Date: Mon, 4 Jun 2001 11:14:55 -0500
From: Tom Emerson <thomas@btl.net>
Subject: Creative Camp - 22

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Creative Camp -- 22
(M/b)
by
Feather Touch



Chapt. 22


	Brad guided the four young boys with him.  He retrieved them from
the bed and they huddled close while he got them in a position so they
could do unto his neighbors as he had done unto them.  Choosing Andy, he
held the naked Jewish boy steady while the youngster worked his feet apart
until his legs were widely spread.  Supported against the nineteen year
old, the young Jew was able to arch comfortably to accept his first openly
homosexual touch.

	Kevin did this.  Slipping his slim left arm between Andy's sexy
slim waist, he reached for the boy with his right hand and found him with a
gentle, fondling touch, experimented with the remains of his foreskin, and
slowly began to openly masturbate him.  Braddie stood a foot in front of
Andy's slim boy penis, and Rob stood behind Kevin, partially hunched over
the smaller boy and molesting him with both hands as the thirteen year old
stroked his new friend's big, hard erection again and again.

	"Daddy," Chick whispered, "go in there with them.  I want to watch
you cum."
	"That would be an anticlimax, I'm afraid," Roy said to his
daughter.
	"Dad," the girl replied, "they're so hot they'd make me have sperm.
Go on.  I'm too sore to be with you for a couple of hours, anyway; besides,
you can find out if they're nice boys, because I'm sure you'd want to know
before you turn me over to them tomorrow, and especially if you're going to
present them with our baby as soon as you get back from picking her up."

	The girl's arguments were sensible, and, by Plunkett standards,
reasonable.  The young males were obviously longing for his presence, not
only judging from the homosexual display they were engaged in, but by the
lingering looks they gave an apparently blank wall.

	"I think you've gone from Chick to Fox, Foxy lady," Roy said, "and
the second luckiest man in the world is going to be your husband."

	"And the luckiest girl in the world," his girl answered, "is going
to be my daughter when I let her come to you the very day I'm sure she's
ready.  Meantime, I want to watch while you practice on the little boy they
call Braddie.  Starting now."

	Roy stood and Chick giggled when she saw he was once again huge and
jutting from his athletic waist.  The thirty year old kissed his girl's
foot, and turned to leave.  In a moment, she was alone and her right eye
was back to the biggest and widest of the holes in the wall.

	"Hole in the wall bang," she giggled silently to herself as she
watched her dad enter Room 222.

       Because they were off the bed and away from the wall, the five
residents of the adjoining room were super thrilled with surprise when
their door opened and closed behind the powerful rapist from next door.
Roy stood quietly a few feet into the room as the assemblage before him
slowly pivoted to face him while at the same time allowing she who remained
behind a good view of what Kevin was doing to Andy.

       Kevin kept doing it, repositioning himself to face the man while
continuing his steady masturbation of the television star.  In a few
moments they were with Roy, not touching him, but showing him what they
were doing to each other.  Being homo together was awesome -- no wonder
they called it `gay' -- but being that way with an adult watching was not
only your basic thrill of thrills, but a thrill that went on and on.

       By instinct, Rob positioned himself behind the welcome newcomer, and
steadied him so the older male could stretch his legs wide apart, lowering
his penis to Andy.  As the two males came together, Kevin's gentle hands
leveled their penises and brought them together where they nuzzled each
other in the slimy syrup of their impending male gushers.  Braddie stood to
one side, leaving the view open, and occasionally reached in to fondle
Kevin's hands as he continued to slowly jerk Andy off.

       Rob whispered to Roy: "Have you ever molested a young boy before?"
       "Not his age," Roy responded, nodding at Braddie, who was making it
very obvious where he wanted any spraying sperm to go.  "But, yes.  Our
paper boy.  Matt.  He's almost twelve now, but we started together just
over a year ago, when he was ten.

       "How about you, is this your first time with a man?"

       "I'm an A student," Rob whispered back.  "A library gizmo.  This is
my first time doing anything with anybody.
       "Will you tell me what you did with the paper boy?"
       "How old are you," Roy responded.
       "Fourteen," the youth holding his waist responded.
       "I'm glad you're tall for your age," Roy said.  "Makes it easier for
us to whisper together.
       "Matt was very smart for his age; industrious and friendly to boot.
He'd been a happy camper since we first knew him, then he seemed to change.
Not long after he turned ten.  He still did his job; at his age he could
only have a few customers, so he'd always brought the paper to the porch
mat, instead of tossing it, and he kept on, but I could tell something was
wrong.

