apart it's like living on a
farm. You never see any kids out, because they never see any kids out, so
they don't come out, and I don't think there's probably more than a few,
because rich people can't afford `em, anyway."
"Well," Richard replied, "there's an important national
agenda to convert ten million acres of farmland into artistically planned
communities, each year, so it will take awhile to develop a lifestyle
compatible with living a complicated hour of driving away from squat."
"It takes mom two hours to get to the mall from our
house, and it's only sixteen miles," the boy replied, his eyes flashing
with a muted excitement he kept carefully hidden from the teacher. "Last
week I broke a jar of mayonnaise and she beat me for ten minutes."
"Having your uncle around may come in handy," Richard
observed.
"No one wants to drive four hours and burn a quarter tank
of gas because some dorky kid screwed up," Have said, careful to let no
trace of whine into his voice. Keep it light, try to make it funny, be
responsive. Evangeline had drilled it into him with flash cards, since
that very day.
"Do you want to see the bruises she left?" the boy asked.
"They're nothing for the cops, and she's never done it before, and she's
right about having to go back to the mall when it's not shopping day."
"Why don't I take your word for it," Richard said, "and
you're probably right. Anyone can boil over if there's enough heat. She's
probably feeling worse about it than you are."
"Are you married?" Have asked, changing the subject.
"No," Richard said.
"How come?" the boy asked. Mother did coach the bold
frontal approach. Used with discretion it could save time."
"Well," Richard said, "you seem to want to talk about
mature subjects, so maybe I can tell you." And never promise to keep, or
even mention, secrets. That was another lesson.
"I talked about mature stuff with my uncle the last time
he visited," Have said, "but just a little. And we were riding in the car
so nothing happened."
"I had a talk like that, too, when I was a little older
than you. Eleven. With my Little League coach. And something did
happen."
"Way cool," the boy whispered with just the right
innocent excitement in his voice. "I mean, if you were married and had
kids and stuff, you know, I know you'd be really embarrassed answering my
dumb questions, but if you had some experience, then you could really help
me, so, even if you were embarrassed, you still might want to tell me
stuff."
"You're probably going to be disappointed, " Richard
said, "but what happened is he got me into reading."
Mother called this fielding grounders. While agility
could not be taught like the multiplication tables, Evangeline had devised
a technique of waking her son at three in the morning and bombarding him
with questions and scenarios.
"I'm into that, too," Have said, nor was he lying.
Evangeline did not drive her boy to school in a late-model Lexus because
she failed to cross t's and dot i's. "Like `Lord of the Flies' is so
awesome..." he trailed off. Bad slip. Only a brain-dead retard could
think the book any more than Piggy slop -- he liked it for the way it
affected younger kids, but that was them and this was him. "But I can't
get anywhere with those stupid Hobbits." A look of cautious relief came
over Richard's face and Have realized he'd barely escaped glazing the
teacher's eyes and getting a polite set of walking paper in a minute or
two. Wash his hair, or the like. Anyhow, this was a man; he'd have to be
on his guard. Cool. Namby liberals were like pins in a lane, just as Mark
Vonnegut described them in "The Eden Express". Other men were different
(for openers, they hadn't gone to Swarthmore). Challenge.
"It must be neat to hang out with somebody you like,
especially if he's older, and just curl up with a good book." There, that
was about right.
"Sundays," the teacher said, "my mom's a nurse, so she'd
drop me at Corry's house, and we'd start with the funnies, then "The Secret
of Skull Mountain", you know, the Hardy Boys. After a year we were up to
Ed McBaine and Agatha Christie and I could read anything in the library."
"Read this!" the nine year old felt like sneering, but
visions of low-slung bodywork and gnarly tires kept him focused.
"Did you stay overnight at your coach's house?" Have
asked, again with a touch of bold.
"My mom let me on my eleventh birthday," Richard said.
"That's what makes me nervous," Have said, "you know,
like if I'm in bed in just my underpants and he comes into my room and
wants to talk, and my mom's still at the club."
"Wear a T-shirt," Richard suggested.
"I usually don't wear anything," the boy said, letting a
trace of a shy smile cross his lips.
"If you like your uncle, and he's attractive, that might
be the best costume," Richard said, "not that I'm promoting anything. The
only thing I cared about when I was nine was practicing the violin. After
that, it was the fiddle and reading. Still is, now that I think of it,
though I added swimming in college."
"Did you wear pajamas at the coach's?" Have queried.
"I brought them," the young man said with a slight blush.
Cool at the moment of kill. Once or twice a month
Evangeline would douse her sleeping boy with ice water, on which cue he was
supposed to leap from his bed, kneel beside it, and recite two psalms and
"The Lord's Prayer
"To fake out your mom?" Have quizzed.
"I think it was more to make her feel comfortable," the
teacher said in a soft voice.
"Like don't ask, don't tell?" the student asked.
"That's about right," Richard acknowledged, "she knew I
really liked Fox. Boyhood crush, and all that. I even put them on so
she'd think I slept in them, but she was a nurse, and I guess she knew more
than I could keep from her."
"Did she ever treat boys who got molested?" Have asked.
"Most hospitals treat rape victims," Richard said.
"Did she tell you about any of her cases?" That was a
bit much. Time for a modifier. "I mean, that's medical stuff. The
doctor's always freak when the cops on `Law & Order' get nosey, but if
something happens with Uncle Jed, you know, I just wonder how many kids go
all zombie when it's over."
"There's a lot of taboo and witch talk in that village,"
Richard said. "sometimes it gets the spools tangled. Mom did have a few
on her psych ward like that. They had a good cure for them, though, so I
never found out much about any of her cases because they were treated and
released."
"How did they treat them?" Have asked, becoming
interested in spite of his mother's frequent emphasizing of
professionalism.
"They had a club. They'd come to the hospital and bathe
the kids with cerebral palsy and the retarded kids. The boys and girls
would go down to the pool and watch what the volunteers did with the kids
and see how the handicapped kids liked it. I guess it sort of gave them
perspective. Anyway, they always joined the club and lived happily ever
after."
"Did you tell Fox about that?" Have asked.
Richard blushed for the second time, taking the barb
without otherwise flinching. "As a matter of fact, it did come up."
"And since he lived in your town, he must have known
about it, right?" Have prodded.
"That's true," Richard acknowledged, a puzzled look
crossing his handsome young face. "Now that you mention it, I can't
remember who brought it up. I know it was that night, the first one I
spent at his house on my birthday, and I remember talking about kids who
didn't have anything else going for them, and if they were with men a few
times a week, if that would make them happier. I'm pretty sure I brought
the subject up, but it may have been him."
"But you talked about it quite a lot?" Have asked.
"Yeah," Richard said. "We did."
"Do they have something like that here in Epping?" the
boy asked. "Maybe I could talk to Uncle Jed about it. We could even
volunteer."
This was Mother's when-you-see-daylight-haul-ass
coaching.
"There may be," Richard said. "It was a little too
sensible to be optimistic about finding like programs, but I'll keep my ear
to the ground."
"How many boys and girls would a man take into the pool?"
Have asked.
"Three or four, sometimes five. Mom said it was more fun
when it was noisy and crazy, so they went for free for alls."
"Did something happen with all the kids?" the boy asked.
"I guess the men were pretty conscientious," Richard
replied, "but it isn't something we discussed in detail." The young
teacher paused and added a note. "When Fox took me, it was that way."
"That must have been quite a birthday," Have commented.
"It turned me into a happy camper, and that's a fact,"
Richard admitted.
"It must have been cool making other kids happy."
"Everything Fox and I did together was cool, but yes, it
was the best."
"Did the disabled kids do stuff with each other, or just
you volunteers?" Have asked.
