From: AUTHOR22@aol.com
Subject: My Teenage Heart
Date: 9 Mar 1996
My Teenage Heart is a full length novel, describing the develop-
ment of a young boy into a bi-sexual man of 70. It traces his
evolvement from a rejected child, thorough adolescence and as a
16 year old run-a-way, his maturing as a Marine during world war
2, continuing thorough his development as a musician, and eventu-
ally closing as an itinerate country western performer at age 70.
For readers who find graphic sexual descriptions not to their
liking, they should read no further. The same restriction apply
to those under the age of 18, or those who find sex between
males, or sex between females, or sexual development between
children as offensive.
For the rest of the world I invite you to partake of this adven-
ture as it leads from the 1930's into the 1990's, as it traces
the development of a young boy's sexual development thorough
adolescence, young adult, middle age, and old age. As he evolves
from a rejected child to a teenage hustler, to a United States
Marine, to a successful Country Western Musician, viewing him at
the peak of his career, experiencing his slide from the crest;
his evolution to age 70.
My Teenage Heart
Chapter Fourteen
Sixty Isn't That Old
The flight from Honolulu was an emotional nightmare. Jay was in a state of
shock, realizing the depth of damage which his mother and her henchmen had
brought down upon my head.
It was about 9 am when the plane settled down on the runway at Los Angeles
International Airport.
The events of the past days had been so hectic that no plans could be made.
Miss Doug had given me five thousand dollars to help with the days ahead. I
rented a car until Doug could arrange for the shipment of my own. Jay and I
checked into a small motel on Ventura Blvd. in the San Fernando Valley. Our
emotions were frayed. Jay's frustrations exhibited themselves in a constant
hard-on. At night he would cuddle up to me, his arms around me. I could feel
the dampness of his tear streaked cheeks pressing against mine. The tears
would eventually disappear being replaced with the inevitable hard-on. It
seemed that his tears and his cock were on opposite ends of a teeter-totter.
Christmas was approaching. It would be a frugal event. Jay's biological father
lived in San Bernardino County. I suggested that if Jay wanted to spend
Christmas with this father, that it would be OK. He hadn't seen his father
since he was 10 years old.
The next few days were spent locating the father. He had remarried, had a
new family. The woman he had married had two daughters, both teenagers. Jay
would be welcome. Jay would contact me through Jack Wormski's office after
the holidays.
Christmas was a lonely holiday. It was cold and overcast.
New Year's came and went... no word from Jay.
The motel was too expensive. I looked through the classified ads for an
apartment and spied a small motor home for sale in Santa Ana. The asking
price was a bit more than I had. However, the income from the investments
made with the money Harry had left me had been accumulating in a Savings and
Loan and that might enable me to swing the deal, if the motor home was what
I wanted.
I telephoned the number listed in the ad and arranged to drive down to Orange
County the next day, Friday.
The directions given me were quite detailed, so finding the seller was not
difficult even though it wasn't really in Santa Ana. The motor home was
located in a small trailer park in Tustin. Its owner was a young marine
stationed at the nearby Naval Air Station. The reason for selling the unit
was that the boy's wife had run off with one of his buddies who had been
transferred to the East Coast.
The appointment to see the motor home was set for five in the evening. I
was early, and there was no one about. I had parked in front of the trailer
park office and was inspecting the unit on foot.
The outside looked pretty clean and well maintained. I was at the back
inspecting the sewer and water connections when I heard a Motorcycle pull up
and park in front.
I came around the side as the rider was removing his helmet. His hair was
very black and cut in a regulation style. He was not dressed in uniform,
but rather in blue jeans and black leather jacket. He dismounted his bike.
His frame was short and muscularly filled out.
"Are you the guy that called me yesterday?" He approached me, extending his
hand. "Sorry I haven't had time to straighten things up."
We entered the unit. It was a mess. Not dirty, but things were flung
everywhere. A shower and toilet occupied the back of the vehicle. It had a
refrigerator, stove, and microwave. Then, next to that, was a pull-out couch
that also served as an eating area. Above the drivers seat was a pull down
bed. The boy was obviously still occupying the unit.
I noticed a remote control for an AC power plant and asked about it. "The
starter burned out, and I've got it down at the hobby shop. I'd planned on
having it back in by the end of the week. Wanna beer?"
I nodded. He took two Mickey Big Mouths from the fridge, handed me one and
motioned me to sit down on the couch. He sat along side of me. His odor was
strong and masculine, mixed with that smell of biker's leather. His name
was Mike Vittelo.
The Mickey's was cold and smooth. We discussed the vehicle, what problems it
had, what had yet to be done to it.
"Want another one?" he asked.
"Why don't we go out for pizza instead?" I suggested.
"Great idea; gotta take a shower first."
He got up and handed me a second Mickey's as be proceeded to take off his
jacket. He moved to the back of the vehicle throwing his tee shirt on the
kitchen counter. As he opened the shower door, he dropped his jeans to the
floor and moved out of sight and into the shower. The short glimpse I had
of his bare body was tasty: firm, well rounded, and hairless.
I could hear the water spraying on to his body. "Shit, I can't find the soap."
he yelled.
I walked over to the bathroom door. "Can I get it for you?"
He pulled back the shower curtain slightly, "Yeah, there should be a bar in
the medicine cabinet".
I found an unopened bar, unwrapped it, and handed it to him. His extending
arm moved the shower curtain further apart. I could see his limber penis
nestled in his dark pubic hair, his testicles sagging from the hot water.
His basic masculine smell entered my lungs. I had the distinct gut feeling
that this man who had been accustomed to a wifely bedded bed had gone without
for a very long time.
My second Mickey was almost bottomed out when Mike came out of the shower,
toweling himself dry.
Still naked, he rummaged through a drawer, finally locating a pair of briefs.
"The E-Club at the base has got a good pizza joint, and their beer prices
are better. OK?"
Mike put on another pair of jeans, clean tee shirt, and the leather Jacket.
"We'll take the bike."
He locked up the RV and straddled his bike. He handed me a helmet. "Crawl
on the back. Your feet go onto to those pegs." he pointed to a couple of
spikes just forward of the rear wheel.
With a quick kick, the cycle sprang to life. As we pulled away, I instinctively
put my hands on his waist.
In less than five minutes we had driven the short distance, passed through
the main gate, and were parked in the E-Club's parking lot.
We were the only two people sitting at the bar. "A pitcher of Michelob," Mike
commanded of the girl behind the counter.
She put an empty pitcher under the draft dispenser and pulled the lever.
White foam filled the pitcher. "We just replaced the keg". The second pitcher
was also foam.
By the time she had filled the seventh pitcher with foam she was feeling
frustrated.
"Tell you what, if you are going to throw that out I'll give you a buck for
each of those pitchers. After that you'll probably have the keg fixed." She
readily agreed to my proposal.
We had seven pitchers of foam which were rapidly settling down to 3/4 full
pitchers of clear beer.
While we were drinking the last of the second pitcher, Mike ordered the pizza.
During the third pitcher, we had passed beyond the point of discussing the
RV. I had decided to buy it. Instead, he listened to my tales of the Marine
Corps during World War II. The sixth pitcher dragged from him the woeful tale
of his cheating wife.
It was close to midnight when we had wrung the last drop of sparkling brew
from the seventh and last pitcher.
We climbed on his bike and headed to the RV. We had passed the main gate.
My arms were around his waist holding on. I could feel the warmth of his
body. Then I could feel a raging hard-on. His cock was vertical and under
his belt. My hands were almost touching it.
I started to say something, but the roar of the bike drowned me out. My arms
squeezed tighter as we turned a sharp corner. His cock responded to the
tighter hold in a hard pulsing. I would have bet that had I had my hand under
his jacket his bare cock head would have been lubing my arm. I could almost
smell his passion.
As we got off of the bike, Mike asked, "Where are you staying?"
When I told him, he said "That's too fucking far. Why don't you stay here
tonight and we can work out the details on the RV tomorrow."
As we entered the motor home, Mike pulled down the bunk from above the driver's
seat. "I like this one; instead of making up the bed, all I have to do is
push it up and closed".
Internally I laughed and thought, "Like the rest of the RV is any different."
"You know where the shower is if you want to use it."
Remembering about how those things worked in the days of the Yacht, I kept
the shower short. Wet down. Soap down. Rinse off.
When I returned, Mike had pulled out the couch and added a light blanket.
He was already laying flat on his stomach in his upper bunk.
As I crawled under the blanket he turned off the light. The interior was
pitch black.
I had nuzzled face down on the bed. The light went on. "That beer is running
right through me". Mike padded off to the toilet. I could hear a long
continuous stream of piss splashing in the toilet bowl, followed by the
inevitable mechanical noises of the RV sewer system. "You comfortable there?"
"Yeah, but my back hurts, I think I twisted it when I got off your bike."
The light went off. "Where does it hurt."
"The small of my back."
"Here, let me work on those back muscles. Patty used to like it." Referring
to his ex-wife.
I could hear Mike move closer to me. The bed depressed as he sat along side
and moved the blanket clear of my body. His fingers touched my spine about
two inches above my butt. They dug in gently, but firmly. The sensation was
very relaxing. "Oh man that feels good." His fingers moved across to each
side, then upward. "You really know what you are doing."
His fingers moved upward, his body leaned so that he could reach my neck.
Silently he moved so that he was now lightly sitting on my upper legs,
straddling me, his bare butt gently resting on me. His fingers moved back
down to the lower back and continued their massage of those tender muscles.
I could feel the heat of his butt as he moved forward so that his fingers
could work their way all the way up to my shoulder and my neck. The radiated
heat from his stomach and groin signaled his movements across my back.
At first I wasn't sure, but then again I felt a small wet, warm drop hit my
tail bone. Mike moved back, fingers again exploring my lower back. It seemed
that he was generating a lot of heat. Again the upward motion. Several more
warm drops sprinkled the crack of my butt. The realization that Mike had a
raging hard-on brought my own cramped dick to attention. I raised my butt to
re-arrange my cock and, in doing so, felt the head of Mike's cock push between
my cheeks. I moved back down, he followed, his cock gently massaging my
cheeks. He leaned forward, almost laying flat on top of me. Reaching back,
my fingers sought the small of his back, communicating that I was enjoying
his presence.
Then the resting ceased as his body began massaging mine, his dick rubbing
full length the crack of my buttocks. The warmth of his instrument warmed
me. His gentle, noninvasive stroking stimulated me. His breathing became
deeper as the hot air expelled on to the back of my neck.
I tightened my buttocks, grasping his penis. Mike exhaled deeply. I could
feel his lips on my shoulders. The length of his strokes changed, then there
seemed to be more purposeful movement.
Then he stopped; just laid there, his long, hard, hot penis laying full length
along side of, and enveloped by my cheeks. "Man can you give a good back
rub."
Mike's hips moved back slightly, and I positioned myself so that as he again
moved toward me, his head was resting directly on my anus. It laid there with
a gentle forward pressure. The pre-cum was flowing warmly and pleasantly.
His already throbbing rod seemed to get even bigger as we just laid there.
Then, under its own volition, my relaxed sphincter began drawing his head
into my body. First, the head seemed to be sucked in. Still no body motion
from either of us. Then as the head passed through the muscle ring, Mike's
hips pressed him into me. My hips responded as the total length of his
equipment passed my prostrate and his groin was held tightly against my
buttocks. A moan of passion passed my lips. His teeth were gently biting my
shoulders as his butt began moving in and out.
Both of our passions were building. I was on the verge of ejaculation when
Mike simply rested. He lay there, full length upon my body, his member
throbbing and pushed deeply with in me. His lower body had ceased to move
while his lips kissed my shoulders and my neck. His hot breath was slow and
deep. Then his tongue began to massage my shoulders, wetting them almost as
much as his cock had wetted the crack of my ass. Then the hip motion began
again. Slowly out, gently but completely in. Again and again. And again I
was on the verge. He paused; his member throbbing a message that it was still
there. My cum subsided back into my groin. Then the fucking continued. Again
he brought me to the verge. Then he pulled out.
He got up from the couch and turned me over on my back. Then he moved down
between my legs and put his mouth over my cock and sucked it deeply into his
throat. I thought I was going to explode, but before I could he withdrew,
lifted my legs into the "Lance Position" and let his member find its way back
home. His movements were now with more purpose. His hard cock slipped back
and forth past my prostrate, his groin striking the cheeks of my ass as his
swinging balls bounced against my butt.
His shaft was firmly pressed deeply into my gut as I felt the first splash
of his semen strike my intestines and wash back over my prostate. That
triggered my own emission shooting up over both of our chests.
His member was still deeply within me as he shifted his position, lowering
my legs. Then I felt his lips on mine. His tongue explored. His cock
responded.
Mike did not go back to his own bed, nor did his cock leave my body during
the entire night.
But oddly, during one of the early morning sessions, we talked business.
Mike was being transferred to Japan at the end of next month. I needed to
get out of the motel, and I needed a little more time to get all of the money
together. Also, Mike needed to install the power plant.
Saturday (and it was already Saturday), I would move into the RV. Mike and
I would share it until his transfer came through. On Monday I'd give him
$3000 of the asking price and he would sign the RV over to me. Then, sometime
before he was transferred, I'd give him the balance.
I've often thought that frustration expressed itself in accelerated sexual
appetite. And if that is true, then Mike's ex-wife must have frustrated the
hell out of him. During the next seven weeks we shared a lot of fun things;
scuba diving in Mexico, horseback riding at the Marine Crops Stables, motor
boating and even water skiing. But his sexual appetite never waned. If we
were in the RV, he was always fucking, at least 3 times a night, on one
weekend it was nine times.
He never repeated sucking my dick. He maintained the masculine role in this
relationship treating me with gentleness and affection, but always the
"husband" never the "wife."
The weeks rolled by. I had adjusted to an unaccustomed subservient roll.