       "After I'd noticed this three days in a row, I eighty-sixed the
famdamily on a Saturday, and waylaid the kid; luring him inside with
brownies and a joint.  That put a little sparkle in his eyes, so I knew the
cause was not lost, and we adjourned to the family room.  Both his last
customers were away for the weekend, so he had the day pretty much to
himself."

       "What did he look like?" Rob asked.
       "The boy next door," the man whispered, though with the subtle
electronics installed by various consultancies to the Plunkett group, every
syllable was perfectly audible over a wide area.  Even so, he felt like
whispering, obeying a strange dichotomy to keep his daughter from knowing
what he was doing with these young boys, at the same time realizing
perfectly well she was watching everything through her peep hole.  It was
more than deliciously carnal, and Kevin's errant hand occasionally
stuttered or thrummed wetly against his swollen glans, as the thirteen year
old masturbated Andy, sending pockmarks of raw neural shock which forced
grunts into his whispered story.

       "Short brown hair and big brown eyes.  Slim.  Oval face.  Not as
cute as the boy who wants to be a teacher, not a doctor, in the ad, but
similar build.  Taller."

       "Had you ever seen him with his shirt off?" the perv asked.
       "Now that you mention it," Roy said, "no.  Not even in shorts.  Just
street clothes."
       "Sorry to interrupt," Rob apologized.
       "Just don't let anyone interrupt Kevin," Roy answered and Rob
squeezed him affectionately.  Kevin looked up from what he was doing to
Andy and grinned happily.  Andy's grin split his cute Jewish boy's face,
mirroring Kevin's, and he reached for the athlete's lightly hairy chest and
began to fondle him, much as he'd seen other hands do, earlier.

       Roy continued the story of his time with Matt.  The boy hadn't come
across as sullen, but rather confused and unsure of something.  He hadn't
like tricking the kid up on marijuana, at ten, but he was after results and
was, for the moment, uninterested in the fine points of morality or the
squiggles in books that were meant to be more important than men.  No
deacons, nor cops, nor teachers nor counselors; not even Miss Cleo of minds
and spirits, was likely to get that unpretentious smile back, and he simply
meant to have it back.

       "Last week I saw Chuck Averson ditch his BMX," Roy had said to the
boy.  "They had to give him two units off a scalp laceration, and he looked
better than you, Matt.  What's up?"

       The ten year old had hemmed and hawed, until the reefer kicked in.
Then he began to lighten up.
       "I guess it's something to do with gym," the boy finally said.
       "Half the time it is, at your age," Roy said, adding, "it was for
me."
       "You?" came the surprised response.

       "We'll save that for later, okay; subject at hand is the mysterious
disappearance of a very nice neighborhood smile.  We've found that gym is
somehow at the bottom of things.  If we share one more big toke, we'll get
to the bottom of it, because I've been there; same age as you are, and
there is nothing to be afraid of, and a dozen things to like the hell out
of, once you get desensitized, which also means, used-to-it, which takes
all of a minute or two, under the right circumstances."

       Matt visibly relaxed and settled back on the leather sofa.  Dozens
of things weren't on his mind, just a total contentment at being where he
was and with who he was.  He almost wondered if he'd deliberately
exaggerated his hang-dog countenance in hopes of just such a chance of
really getting to know his tall, slim neighbor.  Whatever.

       "So," Roy asked, gently squeezing the back of Matt's neck with his
left hand as he sat to his right, "has something exciting happened, or is
it about to; do you want it to, or not want it to.  Pitch in anywhere you
like.  Remember not to be overly embarrassed.  Some boys brag about doing
stuff only for money, and others brag about never doing it for money.  It's
one of humanities wider paradigms, with words and actions often in direct
contradiction."

       "All of that and more," Matt agreed after a few moments of thought.
       "Showers?" the elder male asked gently, to receive an answer in a
totally cute blush.  "Been there, done that," he added, for the first time
intruding on the young male's space by whispering in his ear.
       "It's really embarrassing.  More like scary," Matt said, whispering
back.
       "Has it happened yet?" Roy quizzed.

       "I'm too scared.  He's cool.  Real quiet.  All the boys like him.
But he's real shy, and I don't know anything to say, so we kind of hang
together after class, and I'm feeling really confused because I know he
knows I don't take showers, and I know he probably knows why, and I want to
talk to him about it, and I know he wants to talk to me about it, and we
only get a little while together, three times a week, so it's all kind of a
mess, and it just gets stronger and stronger, and we get quieter and
quieter."