"We helped them be with each other," the teacher
explained, "but sometimes we pleased them one-on-one."
"Did Fox like watching you help a kid?"
"We both liked watching each other," Richard said.
"I never thought of that," the boy lied. "I wonder what
it would be like watching Uncle Jed -- what did you do, put them on the
edge of the pool?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes we'd take them to vacant rooms, or
two the gym."
"Were the guys you did it with pretty open about it?" the
boy asked.
"We pretty much had to be," Richard said, "and most of
the kids loved to watch, so we didn't go tripping over each other, but
modesty was put on the back burner, you might say."
"How far is the town you're from?" Have asked.
"An hour on the Interstate," the man said.
"Do they still need volunteers at the hospital?" Mother
had warned against hinting at things, but also taught the boy to think on
his feet.
"If your uncle is ultra stable and doesn't have any major
clinkers in his record, there's a chance. I can ask the next time I'm in
Sedgwick," Richard said.
"How about if I went with you?" Have queried.
"If about twenty things work out right," Richard said,
"it's a possibility, but you'll have to consider how you uncle might feel
about sharing you."
"Do men get jealous about boys like they to about women?"
the nine year old asked.
"It's uncommon," Richard replied. "A man isn't going to
have to raise another man's child if he dates a boy, so there's less
bonding and commitment."
"I think Uncle Jed would be cool about it," Have said,
letting the subject drop because he could think of nothing else to say.
"Then don't be a moron and say anything." That would be mother.
He sat for a few moments in silence, but highly alert.
There was a comfort factor in wordless pauses, but they could also
precipitate an end to a conversation.
"Does anyone come here after classes are over?" Have
asked, not wanting to test the limits of his mother's coaching. Twice men
had walked over to him while he sat still and silent, but they'd both like
goofy books, so the reference was vague.
"Sometimes," Richard answered, "but everyone left
tonight."
Now to punt.
"Do you want me to go?" Have asked. "You've been really
helpful." He tried not to hold his breath.
"How badly did your mom beat you?" Richard asked.
"Come over here and you can see better," the boy said,
letting a little husk in his voice, just as he'd been drilled to do.
Richard sat gently at the slim nine-year-old's right
side. "Hi," he whispered.
Have responded with his own nervous greeting, and pulled
his shirttail out of his slacks. "You can take it off if you want," he
murmured timidly.
"Okay," Richard said. "If I do anything that makes you
feel uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop."
"It's okay if you see me," the boy reassured the young
man, "I had my shirt off in the car with my uncle once, and I liked it when
he looked at me."
"Do you like looking at other boys?" Richard asked.
"No, you pervert, I like looking at boobs and pussy and
ass," the momma's little darling thought to himself, but shyly pretended ,
in a whisper, that he liked looking at pictures of boys in the teen
magazines.
"Fox had a Sears catalogue," Richard said, his voice also
beginning to fade, "and he liked to look at the boys modeling underwear."
"I heard that little boys are called `Twinkies'," Have
said.
"That's what I was when I was eleven," the young teacher
said. "I didn't have any hair anywhere, and I guess my skin was as smooth
as tissue."
"It still is," the boy replied.
"Not quite like yours," Richard said, finishing with the
child's shirt and folding it before putting it on the desk.
"Smooth is the word for me," Have though to himself. Out
loud he said: "I'm pretty nervous. What do you want me to do?"
"Stand in from of me," Richard whispered, "Fox wanted me
to put my hands up over my head, so you can try that if you want."
The nine year old stood and raised his arms. Richard
found the taut belly with his fingers and began gently molesting Have.
"Now bring your arms down," the young man whispered to the boy. Pretend
you're a little kid that doesn't know what's happening.
Have complied, dropping his hands to his sides and bowing
his head to look at what his music teacher was doing to him.
"Does it feel okay?" Richard asked.
"It's nice," the boy said.
"Are you getting a boner?" the young teacher whispered
softly.
"I think so," the nine year old replied.
"Has your uncle ever seen you with one?" Richard quizzed,
the silky skin of the nervous little boy working more powerfully than any
survivable drug.
"I kind of didn't tell the truth before," the boy said,
"because something did happen last time we went for a ride. We were
talking about stuff, then we parked in a rest area for an hour. Jed had a
sheet in the trunk, so we took that in the back seat with us in case anyone
came near the car."
"Did you let him do everything he wanted?" Richard
quizzed.
"Yes," the boy whispered bashfully.
"How did you feel?" the teacher asked.
"Like a million bucks," the boy thought, prudently
swallowing the notion. "Like with you, kind of scared at first," he
whispered.
"Did he watch you take your underpants off?" Richard
asked.
"I lay back on the seat and he did it," the boy said.
"Did you like having him look at you?"
"It made me want to see what he was like," Have
responded, "so I scrunched down so I could undo his belt."
"Could you see him against his pants?" the child molester
asked.
"It was like he had a big ear of corn in his shorts."
"Was his shirt off?" Richard whispered.
"Yes," the boy said, "we started by practicing kissing,
then we did it bare chested, then he took my shorts off and I lay on him
with my back against his chest and he molested be for half an hour. While
he was touching me, I pushed my shorts down and he showed me how to spread
my legs to show him I was ready. Then he rolled me off him and crouched on
the seat at my feet and got my underpants down over my feet. Then he
mounted over me with his left leg on the back of the seat, until I got him
unzipped. Then he put his legs together and lay on top of me while I used
my feet to make his shorts go down."
"Did he talk to you?" Richard asked.
"He asked me if a man had ever seen me naked before, and
if I liked any of my teachers; lots of stuff. That was almost the best
part because I didn't have to keep any secrets from him." Embellish,
Mother had always said. Help them make it up. If they want to use this
kind of language or that kind of language, play along, but be bashful about
it. Aggression is the hookers' curse. If the fools want to be romantic,
fool them; but if they want to play hot bikers, you still act like a shy
little boy. There was more. (For Evangeline, "There Was More" would serve
as an appropriately understated, as per convention, not per the lady,
epithet.) Us? We've probably had enough.
"Did he tell you if he was molesting other young boys?"
Richard asked.
"He's a teacher, like you," Have said, "only in middle
school. There's a boy he likes called Nelson Cartwright, he's older than I
am, eleven. He showed me pictures of him."
"Did he tell you a lot about him," Richard asked, his
hands now very low on the boy's bare belly.
"Yeah," the boy whispered, his slim chest beginning to
heave slightly as Richard unfastened his belt and zipper and fondle the boy
just inside the band of his underpants.
"Do you know about sperm?" Richard whispered.
"I got it on my belly in the car," the boy said,
blushing. (Mother, again.)
"Did Jed tell you if Nelson was old enough to cum off?"
"It happened to him when they were watching a movie.
Nelson told him something felt different while Jed was touching him under
their coats. They went down to the men's room and it happened in one of
the stalls. He got his sperms on his boner. They had to be really careful
cleaning up, because it happened to both of them at almost the same time,
and they didn't see where all of the spray went."
"Did your uncle wipe his sperm off you, or did he lick it
off?" Richard asked.
"He held himself really still over me and made a circle
around my button, then he licked up a lot of it, and we practiced kissing
more."
"Could you feel it between your bodies while he was
kissing you?" the teacher asked.
"Yeah," the child whispered. "And a lot of it got all
over me, so when he touched me it felt really slippery."
"Did you cum with him in the car?" the young man quizzed.
"In his mouth."
"Do you want to cum in my mouth?"
"It would be more exciting if you sprayed in my mouth,
first," the boy said.
"Has that happened before?"
"No," the boy said, "Jed said I was too young. You know,
that it might shock me and make me uptight."