The physical and emotional security felt oddly complacent. We never spoke of
love, nor even sex; he simply possessed me whenever he was in the mood; and
it seemed he was always in the mood.
The weekend before he left for Japan, he suggested we hop on his bike and
head south. We had no destination in mind, but we took along a sleeping bag
and tarp.
We crossed the border into Tijuana sometime mid-morning. In Ensenada, we had
lunch and a couple of cervesas. Then we drove further south into Saint Thomas.
The sun was beginning its downward path. It would be dark in a couple of
hours.
Mike turned off of the main road, following a dirt path towards the sea.
Road dust swirled upward behind us as we sped onward. A turn in the path
placed us on a secluded beach, hidden by small hills and sand dunes.
We set up camp on the seaward side of a dune, near its top. If the tide came
in, we would not get wet.
Shedding our clothes, we raced into the ocean water. It was crisp and cold
by comparison with the warm Mexican air. "If I catch you, you are MINE".
The straight line from an old dirty joke.
We splashed and played tag like a couple of teenage boys.
The tag turned into wrestling, which turned into passionate play as first I,
then Mike, developed ridged cocks. Mike grabbed me from behind, putting his
hands between my legs, pulling me backward. The supporting water lifted me
and then set me back down with his cock holding me, and extending like a
boom, toward my front and under my balls. His arms reached around me and held
me close against his chest. His pubic hair and abdomen were pressed firmly
against my behind. His hard cock head warmed my back in contrast to the cold
sea water. Either the ocean was washing away his pre-cum as fast as it was
being generated, or it didn't form in the ocean. Either way, entry was not
possible.
Laughingly, I spun loose of him and ran across the beach and up the dune to
our camp.
We had only laid out the tarp. I slid on to it as Mike followed me. His cock
had gone down; mine had not.
The sky was just now dimming as the sun disappeared below the horizon. We
were laying on our backs. The air had dried our skin. Mike sat up, then moved
over and sat on my stomach. I looked up into his eyes. They sparkled in the
twilight.
My gaze moved downward. His mouth was in the shape of a grin. He wiggled his
bare ass playfully. "Boy, are you going to get it tonight".
My eyes continued downward. His cock was fully inflated; hard and glistening.
His lubricant was literally dripping into my belly button. His fingers began
spreading the pool from my navel, in ever expanding circles extending from
my pubic hair to my rib cage. Then Mike grasped his cock and continued to
rub his still lubricating instrument across my body, even up to my chest,
neck, and chin. The head lubricated my lips. My tongue extended. He rested
the head on my tongue. The drooling continued. The taste was salty. My lips
closed around it, capturing the fluid as it continued to produce. I sucked
hard, pulling the instrument into my mouth. My hands were on the cheeks of
his bare butt, holding him, enticing him, coaxing him to continue.
I could feel his knob expand as his member got even stiffer. As usual, he
wouldn't cum. Instead, he withdrew and slid his organ back down my body,
leaving a track like a snails all the way to the small pool in my navel.
The cock head added more lubricant.
Mike lifted my legs over his shoulders, pushing forward. My hole was totally
exposed. His dick was now dribbling onto my anus. I could feel drop after
drop hit me, and then stream down my ass crack. He moved forward so the head
was now touching my ass.
Using his left hand, he moved the shaft around like a warm, hot, paint brush.
Then, with his right hand, he began fingering me. His ample lubricant allowed
his index finger to slide in. In and out, round and round. Then he added
another finger. Again in and out, round and round. But now there was an
additional motion as he began stretching his fingers apart. So now it was in
and out, round and round, and stretching and contracting.
Mike added a third finger. His cock just above was dribbling a stream of
pre-cum onto his fingers and my butt hole. This new action was driving me
crazy. I began to moan as he continued to toy with me. Then he shifted so
that the head of his cock was laying in a trough created by his fingers.
The head pushed against my wet hole, as his fingers expanded outward, creating
a welcome tunnel for his invading train. My body wanted him in me, deeply
in me. But Mike had different ideas. His fingers stretched and stretched.
His cock head was sliding into my ass on a rail of his fingers. Then, quite
suddenly, he withdrew the fingers while moving his shaft completely into me.
The transition created an unexpected emotional response as I arched my body
into his. My throat exhaled a groan, and then a shout of passion. My buttocks
bucked into him; my hands were grasping his back as I pulled and pulled.
Even my fingernails dug into him, trying to get more and more of him. Then,
like a wolf, Mike began to howl as he unloaded his seed fully and deeply
into my body. It started with a low growl, matching mine, but as he emptied
himself it reached an ear splitting howl. In synchronism, I released. Our
howls died to whimpering sounds of completed passions: released, exorcised.
He pulled out, still erect. I rolled over on my stomach. Mike rolled over on
top of me, putting his cock back "home where it belongs". Then he fell asleep
laying on top of me his rod stiff and deep within me.
We slept like that through the long warm night. If I moved, his hands would
hold me still. At times I would awaken, and his rod was always in an erect
state.
Sometime during the night, he must have awakened, as his still erect rod
began to explore its environment. It was a gentle prodding, as his cock hair
rubbed my bare buttocks. Slowly in and out. His teeth were nibbling my neck,
then very gently he pushed deep into me and came again. We drifted back to
slumber land.
At daybreak, his hard cock must have awakened both of us as it again started
to explore its environment, but more rigorously. But this time, I rolled
over, tossing him on to the cool tarp. I jumped up and straddled him, sinking
his cock back into my body. Then I rode him like a bucking bronco. I looked
into his laughing eyes as I said, "Hey, stud, let's see how you can do on
the fifth rodeo."
He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me hard onto his stomach. I twitched
my butt cheeks trying to make things as tight as I could. Then, on his next
upward thrust, I raised my legs and spun in a circle on his pole. The
unexpected motion made him lose control, as I could feel another load being
released from his rod. Then, I jumped up and ran for the surf, Mike running
after me. We dove into the water, bringing our bodies to full awakedness.
It was Sunday morning and we were famished. We had brought no food.
Reluctantly, we left our secluded beach and drove into Ensenada for breakfast.
Then northward to Tijuana, the border, and finally home.
Then he left for Japan.
Most of my time during the past seven weeks had been spent keeping house for
Mike. Now that he was gone, there seemed to be no purpose. There was no reason
to move from the trailer park. Wormski's office had heard nothing from Jay.
I had cleaned the RV for the umpteenth time when finally I decided I needed
to do something: get a job, put a show together, get off of my butt. Again,
a call to Wormski's office; the response was not encouraging.
The park manager suggested I go down to the California Department of
Employment. As a veteran, I would enjoy some degree of priority.
After tons of filled out forms, I sat next to an interviewer who looked over
my career history. "We don't get much call for musicians." He left me at his
desk and conferred with a large black woman. Then he returned. "Ever done
any selling?"
Visions of selling vacuum cleaners door to door immediately entered my mind.
"No, never have."
"Well, we have an odd work order. It's a Music Store and Video Rental Library
in Newport, and they want someone with a musical background who is willing
to sell instruments and records. Want to give it a try?"
"The Video Music Experience" was located in Newport's new business plaza
about 20 minutes drive from the trailer park. The owner was a man in his
mid-forties, somewhat balding, a little on the plump side. He was looking
for someone younger than me, but my experience weighed heavily in my favor.
His sales force was all considerably younger, but had no musical experience.
They were strictly "sales types". Bruce, the owner, explained that everyone
did everything: rented videos, sold instruments, handled cash register, even
vacuumed the carpet twice each day. The wages were strictly minimum, but
commissions were earned on all merchandise. Video rentals earned no
commissions but yearly video memberships did.
The money was definitely not good, but then money was not the driving force
behind my decision to seek employment.
Bruce introduced me to David, his most effective sales person. David was in
his mid-twenties, a little over six foot in height, and fat. Not grossly
fat, but he'd never make the second quarter mile in a marathon. David was
also aggressive in his sales efforts. He was to show me the ropes. Most of
the following weeks were spent behind the video rental counter, while David
sold instruments and a few records. The video work was exhausting, especially
between 6 pm and 10 pm closing. Lines of people holding videos cued up
waiting to be helped while David sat on his fat ass in the music section.
I had a coffee break coming up. Bruce insisted that David work video rental
during that break.
Instead of coffee, I went into the music section. The store had just received
one of those new electronic keyboards. I began to toy with it and was surprised
at its capabilities. The rhythm section intrigued me. I pushed a couple of
buttons, establishing a rock beat. Then another control synthesized guitar.
Still another gave me organ. My fingers recalled one of Jackie's Gospel
numbers, as I got carried away with this new play toy.
Most of the customers left the video section crowding around the keyboard.
Bruce came over and prompted me to continue. I glanced over at David; he was
not happy.
A young boy, of perhaps 12 years, stood next to me. "That looks easy."
"It is. Here, run your fingers over these four keys on the beat." Shortly
the boy was improvising. His dad bought a keyboard. $375.00. My first
commission.
Just before closing, Bruce suggested that I take one of the keyboards home
with me and that "I'd rather you stay in the music department."
My sex life had pendulumed back to celibacy. My days consisted of playing
with the new toy in the mornings then work in the afternoons and evenings,
then home and sleep.
The work became quite interesting and enjoyable as I developed mini concerts.
Instrument sales soared. Bruce was happy; David was not. Our schedules were
changed so that David and I did not work together.
I was scheduled for Friday and Saturdays, off on Sunday and Mondays. David's
days off were Friday and Saturday.
Early Friday afternoon, a young teenager breezed right past me and into
Bruce's office. I looked surprised as I had never seen him before. Bruce
brought him into the music section. "This is Joe Franklin. He works in the
back unpacking and putting things together on weekends and on some afternoons."
Joe flashed me a big smile and shook my hand vigorously. "If you need anything
moved or packed just tell Joe."
Unlike most teens, Joe's complexion was clear. His movements were not clumsy,
but they were direct and fast. The kid was obviously hyper. His bright eyes
bespoke a high degree of intelligence. I suspected he was something special.
He disappeared into Bruce's office. Then he was behind the video counter
going through computer listings of Annual Members. Then he was on the
telephone. Within an hour, Joe had called members whose annual memberships
were due to expire, signing them up over the phone. Bruce had over a thousand
dollars in renewals.
On Sunday, the shit hit the fan. David tried to sell renewals to customers
who came into the store; Joe had beat him to the punch. David had attacked
Joe, throwing him to the floor. Bruce tried to break it up and accidentally
got punched in the nose by David. Bruce sent both home and called me, asking
me to work that evening.
Shortly after I arrived, a heavy set man, at least six foot two, roared into
the store and directly into Bruce's office. Joe trailed behind him. I could
hear shouts of, "He attacked my son. I'll sue the shit out of you and your
goddamned store."
I motioned Joe to come into the music section. I knew Bruce was a master at
handling people. His presence would only fan the fires.
Joe turned on one of the newer keyboards. It had drum sticks attached. He
picked up the sticks, striking them against the end of the keyboard, generating
an original beat. I moved over to the keyboard and improvised a melody to go
with the beat. Soon we were jamming. Then Joe surprised me by fingering the
bass keys. He laid the drum sticks aside as I set the auto rhythm to
approximately the same tempo and moved over to a second keyboard. This I put
into Hammond mode and improvised, following Joe's lead.
Bruce and Joe's dad joined us. The large man putting his huge arms around
Joe's waist hugging the boy to him.
Bruce said "Joe, how'd you like to work with Don on Friday and Saturday?"
And thus a new adventure was beginning.
---------------------
Joe was 16 and hyper. His mind worked faster than almost anyone I had come
in contact with. He had never studied music, yet he had a natural talent that
enabled him to grasp the symbolism expressed in sheet music and translate
it into melody, into beat, and into expression. And Joe was a very good
looking boy.
His hyperactivity coupled with his high intelligence and rapid ability to
learn created many problems in school. He did not have the patience to sit
in class re-hearing material that he already had mastered. He also had an
ego problem. Yet his understanding of people and his aggressiveness could
not but help him achieve any goal he set his mind to. His main problem was
that the didn't really give a shit about how people felt.
We became best friends; this man of sixty and this boy of 16.
One evening, Joe asked me to drive him home. His sister usually picked him
up after work, but this night she was in San Diego.
We closed up the store at ten, and under his guidance I drove south along
Pacific Coast Highway, turning into Laguna's millionaire row, Emerald Bay.
The guard at the gate signaled me to stop, then saw Joe and waved us through.
We wove our way upward. "OK. This is it. Think you can find your way out?"
I nodded yes, as my best friend ran through the front door of a multimillion
dollar home overlooking the Pacific ocean.
My drive home through Laguna Canyon was very contemplative, as my mind tried
to seek out the continuing wonderment of this very special lad. Really, who
was Joe Franklin?
The following Friday night, Joe said, "Can you come to dinner on Sunday?
Mom wants to meet you." Parents always make me nervous, and I really didn't
want to, but I should have realized I never could say no to Joe.
Saturday afternoon, Joe was very hyper. He couldn't stay still for a moment.
And he was constantly asking questions, yet before I could complete an answer
he had already assimilated it, interrupting me, and asking another. Soon he
had three keyboards set up in a semi-circle, each synthesizing a different
set of instruments. He had jumpered the drum stick jacks so they were operating
in parallel, and triggered off one set of sticks.
Joe then put the sticks on the floor where he could tap them with his foot.
His body was bouncing as his toes set the rhythm. His left hand bounced off
a single set of cords on the far left keyboard. Between the three sets of
keyboards, he had established a complete drum set, yet somehow their beat
was different but synchronized. Next, his right hand was moving rapidly across
the middle and right keyboards. He simply wasn't fast enough to do what he
wanted to do. In frustration he motioned for me to take over the right hand
board. The sounds were frantic but fantastic. It was too foreign for my ear,
yet it was compelling. Soon I was trying to predict his next movement, his
next sound. It definitely wasn't random noise. The pattern eventually emerged
so that I could follow with some degree of certainty. Every person in the
store came into the music section. Joe was driving hard, his shirt was soaking
wet as he put his entire being into an emotional musical exhibit.