       "I was lucky," Roy responded, "because a physical situation
developed which broke the ice, and got things going.  Also, I was almost
twelve when it happened, thought, truth to tell, you ten-years-olds today
are about the same maturity we were when we got to out teens."

       "I know," Matt answered, glad of the momentary patch of safer
ground, "you guys were shrimps in the Seventies.  I've seen the old class
pictures in the yearbooks.  Even in `85.  That's Fife's year of birth.
He's coach's assistant.  My tongue-tied friend."

       "Then sixteen;" the man responded, "he sounds perfect for you.
Sixteen and ten.  And you're right; a few years ago, seventeen and twelve
would have been a perfect match, not that any are bad at that age, you
understand, but, yeah, today, a sixteen year old would be letter perfect."

       "And a thirty year old would be something of a relic, not needing
carbon dating, but not really in the swing of things, either," the boy
said.

       Roy thought to himself in a series exclamation points that his
impromptu therapy was pretty hot stuff.  He'd read that European clinicians
used extensive homosexual involvement with certain patients with one
hundred percent efficacy.  Why the fuck not?  What regimen of the printed
page could come even close to cuddling, kissing, fondling, and finally
climaxing together, time and again, until the patient was self enough to be
with others.  Since the terminally pissed-off would complain about any
therapy, and go on to be buttressed by court and clergy, such therapy would
not be permitted in the States even if it proved a thousand total cures per
complaint.  Lawyers under every bush.  Millions of messed up, punked out
kids.  Role playing.  Posturing.  Empire building.  Lord, oh, lord, it was
becoming a noisesome place.  He whispered a millionth prayer of thanks for
Chick and Theresa; his killer wife, and gave his attention back to Matt.

       "A thirty year old might indeed be a relic," he said, "but then
again, museums are full of relics and I bet you remember a lot from the
last time you went to one.  They tend to make a lasting impression."

       "You're just the opposite of Fife," the boy giggled.  "We just stand
there and look at each other's tummy's.  If I look up high enough to see
his chin I start blushing, then any little two or three words I might have
thought of seem lame and stupid, so I don't say anything, and then I say
everything a hundred times to myself on the way home, and the next time I
see him, the same "Ground Hog Day" bull."

       "Sounds like a problem for Super Relic," Roy pointed out, to the
boy's giggle.

       Could you do it, just verbally? he wondered.  Talk the boy back
around, shirt buttoned, zipper zipped?  Lacking training, Roy felt it might
be best not to take chances with half a cure.  He was highly educated and
acutely aware of the dangers of a little knowledge.  For example, the
Averson boy had had a little knowledge of jumping his bike.  That thought
reminded him of being bare-chested next to his pretty child, and that
thought led very quickly to the tall ten year old pressed gently against
his right arm.

       "It's stupid, is what it is," Matt said after a few moments.  "I
mean look what's happening to kids in other places, and I'm messed up
because I can't carry on a one minute conversation with a guy that's still
really a kid, himself.  What kind of dorkiness is that?"

       "The kind kids, boys and girls, didn't have to face until nearly
their teens a few years ago.  Ten is still ten, and sixteen is still
sixteen, and for every bad side of the situation, I absolutely guarantee
you'll find a hundred good ones, once you break the impasse."

       "And...?"
       "And," Roy replied, "first I have to ask you if you're in love with
him."
       "Why, specifically," the boy asked.
       "Because, it determines our lesson plan.
       "If you're in love with him, I'll use a pencil and paper to answer
any biological questions you might have, if not, I won't."
       "I've know you a lot longer than Fife.  I like him and I think he's
powerful cute, but I'm closer to having a crush on you, than him,
reliclively speaking, because, as you said yourself, ten is ten, and even
in ought one, no time for a kid to be falling in love with anybody."

       That seemed to end the discussion of paper and pencils, though Roy
let the thought slip with a hint of resistance.  He was an architect and
drawing instructions for his paper boy would have not been a bad way to
spend their time together.

       "Would you feel more comfortable if we went upstairs?" Roy asked.
       "I'd like to," Matt answered.

       At this point, the senior male took gentle charge of the boys in
Room 222.  He guided Braddie to the inside of the bed, and lay near its
outer edge.  Rob knelt by his head, so he could hear the rest of the story,
while Kevin positioned himself on the man's inner right thigh, guiding Andy
to a similar position on the tall athlete's left thigh.  With a little
childlike wriggling the young teens brought Andy's swollen penis up against
the top half of Roy's nine-inch cock.  They wriggled very happily against
the very lightly hairy leg muscles of the athlete, and both took turns
guiding each other tenderly to the base of the man, as Kevin maintained his
gentle masturbation of both males, whatever position they got themselves
into at any particular moment.