"You think you're ready now?" Richard asked.
"I liked feeling it on my tongue and lips when Jed kissed
me, so I think so. I know there'll be a lot, because my uncle made a
really big puddle around my belly."
"Was it very white or sort of milky?" Richard whispered,
his hands now on the boy's bottom and working toward his front.
"Real white and real thick and kind of clotty," the boy
answered. "He told me Nelson's sperm was more watery."
"Would you like to watch Nelson cum?"
"Yeah," the boy said, still with the shy act. "We're
going to hang out together sometime."
Richard found Have, cupping him fully and was shocked to
find the nine year old had a trace of distinct if fuzzy growth and that he
was huge. Man sized. Over five inches at a guess, and a hot, hard
handful. The boy thrust his hips forward at being openly molested, his
hands coming from his sides to hold Richard's arms as the young man fondled
him. The child went up on his tiptoes, the implication obvious, and
Richard gently drew down his shorts and briefs, offering a should for Have
to brace on as he stepped out of his clothes.
The nine year old was so big there were no words for it.
Any comment might be embarrassing to one so young, so he settled for
telling the boy he was beautiful and holding firmly against his chest as
the young boy drooped his head over his left shoulder, thrusting shyly with
hips and hugging the young teacher to him.
"Do you have sperm?" he asked.
"Yes," the boy replied.
That whispered Yes should have been a warning. A
sexually mature boy with most of a year to go before his tenth birthday
might occur naturally, but it was more likely that any such child had been
active with mature males for some period of time and with a considerable
degree of frequency. And what effect would a warning have had? Put
yourself in Richard's place, and you'll have to agree, not much.
"Do you want to cum in my mouth?" Richard whispered, his
voice half panting with excitement. He remember Fox's hot, salty gush,
like a mouthful of seawater, the first time his coach had ejaculated on his
lips and tongue.
"Yes," the boy said, kissing the teacher's neck, and
wrapping the handsome and athletic young male in his arms.
"Let me go first with you so it will happen while you're
still excited, okay?" Mother's instruction had been fulsome on this point.
Have was always meant to experience his `moment' first, he was the
professional. "They're paying top price, so they deserve it," were her
words.
Funny, he didn't feel like a professional. The hugeness
he found when he got Richard naked left him dizzy, his mouth dry. No snide
remark or pithy quip tickled the tip of his tongue, and he didn't like it.
Next time he was going to put on his backpack and hitchhike. It wouldn't
be as exciting, but since when was taking care of business meant to me
exciting? (We know so well who is being quoted here it would be a waste of
time to type in her name.)
Richard was naked, all his clothes piled on the corner of
his desk. The nine year old guided him to a position spread-eagle on the
office couch. Have lay on his back underneath the tall swimmer, finding
his penis with the enthusiasm of a calf finding its mother. He fondled the
male with his left hand, masturbated him with strong, steady strokes of his
right and sucking avidly at the wet, swollen glans until Richard was
grunting like a mounted stag. The young teacher had tried the reversed --
69 -- position with Fox. Both, on review, found it diffusing, so instead
of taking the wild boy beneath him, he just mouthed and toothed the
thrusting child, even such offhand touching making the nine year old grunt
and hum with excitement as he used his moth and swirling tongue franticly
and with total success.
The hot, salty transfer between the shaking young man and
the breathless child lasted over a minute. As the experience subsided,
Richard lowered himself onto the sofa, bringing the young boy onto his lap
and holding his birdlike chest in his left arm as he raised his right hand
to Have's mouth. The boy reacted instinctively and drooled his partner's
semen to wet Richard's palm. His head lolled on the athlete's powerful
chest, and he spread his legs wildly as his teacher began wetting and
fondling him, soon taking him with hard fast strokes. The boy's hands went
back around his lover's neck, and his young body bucked almost out of
control against the powerful arm encircling his sweating, panting chest.
His excited coos and mews became hotter by the minute, and Richard was able
to clearly sense the strong rise in the young body as the boy gasped and
sobbed, begging the man not to stop. Richard masturbated the child harder
and faster until the juvenile voice cleared completely and began howling.
"Oh, god, god, god, oh, god, it's cumming!" he shrieked,
and began spraying like a mature teen.
Richard was hard with the lithe, wild body in his arms,
taking just a second to wet his palm with the hot shower of the child, then
locking him almost savagely in his left arm and pounding his manly penis as
the nine year old ejaculated repeated, his scalding boy sperm flying all
over both of them and splashing in milky tendrils one after another.
They lay for some minutes catching their breaths.
"This is the best one yet," Have Cox said, grinning up
over his shoulder at his mother, who grinned back as she looked at the
monitor.
"Certainly looks like he's getting his money's worth,"
the woman said. The expensive digital camera, triggered by a sonic
switching device, had grabbed half a dozen three-megapixel images of the
lolling child and the handsome teacher. Although there was blurring at the
little boy's waist, it was obvious what the man was doing to him, and the
telephoto lens had captured by boy's first stream of ejaculate at its
crest, in the third exposure, erasing any possible doubt about the sexual
nature of the males contact. A little blurring of the background with
Photoshop's smudging tool and this particular image would stand as a work
of art, but there were obviously other fish to fry in the Cox household.
They started with a letter.
Dear Rich,
I don't know why you did what you did to me. I came to
you asking advice. My mother told me not to trust you, but I did. Lucky
for me I got a good camera and some accessories for Christmas and she
taught me how to use them. Anyway, I got some nice, clear pictures of what
you did while you had me in you lap on the couch. Mother says a big court
case wouldn't change anything, but that you have to pay for doing what you
did. I will keep being a good student and pretend nothing happened, so
maybe you can even rape another little boy someday, IF you and my mother
come to terms. She will visit you soon so be sure to have plenty of cash
on hand.
Meantime, thanks for you comments on my English and
please allow me to remain your most humble, if not particularly obedient,
servant.
Sincerely,
Have Cox
"Sweetums, you are the very devil," Evangeline cooed
before sealing the massive in an envelope. This done and a stamp applied,
her day job was done and she looked at the boy across the butcher-block
kitchen table. "You will grow again because of him," she said, her voice
suddenly husky and rasping. "Let's go to my room and see if you've started
yet." The two left the kitchen and ascended the carpeted stairs.
Alex had had her in his sights for ten minutes.
Gardening was good. She rose, walked, and stooped, frequently changing
position. The meadow stretching from the house into the foothills was a
godsend as a stray bullet emerging from thick forest would trigger the
instincts of the rawest rookie. Deer like to feed at the meadow's verge
and Evangeline liked to garden early in the morning when everything was
crisp, dewy and fresh.
He needed a transversing wound, as a dead on, knock down
shot would, like a fluke shot from deep cover, arouse undo suspicion. It
would happen. In, just under the anterior rib cage, left or right, up
through the lung, and the rest would fill a sheet of paper on a clipboard.
Oh, good girl, yes, that rose, there it is, reach out
now, bend a tad more -- WHACK -- perfect. The pruning sheets went twenty
feet, the woman ran in a frenzied circle for some seconds, finally
sprawling with a crash over a lawn chair, and crawling off another ten feet
before she went into a final convulsion, lay still, hard and ridged for a
minute, then slumped. Clay. Leaving the patio of the ranch house a
confused mess of blood, footprints and upset furniture. Half a mile away,
another hunter took a convenient shot, and the hills of Vermont would ring
out to the staccato reports of modern hunting rifles all morning.
The minister pegged Have for pretty much what he was and
found him lolling in bed. "Someone's shooting close to the house," the boy
murmured from under his pillow, expecting it was his mother who had opened
the door to his bedroom. The athletic man crossed the carpeted floor in a
trice, and as the boy emerged groggily from under his covers, slipped the
nylon noose around his neck.