And suddenly it was over. He had reached the end. There was not a sound from
the customers. Then a girls voice said "Wow. Far out," and people began to
applaud.
But for Joe it was over. He had done what he wanted to and was now moving to
another project. He dismantled the keyboards, putting everything back where
it belonged. I just stood their staring at him.
At the end of the evening, he asked me to drive him home again. The trip took
less than a half hour. I expected his questions to be about music and about
performing. I was wrong. He wanted to talk about sex. How did it feel to fuck
a girl? How did you go about it? He had made passes at a few, but Joe could
never be patient enough to go through the ritual of foreplay.
I explained the need for patience and self control. I told Joe about EST
and the process the young airman from Okinowa and I had put into place. This
opened a whole new avenue of interest for the lad. He wanted to know exactly
how it worked. Then he was insisting that I put him through the process. I
promised, but not tonight. He was expected at home and taking him to the RV
first would take too long.
Sunday dinner at the Franklin's was set for six o'clock. At 5:45, I approached
the entry gate to Emerald Bay. The guard took my name and checked it against
a guest list, then motioned me through.
Joe was waiting out front as I pulled up in front of his home; he directed
me into the best place to park.
The walkway was red brick; the high redwood fence was covered in ivy. We
passed through what I thought was the front door, only to find myself in an
open patio. His dad was cooking hamburgers on a charcoal grill.
From inside the house came the sounds of women and girls talking. The two
women were speaking Spanish.
Joe took me inside and introduced me to everyone. His mother was a gorgeous,
petite blonde. And very stylish: she could have been a model from the front
cover of Vogue. Her accent was foreign, European. But, within moments, I
realized where Joe got his hyperactivity from.
The other woman was the maid. She spoke no English. Her dark coloring suggested
that she was from Mexico.
Joe had three sisters and no brothers. He was the second child. His older
sister, while quite pretty, had a large nose, as did Joe's father. His next
younger sister was just a year younger than Joe, while the youngest was about
ten.
The father was Lebanese. His mother was Austrian.
Joe had been very silent about his family during the entire time that I had
known him. The only two insights I had had was the one time when his dad
had angrily visited the "Music Video Experience" and when I had given him a
lift home and discovered that he lived in millionaire's row.
Most of the Sunday evening was spent in conversations with his mother and
father. They were naturally curious about this old man with whom their
troublesome teenage son had become such good friends.
My musical background seemed to intrigue them. I gave them a cleaned up
version of my past: The marines, thunder, my Hollywood connections.
The evening came to an end; it was time for me to leave. "Tomorrow is your
day off isn't it?"
I confirmed that it was.
"Dad, can I stay over at Don's tonight. I want to go down to San Diego."
This was all news to me. "What about school?"
"They are having some kind of teachers conference, and we are off."
His dad looked inquiringly at his wife who nodded affirmatively.
Joe had never seen my Motor home, and it certainly couldn't compare in
quality with where he lived.
As we drove down Laguna Canyon, inland towards Tustin, Joe directed the
conversation to the EST process. I explained exactly how it worked.
"You just talk; right?"
I said "yes".
"You think I'll actually come off without being touched?"
I said that was the idea but the results depended entirely on how well he
took directions and could immerse himself in the fantasy.
"Well, if it works, I want to go to Tijuana tomorrow and fuck a whore."
At the Motorhome I pulled the couch out. I directed him to strip and lay on
his back on the couch.
"Where are you going to be?"
"Up in this bunk." I pulled down the one above the driver's seat.
"Do I have to get naked?"
"That's up to you, but if you shoot your load, you're going to have sticky
clothes." I stripped down to my briefs and crawled into the upper Bunk.
Joe removed his shoes and shirt then laid on the couch watching my every
move.
I told him to unbutton the top of his pants.
"Why?"
"Because I want you to relax. Also when you reach certain points I will ask
you to signal me by tapping the head of your dick three times."
He loosened the top of his jeans.
"From now on, you will not speak to me. You will communicate only by tapping
the head of your dick as I shall ask you to do."
We proceeded through the relaxation portion. Judging from the short time
between my giving him an instruction and his tapping the head of his cock,
he was either doing very well or was faking it.
When we reached the part that required him to tighten the muscles that gave
him an erection and then consciously relax them, I knew that he was not
faking.
At the beginning of the beach fantasy I had him completely unbutton his jeans
and then remove them. His cock was hard and vertical under his cotton briefs.
During the water portion, I had him completely relaxed again, so that when
he tapped the head of his cock it did not result in another erection.
When we entered the "Safe Space" and I began to describe the first girl
on the platform, his cock got super hard.
"Slide your shorts down so that she can see your pubic hair." Slowly, Joe
put his fingers under the top of his shorts, then deliberately lowered them,
pushing his cock to the side, but still captured in the cloth. "Your dick is
getting in the way. Take your shorts off." Joe hesitated a few seconds, then
slowly lowered them around his knees.
"I want you to take her hand and lead her to the bed." His hand extended,
then came to rest on his abdomen. "She is now going to grasp your dick, moving
her hand from the base to the head. Her hand is yours."
Joe grasped the base of his hard cock, making one stroke, ending at the head.
His stomach tensed, and he shot a load that sailed over his head and splattered
on a mirror some 8 feet away.
I couldn't restrain my self as I began to laugh. Joe joined my laughter.
"OK. That's NOT the way it's supposed to work. Keep your eyes closed." I led
him through the end of the safe space process and ended the session.
"Wow! That was fuckin' good! Is it always that good?"
I told him I didn't know; it wasn't supposed to work that way.
"Well, it's the best jerk off I've ever had."
Joe took a shower, laid back down, and was soundly sleeping within minutes.
My mind was reviewing the activities of the day and then began wondering
about tomorrow. Would we go to Tijuana? At 16, could he even find a whore
who would fuck him?
Joe was out of bed before the sun had risen. "Let's go." He pulled the blanket
off me. My pisser was sticking out of my briefs. "Hey man, we going to fuck
a couple of chicks together?"
"I don't know. I doubt it... this is your party."
All the way to Tijuana Joe could not talk about anything other than getting
fucked. "How much do you think its going to cost?" "Think we can get a better
price for two chicks?"
I glanced over at him; he was sporting a rod that was the father of all rods.
It was BIG. Even though I had seen it in action the previous night, the light
was dim, and it didn't seem to me to be as big as it appeared here and now.
I explained how the sex scene worked in T.J. There were whorehouses, and
there were bars whose real service was whores, not booze. There were also
night clubs that had sex act shows. I told him about the Blue Fox and the
Donkey Act. I told him about Club Rosa in Puerto Escondido and the shows they
put on. But, before he could build up false hopes, I explained that it didn't
work that way in the border towns.
We stopped in Oceanside for breakfast at Dennys. Joe had finished his before
I had eaten half of my omelette and was eager to continue our journey.
"Come on. Hurry up. I'll buy you lunch in Mexico."
I gave up, leaving most of my breakfast uneaten.
We parked the car in a lot on the US side of the border and took a red and
white bus across the border and into TJ. It was only 11 o'clock. Lunch would
be at least an hour away. What to do till mid-afternoon when the clubs and
bars became active? Maybe a cab driver and a whore house. I just wasn't
sure.
The main street in Tijuana is lined with bars, clubs, and sellers of every
kind of merchandise one can imagine. Joe entered a shop. He was looking at
a sombrero. The clerk asked him if he'd like to buy it. Joe said he wasn't
sure, how much was it? The man named a price. They negotiated. Fifteen minutes
later they were still haggling. Finally, the man agreed to Joe's original
offer. "Naw, not right now, I'll stop back just before we leave."
The boy loved to negotiate, to haggle. We spent the next three hours going
from shop to shop, working each store owner down to the lowest possible price,
and in the end not buying anything. There was always a new and surprising
facet to this teenager.
Joe had run ahead of me. As I approached the corner across from the jai alai
arena, I spotted him talking to a cab driver. "Hey Don, the Blue Fox is open.
This cab will take us there. Can we go?"
Cab drivers can accomplish things that ordinary folk cannot. Even though the
Blue Fox was less than a half block down the street, I knew that we would
gain entry, when as walk-ins Joe would not be permitted.
We walked past the bouncers at the entry without being challenged and were
seated at a table immediately adjacent to the stage. A dancer was in the
middle of the platform. She nonchalantly removed her bra. Moving towards Joe,
she squatted, signaling him to help remove her G-string. He reached over
and released the catch; they fell to the floor. Without invitation, he put
his fingers in her pussy. She seemed surprised, rose, putting her fingers to
her lips shaking her head. No, No. Look, but don't touch.
A waiter brought two unordered Strawberry Margaritas. I tasted mine; it was
loaded. I tasted Joe's, it was a Virgin Margarita. I smiled. The boy could
look at the cunt, but wasn't being served alcohol.
We stayed in the Blue Fox until almost 6. I was getting hungry. We left, with
the intent of returning after dinner to experience the Donkey Show. Then,
later, we would try and get Joe laid.
Touts were trying to capture customers for restaurants. One, specializing in
steak and lobster, appealed to Joe. "Remember, Don. This is on me."
We went upstairs and were seated at an outside table overlooking the street.
Joe had the steak and lobster, while I enjoyed shrimp, scampi style. The
Margaritas were two for the price of one. They were large and delicious.
They were also very alcoholic, both mine and Joe's.
After dinner, we went back to the Blue Fox. They wouldn't let us in. "Joe
was too young." We looked around for the cab driver who had gained admission
for us the first time. He was nowhere to be found. Joe kept going back to
the Blue Fox trying to get in. They kept refusing him. After the sixth
attempt the bouncer said, "We don't serve babies here. Go away or I'll get
the police."
Joe tried another bar and was again refused. I suggested we try and find him
a hooker. That diverted his attention and his objective.
I peeked into a bar. There were no customers, only a flock of women at the
far end. There was no bouncer. I went back outside and beckoned Joe. When
we came in, four of the women came towards us. I whispered to Joe that he
should make his choice right now.
He selected a woman, of perhaps 20. She had good sized breasts, was slim
waisted, and firm butted. She smiled at both of us, but put her arm around
Joe, drawing him to her bust while groping his crotch. She was the prettiest
of the group. Another girl attached herself to me. I shook my head no. The
girl Joe had would do for both of us.
The three of us climbed some stairs and sat at a table over looking the bar.
We ordered drinks; the girl insisted on champagne. She had her hand on both
of our cocks. The drinks came, along with a check for $20.00. I paid it.
Joe was negotiating. She offered to get it on with both of us for $60.00 but
we would have to pay for the hotel room. I explained that it would only be
Joe; I was there to make certain he got what he paid for. She said OK, but
if I was in the room it still would be $60.00.
Joe got his dick back in his pants, and we left the bar. The hotel was just
across the street. We entered. The girl asked for $20.00. I gave it to her,
and she went to the desk clerk, gave him some money, and took a key.
The room was a second floor walk-up. We entered. I sat in a chair while the
girl started to disrobe. She stopped, came over to me, and asked for the
$60.00. I looked in the bathroom to make certain there were no "extra guests"
in our room, then handed her three twenties.
Then she continued to strip. She looked at Joe, telling him to remove his
clothing. He looked at me, and said "Don, go in the bathroom". As I moved
towards the bathroom, Joe was taking off his shoes and shirt.
I sat on the toilet listening to the sounds coming from the bedroom. My
curiosity was getting the better of me, so I moved to the door, peeking
through a crack at the activity.
Joe was naked, laying on the bed. The girl had her mouth around his cock,
deep throating him. His hands were on her head, guiding the speed and course
of the action. This continued for three or four minutes. Then he pulled her
head off of his dick and pointed that he wanted her on the bed so he could
fuck her doggie style. He was still on his back, and she slipped a condom over
his wet, ridged, pulsing, penis.
He got up. She kneeled on the bed while he mounted her from behind. He set
up a rigorous pace for about five minutes. Then paused, withdrew, shoved his
finger up her ass, then with a mighty shove his cock pierced her sphincter.
She let out a yelp that probably could have been heard in the lobby. He fucked
her ass for about 10 minutes, pulled out, turned her over, stripped off the
rubber, and pushed his dick down her throat. Within seconds his stomach
muscles were tensing; she was going to get his load fully down the throat.
He had finished. His dick had wilted. Silently, he dressed while the girl
was still laying on the bed. We left, leaving the girl to use the toilet.
For the first time since he had experienced the EST process, Joe was quiet,
subdued, and not hyper.
We boarded the bus, returned to the parking lot, and headed north toward
Laguna Beach.
We had been on the road for about 30 minutes, when I looked over at Joe and
said, "So?"
He smiled and said, "It wasn't that great, but I got my $60 worth."
I smiled back and quoted an old limerick that I had heard.
She lusted after the young ones, this dowager of 40;
whose ample bosom and girth certainly made her portly.
Her gardener had a tender son of just fourteen;
an age which she thought made him ripe for courting.
He would help his father pull the short weeds;
showing his buns and enticing her needs.
One day the father, who was old, became sick;
she felt sure this day the boy's cock she would lick.
Oh! Young man, come here and bring me some poseys;
she had in mind playing with something, and it wasn't his toesies.
So straight and so strong, so muscular and dark
his cock in her she was sure he would park.
A young virgin must he be,
not for long she would see.
She wanted the flowers put next to her bed;
so it was there to which she him led.
Oh, young man, under the bed my ring it did fall;
so under her playpen did the boy crawl.
She kneeled along side him, her hand on his butt;
his dick grew so hard, it created a rut.
Surrendering your virginity whether ninety or nine
is any boys fantasy and hope for all time.
While under the bed, on his back he did turn,
and the size of his tool the lady did learn.
She unbuckled his trousers, sliding them down
his face still hidden, with the rest of him she did clown.
Pushing his shaft into her furrow,
deeper and deeper did he thus burrow.