       Brad knelt at Roy's waist, and leaned across his chest to grab
Braddie, twisting the child gently, then pulling his cute, naked boy body
up across the man's chest.  Braddie chirped with delight at being touched
by his uncle, then arched when the nineteen year old began openly fondling
him where anyone spying through the wall could see what was going on.

       In these positrons, all were comfortable, and Roy continued
whispering to Rob.

       "I have an invention," he said.  "For exercising.  I used that as an
excuse, at least to myself, and, to tell the truth, he was pretty
interested in it.  In fact, he was so enthusiastic, he made me wish I was
ten, and too young to fall in love with him, but, that's why they call it
life."

       "What's the invention?" Rob asked.
       "How many want to hear about an invention?" Roy asked
       "We're not going anywhere," Andy pointed out.

       Roy continued his story.

       "It's called the All You Need system.  Fifty dollars.  It's just a
jump rope as far as how it works goes, but, the handles are connected by a
wire.  Gives a shock.  Like an electric fence.  Makes noise, too, loud, and
like sand screeching on glass.

       "It has a chip, so the shock is programmed to push you a little
longer and a little harder, each day.  See, you've got to jump until you
get a shock, or it will shock you twice as hard the next time you pick it
up.  It's like brainwashing.  After a week, you give up messing around with
it, do what it makes you, and stay in shape.  Fifty dollars, and it
actually works.

       " In a way, it's like those computer pets; treat `em right, and they
prospers, but in this case, it's treat yourself right, or the thing half
electrocutes you, and makes loud, rude noises that can't be turned off with
anything less than a sledge hammer.
       "Anyhow," Roy went on, "that's the All You Need Exerciser, and when
Matt got up to my room I demonstrated my prototype "

       "You've got motion sensors, timers, and three relays for the various
voltage levels," Matt announced, after spending a few minutes examining the
device and trying it out in demo mode.

       "Ergonomic grips," Roy pointed out, "because they look cool; big
battery in each grip for extra weight and balance."

       "And motivation," Matt thought to himself, half grinning at the
thought of said, pointing out something Matt had missed, namely, that the
grips had to be squeezed.  "Reinforces concentration, and tones the
fingers," he explained.  Matt wasn't quite sure if he was kidding, or not.
At the moment he was wishing Roy would do bench curls, as they'd be more
interesting to watch, but the machine was neat-oh, and he guessed,
correctly, they were not going to spend hours fooling around with it.  Roy
ended the demonstration by giving the device to Matt and suggesting he give
it to Fife.  The boys eyes glowed with pleasure, and then brightened with
intelligence.  "You said something about learning by virtue of a device, it
wasn't a jump rope on steroids, what was it?"

       "Something private I had to get from my coach.  You want me to show
you?"
       "Yes."
       Roy nodded his head and said he'd return.  Matt doubled the jump
rope and hung in on the doorknob, so he wouldn't forget it if he ever had
to leave this exciting place.  Fife Varela was a tall, slightly craggy
beauty of a Mexican teen.  Not silky smooth, and suave, but of generous
eyes, nose and mouth, of roughened skin, for a boy, and of a powerful male
stature, full chested and very long legged.  He would love the gift and the
idea behind it; it included an alarm clock and so implicit was it's treat
of noise and pain that one's routine would be finished before one was fully
awake.  If jumping through hoops was life's perennial pain in the ass,
jumping through a flying loop made all the sense in the world.

       "In the attic," Roy explained, as he sat on his bed, holding a
folded brown bag in front of him.  Matt approached and their eyes met.
Damn, it almost was scary.  So tall, so strong, obviously male with the
light hair at his top button, alone, together, in a silent and otherwise
empty house.  The slight fear mixed with embarrassment and uncertainty and
turned Matt half-zombie as he approached to take a look.  Roy lowered his
knees slightly and the ten year old was shocked to find himself simply
settling to the lap of the big man.