"It's going to be rough, son," he said, "because I can't
afford to drop you from the stairs so your neck will break."
The boy was to scared to move or speak.
"I'd rape you in the ass just to see what it feels like,
" Alex whispered as he carried the quaking child out onto the landing,
"but, your body will be examined by the best and it would be better for
Epping if they find nothing suspicious."
To prevent unwanted actions by the nine year old, the
minister tied his hands and feet loosely, leaving him lying on the floor.
He fixed the end of the rope to the banister of the landing, then untied
the boy, double checking the length of rope. It looked good, so he carried
Have down two stairs, let the boy grip the stair banister for a few
moments, then pushed him free to swing out over the den. He'd been right
in warning the boy, it was a tough ending, stretched out because they boy
was able to hold his weight for long minutes before his bleeding hands and
waning strength got the better of him and he let the noose do its work.
Finally he was motionless, Alex having left some minute or two earlier.
"Hope I don't have another morning run like that again,
ever," he mused as he cantered over the foothills and back to the Epping
rectory. The police arrived some hours after he did - he was new in town
and therefore part of any routine inquires -- and Alex knew the senior
detective was suspicious. Fortunately, the rumor mill went onto three
shifts within hours, the Cox family history was traced, and, perhaps the
detective simply didn't want to take on an obviously dangerous opponent.
In any event, Have's computer was dissected, the rumors were reinforced
with discreet official acknowledgement of the mother and son's past, and,
at least informally, a dollar a year was budgeted to track down the
assassin.
Richard Apthorp and Nelson Cartwright became a Vermont
Couple on the boy's eighteenth birthday and moved to Hollywood. While Alex
was always a little chary of the mail after Have's letter, he did smile at
certain envelopes with Los Angles postmarks. Along with a few photos and a
newsy letter there was always a check for a hundred thousand dollars. The
lord's work.
Alex blushed. He'd never performed before an audience
before and the avid applause by an alert audience of two hundred young
people went at least a little to his head. Maybe he'd have to shanghie Kit
and Victor and strap on the Chevy, follow the big engine out to California.
Speaking of Kit, there the boy was.
"I half thought you were kidding," the boy said, "when
you said it was a campfire story."
"It better stay that way," Alex said with a grin.
"Not to worry," the boy replied. Victor joined them,
repeated Kit's commentary, and the two boys introduced Glenn, Vicky, and
Gregg. Glenn and Gregg were roommates, freshmen at a New England boarding
school. Vicky, ten, was Gregg's kid sister. They'd stumbled across the
Hunters on their second day on the Appalachian Trail, and had wanted to
meet the tall, handsome leader before he even began his story. "If there's
no one at the rectory," Kit said, "they'd like to spend a couple of days
with you before they join Victor and me to do some hunting."
Glenn was tall and rugged, one of those rare youth on
whom glasses look great. Vicky and Gregg were small almost skinny
redheads, long-legged like half-grown colts, and obviously sister and
brother. In their Tarzan suits they formed a giddy tableau, the tall
athlete with his birdlike companion, Vicki's right nipple sharp against her
white, silky chest. It was warm enough that they stopped at the storage
lockers and retrieved their backpacks without changing, towels at the ready
on the front seat of the car for them to pull over their shoulders for the
short drive through Hastings to the private grounds of the rectory.
For awhile they walked the spacious lawns, venturing not
far into the woods because snakes liked a warm southerly evening as much as
anyone. They chatted and found they had only a few degrees of separation
between themselves, the connection being prep masters and deans.
By now it was past midnight, and they circled, still in
costume, to the spacious kitchen of Alex's house, settling for hot
chocolate times four. Since Epping was more common to them than anything
in the South, the town became the focal point of their conversation and
Alex recounted kinder, gentler stories of his life and times in Vermont.
No set signal or moment, they just chatted until it
became obvious they were, cold-bloodedly, meant to be together. Alex
washed up and by accord they joined him in the master suite of the rectory.
"Were you just friends before this trip?" Alex asked when
they were seated, the outwardly affectionate Vicky in his lap, Glenn and
Gregg in a love seat opposite the easy chair.
Glenn spoke. "Yes," he said, "but this year it's been
different."
"How?" Alex asked.
"Glenn and I room together," Gregg said. "When we change
we get nervous and we can't talk, right?"
"Right," Glenn said.
"Have you ever looked at each other?" Alex queried.
"Not this last year," Glenn said.
"When you change, to you go to opposite ends of the
room?" the preacher asked.
"No," Gregg said. "We used to, but now we do it next to
each other, even if we don't look."
"What do you think?" Alex asked Vicky.
"That it's a good thing someone threw pinecones at us,"
the girl said. "Last night was so tense we'd have been more relaxed
camping in hobo city. We all know something's going to happen, and we all
want it to, but, you know, everybody says bad things so we get nervous and
nothing happens."
"And seeing each other in the Tarzan getups? How did
that make you feel," the older male asked.
"We knew we were right," Vicky said. "I think Glenn
looks like Superman, and my brother is the cutest fifteen year old in the
world, if not the biggest."
"We both think Vicky looks good, too," Gregg said, shyly.
Alex asked Glenn and Gregg if, when they changed, they
ever bumped against each other and the boy replied it often happened.
Double checking, that was all.
"Have any of you ever been sexually molested?" Alex
asked.
All three shook their heads, also to questions regarding
previous experiences. Glenn said he'd unexpectedly come across a man and a
boy in a restroom stall when he was twelve. The pre-teen had his shirt off
and was kneeling across the toilet, with a young adult, also bare chested,
leaning against the wall. While he watched the man had ejaculated on the
boy's face and shoulders. He'd slipped the door silently shut, and waited
until the couple left, separately, a few minutes later. Alex quizzed him
about the encounter, finding his reactions tolerant and normal. Gregg and
Vicky replied to his cross-exam by saying that they thought of each other
while they were in bed at night, but had never experimented together.
"Did Kit and Victor have time to go into details about
the club?" the leader asked.
"We got in late, just before the campfire," Glenn said,
"so they didn't have time. I guess we looked at each other in our costumes
quite a bit, so they jumped to the right conclusion."
"Well," the minister said, "you pass every test I can
think of. We don't like putting kinks in people, at the same time you look
like the right boys for Vicky and if you want to get her pregnant the club
will stand behind you."
"Wow," both males said while the more vivacious member of
their threesome yelled, "Yippee!"
"If it happens before she's big enough," Alex cautioned,
"she'll have to sacrifice the salamander, as we call it, by taking RU-486,
but she can wait a few weeks so you can share a pregnant girl. You're
allowed to do this once, only. When she's mature enough, we can handle the
diplomacy of the situation in regards to your families, and arrange the
birthing and adoption by your parents of the baby."
Alex explained that there was no rush. Vicky would
probably be twelve or thirteen before anything extra exciting happened with
her. That the club used half its profits to foster specially selected
alternative family groups and that such families never had any
disagreements over what to do on their summer vacations -- lots of healthy,
outdoor activity, and that their parents, thanks to the club's patent
indoctrination seminar, would be re-minted to with the Free Spirit dies.
"Gregg, that means Daddy," Vicki said spontaneously,
blushing the second the words passed her lips.
Alex shushed her kindly. "Not necessarily," he said.
"Don't go forming any preconceived notions about anything. Things will
probably happen as you want them to, but you can't judge a book by its
cover; never assume another person is feeling what you are. That has to
develop over a period of time. Nothing is easier than being totally wrong
about someone else based on the fact you like them, or even that you
dislike them."