Within a short time his climax he did reach;
oh what a day, and so much yet to teach.
A tender young boy under the bed she did urge
a wiser young man from under the bed did emerge.
-------------
The guard at Emerald Bay woke Joe. As soon as he was recognized, we were
waved through. I dropped him at the door way to his home. He smiled at me
"Thanks, man. I'll call you tomorrow."
It wasn't until Wednesday that I again heard from Joe. He called me at the
store. "When can I see you again?"
"Why, what's up? You are working on Friday, aren't you?"
Joe said that he was. "But I got a great idea that I want to talk to you
about. How about dropping by after work?"
I told him I wasn't sure. If I did, it couldn't be till after 11, "and
that's really too late."
"Well, try."
There weren't a lot of customers, so I also helped in the video section.
About six o'clock Joe came in the store. "You had your dinner break yet?"
I told him I hadn't. Things were not hectic, so I arranged to eat with Joe.
He directed me to a new place called the "Soup Exchange". It was an
all-you-can eat buffet featuring a wide selection of salads and soups. Joe's
tray was overflowing as he selected a booth way in the back.
As we sat down, he looked around to make certain we would not be overheard.
"Don I've got this great idea. I want to build a fucking machine."
"What kind of a machine?" I thought he'd left the noun out of the sentence.
"A fucking machine."
I still didn't get it.
"A machine you stick your dick in and fuck."
"Haven't you seen those inflatable dolls?"
"Naw, I mean a really fantastic fucking machine. We could combine that process
you got me off with, with a machine. What kind of a motion do you think it
should have" He moved his hand up and down like he was jerking off.
"That would probably do it," I responded.
"Nope, I've done some experimenting. Rotary, like a pencil sharpener."
I began to chuckle.
"I'm really serious about this. Will you help me with it?"
"Sure. Where do you want to do it?"
"How about your place?"
"I don't have a lot of room."
"Won't take much." Joe pulled out a piece of paper upon which he had drawn
his plans.
The central piece seemed to be some kind of device, but I couldn't be
sure what it was. I pointed to it.
"I don't know, probably something that turns slowly, whose torque and
speed are adjustable."
"You mean like an electric ceiling fan?"
Joe practically shouted in glee. "Hell, yes; that's it! A fuckin' ceiling
fan."
Now his hyperactivity was beginning to show. "Hurry up, man. I gotta get
started on this."
He had gulped down most of the food and was hurrying me to finish. Again, I
left most of my food behind, as I returned to the Video Music Experience.
Thursday afternoon, I again received a call from Joe. "Can I go home with
you after work tomorrow? Then, Saturday morning, we can start looking for a
ceiling fan."
"If it's OK with your folks, it's OK with me."
"Oh yeah. It's OK with mom, and Dad's in New York." Joe paused. "When he
gets back next week, he wants to talk to you about coming to work for him."
He hung up before I could ask any questions.
My curiosity was up. I had no idea what kind of business, if any, the
Franklins were in. I asked Bruce. He said some kind of electronics. He
wasn't sure exactly what.
I figured Joe was just being hyper. How could the Franklins use my talents?
Friday, Joe was not of much help in the store. He obviously had something
else on his mind. I asked him to set up a display of wind instruments. He
grabbed a tuba and got music out of it on the first blow. He put it in its
display case and disappeared before I could seek further help.
That night, on the way to the RV, Joe brought up the subject of the EST
process. I figured he wanted me to get him off again. I was wrong, he wanted
to conduct the process; it was I who was to get off.
I suggested that I get him off first, that way he would have each step fresh
in his mind.
No, he already knew the procedure, and, besides, he had some ideas of his own.
At the RV, our positions were reversed: I was to be on the couch; he would
be in the upper bunk.
Without being told to, I started to undress. "Leave your shorts on." I did
as I was told.
I asked him to turn out the lights, "It will be easier in the dark."
"No. I want to see everything."
Joe took me through the relaxation steps as though he had done it a hundred
times. When we got to the control of the hard-on muscles, he seemed fascinated
by the procedure and put me through it three times.
During the beach fantasy, he dwelt upon the feelings of the warm sand on my
body, and, while fantasizing about those feelings, he directed me to
concentrate on my ass cheeks, then my balls, and finally my cock, and again
took control over my hard-on muscles. Again, he got me up and down three
times. This added step was good; it added a lot to his control over my
fantasy.
In the safe space, he lingered over the cotton briefs. At first he had me
trace a line across the waist, from hip bone to hip bone. Then he directed
my fingers to create patterns in my pubic hair. My bone was to be placed so
that the head was being held in place by the elastic waist line of the briefs.
The first girl was brought into the fantasy. She too explored my pubic hair,
adding a scratching motion which extended downward to include my testicles.
Her fingers went lower, past my globes, to find a depression between my balls
and my anus. Her fingers massaged that depression, pressing deeply into that
spot.
I don't know where Joe got that last action from, but it was very effective,
my dick was drooling. Then he began to describe her pussy: the fantasy
lessened, and my cock started to droop. In response, he went back to the
pubic area and that new spot close to my anus. The fantasy again became more
real. He brought in a girl of a second description, and began to dwell upon
her genitals: the fantasy lessened; the drooling stopped; my rod deflated.
I could hear Joe move down off of the upper bunk. He was close to me when I
heard him say, "Imagine my hot breath on the head of your cock; fingers are
scratching your pubes. The hot air is circling the head. My fingers are yours
as they grasp the base of your cock." My fingers went to the base and moved
up to the head. My eyes were closed, but I knew Joe was very close to me.
Under his direction, it was he that I was fantasizing about, and the second
movement to the head brought me to ejaculation.
"I'll be damned. You're gay aren't you?"
That shocked me out of the fantasy. I opened my eyes. "At my age you get
whatever you can. I swing any way that gets me off."
He looked at me quizzically. "Well, we'd better go to bed. We've got a busy
day ahead of us tomorrow."
I went to the bathroom to clean up. When I returned, he was sound asleep on
the couch. I sought the security of my own bunk. I was trembling. I didn't
want to lose the friendship of this very special young man.
-------------------------------------------------------
My Teenage Heart
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Fantastic Fucking Machine.
On Saturday morning we started looking for parts for his machine. The
EST process, was at least for the moment, in the past as his mind wheeled
through the mechanical design of this part of his project.
We had to be at the Video Music Experience by two o'clock, and by noon
we had already purchased a number of things; the fan motor, a piece of
plywood, a light dimmer control, a couple of plastic glasses, and a tube
of Prel Hair Shampoo.
Back at the RV he unpacked the ceiling fan from its card board container.
Then he cut the end off of the tube of Prel, and squeezed its contents
into a water glass.
He then pulled out his cock and gave it a few strokes until it was rigid.
Then he slipped the tube over his cock, and moved it up and down, and then
rotated it. Got any Vaseline? I handed him a jar of cold cream. He rubbed
that all over his cock and then slipped it back into the tube. Again with
the rotation and the in and out. Next he put the tube into a glass of
water and stuck it into the Microwave. Again his dick in the tube. "Oh
Yeah ... That's great."
At 1:15 I had to force him out of the RV and into the car. Can we work
on this after work?
Joe wasn't much help at the Video Music Experience. Luckily for him there
wasn't a lot to do, and Bruce didn't come in.
We were home by 10:45 that night, and he immediately started assembling
his invention. He mounted the motor, upside down, on the plywood. Then
he assembled the fan, less the blades, and a metal cap. Without the blades
and cap, the device could hold a plastic cup in the center of the rotor.
He then wrapped his tube of Prel in a sheet of foam rubber, which was then
placed inside of the cup.
He plugged in the power cord, and adjusted the speed of the motor; it
was moving pretty fast. Then he put three fingers in the tube, and it
slowed down.
He then put the device between the couch and a chair and proceeded to
strip. His cock was already hard and red by the time everything was ready.
Joe arched himself upward, and started to insert the head of his penis
into the revolving Prel tube. Slowly he lowered himself with one hand
on the speed control. "Gawd, does that feel good." He arched upward but
not far enough for his cock to escape the Prel. Then down, all the way,
his behind squeezed together as he attempted to bottom out the machine.
He pulled out, and sat up. "Did you come off?" I asked.
He shook his head no, walked over to the medicine cabinet, put a gob of
cold cream inside the Prel tube, then put the whole thing in the microwave
for about 15 seconds.
He then repeated the test, placing the tube assembly back in the motors
retaining ring, then he arched himself over the rotor, and gently slid
his cock into the mouth of the tube. "Oh, that's it. That's fucking it."
His little ass began moving up and down. I could hear sensuous sounds
as he groaned in the pleasure of his fucking machine. "Fucking Fantastic."
His butt muscles were beginning to tighten. His strokes, both in and
out had gone from long and leisurely, to fast and demanding. I could tell
that he was almost there. Then the last inward plunge, his buttocks squeezed
tightly together; he was delivering his load into the depths of this robotic
pussy.
His hand turned off the motor. Joe continued to lay there, resting from
his exercise, breathing deeply. Then he withdrew "Don, you gotta try this."
Watching the boy had given me quite a hard-on. The Prel tube was still
hot and wet with his load. "Damn right I'm going to try it."
Joe watched me as I stripped and put myself in position. My back was
arched as the head of my cock entered the device. I could feel Joes warm
sperm coating my shaft as I moved further in to it. "OK, turn it on."
I twisted the control; the rotor began to turn. The feeling was fantastic.
Also, knowing that my dick was being lubricated by Joes ejaculation added
greatly to the fantasy building within my mind.
The boys thick fluid was covering my penis as I moved in and out, while
the device spun round and round. I tried to slow the process, to enjoy
both the physical massaging of my penis and the fantasy of fucking Joes
cum. But the combined affect was too great for my will power as my load
began to move from within me, seeking its way out. The added fantasy of
my cum mixing with Joes took me over the edge as I spent into the tube,
the twisting motion emulsified the two loads. I quickly turned off the
motor as my dick had become far too tender.
As I arched upward, the cum mixture momentarily streamed downward into
the tube then dripped, and finally stopped.
Joe had put a towel on the couch. I sat back looking at the slimy mixture
sliding down the length of my still erect shaft, covering my balls, and
wetting the towel.
"Pretty good huh?"
I had to admit that it was.
"What were you thinking about when you were fucking it?"
I dodged the question. "I'll bet you were fantasizing about the girl in
Tijuana." Joe, smiled and nodded.
When I got out of the shower, he again asked the indicting question.
I didn't answer. He smiled, and said, "You enjoyed fucking my cum didn't
you." I still didn't answer as we both crawled into our respective beds.
Sunday morning I woke to the sounds of moans and groans coming from the
TV. I looked down at the couch. Joe was naked, and fucking the machine
while watching a porno. His strokes were firm, and complete, but he didn't
seem to be into what he was doing.
He hit the remote control; the TV went off.
His head was laying on his arm, as his body continued its exercise. The
pace of his strokes were now increasing. They were also longer, pushing
further in, and staying in deep for a prolonged period. It was obvious
that what ever was spinning through his mind was having a positive effect;
the boy was definitely getting into it.
Shortly his buttocks tightened, the last push lingered, and I knew he
had gotten off. He rested for a moment, then turned his head toward me,
smiled, and said, "That was good. Want to fuck my cum again?"
I declined. "Hey buddy, you know I'm past 60 years old. I still like to
get it off, but I cant keep up with you."
"You sure. Its fresh and hot."
He went to the shower, taking the cup and Prel tube with him in response
to my repeated decline.
When he came out he suggested that we have breakfast at Dennys.
"I've got to go home after we eat."
There was a Dennys en route to Laguna.
Joe changed the subject from the Fantastic Fucking Machine, which he was
now calling it, to the subject of EST Processes. "I want to combine the
two."
I asked him about the Porno he was watching in his earlier use of the
FFM, and he said it took his mind away from the fantasy, substituting its
own. It really didn't work as well as his own imagination. "I want to make
an audio tape of that process you first put me through. You know, where
you got me into that safe space with the girl on stage."
I laughed affirmatively as I remembered his cum shot that splattered the
mirror on the bathroom door.
Sunday mornings at Dennys is always crowded. We had a 20 minute wait,
and we were among many people. I could tell that he wanted to continue
our discussions about the FFM, but couldn't. It was strangling him. Finally
we were seated and ordered.
He was ravenous, rapidly consuming everything that was put on his plate;
cheddar and ham omelet, toast, hash browns, and orange juice. I quietly
wondered if it was his use of the Fantastic Fucking Machine or his normal
hyper activity that had made him so hungry.
On the way to Emerald Bay he again continued talking about his idea of
combining the EST process and the FFM. "But, I want to customize it. Have
you describe real women that I would like to fuck."
Sunday was my day off, and I presumed that Joe had other things to do
besides work on his project. Back at the RV I began to do a bit of house
cleaning and organizing. It had been almost a week since I'd done laundry,
so that was also on my agenda.
I had just finished putting clean sheets on my bed, and tucking the bed
back up against the ceiling when I heard a car park in front.
The door rattled as someone tried to open the locked entryway. "Hey Don.
Let me in."
When I opened the door Joe was in the company of a boy who appeared to
be about 15. He had light brown hair. I would have guessed him to be
about 135 pounds and probably about five foot eleven in height. His complexion
was as clear as Joes, and it didn't appear that the boy had yet begun to
grow facial hair.
This is Mike Brown. The boy extended his hand. We shook. "He's going
to help me with the FFM if its OK with you."
This change in attitude rather surprised me, as Joe had been very private
in his sexual activity. Even when Joe and I first began discussing matters
of sex it was curiosity more than sexual appetite that was his driving
force. But then, bringing Mike Brown into the picture might well be part
of his experimental curiosity.
Joe pulled the machine out from under the table and showed Mike the plastic
glass containing the Prel tube. He put some cold cream in the tube, unzipped
his trousers, pulled his already stiffening penis out of his pants and
pushed the tube firmly onto his shaft, and then began rotating it.