       "Hi," Roy whispered.  Matt recalled a scene from and HBO feature of
a child-molesting priest; in the confessional, the boy with his shirt off
bending to the older male.  While the story had been stereotypical hogwash,
the image of the bare chested young male, his own age, in a similar
circumstance, made him get a big, hard boner in a few seconds.  He
whispered, Hi, in response, and blushed at what had happened in his
underpants.  His shame caused his chin to drop, and in a few moments he was
aware of a gentle finger tilting him back up.  "For thirty, he sure looked
like a boy," Matt thought, meeting the friendly eyes that somehow managed
to gaze hotly into his own.

       "This is what made it happen," Roy said, proffering the folded paper
bag.  "I was trying out for catcher."

       The ten year old's hands unfurled the wrapping.  The boy blushed
when he saw it was a metal athletic cup.  "It has to fit just right," Roy
whispered, "so I had to let Donny, he was the coach, check me in several
different ones before we selected this."

       "Were you scared, I mean, you know, showing him?"
       "That, and embarrassed."
       "Did you like Donny?"
       "Very much."
       "Did you think he was cute?"
       "More like to die for.  "

       Matt giggled and relaxed, inching himself forward to a more
comfortable position on the lap of his new friend.  He longed to peel
himself to the waist, be like the boy in the confessional, but held back.
Talking was fun, too.

       "Is it okay if we whisper?" Ron asked.  "It might be more
embarrassing, but, believe me, that's a big part of the excitement of the
first time; or, we could just go up and take a shower like two guys, then
experiment if you wanted to."

       "Is that what you did with Donny?" Matt asked, his voice dropping as
he leaned to the man.
       "We showered together afterwards" Roy answered, leaning himself
closer to the boy and looking into the pretty brown eyes.
       "Why? because you like got stuff on you?"
       "Do you want to talk about that kind of thing?" Roy asked the boy.
       "Yes."
       "Are you embarrassed to say what the stuff is?"

       The boy reddened a trifle and leaned close enough to be touched.
Ron placed his fingers on his cheek bones and gazed past the wicked,
sweeping eyelashes into the crystal brown.  "I was, too; totally.  Donny
made me say it, and when I finally did it really added to the excitement of
what he did to me."

       "Did you see it?" Matt asked.
       "Yes," Roy whispered back to him.  "That was the most exciting part.
Still is.  Some girls think so, but mostly homo guys, and, actually, not
all that many of them.  But with boys or men with boys, it's usually kind
of how you start off.  You know, having your experience while you partner
watches.  First base, so to speak, with second base being oral and third
base being on top while you experiment with anal and home, being on the
bottom and taking your partner inside you."

       Matt thought for a few moments and then responded brightly, "We have
to outline stuff at school.  That sounded like an outline.  They aren't
very interesting."
       "Nothing to do with juicy?" Ron quizzed, drawing the boy out because
he was fun at the talking stage.
       "Not even," the boy replied.
       "Okay," Ron answered, "we're at the plate, now, just like I was with
Donny when I told him I wanted to catch.  He gave me four of these, and
told them to try the best one, and let him check to be sure it was okay.

       "I was so nervous I went into the bathroom, and put it on, then put
my underpants and shorts back on.  That was exactly the opposite of what I
wanted to do.  I wanted to strip, and just wear the cup, or not even," Matt
grinned at the quick-witted redundancy.  He'd never thought of liking as
having much to do with the stuff guys did together, but between Fife and
Roy he was rapidly learning it was the total secret ingredient and
aphrodisiac extrodinaire.  His penis was certainly in on the secret, harder
by at least twice than it had ever been in his life.  He inched still
closer and bent his head to be kissed gently on the forehead.
       "I don't think I'll be any braver when the time comes," Matt said.

       "Well," the older male explained, "the last thing you want to do is
showboat.  That's a total turn-off, if not immediately, very quickly.  Men
invariably like quiet, curious, intelligent, friendly boys, not the
swivel-hips, leering, smart-mouthed kind, ever, and no matter how awesomely
cute.  It's exactly the same with girls.  The showboats just lie there;
their act is external.  It's the quiet, shy ones that keep you up all
night, male or female.  The one who look like the media says they should
look, and make love like the media says they should make love, tend not to
be very personal or affectionate about things."

       "So," the boy responded with a giggle, "I shouldn't get a tattoo
with Howdy Pardner."
       "Learning quickly is good," Roy said, pecking the boy again on the
forehead, then tilting his sweet face up and nibbling tentatively at his
lips.  Matt bowed his head in confusion.  He'd never though of that.
Kissing.  Who knew?  It was almost as if he'd done it, down there.  Roy
asked if he was okay.