The three nodded quietly. "This subject is so easy to
teach," Alex mused to himself, "you'd think the schools would adopt it for
that very reason. One class a day, at least, where every student is on the
edge of his or her seat, and you can hear a pin drop."
"Glenn," Alex whispered.
The tall rangy athlete rose silently from the settee and
approached the armchair. Vicky stared up at him, her eyes shifting between
the rugged teen face, the athlete's lightly muscled chest, and the bulge at
the front of his costume.
"Gregg," the teacher whispered.
The slim dart of a redhead joined them, just as Vicky
started fingering Glenn's taut belly.
Alex slipped the girls sash off her shoulder, and the
boys stared at her bare chest. He nodded and the boys moved in closer,
gently guiding each other's fingers to her panting chest and finally over
her distended nipples.
As the ten year old beauty found the masterful Glenn and
her wiry older brother, Alex slipped the shoulder strap of his own costume,
then peeled his and hers to the floor. As he lay back, the girl reached
down and freed him so he rose from between her widely spread legs. Both
boys also shrugged out of their minimal clothing, and Gregg busied himself
for a moment, retrieving the garments and piling them on the bed while his
sister began playing with the foreskin on Glenn's six and a half inch
erection. Alex wasn't going to say anything, but Vicky did. "Wow, you're
big, too, she said, coaxing her brother in close to Glenn so she could rub
the two boys gently against each other and against Alex.
"Does it hurt of I pull back like this," the pixie
whispered to her brother, also uncircumcised.
"No," it feels good," the boy whispered back.
"Boys are perfect," she noted, now handling Alex and
making him blush with pleasure.
Glenn was easing Gregg between his sister's legs, staring
into Vicky's eyes. The girl understood and nodded her thanks, then lifted
her hands to her young brother's shoulders. Glenn guided the fifteen year
old, and soon Alex saw the boy's eyes glaze and his face slacken. "Oh,
sis," he whispered as Glenn removed his hand from between the boy and his
ten-year-old sister. Gregg's hands went to Vicky's shoulders, and, staring
into her eyes, he began thrusting gently to her as Glenn molested him from
behind, thrusting his big penis gently between the mating children.
Alex fondled Vicky's pubescent breasts, now swollen to
the size of small strawberries by Gregg's stroking penetration. Without
warning, Alex bucked his hips and the girl in his arms yelped. Gregg
grunted like a pig at suddenly being to his hilt in the tiny virgin, bent
over, and held Alex and the girl in a death grip as his little sister
regained her composure.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"It only lasts a minute," Alex comforted, even as the
girl smiled through her tears and brought her beautiful big brother's face
to her so she could kiss him on the lips.
Soon the boy would take charge and rapidly be lost in the
young girl. "Gregg," Alex whispered, "Glenn's ready to cum. (That was
pretty obvious.) Jerk him off on Vicky, so she'll know what's happening
when you ejaculate inside her.
Glenn moved close and Alex braced the shaking,
slack-jawed teenager with his left arm. Gregg kissed his sister a final
time and removed his right hand from her shoulder. He quickly found Glenn
who grunted off as his foreskin was brought back, he was wetted by the hand
of his roommate, and then stroked fully and hard. At his warning, Gregg
held him still against his sister's panting belly and she mewed with
excitement as the sperm of the rugged athlete gushed again and again across
her belly and over her swollen nipples.
"Please, Gregg," Vicky whimpered.
The fifteen year old put his hand back on his sister's
shoulder and the still panting Glenn braced his from behind. Alex could
feel everything the young couple did together. Her ready acceptance of his
first tentative thrusts deep in her belly, his fast but still gentle
response, quickly echoed and amplified by the panting female. Soon they
were husband wife on honeymoon, matching perfectly as they raced ever
faster toward both their wills.
"Cum in her, Gregg," Glenn whispered in the young stag's
ear. "Oh, Vicky," the panting boy hissed, then fell to the girl, freezing
against her as she froze, locked to him. Even Alex could feel the violence
of the boys throbbing as he climaxed. Vicky sobbed with the intensity,
murmuring in a ragged voice, "Oh, Glenn, he's still doing it," every
quarter minute.
Alex didn't want to chance exceeding the afterglow of the
satiated children, so he spilled between the young bodies panting together,
getting only a whispered, "Mmm," from Vicky in response. Glenn sank onto
the pile they made, and finally all four settled to the carpeted floor to
think their own thoughts and caress their own memories.
"Am I big enough to be with Glenn," Vicky whispered.
Alex had thought them asleep, but he realized that was silly, because he
was still wide awake.
"Sweetheart," he replied, "girls not a whole lot bigger
than you are have babies."
Vicky giggled happily in response and the pile of corpses
began to move. In a few languid minutes, though getting less languid,
Gregg sat straight legged, his back against the sofa, with Vicky's bottom
in his lap. The girl spread her legs widely as Glenn crawled over. Gregg
guided his friend to his sister, and held him gently as he slowly thrust
fully into her. Then he released the athlete's penis and moved his hand to
Glenn's inner thigh. Alex sat at Gregg's left so he could look between the
bodies of the children when Glenn pushed up to stare down at the beautiful
young body wriggling and panting from what was happening between them.
As Glenn gained his full rhythm, Vicky's legs and arms
circled him, and her knuckles slowly turned white as she held the great
male beast moving ever more urgently over her.
"Can you feel Gregg's sperm?" she whispered in his ear.
"They tingle," the athlete panted in her ear.
"Cum in me," she coaxed.
"I will," the male rasped in reply.
Then it went on and on. Vicky took one hand from her
mates rippling back and held her brother's hand, often gazing hot-eyed into
her face, before returning to the ear of her lover, now coaxing him to be
slow and gentle so they could share more and more.
Alex held the girl's lolling, lank-haired head in his lap
and molested her with his right hand, flattening it against her chest, but
leaving her swollen nipples for Glenn's eyes -- and not blaming him for a
second for keeping on his plain-frame glasses with an athlete's band around
his head -- whenever the powerful teen went up on his arms to stare down at
the beauty spread-eagle beneath him.
One thing was missing from the tableaux, but it was on
its way. Vicky called out to him. "Alex?" she said, her tone puzzled.
"It's okay," he whispered.
"Something's happening," the girl said, her eyes quickly
becoming wild.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, quickly, "you're going to cum
from what Glenn is doing inside you. It's perfectly natural. He'll stay
with you. Go ahead, baby. Cum."
It was soundless, the girl to stunned to peep. Glenn
mounted himself high so her legs could thrash hard, pulling his muscular
thighs to her. Her knuckles whitened and her fingers tore at his back and
flanks.
Alex was right, Glenn was still with the child as she
panted down from her extreme, her head once again lolling, and her hand
extended for Gregg to grab and kiss. She smiled up at him, relaxing
against his now tender thrusts as the totality of being born female washed
over her again and again. Her brother stared back. "It will happen again
if you keep looking at me," she said. He didn't reply but it was easy
enough to see he was in love.
"Vicky," Glenn whispered ten minutes after the girl's
orgasm.
"Yes?" she replied.
"I want to share it differently than Gregg and you did.
I want to be really fast and hard with you when I cum. Okay?"
"Just tell me," the girl whispered, her eyes glowing at
the last step into sexual womanhood.
"I will, baby," the teen athlete answered and he
immediately took a hard, strong rhythm with her. She held to him for long
minutes as he thrust fast and hot into her, then her strength evaporated
and her arms and legs fell away. Glenn pushed up, panting like sprinter,
and his hips became almost a blur He was a superb male in superb shape. He
went on and on, two minutes and three, as the little girl lay lolling and
now mewing encouragement.