"Here you try it." He handed Mike the assembly. At first, Mike hesitated,
then he too unzipped his pants and pulled his cock free.
I couldn't believe what I now saw. Mike had the most beautiful cock I
have ever seen. First, it was large; probably between 9 and 10 inches.
I have seen large cocks before, and large isn't necessarily good looking.
No, Mikes hard cock was exceptional in its aesthetic appearance. The curvature
was upward, but the size and weight of it caused it to project straight
outward. The diameter was significant, but not out of proportion to its
length. The coloring was almost as though he had a tan, with a slightly
reddish cast to it. The head was perfectly shaped. He was cut. The surgeon
that had performed the circumcision was a skilled, artistic genius. However,
it was the curvature that added that final touch of awesome architecture.
My first impression was that Id love to have a sculpture of that magnificent
instrument sitting on a table, or hung upon a wall.
But, there was still something else which went beyond description. It
definitely was sexual, yet I didn't get a hard-on from looking at it. Its
appearance as it projected outward from the boys fly made me want to put
my hands on it, feel it, even stroke it, but not sexually, just appreciatively.
I really didn't want to make him cum, I would have loved to just put my
hand around it, to experience the feel of it. As I said ... it was a magnificent
piece of art.
However, there was no way that that Prel tube would fit over his hard
prick.
Joe looked a little disappointed. "Well, we are going to have to find
something else for that thing of yours."
The boys put their dicks back in their pants and sat down on the couch.
"Don, Mike wants to see how the EST process works." Then Joe added, "Mikes
majoring in psychology at Orange Coast College."
"What year are you in?" Mikes being old enough to be in College was quite
a surprise. His being in his second year was even more unexpected.
Joe turned to me. "We gotta find something big enough for Mikes dick.
Want to go shopping with us?"
I had to finish the laundry, and put things away so I declined. "Cant.
Too many things to do." Then I added, "You better take some measurements
so you know what you are looking for."
I found a measuring tape in a drawer as Mike again pulled out his cock.
It seemed to get hard on demand. I was going to get my wish. I was going
to be able to get my hands on that splendid instrument.
I was sitting on the couch. Mike was standing in front of me with the
head less than four inches from my nose. It was then that I noticed his
pleasant, very masculine, odor; and that odor was being generated by his
penis.
My hand was now supporting it as I wrapped the tape measure around the
largest part: 6 1/2 inches in circumference. That made it over two inches
in diameter. Almost lovingly, I took advantage of what I was doing, and
stroked the length. It was warm, smooth, and pulsed upward. It was also
9 7/8 inches measured from the top base to the tip.
Reluctantly I let Mike put his equipment away, while I wrote down the
measurements and handed them to Joe.
Three hours later they had returned carrying a flat cardboard box with
the words BUDWEISER splashed across the side. It now contained their purchases:
a quart of liquid latex rubber, several paint brushes, a Christmas Tree
stand and a roll of paper towels. Mike set the box on the table. Joe
was carrying a two foot length of 2 inch PVC Pipe with a flared end for
coupling.
Joe spread out several layers of paper towels then placed the stand in
the center. They opened the latex and painted a thick layer extending
from the flared end downward about 8 inches. Joe went back over it again,
making certain the layer was consistent.
"Better add another 3 inches to that." Mike had checked the length, making
the correction.
Joe asked me to repeat the painting of a layer of latex when ever the
rubber turned from white to a translucent yellow.
"Dads coming in at John Wayne at six, so we gotta go." Referring to the
Orange County Airport. "Talk to you later." And again they were gone.
I wasn't sure whether it was Joes hyper activity or the smell from the
latex, but something was giving me a headache. I tried to watch a little
TV, but ended by taking a couple of aspirin and going to bed at a very
early hour.
My telephone rang at 7 AM. It was Joe. "Can Mike and I come over after
school? We want to work on the FFM."
I asked him about what time, he said, About 4. Then he added, "Dad wants
to talk to you this morning."
I asked him if he knew what he wanted. "Yeah, I told you he wants to hire
you. Call him about 9. OK?" He hung up without hearing my reply.
I looked at the PVC Pipe. The latex was all yellow and translucent.
I added another layer. It still looked pretty thin. Even though I was
looking forward to again seeing that masterpiece, I doubted the tube would
be ready by this evening. Never the less I intended to try and accelerate
the process, moving the device into direct sunlight.
Shortly after nine I called the number Joe had given me. A sprightly
young female voice answered, "The California Sound. How can I help you?"
"Is Ray Franklin in?"
I was connected. Joes father was warm and friendly. "Can you make it
around 11:30. We'll have lunch."
His directions were not difficult to follow as The California Sound was
located close to Alton Parkway and Interstate 5 just a few miles from where
I lived.
The conversation started with a discussion of Joe. The boy had severe
problems at school. He had few friends; constantly was fighting with classmates
who should have been his friends. Ray was happy that I'd taken an interest
in his son, but that had nothing to do with this meeting.
His company, The California Sound manufactured a unique electronic guitar.
The instrument really was more of an expensive toy than it was an instrument.
It looked like a conventional Washboard electric guitar. However, it had
several distinctive features designed to make it attractive to the average
Rock & Roll teenager. It had two unusual devices built into it; a audio
cassette player, and an electronic drum synthesizer. The device was supplied
with earphones for private practice. The user could select either the
electronic drums or the cassette player, and that source would be blended
with the sounds from the guitar. In addition the device had a unique invention
that they called Predictive Suppression. If, while in the cassette mode,
cords were played that were dissonant, the device would automatically suppress
the cord, substituting instead its own. Even an idiot could play this
guitar, and of course, the suppression could be bypassed.
Not surprisingly, the entire idea had been Joes. The California Sound,
Inc., had financed the devices development by a small electronics firm
in Van Nuys.
In setting up the company Ray had hired a promoter/sales person whose
base was New York City. Its initial exhibition was a segment on the Regis
and Kathy Lee show just before Christmas in early December. The entire
Franklin family had gone to New York, to see and be part of the taping.
As should have been expected, there were problems; and they were mostly
created by Joe. Regis has an aggressive personality. The producer, in
order to be effective is also aggressive; but then the most aggressive
person in that studio was Joe. Joe simply would not take no for an answer.
He had no qualms about talking to the talent, about making suggestions,
about being persistent in his suggestions. The producer had neither the
time, nor the inclination to put up with "This Pain in The Ass". Joe was
thrown out of the studio. The California Sound segment had been featured
in affiliate promotions, so it couldn't be scratched, but it was shortened.
The California Sound people were all unhappy. Joe referred to the producer
in terms intended to make one doubt the mans masculinity.
Nevertheless, the short segment on the Regis and Kathy Lee show was quite
effective. Calls from all over the U.S. flooded into the networks affiliates,
and were forwarded to Ray.
The marketing strategy that he had formed was that the instrument would
not be sold in stores specializing in musical instruments, instead it would
be sold in record stores. Ray had signed contracts with Sam Goodie, The
Warehouse, and Block Buster Video. District managers were to be established
whose main purpose was to present mini-concerts in the stores, and to act
as liaison between The California Sound and those retail outlets.
The east coast man had set up sales teams in Miami, New York, Chicago,
and Minneapolis, however this was done before Ray had established contracts
with those three nationwide record chains, and the district managers were
mostly sales types, not musicians. The east coast districts were falling
apart as the organization was not what was required. Apparently a disagreement
had surfaced and the organizer had resigned, leaving the managers unsupported.
Ray was bringing the sales personnel to Seattle. Ray wanted me to work
with him in a team effort to establish the right kind of marketing organization.
The idea would be that I would travel with him to each city, to find musical
talent. These candidates would probably be in their early twenties, would
be musicians who could conduct Mini-Concerts. Ray and I would jointly
decide who to hire, but Id do the initial training while also conducting
Grand Opening type concerts in the various retail stores.
He asked if Id be interested, I said, Yes. He asked How much? I said
A thousand a week.
"OK its a deal, when can you start?"
I told him that I needed to give Bruce notice of my intended departure.
"Fuck him. He wouldn't give you any if he didn't want you around. AND we've
got to be in Seattle in three weeks."
Our lunch had taken all afternoon and it was closer to 5 in the afternoon
when I drove into the trailer park. Joe and Mike were sitting in Mikes
car.
"So are you going to do it?"
I said "Yes". The boy was obviously happy that I was going to work with
his father.
Mike closed his car door. Joe was taking the lead, putting his hand out
for the key to the door of the RV.
Inside, he inspected the PVC Pipe. "How come you haven't got another layer
on it." He pointed to the translucent yellow Latex.
"Cause I just got home Ass Hole."
Already, he had the lid off of the latex and was painting another layer.
Keep adding layers till Friday. "We'll try and use it on Saturday or Sunday."
"We didn't think it would be ready yet. Mike and I want to put you through
a process. I've got some ideas I want to try.
"When you are ready, strip down to your undershorts. Its going to start
pretty much as we did last time. The changes I want to make are in the
Safe Space."
I removed my clothing, except for the shorts, as instructed. Joe moved
up to the upper bunk. Mike sat in a chair next to Joe.
The process was exactly the same as last time, including the repeated
exercise of my dick muscles. I was sure Joe was demonstrating to Mike
just how effective the process was.
The beach scene was repeated, and then we exited into the Safe Space.
Joes description of the space was the same, except that he didn't mention
the platform.
"I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds."
Mike was standing in my view. He had removed his shirt.
"Close your eyes. Now I want you to recreate Mikes image within your mind.
I want you to remember; to see his face, his chin, his chest, his arms,
even the way his trousers hang on his hips. When you have totally visualized
what you have just seen, then I want you to tap the head of your cock three
times."
I lingered over his image, attempting to make the fantasy as realistic
as possible. I tapped my cock three times.
"Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds."
Mike was still standing in my view, but he had removed his trousers, wearing
only his briefs.
"Close your eyes. Now, again, I want you to recreate Mikes image within
your mind. I want you to remember his stomach, the elastic band of his
underwear, the way they firmly grasp his legs, the sizable bulge, the strong
muscular legs. Move your attention back to his belly button, let your
minds eye drift downward, visualizing his abdomen muscles, even the tuft
of pubic hair that can be seen just above the waist band. When you have
totally visualized what you have just seen, then I want you to tap the
head of your cock three times."
I was trying, but failing in my attempt to keep my penis soft as I tapped
the head of my inflating member.
"Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds."
Mike was still standing in my view, but he had removed his briefs. His
organ was hard and throbbing, projecting outward. Still as beautiful as
I had remembered.
"Close your eyes. I want you to recreate Mikes image in your mind, in
its entirety. His face, his lips, his chin, his neck, his chest, his abdomen,
his hips, his penis, his legs. When you have totally visualized what you
have just seen, then I want you to tap the head of your cock three times.
"Again, I want you to open your eyes for a couple of seconds."
Mike had moved much closer to me. My eyes focused on his shaft. He was
close enough that I could feel the heat being radiated, and even see the
pores of the skin of his cock head.
"Close your eyes. I want you to recreate the image of Mikes cock in your
mind, in great detail."
My imagination was having a field day as my memory reproduced and even
magnified the head, the protruding, slightly upward curved shaft, and the
patch of pubic hair in which the organ was seated.
"Imagine that your dick is his. Wrap your fingers around the base of the
shaft and slide it upwards." My mind visualized Mikes shaft as my fingers
sought the base of my own member.
"Move your hand up. Slide it up to the head, and feel its shape. Visualize
Mikes cock."
My hand slid towards the head, my mind envisioning Mikes instrument.
The fantasy was real, the feeling incredible, and I climaxed.
Joe took me through the rest of the process and back into the real world.
When I opened my eyes Mike was fully clothed and sitting in the chair.
I went into the shower to wash away the cum. I could hear the boys talking.
Mike was impressed by the effectiveness of the process.
While I was dressing Joe was telling Mike, "Now, what I want to do is have
Don listen to this tape." I looked over at Joe as he removed an audio cassette
from a portable recorder. "Then use the FFM about half way through the
Safe Space part of the process."
Mike and Joe then began discussing what they would like in a process tape
for themselves.
It was well past 10 PM when the boys took their leave.
Tuesday was a workday for me at the Video Music Experience. I told Bruce
about the offer from The California Sound, and he was very nice about it.
Unfortunately David had also resigned, and Bruce was trying to find a suitable
replacement. Now it was times two.
Wednesday and Thursday were typical days; nothing unusual either at home
or at work. Joe and Mike were both heavily occupied with school. And
of course I kept painting layers of latex on the tube Mike was to use on
Saturday or Sunday.
Friday night Bruce asked Joe if he could work both Saturday and Sundays
after David resigned; he agreed. After work Joe wanted to come home with
me and continue working on his project.
At the RV he wanted me to use the audio cassette he had made in conjunction
with the FFM. The experiment was awesomely effective. He was pleased.
Saturday night Bruce told me that he had found someone to replace me,
and that the guy wanted to start work immediately, and that I could quit
as soon as I wanted to.
Mike came by the store at closing; Joe had invited him to spend the night
at the RV.
Both boys were eager to see how the new latex tube would work.
When we arrived at the trailer park Mike unloaded a light weight, folding
chaise lounge. The frame was aluminum, but the surface you laid on was
made of flexible plastic straps.
Joe was rolling the latex tube off of the PVC pipe, much like one would
roll a condom off of a stiff dick, while Mike was setting up the lounge.
A somewhat longer plastic glass had been substituted for the one that
held the Prel tube. And Joe had replaced the sponge rubber with sheets
of bubble pocket packing material.
Under Joes direction Mike stripped and laid face down on the lounge.
I marked the strap that should be removed so that Mikes cock could enter
the FFM.
I told Joe he'd better also strip and let me check and mark a strap. Fortunately
the length of the lounge was such that removing that one strap would create
a comfortable laying and fucking surface for each of us.