       "I guess I don't know to much about stuff," he whispered.  "Did
Donny kiss you?"
       "A lot, but was shocked the first time, too."
       "You got used to it?"
       "Yes, but he had my shirt off, so it made it more part of things; of
everything he was doing to me.  But it's optional.  That's why they say
different strokes for different folks; I mean, it has a direct meaning,
concerning what males do with each other, but it has an overall meaning in
that different people like different parts better than others, or something
like that."

       "Does anybody like it so much on hope plate, they never even get to
first?" Matt asked, some kind of larceny or humor in his voice.
       "You'd have to look in "Guinness" for that, because if it has ever
happened, it would be the only time."
       "I guess you'd almost have to die to stop," the ten year old mused.
       "No almost about it," Roy said, "but, at the same time, if you're
cold, hungry, have a headache or anything like that, your interest goes to
less than zero.  It's a bon-bon.  A morsel.  A few hours a week, that, in
the end, are probably not all that different from dining together, or
playing a game of chess.  You don't usually even work up as much of a sweat
as a set of tennis."

       "Then how come all the publicity?" Matt quizzed, a bit
disingenuously, for he could feel why all the interest coursing through him
with every beat of his racing heart.

       [No cable system is perfect, but mine is being especially perverse,
tonight.  No picture for A&E's presentation on the Impressionists.  I guess
it's the enormity of the parallels that impresses me the most.  The
universal insistence on tens of thousands of hours as a journeymen before
courting anything to do with a muse.  Second, is family money, or the lack
of it.  It is the essential ingredient, often returning nothing for
decades.  The resistance to what we consider stunning today is interesting,
but, it was, after all, France.  It is awesome to exceed all these masters;
to go further, on the granite of one's birth, then others were perhaps
allowed to go.  To quote Mr. Brooks again, it's good to be king.  Also, the
presentation is a variation on the theme of talent and genius.  Early and
florid, or more slowly and if slowly enough, absolute.  It is all but
fearful to so greatly outrank this esteemed lot, and the only modest
thoughts I have on the subject are that it sure took awhile, and would
never have happened without Word.  I think the artists interrelationships
are interesting, but, to be honest, half the reason I beat them at their
own game is not very often hanging around at the tavern.  It's called focus
and it may be strange that a writer tightens the rays more finely than oil
and canvas can render.]

       "It's a marketing scheme for condoms," Roy stated, deadpan.
Anything had to be better than moronic jokes, so the boy decided to try the
kissing again, and tilted his childish oval face to his teacher.  He was
beginning to smolder, the transfer of heat at his thighs spread wide
against the athlete's hard, muscular legs.  And the kissing wasn't bad and
getting better.  There was a surprising number of ways to experiment.
Nibbling, chewing, gnawing, with the teeth.  Painting, with the tongue,
both broad brush and sloppy, overall, like a guy painting a freighter, but
also detail work.  A little art for the corners.  Some dabbing and some
probing.  It seemed like the kind of thing that could have gone on for
hours, and might have, except Roy opened himself to the exploring tongue,
the tongue probed and was allowed, then was gently sucked off.  Suddenly,
it was a thing that couldn't go on a moment longer.  The child began to
tauten like a bowstring, but was released before the arrow.  Roy petted him
gently away.  "We've got hours together, if you want," he whispered.  Thank
god, that had been close.  Hours were exactly what he wanted, not a sudden
blow off, what kind, he didn't know, but her knew how fast the feeling
could come on, and how overwhelming it's potential.  No wonder they sold so
many condoms.

       "Tell me more about Donny," Matt said, resting further against the
tall man, his fingers going to the top button of his shirt.

       "He was very gentle He was sitting in his chair and I came behind
his desk...
       "Matt, we're both guys, and we're both excited.  If you want to come
forward so you can be against me, it's okay.  Want to try it.  A little bit
more.  Okay?
       "Something made me stand closer to the arm of his chair than I had
to so he could check me.  I could see that scared him because he started
yawning, and that made me yawn.  Looking back on it, maybe we were
signaling each other we wanted a nap."
       Matt giggled softly against Roy's neck and the older male made a
note to try to think of more jokes.  A nibble brought him back into focus,
and he continued.

       "'Is this okay?' he asked, and he touched me.  I didn't say
anything.  I kind of knew I didn't have to, and all I had to do was press
into him for him to know it was okay.  So he just kept his hand against the
cup.  I think I learned as much about sex in that five minutes as he taught
me in the next couple of hours or that I've learned, since.  Just standing
there, his hand pressed gently.  Not saying anything, but looking into each
other's eyes, and on and on with the yawning.  He finally asked me if I
wanted to go, and I just stood there.  A couple of minutes later, he said
if I stayed, we should walk around the gym, be sure it was empty, and the
outer door was locked.  When he said locked, I almost couldn't even stand
any more, because then I was sure he was going to molest me.