"I'm cumming, Vicky," he finally hissed and moments later
a thick lather of white froth surged from between the teenager and the ten
year old girl. He slowed, finally, then, kissing the girl on her shoulder,
slowly left her and rolled, still panting, on his back, his loins smeared
with semen. Alex moved over the girl and mounted her gently. His hugeness
in her caused her to purr and her arms went around him. He stayed with her
through a soft, gentle orgasm then ejaculated while moving gently to her
tender response. "You're the best," she whispered when she realized he'd
cum. With the last strength the possessed for the moment, they made it
onto the double bed, even managing to pull a sheet over themselves.
"Reverend Christopher, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Florence asked.
"Of course, Mrs. Cole," Alex said.
It was the following morning and the foursome were at the
kitchen table having breakfast. As he followed his housekeeper from the
kitchen, he was happy to see Glenn quietly take charge of cleaning up.
These three, plus Kit and Victor would make about a perfect household. It
would be enormously convenient for Vicky, and there was an ample war chest
for plane tickets back and forth. Something to think about.
Florence Cole walked into the library and Alex followed.
"It's not all that private," she said, "or, I mean it is,
sort of."
"The police have closed the case, but if you want to
write, go ahead," he said, assuming the forty year old woman had heard of
his campfire tale."
"Lord, child, it's nothing along that line," the woman
half laughed. In the processing of stirring Hastings to his liking, Alex
had scarcely gotten to know this woman who loved over the rambling home as
if it had been in her family for two hundred years. Hearing her call him,
over half her age, child didn't hurt, though, so he listened attentively.
"It's those new kids," she said, "they seem out of the
ordinary."
"Well," Alex commented, "when I left the kitchen, Glenn,
the bigger boy, was already starting to clean up."
"And the girl is Vicky?" Florence asked.
"The one and only," Alex grinned.
"She's the reason I thought to talk to you. Something's
happened with my niece," the woman reported, "and I suppose I'm old enough
to know what the long pauses on the telephone meant, even if you're just a
whippersnapper."
"My ancestors were dead set against snapping any whips,"
the cleric replied with a smile.
"I'm just nervous and rambling," Florence said, "it's
because Amy, my niece, is just Vicky's age, ten. I mean I'm an open-minded
woman. Half mad for horses, you might say, and if I see a colt, well, I
touch and pet it if there's any way I can. So I don't blame Joe. He's my
brother-in-law. Amy's a heartthrob, angel face and hair like Marcia Brady,
only the lightest brown you ever saw, and thick eyebrows that give her a
boyish look. But it's not the right thing. If he were trim and athletic,
there would have been no call in the first place. My sister's no dummy,
but she did one dumb thing and that was marrying a jock. Al Bundy with
Drew Carey's waistline, and if he'd even sell shoes there might not have
been a call. Marge, my sister, is worried about the overall situation, and
now that he's getting secretive, she's trying to find some alternative to
letting fat Joe punk out Amy. I was going to talk to you about it anyway,
but the moment I clapped eyes on Vicky, I mean the child is positively
glowing, I thought I better bring it up right away."
Alex sat on a sofa in the library and Florence, at his
nod, took a chair.
"How far does she live?" the pastor asked.
"Four hours. Mayberry."
"I've heard of it."
"I'll take the gang. We'll leave this instant. Call
Marge and tell her that the cavalry, ordained to the teeth, is on the way."
"Don't kill him," the woman said (so the campfire story
had spread), allowing a peep of a grin. As Alex left for the kitchen she
was reaching for the phone on the end table.
(As a result of ten minutes alone with Alex, Joe Williams
lost eighty pounds, found he had a talent for radio sales, advanced to
weekend air work, and was reunited, three years later, with a thirteen year
old as glad to be home as he and her beaming mother were happy to have
her.)
As they loaded into the station wagon, Florence caught
up, handing over a picture of Amy and telling the rescue party to meet her
at a mall food court near Mayberry.
The big Chevy creamed the road. Took awhile for the kids
to get used to the sudden surge to 140 m.p.h. whenever a truck needed
clearing, but they adapted readily, and, twenty miles out, seemed to
actually enjoy a little macadam melodrama. Once on the Interstate Alex
gave the big engine the gate and they cruised at one sixty, reaching three
miles a minute on the long downgrades. Hey, ordained clergyman
intervening, your honor, cut the reverend a little slack. But it didn't
come to that. The traffic was light, the weather bright, and, in Germany,
motorists cruised at over two miles a minute as a mater of course.
Marge was with Amy and spent several minutes checking
every watch and clock in sight, finally accepting the fact of the speedy
response. They cruised the back roads, talking, then finding an old Inn
for lunch. As Amy got to know Glenn, Gregg and Vicky, especially Vicky who
called her Twin, Alex excused himself for a quick mission to visit Joe,
returning in half an hour.
"I've know I'd have to do something," Marge said, once
lunch was over and the youngsters had gone off to explore around the inn,
"so I've got her school records and her medical records. She handed over a
portfolio of documents and her lawyer's card. "I'm not going to divorce
him," she said. "He put me through nursing school, and he worked steadily
for ten years. Then he got downsized, fat, and downhearted, and he's
around the girl all the time. I'm holding her out as bait. If he cleans
up and trims down, she'll end up wanting him just as much as he wants her.
I know. My father and I were lovers. It's either heaven or hell. I was
one of the lucky ones, Florence, too, for that matter, but I don't think
Amy would call herself that if anything happened now."
There was nothing much more to say. Marge kissed her
daughter, and left in a taxi, saying, "I'm taking the brute dancing
tonight. He'd better learn a lot of new steps."
Vicky and the new girl were a perfect match. The lithe,
athletic redhead stared at the shimmering golden doll, and the doll stared
back at the pixie. Glenn and Gregg tried not to stare but Vicky teased
them, calling them cowards. Amy blushed, stared back into Vicky's eyes,
sometimes even touching foreheads, and lost herself in her shocking new
life.
Alex let things ride as he cruised with traffic. If
Amy's father had been cool and athletic, he would have brought her up into
the front seat of the car and quizzed her on anything that might have
happened between herself and her father (plus, he wouldn't have been called
in the first place). But Joe was double-bubble gross, and any experience
that she might have had with him would be best left to a psychiatrist, if
there seemed to be problems.
"Seven hundred horses grazing in a field
Four round tires cooling their heels
All of us are keeping eight eyes peeled
Because after a man walks, perhaps it is he kneels."
"Okay, Vicki piped up," what does it mean.
They repeated the ditty and Alex hoped it wasn't on
account of his age. He thought he had the key, but, minding his own
advice, was reluctant to assume anything, wondering if it were the best or
worst.
The game was spoiled by a sign that read Rest Area 2
Miles. Their obvious excitement took the solution to the riddle out of the
realm of the problematic. The kids wanted to go parking. Alex clued the
gang he'd twigged by zipping the Chevy up to a hundred and forty, then
sliding into the nearly vacant site in a violent stop that left them
squealing against their belts.
"Has everyone else had their thrills for the year?" Alex
asked as he reached to switch off the engine. "Because, if you want a
replay, Glen's going to have to drive; I'll stay here and wait."
All were satiated. Good, chapter closed.
"Have you dated at all?" Alex asked, looking back at Amy.
"No," the girl said.
At Vicky's urging the girl tumbled over the seat, sitting
between Alex and Glenn. The older male quizzed her as he had Glenn's gang,
carefully gauging her responses
"Have you had crushes on your teachers?" was a sample
question.
"When I was eight, in third grade, Mr. Samuels.
"Did you dream about him and think about him before you
went to sleep?"
"Every night," the girl replied, blushing prettily, then
earned her gold star by adding: "and he didn't come riding out of nowhere
on a herd of horses and rescue me from being done over in the shower."