Joe moved the FFM under the lounge and had Mike position himself, and
then slowly lower his cock into the tube. The top of the plastic glass,
and the top of Mikes Fuck Tube (which Joe was now referring to as an artificial
vagina), was within 1/2 inch of the lounges plastic straps.
Next, Joe had me check the position. An immediate problem surfaced.
Joe had replaced the glass and tube designed for Mike with the smaller
one that Joe and I used. It was almost four inches too short.
We used books to pad the FFM upward so that the shorter tube was now within
a 1/2 inch of the lounges surface. Joe made a note to pick up some short
lengths of 4 x 4s, and then replaced the cup with the one for Mike. It
was time for the next step in this development program.
Joe asked me to put Mike through the EST process. The lounge was right
next to the couch that Mike had stretched out on. He was wearing black
and gold Boxer undershorts. I could see the full length of his soft organ
laying along side of his left leg, pointed towards his feet.
The first part of the relaxation process encountered no obstacles. His
cock did not get hard as he signaled completion of each step.
The work on the hard-on muscles also went according to plan, as his member
raised and then protruded through the fly on the boxers. Then deflated
on command, only to raise again, and finally relax before exiting into
the beach fantasy. I had the boy remove the undershorts.
Expanding just a bit on Joes use of the hot sand, I directed Mikes fantasy
so that he was laying on the hot sand, the warmth was penetrating first
into his buttocks, then he could feel it on his rectum, then his balls,
and finally his prostrate.
His mast was at full attention. That masculine odor was strong and compelling.
Then as I diverted his attention to the billowy white clouds drifting across
the clear blue sky, his mast relaxed, laying floppily against his inner
left thigh.
Eventually we crossed into the Safe Space. I used my imagination to create
as real a scene as possible; a real day dream. The girl was on the stage,
she turned on his command. Mikes imagination removed her clothing, after
which he led her to the bed. His fingers (hers) massaged his long, hard
penis. Then he rolled over, arching himself above her body, ready to lower
himself into her vagina.
Joe turned the motor on, as Mike rolled off of the couch and on to the
lounge. His body was arched upward, his cock pointing directly into the
rotating latex tube. The head disappeared into the rotating device, then
more and more of the rigid rod disappeared. A groan of pleasure escaped
from his lips.
My description of the girl and what he was doing to her continued. I
guided him through long, deep, slow strokes. His buttocks squeezed hard
together as he tried to reach the bottom of her vagina. Then he slowly
withdrew, till I could see the entire head of his dick above the lip of
the rotating tube. Then slowly back in, further and further in, until
again his buttocks attempted to project his tool beyond the limits.
Mike was beginning to set his own pace, accelerating his movements, but
I took control, restraining him, almost forcing him to maintain the long
slow, penetrating thrust of his penis.
He was on a downward thrust, his butt cheeks were squeezed together.
My command was to withdraw. He didn't respond. His muscles were tense.
I could tell that he was ejaculating.
I momentarily stopped talking. Then I went over every muscle in his body,
relaxing him. Joe had turned off the motor. Mike just laid there as his
anatomy recovered from his wet day dream. Eventually he rolled over on
his side. The white strings of his seed were dripping. I took a paper
towel and wiped away his fluid.
"That was the best ever." He sighed and them moved back on to the couch,
face up, his member rapidly collapsing.
"See I told you the fantasy would make the FFM much more effective." Mike
and I both had to agree.
"My turn." Joe removed a tape from his portable, and labeled it. "But this
time I'm going to do it on my own. Just the tape. You guys go find something
else to do for about an hour."
Mike and I settled on McDonalds for a Big Mac and a shake as a way to
pass the next hour. It really was the first time we had had the opportunity
to talk. I learned that Joe and Mike had discussed me several times before
they decided to work on the FFM project together. Joe apparently told
Mike that he thought I was gay, but I was the coolest dude he'd ever met,
and that we were best friends. Mike had confided in Joe that his mothers
brother had sucked him off numerous times the previous summer when they
had gone on a weeks hiking and camping trip back into the Angelus National
Forest.
I kind of laughed when Mike told me that, saying I'm surprised that his
uncle could get his mouth over that huge thing. He chortled and added
that it had grown quite a bit in the past year.
When we returned Joe was sound asleep on the couch, the motor of the FFM
was still on. Joe hadn't pulled the couch out, so there was no room for
Mike to join him.
"Well, I guess you are stuck with me."
Mike undressed down to his black and gold boxers, then crawled into the
upper bunk, and positioned himself with his back against the wall.
I brushed my teeth, turned out the lights, climbed up and joined him.
We laid there for a few minutes; me on my back, Mike on his side. I could
feel the warmth radiating from his groin. I moved my hand closer to the
source of the heat; probably less than a half inch away.
Mike put his hand on mine, moving it to his erection. We did not speak,
but I took great pleasure in massaging it, experience the touch and beauty
of it. "I think I'm going to use the fucking machine."
He crawled over me, his huge dong touching my rib cage. I fantasized
about it touching my cheeks and my lips, knowing that I really couldn't
get that two inch by 10 inch thing into either my mouth or my throat.
Our eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the galley window.
It took him only a minute to replace the artificial vagina.
He lowered himself into the machine and turned on the motor. His ass
was moving up and down in long, deep strokes. Then, within minutes his
buttocks tightened, he pushed all the way in. I was certain he had dropped
his load.
He withdrew and just laid there for a moment, then crawled back into my
bed.
Watching him had caused my own cock to get very, very hard. My breathing
was deep and passionate. "Why don't you use the FFM?"
I took Mike up on his suggestion. I would have liked to fuck his cum,
but his tube was much too large.
I removed the cup from the FFM, and started to replace it with the one
Joe and I used. I started to put Cold Cream in it, but instead decided
to pour the contents of Mikes tube into mine. The quantity surprised me
as it flowed from his into mine.
I put the books back under the machine, then lowered myself into the waiting,
sperm lubricated tube and began to fuck Mikes cum. Between the fantasy
of sharing his ejaculation and the incredible feeling of the robotic vagina,
my fuck was very short. In less than two minutes I had spent into the
tube, mixing my juice with his.
After cleaning myself, I joined Mike in bed. Both of our dicks had withered
to small appendages as we fell asleep, me on my back, Mike still on his
side, with his back to the wall.
"What the fuck is this!" Joes shout abruptly awakened us. I looked over
the side of the bed. Joe had lowered himself into the FFM, not realizing
that it contained a mixture of Mikes and my cum.
He had a hard choice; either go clean the thing out, or fuck it. His
hard rod was already covered with our cum, so he chose to continue to screw.
It didn't take long till his buttocks were squeezing together in that last,
long stroke as his cum mixed with Mikes and mine.
Joe laid there for a few minutes. "You know, you are right, cum makes
a great lubricant."
Mike got out of bed. His cock was hard and ready. He took his tube,
and transferred the contents of the smaller one into his, and then lowered
himself into the FFM.
His strokes were still long and slow, but as Joe and I watched him hump
the machine, his pace increased, and shortly he had finished, mixing his
cum with Joes, mine, and his earlier ejaculation.
After cleaning the machine, we dressed and had breakfast at IHOP.
On Monday I called The California Sound and told them I could start on
the first of next month; just two days away.
The trip to Seattle was just two weeks away. I spent that time familiarizing
myself with the California Sound Guitar, assembling music, and creating
a mini-concert.
I suggested to Ray that we should create a series of Audio Cassettes specifically
designed to work with our guitar, and that those tapes could be sold separately.
Ray liked the idea of being in the "Recording" business.
Joe and Mike dropped by after school. The idea of building a small sound
recording studio captured Joes imagination, diverting his attention away
from the FFM. After all we know it works. And of course knowing it worked
ended Joes real interest in the robotic fucking machine.
Joe and Mike spent the rest of that week, and the weekend building and
equipping the new studio, while I continued arranging the material we would
record.
Joe convinced Bruce that he should sell one his best Electronic Keyboards
to California Sound at cost.
My primary objective was to create a tape that sounded spectacular, but
yet was easy to use. Then, through a series of these tapes increase their
complexity, so that the customer moved from using the California Sound
guitar as a toy into really learning music.
Joe suggested that if we followed that path, the next logical step would
be to sell professional versions of the instrument.
Ray was overjoyed by these new horizons in expanding his product line.
I placed an ad in the Seattle Times hoping to find candidates for the
District Manager position, emphasizing the need for musical talent. Interested
persons were to call our 800 number to arrange for an interview in Seattle
on the 15th.
By the time we were ready to leave for Seattle we had seven applicants.
Ray and I shared a skepticism that we could find someone who would be good
at performing and be good at sales. I pointed out the fact, that he really
wanted more of a musician than a salesman in as much as instrument purchases
were initiated at the national level. But as a matter of habit he kept
falling back into that Salesman Required trap that had almost destroyed
his company.
On Wednesday Mike drove us to the Airport. We would return from Seattle
on the following Wednesday. Everything we had was Carry-On and consisted
of one small suitcase each. Joe had shipped two California Sound guitars,
a small audio amplifier with speakers, and the keyboard by Federal Express
on Monday.
We were checked into a suite at the Seattle Hilton shortly after noon.
Our first interview wasn't until two.
The Bell Boy that brought up our luggage was quite handsome and gave us
that I know how to help you have fun in Seattle routine. However, the
only thing we wanted from him was that the Federal Express packages should
be delivered post haste.
The demonstration tape that I had made was largely material that was public
domain, or copyrighted music that Harry had created. I had inherited the
copyright, so there would be no royalty infringements.
The first interviewee was a young rock and roller. There was no question
in my mind that he was cute, and I would have hired him in a minute if
I were trying to find talent for Stanleys in Ft. Lauderdale. However,
in this instance he was too young; played by ear (or rear). He didn't seem
too disappointed when I told him we needed someone who was a bit older;
I think he had heard that routine before.
The second applicant was a woman in her mid forties. She had spent most
of her adult life as a member of a country western group in Ft. Smith,
Arkansas, and had recently relocated to Seattle. She had talent and experience,
but I doubted that she would be accepted by the record store customers
in their kind of music. Nevertheless, Ray had her fill out an application,
and we said we would get back to her.
As soon as I saw number three I suspected we had hit the jackpot. Kevin
Ranger was in his late twenties, was a little over six feet tall, but yet
had that boyish appearance that girls like to mother or fantasize about,
and boys seek to make their best buddy. His hair was not really blonde
but close to it yet on the brownish side. It was shoulder length, and
gleamed from good care and brushing. He wore tight fitting Levis, a colorful
Grateful Dead Tee shirt, and a western hat. While he was tall, he was
not skinny thin, and his clothes were designed for younger men.
He was a professional musician and played keyboard, guitar, and even drums.
His love was contemporary music all though he had evolved from and through
country western. He also had a voice that would have made Garth Brooks
think twice before challenging him.
I told him about The California Sound guitar, what it could do, and what
we were planning in the future. The boy was intrigued, but before I would
let him play with one I asked him to play something on the Keyboard.
Kevin gave Ray and I both a evil twinkling smile, set the rhythm to a
rap beat and sang "Blow Job Betty". Of course Ray and I broke up. But now
that he had really gotten our attention he did a pretty wild piece from
Arrow Smith, and then one of my favorites, an Otis Redding song "Sittin on
the Dock of the Bay".
I handed him one of our guitars, and demonstrated it for him in Cassette
Mode. "I need to talk to Ray about something, so well leave you alone to
familiarize yourself with it. Well be back in about 15 minutes."
I motioned Ray to follow me into one of the bedrooms.
I closed the door after him. "You know we really hit the Jack Pot on this
guy. He's far too good to use as a district manager. I'd like to take him
back to the plant for a couple of weeks where we can really get to know
him and his capabilities; see if he just might fill that spot Jack
vacated." Referring to the east coast man that had set up the eastern district.
Ray more or less agreed, but then surprised me, "June wants you in Minneapolis
for the Grand Opening of a Warehouse. She twisted my arm, so you wont
be going back to California for at least two weeks. If we hire Kevin I'll
send him with you."
When we joined the boy he was wearing the earphones picking away at the
guitar with a grin spread across his face that reminded me of a kid who
had just discovered ice cream.
Within the short time Ray and I had been in the other room Kevin had caught
on to the instrument and was doing some pretty terrific things.
Ray handed him the application for employment, which he dutifully filled
out.
The form said he was 29. He was married and had two sons, 6 and 7. His
wife was Japanese. His father and mother had been Polish emigrants. His
present wife was his second. He had been with a rock group during a nationwide
tour and was accustomed to traveling.
Ray and he negotiated the salary and expenses. They agreed that he should
start work immediately.
We continued with our interviews, and asked him to sit in. If everything
went according to plan, then Kevin would most likely hire the Seattle district
manager when he returned from Minneapolis.
Ray extended an invitation to Kevin and his wife to join us for diner
on Thursday night at the Space Needle; eight o'clock.
They were already there when we arrived at eight. She was pretty, but
she was older than I expected; somewhere in her early thirties. Ray and
I had both taken a liking to Kevin, and it was something of a disappointment
when we realized his wife was not happy with us.
As we smiled, joked, laughed and enjoyed dinner, she scowled, frowned,
and glared at anyone who had captured Kevins attention.
After dinner Ray commented, "It looks like we might be buying into a problem
with Kevin. I hope its worth the risk. You have a talk with him tomorrow."
We had scheduled promotional concerts at two Warehouses and a Block Buster
Video. The Block Buster was Saturday night. The Warehouses were Friday
night and Sunday afternoon.
The three stores and The California Sound had co-opted an ad in the Seattle
Times, and the managers of each store were hoping for a good turn out.
The evening concerts were to start at 7:30 and end at 10:00.
The California Sound contingent arrived at 6:30 on Friday evening to setup
the amplifier and speakers as well as to make certain we had space, power,
and adequate lighting. The contingent consisted of the three district
managers from: Miami, Minneapolis, Chicago; Ray, Kevin and myself.