       "While we were walking around, he whispered to me that he was sorry
to be so nervous.  He told me he'd never done it with a child, and only a
few times when he was a teenager.  I just said it was okay, but I remember
feeling really glad that he'd done it at all, `cause I sure didn't know
what to do.

       "Anyway, we checked the whole place and when we got to the far end
of the gym, itself, he turned be to face him as soon as the door was
locked.  He asked me to close my eyes, and when I opened them he was posing
for me, with his hands behind his head and kind of bent back, and he was
only wearing his underpants.  He closed his eyes, and I got the idea, and
took my shirt and shorts off, so I was just in my underpants, too, and, of
course, the cup.  He leaned against the door, and I knew what to do.  I
stood really close to him, and started getting him naked.  He pulled me to
him and whispered that I should feel him before I looked at him, so I
pressed up to him and just reached down, not very far because he was tall,
and peeled him down so I could feel his penis against my stomach.  If I'd
been taller we could have kissed, but it felt exciting, anyway, and he was
kissing the top of my head.

       "We stood that way for a long time, his boner against my bare chest.
After awhile I began to get used to it, at least a little, and I wanted to
see him.  He signaled by tapping right here on the top of my right
shoulder, and I closed my eyes, and went down to my knees, getting him
completely naked, then I stood up and backed away so I could see him when I
opened my eyes.  That was like an atom bomb.  Even though I'd felt him
naked against my tummy and chest, I didn't know how big he was.  I mean he
wasn't a freak, but it was shocking how big he was.  He knelt in front of
me and pulled my underpants down, then the cup.  Then he kissed me and
whispered we'd be more comfortable in his office.

       "We didn't make it.  Not even half way.  We held hands walking
across the gym, sort of like two guy walking anywhere, except we were
holding hands, we were naked, and we both had lifetime boners.  We had to
go slow, but the slower we went, the more excited we got.

       "As I said, we didn't make it.  He didn't say anything, just
squeezed my hand to make me stop and pivot me so I was standing directly in
front of him.  Then he whispered, `Do you want to watch,' and I nodded.  He
put his hands down by his sides and I did, too, standing about a foot or
two in front of him.

       "I couldn't figure out why there'd be so much.  I thought, you know,
from school and stuff, that it would be a few drops, and he was getting it
all over me.  Even up in my hair and on my face and completely all over me.
Then, when he was getting near the end he sort of spread his legs and
squatted a little in front of me, and I knew what he wanted so I went up on
my toes and he put his last big spurt right on me, then he picked me up and
kissed me, licking some of his sperm off my face so I could taste it on my
tongue.  After that, he let me down, and adjusted me so I was leaning back
against his chest.  Then he molested me right there at half-court, and I
was all excited and slippery and wet from what he'd done to me, so in a
couple of minutes I started doing it, too.  He couldn't lay off with the
jokes, so he said, `That's first base," indicating my puddle of sperm at
center court.  It was, too.  Even if it was accidental, we'd either gotten
to first base, or it had come to us.  Either way, we were on and safe.

       "Then we had to clean up what I'd done to the floor.  That was
almost the best part of all; just working beside him to re-polish the
floor.  It took about half an hour before we got it so we couldn't see
anything had happened.  By that time we were both exactly the same as we
were when we first reached half court, so he said we better hit the shower.
That time we made it."

       "What did it look like?" Matt asked.
       "What?" Roy asked, teasing just a bit.
       "Come on," the boy replied.

       Teasing was something you never did for more than ten seconds.  He
was excited about the boy's reticence as an electric wire they somehow
shared.  He thought he knew a way to create a breakthrough.

       "Matt," he whispered, "would you like to play a special game?  It
might make it easier for you to get comfortable."
       "I don't want that," the boy answered, "plus, I'm plenty
comfortable."
       "No," Roy explained, "I mean psychologically comfortable.  You know,
so you can say the word you want to say."
       "How can we do that?" the child asked, backing so his big brown eyes
looked directly into those of his adult partner.