"I don't think your dad would have done anything like
that," Alex said.
"The bad part is," the girl replied, "that I wanted him
to. To be like he used to be. I would have let him. Heck, I would have
stalked him, and when the opportunity came, gone in to be with him. But
he's like a hippo now; like one of those big walruses on "The Discovery
Channel". If you can fix him, that would be better than anything."
"He's been repaired," Alex said to the girl, "but it will
take time, though I imagine knowing you're with other men will speed his
recovery."
"Is it exciting for men to know things like that?" Amy
asked.
"It may have to do with basic biology," Alex answered.
"A boy, if he cheats, leaves his seed outside the central relationship,
while a girl that cheats, brings the stranger's seed into the relationship,
which may become a major issue if a pregnancy develops."
"That doesn't sound too complicated," the girl said.
"Gravity's pretty simple, too," Alex replied, "and it
hurts if you fall more than a few feet."
"So it's only simple to a point?" Amy said.
"Life becomes complicated, at a point," the minister
said, "and you run into it. With a good alpha group, the complications add
to the excitement of anything that happens, without it, the common choices
are runaway and prostitution. That's another simple part. Add drugs and
it gets even simpler."
"I'm glad you went to talk to my dad," Amy said.
"I didn't talk to him. The chief of police in Epping,
Vermont talked to him."
There was no immediate reaction from Amy, but she did
react to the obvious tension in the back seat. "Color your dad cured,"
Vicky said, and the subject was shelved for a rainy day. (Would you
believe campfire?)
She was a delicate beauty, her brown eyes beautiful in
their own right, but topped by a bushy boy's brow and silken, angel-hair
bangs. "Next time I see Joe, he's going to weigh less than his daughter,"
the minister prophesied to himself, half in jest. Meantime.
She was dressed in a white blouse and blue shorts with
matching knee socks and shoes, camp-fire girl personified. "Are you
wearing a bra?" Alex asked.
"Mom didn't dare get me one, because she thought it would
send dad over the edge, but I'm starting to need one," Amy answered.
Vicky, an avid contributor under the most prosaic
circumstances, not that many had arisen, hauled Glenn into the back seat
and took his place. She pulled Amy to her, and the girl seemed happy to
go. They hugged and whispered for a long time. Alex, and the boys looking
over the seatback could see Vicky's hands as they freed her friends
shirttails from under her belt and ran her finger up on Amy's bare stomach.
"Teach her to kiss, too," Gregg encouraged. The results
were immediate. They were rag dolls in five minutes, clothes asunder, hair
pawed, stroked, fondled and caressed. Dazzling.
"If dad had tried that I would have croaked," Amy
whispered as the girls resumed their seats, panting and flushed.
"Sweetheart," Alex said,(always on duty), "if you ever
get raped, put it in a rape basket. Do not go around feeling unclean and
developing phobias and neurosis. Pretend you were a kid going out for
boxing, and, by mistake, the coach let a bigger kid in the ring to beat on
you. Hockey players get their teeth knocked out, and they're back in the
rink the next day, practicing. If you get beaten in the process, then
react to the beating. If the rapist is gentle, then nothing happened
beyond sitting next to a bore on the subway. If he's filthy and smelly,
think of orderlies in hospitals, who have to manhandle unattractive people
every day, plus clean up after them. If he's a handsome date type, report
him to the police, and show up as a witness. To let a man dominate you by
sticking an oversized thumb a few inches into your body is ludicrous
self-indulgence. Men get killed defending their country, girls get raped
on dates. Only one is fatal."
"Mom taut me more about preventing it," Amy said.
"Bingo," Alex replied.
By this time Vicky had returned to the world of the here
and now. "And I thought I was heterosexual," she whispered, earning
another gold star for adding: "what a profound waste that would have been."
Glenn allowed that he and Gregg had thought it for the
whole past school year, and she shouldn't be too hard on herself.
"She's really developed," Vicky reported. Wonderful
change of subject. "Her nipples are twice as big as mine."
"Ten is almost violent," Alex interjected. "Girls,
especially, can be radically different from each other. Keeps the
pedophiles on their toes."
This brought a universal giggle and as Vicky's absurdity
registered the four children slowly lost it, fit ricocheting off fit, gasp
echoing gasp, hysteria compounding hysteria. Glenn tried repeatedly to
demonstrate some trace of aloofness, but his attempts to control himself
were dramatically counterproductive and less became more. Alex found them
most amusing. All he had to do was peep at Amy from the corner of his eye
and the choking, sobbing girl would dissolve all over again.
They were just settling into the groaning and sighing
stage when Alex bestirred himself to speak. "You guys are easily
entertained, you don't exactly keep a comic on his toes," he said.
Someone tried to say, "Very funny," but it was hopeless.
The comment ended in a hiccup, and they were off to the races, again.
"Keep it up," Alex said, "and you'll have Vicky and me
wondering if it's time to quit our day jobs."
Phew! That wrung the last tear out of them. The
quivering masses in the front and back seats slowly separated into two
girls up front beside Alex and two boys in the rear. Alex produced a
handkerchief and they passed it around, studiously avoiding eye contact as
it went from hand to hand. Alex tried to remember when he'd seen such a
happy group. Hmm. Last night at the rectory. He guessed he was doing
pretty well, even for a Harvard man.
Their conversation returned to a serious note with a
question from Amy.
"Do lots of fathers tackle their little girls?" the child
asked.
"It happens to one girl out of five," Alex replied,
"either their father or an older brother."
"Tell me more about it," the girl said, understandably
unable to formulate specific questions.
"It's the world's most complicated subject," Alex said.
"There are tremendous benefits to incest. It lowers girls self esteem,
which tends to allow them to focus on a particular interest rather than
doing the dating scene and ending up unstable airheads. Most importantly,
it seals the deal. A father puts a fortune of outright money into his
daughter, to say nothing of time and energy. If he has sex with her, he is
fully repaid for his involvement and the girl doesn't have to go through
life thinking she owes her dad this and owes her dad that, especially when
he gets old and may need a lot of help.
"But those are long-term advantages," the cleric
observed, "in the short term, many girls find it highly offensive to be
touched by a family member. It is my opinion that this is almost entirely
do to cultural strictures and conventions. If a man and his baby daughter
were stranded on a lush island, they would likely grow to be avid lovers,
and the girl, even aged as young as three or four, would have no second
thoughts about being receptive to him. It is the church's business to sell
taboo and sin because it has to sell something to stay alive. If you think
of how wrong "Genesis" is," Alex went on, letting a rare biblical reference
pass his lips, "and extend the quality of information in the first book to
all the books, you come across only "The Song of Solomon" as having any
merit of any kind, other than some superbly edited English in the King
James version, and the secular side of Christian behavior as outlined in
The Golden Rule."
"How many girls like being with their dads?" Amy asked.
"There are so many layers of confusion involved," Alex
replied, "that it's impossible to tell. Children can be almost totally
manipulated up into their teen years. Something that might have been
wonderful in one context can be altered into something forbidden and
terrible, just through the verbalizing of a naysayer. The joke is the
holy-cow bible has exceedingly little to say on the subjects of incest and
pedophilia. Nowhere is a man instructed not to spill his seed with the boy
next door. Even the strictures on masturbation amount to a few words out
of a million. In the end, the book is like "The Communist Manifesto" or
"Das Kapital". It's full of blobs and plunketts of this and that that a
zealot can use like McDonald's uses its golden arches, rather than making
up his own doctrine or philosophy. A little scripture here and a blob of
scripture there, along with some talent as a carnival performer, and a
church is born.
"Very expensive."
"If my dad gets back to the way he was, and I go back to
him, could he get me pregnant?" the girl asked.