I opened the concert with the demo tape I had made in Southern California.
It was a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. Donnie and
Marie (Osmond) would have felt I was plagiarizing their music, but I felt
it was tailored to meet the interest of the 20 to 40 year olds; the people
with the money.
While the audience showed interest in the guitar, they were not getting
into my music. There were few young adults. Our listeners were mostly
teens; and this wasn't their kind of music.
Kevin had been going through the stores cassettes. He came over to me
and whispered in my ear. "As soon as you want to take a break I'll take
over."
I was falling on my face with this crowd so I immediately brought the
piece I was working on to an end, and handed him the instrument.
Kevin put the strap over his shoulder, slipped in a different cassette,
rocked back on his heels, and opened to a thundering piece by Nirvana.
"Lake of Fire." He became the lead guitar. He had the attention of his
audience. His body motions were that of a modern day rock star. At the
end his audience cheered.
A boy from the audience asked, "How much practice do you need to do what
you just did?"
"It's really easy. Believe it or not I used only four chords. Come here,
let me show you."
Kevins demonstration of the four chords was a snap. Within 5 minutes
the youngster was doing as well as had Kevin. The audience couldn't believe
that this new kid was playing Lake of Fire.
A line began to form; kids wanting to try their hand at The California
Sound Guitar.
By the close of business the Warehouse had orders for 125 instruments
on Lay-a-way. Its a good thing the kids didn't have the money, as the store
had only three in stock.
Naturally Ray was pleased by this demonstration of how easy it was to
sell the instrument. The district managers could see the writing on the
wall. They were not musicians; they couldn't do what Kevin was doing.
We were still putting away our equipment when I asked Kevin if he could
join me for a drink at my hotel.
We found a quiet booth in the far end of the lounge. "Kevin, I don't want
to be nosy about your personal life, but Ray and I both sensed that your
wife was not happy with you joining California Sound."
"Fuck Her! She's jealous of anyone who pays any attention to me. You know
before we got married she was the best fuck I'd ever had; and I had quite
a few. After the first baby was born she wouldn't even suck my dick. How
we got the second one I'll never figure out."
"Don't you think this job is going to lead to trouble? We are sorry about
your personal tribulations, but California Sound is a corporation, and
we can't afford to loose you. Frankly, I think you are the hottest thing
to come down the road."
Kevin gave me an odd look.
"Ray and I both agree that you will have one hell of a future with us.
But the job I have in mind will keep you on the road most of the time;
your family life will become secondary."
"I just told ya, I ain't geten any pussy as it is. Hell, I'll do a hundred
times better on the road. Did you see the way that little red head was
eying me a while ago."
"OK, I'll gamble on it. We are leaving for Minneapolis on Sunday night.
But, be sure and let me know if you are going to face a crisis with your
wife. I'm sticking my neck out for you. Don't make me regret it."
Again that odd look. "You don't have a thing to worry about. I know what
side of the bread my butter is on. He paused, smiled and added, "One of
my favorite things is spreading my butter around."
Kevin seemed to be talking in double entendres. I let it slide. Business
before pleasure.
After our third beer Kevin went home, and I went upstairs to my bed.
The message light was flashing on my phone. The operator said I had an
urgent call from Joe Franklin, and gave me the number to call. It wasn't
the Franklins telephone number.
I dialed the 800 number for the long distance service, then placed the
call. The phone rang and rang. I was about to hang up when I recognized
the voice of Mike Brown answering.
"Hi Mike. This is Don, is Joe there."
A pause.
"Don what you been doing man. I really need you, when are you coming back?"
"What's wrong Joe."
"My mother threw me out of the house. Can I come and live with you?"
I explained that I wouldn't be back for at least two weeks, but of course
if it was OK with Ray and Maria (his parents), he could stay with me.
"Thanks man. I knew I could count on ya." Silence. "I love ya", and the line
went dead.
I called Rays room and told him about the call.
"Yes I know all about it. But I'll be back home on Monday and try and straighten
this mess out."
"Do you have any idea what happened", I asked.
"Yeah! That idiot answered the door when Barbbies boyfriend arrived for
a date and asked him point blank if he was fucking her yet", referring to
Joes older sister.
I almost laughed as I hung up the telephone. The little ass hole had
no sense of propriety.
We let Kevin take over the rest of the Mini-Concerts in Seattle.
Sunday night Ray returned to Southern California, while Kevin and I flew
to Minneapolis.
We were booked into a nice, suburban hotel some 20 minutes from the city.
California Sound had booked the Hotel and a small station wagon. Joe
had modified a couple of trunks to carry our equipment, and were shipped
as excess baggage. Kevin claimed our luggage while I picked up the car.
It was almost one in the morning by the time we were checked into our
room.
"I'm going to grab a shower before I sack out." Kevin proceeded to throw
his clothes on his bed, and headed for the bath wearing only his boxers.
I could hear the shower mixed with a bit of singing as that 6 foot tall
Boy/Man began his bath. He had left the door to the bath ajar, and steam
was flooding into the room. I started to close it. "Hey Don, give me a
face cloth will ya?"
I entered the bath and found what he was looking for. "Here ya go."
"While yer their, how about washing my back for me. It itches."
I slid the shower door open. Water splashed out at me. "Shit, I'm getting
wet."
"If you are going to take a shower, then just come on it here, and Ill
wash your back too."
As I went back into the bedroom to remove my clothes I was wondering if
this was really as innocent as it sounded.
The shower was a bit small, but I still had enough room to soap and scrub
his back. His body was quite smooth. His body hair was lighter in color
than I had thought it would be. His buttocks were thin but solid. The
gluteus distinct from the leg.
I started on the back of his neck, and diligently soaped and rubbed his
shoulders. They were broad, and tapered to a 32 inch waist line. The
small of his back was warm and seemed to respond to my ministrations.
I dropped to my knees and washed his calfs, and upper leg, then applied
the soap to his cheeks.
"OK, its your turn." He turned toward me.
Just before I turned I got a glimpse of his pubic region. His member,
while not inflated didn't seem to me to be totally relaxed. Even in this
quasi state it appeared to be of good size, and of good appearance.
Kevin started on my lower legs, and by the time he started washing my
buttocks my cock was beyond control; I had a raging hard-on. As he worked
his way up towards my shoulder I regained some degree of composure.
When he finished, and we exited the shower my dick was a bit more relaxed,
but was definitely not totally so. However, his was not. He was facing
away from me, and had wrapped a bath towel around his waist, but his meat,
which he had tucked upward under the towel was definitely tenting.
By the time I was dried and out of the bath room Kevin was already in
his bed. His shorts were on top of his jeans, so I suspected he was naked
under those covers.
I was not about to start something with someone I was going to work with.
If he made the first move, then that would be something else again. While
these thoughts were passing through my mind his breathing changed to shallow
breaths, as mother nature took control; Kevin was asleep; soon I would
be.
The next day we had breakfast in the hotel before proceeding to the Warehouse.
Even though we were not going to do a demo that day, we wanted to meet
the staff, and let them know what we were going to need to do the concert.
The store manager was a man in his early twenties, and he was gay. While
he was quite pleasant to me, he was overly so to Kevin.
I had talked to Ray about our buying a CamCorder so that we could record
our concerts. Taping would give us a record of our progress and also allow
us to examine our performance so that we might make improvements.
We spent most of the rest of the day locating and buying the video equipment.
By the time we ended the day we were both feeling tired, but at loose ends.
At first we thought we'd go to a movie, but couldn't find one we agreed
upon, so we decided we'd rent a Video Movie and Player. The first place
we went to had little variety, and Kevin made the remark that they didn't
have any X Rated films. We then drove to a Mr. Movie store on Penn Ave.,
where we again looked at films; again no X rated films. We decided to
settle for "Suspect" and "Pink Floyd on the Wall".
While we were checking the inventory of films I noticed a tall, thin,
rather good looking kid working behind the counter. There were also two
other guys and a girl. The girl was so-so, one of the other two guys was
kind of cute, but didn't measure up to the first, and the last guy was kind
of chubby.
After working for the Video Music Experience I knew that they were probably
tired on their feet, and when I went through the paper work for the rentals,
I was being humorous and charming. The really good looking youngster was
the one that served me. I gave him my Visa Card for deposit, and said
that I thought that the $400 deposit might take me over my limit. And
so it did. When the Credit Card was declined I offered to put up the deposit
in cash, and counted out twenty $20 bills. "What's your name?" "Jason", was
the reply.
Jason kept calling me by my middle name. He returned $100 of the deposit,
put the balance in an envelope and wrote out the receipt.
On the way back to the Bradbury Suites I realized that I had failed to
pickup the receipt for the $300, and also realized that it would give me
a good opportunity to talk to Jason again. The next day I called Jason
at Mr. Movie saying that I was the guy who had rented the player and left
the cash, and didn't take the receipt. "Oh, yes David, we'll be open till
11 o'clock."
Later that evening, with Kevin at the wheel, we drove over to Mr. Movie.
I took the VCR and tapes into the store while Kevin waited in the Car.
"Hi David. Just put the machine over there." He indicated a counter space
a bit away from where everyone else was.
"My first name is really Don." I placed the machine on the counter, and
Jason gave me the envelope containing my $300.00. "Jason, I'm visiting Minneapolis
demonstrating a Computerized Guitar that my company builds. We are going
to Video Tape our Demos and I need to familiarize myself with the video
gear, and I could use some help tomorrow; I'll give you $50.00 for an afternoons
work."
Jason had a try out for a local church play; expected to be back by 12:30
the next day, and said he'd be available.
The next morning Kevin was planning on going on a picnic with the Warehouse
Store Manager who lived in St. Paul. Kevin had received instructions on
getting there and I was to drive him. The instructions failed to say how
we would get on Highway 94, and thus we drove the long, long way, and ended
up in Fall River, Wisconsin.
By the time we had finally discovered our error and arrived at his hosts
apartment it was 12:30. I stopped to use a pay phone but there was no
answer at Jasons.
At one in the afternoon I finally got back to our hotel, called Jason,
and got directions on how to pick him up. When we got back to the hotel
I explained that mostly I wanted him to model for me. I was attempting
to get a sense of the VCR.
On the way back to the hotel I asked him what his interests were. Acting,
cross country racing, singing, and piano. Last year he had been on the
local High School foot ball team, but had hurt his knees so he had given
that up. He would be 19 in August, and was enrolling in community college.
We set the camera on a tripod, facing a light colored blank wall with
the tape mechanism on a table next to the bed.
My model was dressed in jeans, a Tee shirt, and sneakers. As he stood
in front of the wall I noticed the trousers were a bit lumpy on him,
his being so thin. He stood quite erect, hands slightly apart from his
body, and I made a 15 second shot.
He sat on the edge of the bed watching me analyze his picture. His clothes
were making him look thinner than he was; the results were not good because
of his lumpy clothes, so I asked him to put on a pair of Spedo racing trunks
I had. He looked at them and said his underwear would probably do better.
He then stripped down to what looked like an athletic jock with a full
bottom, and moved back to the wall.
While thin, he was well muscled, especially in the chest, arms, and legs.
His stomach was lean and muscular. A narrow strip of dark hair coursed
its way down from just under his chest, thinned a bit at the navel, and
disappeared below the edge of his shorts, where I imagined it simply was
engulfed in his pubic hair.
We duplicated the shot but manipulated the angle of the photo flood with
far better results. Jason sat behind me, showing a great deal of interest
in what I was doing.
Next we went for a rear shot. But on this one I suggested he take off
the shorts, and turn away from me. He removed the shorts with the same
manly grace that any athlete in a locker room would do, and stood against
the wall. His back muscles were beautifully toned, and his ass was firm
and tight. I grabbed the shot, turned off the photo flood. Jason put
his shorts back on, and again sat behind me while I inspected his picture.
Next, I went for beautiful body shots: kneeling in readiness for a sprint,
from the front, left, rear, and right sides; all in the nude. He had no
swelling of the penis. His testicles hung in a somewhat swaying fashion.
While examining those shots I told Jason about my EST experiences, and
the use of low level hypnosis to achieve faster and better sleep in short
periods of time, to sensitize ones self for more efficiency, and about
applying those same techniques for longer and better sexual experiences.
We had been shooting for about 45 minutes, and I suggested we take a break.
We discussed his interests in art, music, acting, modeling. I asked if
he would like to learn how to improve his sleep, and he said Yes.
He was wearing only his jock like shorts. "Lay back on the bed, on your
back. Legs slightly apart, eyes closed, and hands on your thighs, palms
down, and positioned so you can touch the head of your dick with your thumb.
"Stretch the toes of your left foot. Now let them relax. Notice the gentle
warmth flow through those muscles as they relax. Next, I want you to imagine
doing the same thing on your right foot. I don't want you to actually move
the right foot, just create those same feelings within your mind. Once
you have recreated that feeling, relaxed, and have noted the gentle warmth,
I want you to tap the head of your dick."
Shortly, he tapped. We proceeded through the legs, and up to the abdomen.
"Run your fingers across your abdomen, feeling those muscles, and as you
touch them, let them relax. Place the index finger of your other hand
on your navel, feel the curvature of your naval, now move the finger down
along that little ridge of hair into your pubic." He moved, gently feeling
his mid muscles, came to the edge of his shorts, and stopped. You'll have
to raise the top of your shorts, and move your fingers into the pubic region.
He did, and as his fingers began to touch his pubic hairs, the crotch of
his shorts began to swell.
"Scratch the hair, and move your fingers from your left thigh, across the
pubic region to the right thigh. Then remove your hand, relax, and once
you have caught up with these instructions, and are ready to continue,
tap the head of your dick four times."
Jasons swelling crotch developed into a full erection. "You'd better take
those shorts off, or you'll choke." He bent down, eyes still closed, slid
his shorts off, kicked them from the bed, and laid back. His penis was
quite large, and more or less laid against his abdomen, with the head resting
neatly in his naval.