       "If it makes you uptight, don't do anything, and we'll do something
else, but, if you want, you can go up to Theresa's room., second on the
left at the top of the stairs.  A lot of boys at least like to experiment
dressing up as girls, so, if you were cool with it, you could go up and
take your time.  Pick out anything you want.  If you duck into Chick's
room, she's got a wig for Pocahontas, raven black hair with a single long
pony tale.  You're a thousand miles from being a fem boy, so if you want to
experiment I don't think you'll end up breaking in to steal panties and
bras or having unnatural thoughts about your mother.
       "Call it a vote of confidence."
       "Second door on the left?" was all Matt could think of to say.
       "Yes," Roy whispered back to him, "and you can call me daddy, if you
want to."  He handed Matt the athletic cup and watched the cutie as he made
his way haltingly into the interior of the house.

       Matt found Chic's room, first, and retrieved the expensive wig.  He
carried it to the younger daughter's room, and lay it in the dresser while
he explored.  A summer frock jumped out at him and he half giggled to
himself as he spread it on the bed over a British expression he'd heard on
television.  It went: In for a penny, in for a pound.  A line from Mary
Poppins also flitted through the boy's active mind.  Best begun, soonest
done.

       The girls things were cute.  Pretty.  What the heck, stiff like that
was part of life.  Too much was claustrophobic, like living in a flower,
but none?  That didn't sound too cool.  It took him about five minutes to
make the change, most of it experimenting with pantyhose, then feeling they
were not right for a summer dress, and returning them neatly to their
place.

       Once dressed, he put on the raven pony tail, and turned to face the
mirror on the door.  His oval face and soft brown eyes did well in the girl
department.  He supposed his neck was long and swan-like, his shoulders
gamin with a bit of husk that might be expected in an athletic young
female.  In all, he felt no particular thrill and summarized that
transvestitism might well be something which filled a void rather than
something that was inherently exciting.  What was inherently exciting was
the adult male about thirty feet away.  Managing a quick curtsey, what the
hell, he grinned at his almost shockingly cute self, and began his miles
down that final corridor, swimming and almost drowning in the knowledge he
was the happiest ten year old in the world.

       Roy had had enough of teasing and acting a bit silly with the boy.
He had peeled his shirt and dropped his shorts the moment Matt was out of
sight, and now stood, arms at his side, in the middle of the room, where
the boy would see him as soon as he rounded from the hall.  He wondered how
long he'd last, a la Donny, and had just pegged it at under ten minutes
when there was a gentle knock.  "I found some things, do you want to see,
Daddy?" the sweet voice said.

       "Don't come in, I'm not dressed, sweetheart," Roy responded.  He
could hear the stifled giggle from beside the door frame.  Bot it didn't
last long.  The kid was into the game, instantly.

       "Daddy," the sweet alto voice said, "I just want to dance with you.
Nobody's here.  How dressed do you have to be, just for the two of us?"
       "Sweetheart," Roy responded, hardly able to talk by now, "I'm a big
man and I don't have any clothes on, and I'm standing in the middle of the
room.  I just don't want you to be scared.  So just look around the door
frame, and I'll got hide in bed or something if you want me to, okay?"
       "Can I look now?" the girlish voice came back.
       "Yes, angel," Roy whispered, as loud as he could.

       Matt didn't hear a sound he could understand, but nobody was saying
no, that was for sure.  He looked around the door and saw Roy standing ten
feet away, his huge penis slightly bent as it stood in relief, hard against
the taut stomach with its light brush of male hair.

       The man held his left arm up so his hand was at shoulder level, and
stretched his right from his waist toward the boy in the light blue dress.
The boy raised his right arm as he came to the man, and they danced to no
music at all.

       . . .

       Is thee a notation in musical scoring for a tease?  Divertimento?
That's a musical aside, a diversion, provided, usually by a soloist,
outside the published suite.  Well, I have no dictionary, so it will have
to do.  The point being that, while I'm too lazy, or preoccupied, as the
case may be, to name my chapters, I would like to call this one
"Divertimento for David."  A tease.  Why?  Because he said there's so many
females in my work, he's now posting it under a bisexual heading.
       Having had my little fun, I'll say that I've finally arrived at a
solution to the enigma of being posted under sf-fantasy.  Pretty simple,
when you stop to think about it.  What I'm going to do is write a saga
based on the Penitos.  A boy band.
       Not a single letter on this whole series; no guesses on Brad, no
nothing.  I'm selling literature in a comic factory, but, the very gnarly
joke is I can write comics, too, and lo and behold, when you scratch the
surface, underneath you find like 300,000 words, only half of them funny.
       Writer to clams, signing off.

       Posted by Thomas@btl.net.

       xxx