"Yes," Alex said, "his seed will be just as potent with
you as that of any male."
"Would the baby come out weird?" she said.
"Slightly higher chance than if it's outside blood," Alex
said. "Incest has a bad name in regards to deformed babies because over a
long period of time extensive inbreeding can have devastating effects for a
larger percentage of infants. As a one-time thing, not something that's
accumulated over a number of generations, it's not a significant risk
factor. The flip side of this is that sometimes incest produces an
exceptional genius. England was rife with isolated valley towns for
thousands of years, and the English have the bad teeth to prove it, but
from England flows the greatest of the great in everything from engineering
to poetry. Taken to an extreme, the Lion's motto should be With thy
daughter, with thy sister, if you please."
Alex gulped and waited, sitting behind the wheel, not
daring to look to his right or in the rearview mirror. He waited a full
minute before daring to say another word.
"If your father picks up his pick-up sticks, how would
you feel about having his child?" the preacher asked.
"Nice," the girl said with a smile.
"Well," Alex said, "it's basically an economic issue. If
you had a baby when you were eleven or twelve, assuming it was safe for you
to do so, you'd want a good nanny so your daughter and sister would be an
exciting love, not a burden. Sometimes mature mothers are delighted to
have another baby to raise, so that might be a factor. In any event, the
child is a burden only in that it's a burden. If you can cope with that,
you're in for the thrill of your life, and, if it happens, when you reach
the age to marry, guess what, you have a little cutie pie to throw into the
bargain, and nothing is more a guaranteed to keep the old man happily at
home.
"Did you know," Alex went on with his inquisition of the
child, "that your mom and your granddad were lovers when she was a girl?"
"She thinks he's really special," Amy allowed.
"Well they were. She told me. Your Aunt Florence, too.
And they're both attractive, functioning women. It's just that your dad is
going through a bad spot like millions of other men in a complex and often
cruel and indifferent world. There's nothing more too it than that, and
someday you may very well be with him to accept his child. If that turns
out to be your wish, you'll have all of us behind you..."
"And how!" Vicky interjected.
"So relax, let one day pass at a time, score yourself
some math grades, and otherwise let the future take care of itself."
Long moments passed as the car full chewed their cuds,
idly adjusting the power windows. Amy broke the comfortable silence.
"I packed a bikini in my suitcase," she said. "Can I go
into the restroom and put it on?"
"Vicky, do you want to go with her?" Alex asked. Duh'uh.
The two twinkled off, taking turns with the suitcase,
Alex suspected, so they could bump into each other. The males remained in
the car, windows all down, trying not to sweat aloud over their imagery of
the Twins. Ten minutes went by, then twenty. Waiting for women is an all
but catastrophic adjunct to most relationships, but this was not the case
in the present instance. Never had three men felt more content with the
world as it was than Alex, Glenn and Gregg. Then a red mop appeared from
behind the brickwork. It peered this way and that, seeing the coast was
clear, then disappeared for a second.
Vicky was naked. Amy was wearing a pretty suit. They
were no longer twins, Amy appearing notably heavier and more developed than
the sprite helping her down the path. Glenn sprang out the door to grab
the case, leaving the rear door open for Vicky whose eyes were focused on
her brother.
Amy got in front, blushing, her head bowed.
Understandable. Her breast were like those of a young teen and there was a
distinct if subtle curve to her girlish waist.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Vicky mused aloud. Glenn was
helping Gregg strip, and in a minute had his roommate naked. He guided the
slim redheaded boy behind his ten year old sister as she leaned over the
back of the front seat. She bowed her head as Gregg found her, entering
fully with a gentle movement, his hands low on her lithe, childish flanks.
Alex and Glenn followed suit, ridding themselves of their
sandals and clothing as Amy stared from one of her new friends to the
other, her nipples hard and full against the top of her tiny swimsuit.
Reading Vicky's hot eyes, the new girl leaned to her for a kiss. As their
lips and tongues joined, Gregg brought his hands to the Amy's silken
tresses. Glenn sat behind the driver's seat, his legs widely spread, his
hips bucked, masturbating as he watched what Gregg was doing with Vicky.
Alex caught Glenn's eye and he nodded. The minister
whispered Amy's name and gently pulled her from Vicky, nodding in Glenn's
direction. The girl stared wide-eyed at the athletic teen. "I'm cumming,"
he whispered, and the girl gasped as a lightning bolt of his hot seed
spurted against Gregg's heaving flank. Instinctively, Amy reached with her
right hand and Glenn jockeyed as close to her as he could, cumming hard and
fast. The girl hand found him, covering him and gripping him firmly, her
palm shielding the boy's spurting seed, until she was soaked and lathered
from him, then pumping his with fast light strokes just at his swollen
glands. Glenn hissed at the wildness of what she was doing, his body
shaking, and after a minute half fainted back onto the seat.
Amy then went to her chest. Alex realized immediately
what she wanted and tore away her bra. The girl looked down and her
swollen nipples and tenderly glistened them with Glenn's sperm as Vicky
stared at her.
Alex positioned himself behind the ten year old, moved
her panties aside, and entered her as she stared into Vicky's eyes.
"He's inside me," she whispered tensely to the redhead.
"Tell me how he feels," Vicky whispered back.
"He's being really gentle," Amy said.
"Is he getting deeper inside you?"
"Quite a bit."
"It might hurt."
"No, he's passed that part."
"Do you know how to make love at the mall?" Vicky
whispered.
"No," the girl whimpered back.
"The male has to remain still inside you, so you can
pretend you're just making out while you're on his lap. You have to make a
rhythm with your muscles when you want him to cum. A friend of Gregg's
told him about it and we experimented. I'm practicing with him now. See
how still he is?"
"Teach me!" Amy begged.
"Okay," the girl whispered. "Is he all the way inside
you?"
"I don't know. Oh, my god, yes. Oh, yes."
"It's okay if you cum," Vicky whispered, "we can do it
together tonight."
"I think it went by," the panting girl whispered.
"Okay," Vicky said, "relax against him, then strain your
muscles a little, then relax and do it again."
"I'm trying," Vicky said as Alex hunched tightly over the
girl, his hands on her swollen breasts, his breath panting in her ear.
The lesson went on and on. Coaxing each other, they
finally became partially successful with their males, causing whimpers and
feral grunting when for a few moments they'd perfect their technique.
"Something extra's happening," Amy said, her eyes wide in
shock.
"He's doing what Glenn did, inside you," Vicky said.
"Getting me pregnant?" the new girl whispered.
"Your breast are so developed, you may," Vicky replied.
"Is Gregg getting you pregnant?" Amy asked, shaking all
over from the intense pulsing wild between her widely spread legs.
"Yes," Vicky said.
For long moments the girls stared into each other's eyes.
Their males remained motionless, although their hard panting and corded
muscles clearly signaled they were still ejaculating.
Vicky helped Amy over the back of the seat. Alex started
the car. As they resumed their trip to Hastings, Vicky was given the very
excited Amy lessons in how a female could make a male cum using her hands
and mouth. Gregg was the second male to mount Amy, taking her lush young
body, as Alex had, from the rear, and waiting until Glenn started cumming
off to ejaculate into her hot, tight, little-girl vagina.
A week went by. The rectory, late summer, echoed with
shouts and laughter as Alex had expected it might when Kit and Victor
returned. By acclimation, Glenn's gang decided to postpone becoming
full-fledged Hunters until the following season. Vicky flew off to spend
time with her father at a resort, sending graphic e-mails back to Hastings.
Florence was beside herself having her glowing beauty of a niece to dote
over. The needle was in the groove and the music was sweet.
Posted by Thomas C. Emerson, Dangriga, 2002
xxx