"I'm going to place my finger on your forehead, and as I move my finger
over your body you will relax those muscles. The nose, the eyes, the mouth,
the chin, the chest, the stomach, the abdomen." My finger entered his pubic
hair, but I drew a line across to his left inner thigh, knee, calf, ankle.
I then worked my way backup the right side, ending at his naval. "If you
want this process to include only the sleeping portion, tap the head of
your penis once. If you want the process to include the sexual
expansions, tap the head of your penis four times." Nothing. I
repeated the instruction, and he tapped his now ridged member four times.
I placed my hand between his legs and began to rub that muscle just below
the testicles. A glance at his face told me he was enjoying this body
touching. I rolled his testicles in my hand, moved my finger up the length
of his dick, placed my hand around his organ and slid it up and down a
few times. I removed my hand and sat in the chair. "I want you to imagine
a beautiful beach, warm sand, sunny day. Blue skies, billowy clouds gently
drifting across the sky."
As we created this imaginary beach his cock began to wane. From the beach
fantasy we moved to creating a safe space, a room high in the sky or perched
on a mountain top. It was the space in which the real work of the process
is accomplished.
"I want you to visualize a young, blonde girl, standing on a small platform
in front of you. She turns and your eyes drift down her body." His member
began to stir. I moved from the chair, and again sat on the edge of the
bed. "As she turns you put your finger on her chin." I placed my finger
on his chin. "As your eyes drift down her body, your finger points the
way", and I moved my finger over his throat, across his chest, making little
circular motions over his nipples. Again my hand was entering his waves
of pubic hair. "Take her hand and move across the room with her to the
bed." He took my hand, raising it as though he was guiding the girl across
the room, and then placed my hand back on his thigh. "The story will take
a different course of action ... it is your choice. She can either stroke
your cock." I stroked his. "Or she can suck your dick. If you want her
to suck your dick, you must grasp your dick, holding it erect for her to
slip her warm, hot mouth over. Or if you want her to stroke your dick,
you must tap the head of your dick four times." There was no response.
I repeated the instruction. Still no response. Then, he placed his fingers
around the base of his hard, hard, dick and held it vertically.
I slipped my mouth over the head, and he moved his hands up on his stomach.
As I took his organ deep into my mouth, his rigidity became harder and
harder. It seemed that that already large organ was getting even larger.
His hips began to move, his hands tightened, his abdomen muscles were tight
and beautiful, and suddenly he released his juices, his hands, his body.
I lay with my head on his stomach for a moment or two. His large organ
became a small organ, and I proceeded with the process.
Next, I placed a dark haired girl on the platform, the process was repeated
with some variations, and in about 15 minutes he came again. "Should we
go onto girl number three, or should we exit the process. Strike the head
of your dick four times if you do not wish to go to girl number three."
He made circular motions around the head of his dick four times.
"Your body should feel totally, and completely relaxed. Tonight when you
go to sleep, as soon as you hit the bed, every muscle in your body will
become totally and completely relaxed. In four to five hours, or when
ever you need to get out of bed, you will awaken with vim and vigor. You
will bounce out of bed eager to get on with the day." We finished the process,
and I had him open his eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Great. I feel like I was kind of asleep or spaced out."
He had been so great about the nude shots I decided to press on. I showed
him how superimposing worked. How you could take parts of one picture
and move them into others. I had a photo of a girl from Vogue. She was
sitting on a bench with a fir jacket, open in the front, and wearing blue
jeans. I took a close up of Jasons dick from a previous shot, placed it
over her crotch, and then dubbed it. The results were not great. Also,
in a relaxed state, the angle wasn't what I needed. Do you think you could
get it hard again?
Jasons "Nope" reply created a challenge. I placed my hand inside of his
shorts and within a moment or two it was fully ridged. He moved over to
the wall, I turned on the lights, focused, and took the shot. I thought
it needed a bit of strengthening, so I got down on my knees and sucked
on his cock. It became even more rigid. His muscles tensed, and he came
for the third time. As I moved away I noted this time the prick stayed
fully ridged; was red and glistening. I shot the picture and we worked
on it. This time, after placing his prick on her crotch I let him do the
touch up work. He did not put his shorts back on.
We worked on the clip for about 45 minutes, finished the picture, and
began to talk about his interests and goals.
"Would you like a back rub?" He said yes, and laid down on the bed, stomach
down. I sat on the bed next to him, kneading his shoulder muscles, his
back, the small of his back, his ass cheeks, his legs. I spread his cheeks
and blew a shot of hot air on his rectum. I moved my hand along the crack
of his ass, gently touching his hole, and rubbing that same muscle we had
started off with so long, long ago. Roll over on your right side. His
cock was hard again. I stroked it, You are a glutton for punishment.
He gave me a big smile and said "I guess!".
I laid down on the bed, on my side, placing the head of his dick against
my lips; he moved gently forward, enjoying the easy going movement. I
ran my tongue up and down the side of his dick and head. I sensed that
he was looking at me. I shifted my eyes towards his, and was rewarded
with a smile that was loaded with warmth and affection.
I sucked on his balls, ran my tongue under them, enjoying the feel of
him, all the time knowing that that communication from him to me, was still
there. After about 15 minutes of this love play, I again drew his very
rigid member fully into my mouth, and he began to stroke with more purpose.
In about 5 minutes the big boom occurred; not quite as big, but obviously
much enjoyed. We lay there for a few minutes. I hugged him to me; he
seemed to hug back.
It was almost 6 o'clock. We had been into this for 5 hours, yet both of
us were reluctant to let it go at that. We exchanged phone numbers, and
addresses with promises to write, to call, and to visit. We placed our
arms around each other, squeezed, and I kissed his neck.
Then one last blow job, and I took him home.
At midnight Kevin telephoned. He was going to spend the night in St.
Paul and would meet me at the Warehouse tomorrow.
I went back to sleep wondering about Kevin. My suspicions had been aroused:
first the comment about liking to spread his butter around, then the scene
in the shower, now his staying the night with the gay manager from the
Warehouse. Add to that his irritation with his wife because he was getting
no sex at home, and it seemed to me that Kevin liked sex anyway he could
get it, and as often as he could.
Kevin was already at the Warehouse when I got there the next day. He
was in good spirits. He had gone through the stores cassettes and had
chosen several for his demo.
The Warehouse Manager was very attentive; it was obvious that their relationship
had gotten much closer. Kevin had become demanding instead of asking when
he wanted something from the store.
It was late afternoon when I received a telephone call from Ray in Southern
California. He wanted to know how Kevin was working out. I felt that
he was doing very well and conveyed that to Ray. "Well, then he's to go
onto Detroit, and you've got to go to Miami. There is a grand opening at
the Sam Goodie in Fort Lauderdale, then I want you to visit the stores
in Miami, and Miami Beach."
I asked about Joe. "That kid needs some special counseling. I'm thinking
of sending him to a special school in Idaho that deals with problem kids.
We'll talk about it when you get back in a couple of weeks."
Kevins mini-concert was excellent. As in Seattle the store took back
orders for almost one hundred instruments.
At the end of the evening we were both high on the experience, bed was
not for either of us.
We had dinner at a TGIF close to our hotel. I made it a point not to
bring up the subject of what he had done the night before. However after
the third Long Island Ice Tea he brought it up. "That guy Clarence can
suck a dick better than anyone I've ever had go down on me."
I laughed, "Even better than your wife?"
He paused for a moment before answering, "I don't know. She was really
great when I first met her, and of course her being a woman makes it better.
But that faggot can really suck a dick."
The conversation was going in the wrong direction. I had seen at the
store how Kevin reacted to gays. While he enjoyed the sex they gave him,
he treated them like he was superior; that they should do his biding.
I didn't want him to loose sight of the fact that I was senior to him at
California Sound.
Later that night I got a telephone call from Joe. "Dad wants to send me
to some stupid school in Idaho. Can I come and live with you?"
The noose seemed to be tightening. Joe needed help, but I couldn't fly
in the face of his dads wishes; certainly Jays Mom had taught me that.
"I'll talk to your Dad as soon as I can. Where are you staying?"
"I'm still at Mikes."
Later a conversation with Ray brought forth several things that made it
quite difficult for both he and his son. Joes bedroom was his private
inner sanctum. While he was away his youngest sister had taken some of
his things, and Joe was livid. She was just 10, and she really was a spoiled
brat. But Joe had retaliated by going into her room and moving all of
her dolls into the hallway. The little girl threw a tantrum. Joe refused
to put them back in her room, and instead left the house, going to Mikes.
The next day, the little girl told her teacher that Joe had abused her.
That magic word caused the teacher to tell the principle, who in turn called
Child Welfare, who in turn took the little girl into protective custody.
Then the stupid welfare worker had gone on vacation for a week, leaving
the case wide open. Ray and his wife had gone to court to regain custody
of their youngest daughter, and the judge would only allow the release
of the little girl if Joe was out of the house, pending a full investigation
of the case.
Ray asked how Kevin was doing, and I said OK. Of course I did not mention
his getting his cock sucked by Clarence.
"Well, after Miami you come on home. And tell Kevin that I want him to
come back to the plant before heading back up to Seattle."
While I had been talking with Ray, Kevin had been taking a shower, and
came out of the bath totally naked, and sporting what appeared to be the
beginning of a rod. It was beautifully shaped, and I couldn't help notice
it. He was still wet from the shower. Dry my back will ya?
Kevin handed me the towel and turned around away from me and towards a
mirror. As I rubbed his back I could see his reflection in the mirror,
and his cock was all the way up as soon as I touched him. "Get my legs
too."
I gave him back the towel. "I've got to run downstairs and send a telegram."
I made up my mind that I'd better leave for Miami the next day, rather
than at the end of the week as planned. Kevin was working out very well
in his work, but I knew damned well that there would be trouble ahead if
I gave in to his overtures.
He was asleep when I returned to the room.
For the first time in a long time, I slept in my underwear.
And the next morning I was on the plane to Miami.
My Teenage Heart
Chapter Sixteen-A of A B C
Jessie James Ain't Dead
The plane landed at Miami International Airport around noon on Thursday.
Ray was curious about my sudden departure from Minneapolis, but I explained
that I needed to get the lay of the land in Florida, and also I wanted
to give Kevin an opportunity to work on his own. If he had a problem I
could always catch a red eye flight back to Minneapolis or Detroit.
My hotel was right on Collins Avenue in North Miami Beach. After checking
in I drove down US Highway One and into downtown Miami. It had become
very Cuban.
A 'U' turn had me heading back north following the coast. The air smelled
strongly of ocean mixed with spicy food. I passed an IHOP, then crossed
a bridge, and found myself in a very plush condo area.
Eventually I found myself in the neighborhood of my hotel, and decided
to park and eat dinner in the hotel's restaurant.
The hotel was a one story affair, with access to the rooms on the outside
like a motel. I had to pass the front desk as I walked down the hall towards
the ocean and towards the restaurant. The desk clerk said I'd had a call
while I was out.
The message slip was from Joe, and the telephone number was Mike Browns'.
The restaurant would not be open for another 1/2 hour, so I walked on
out to the ocean side bar. Even though it was a Thursday the bar was quite
crowded, and they all seemed to be "into" a football game on the TV.
Looking across the sandy beach to the surf, I got a glimpse of someone
who was vaguely familiar playing volleyball. I racked my brain, and simply
could not put that familiarity together with a place or name.
A cute cocktail waitress came over to my table and I ordered a champaign
and orange juice. I think she was taken back by my order as everyone else
was drinking beer.
I continued trying to put that face together with a place or name. The
guy must have been in his late thirties, or early forties. His hair had
a tinge of gray and was longer than what was currently stylish. His build
was athletic; he obviously either worked in something like construction,
or he worked out.
The girl brought my drink. The champaign gave the orange juice a bubbly
tartness.
The dining room was empty as I reviewed the menu. My mind was distracted
by both the note from Joe as well as that unknown something triggered by
the dark complexioned, somewhat familiar figure on the volleyball court.
The waitress wanted to know if I wanted something from the bar before
ordering. Having just come from the bar, I declined. However, I had decided
I'd better telephone Mike Browns and see how urgent the matter of Joe had
become. I excused myself, telling the girl I would be back shortly; I
had a telephone call that I first needed to make.
Back in the room I dialed the long distance service, then the 714 area
code and then Mike's number. Joe answered on the first ring.
"Hey what's up?" I started the conversation with a faked happy note in
my voice.
"Don, is that you?" Joe's voice was impregnated with emotion. "My Dad
is trying to send me to that school in Idaho. Can I come out to Florida
with you?"
I could feel the traumatic reaction in his voice. I could visualize covert
tears. Joe needed me, and needed me badly.
"Joe, let me talk to your dad. One way or another I'll get him to hold
off until I get back to Southern California."
"I knew I could count on you." He paused, catching his breath. "Don,
I know you're gay, so don't bull shit me on that; but I don't give a fuck."
Again he paused as though he was catching his breath, getting ready to
jump over a hurdle. "I LOVE you man." And he hung up.
I was on the verge of tears as I dialed the 800 number for California
Sound. It rang twice before the girl answered. "California Sound, how
can I direct your call."
"This is Don, let me talk to Ray Franklin; it's urgent."
I waited. Then Ray came on the line. "Don, I'm in a meeting. What's
so urgent."
I explained the call from Joe. "Ray, you know Joe may only be 16, but
he is my friend, and he needs me." There was silence. I could hear Ray
breathing. "He said you are planning on sending him away."
"I think it would be best for him. God it's not like we are sending him
to jail or something. The damn school is gonna cost me $4500 a month."
"Ray, you know that Joe needs more personal attention than you or Maria
can give him."
"Sure, that's why I think the school is the best way to go."
"Look, maybe I can do something to help."
"I don't know what you could do."
"Ray, this is important to me. I'll be on the midnight flight to California.
And I am sorry if this is screwing things up. But if it's a choice of
Joe or my job, then I'm afraid Joe is my choice."
"If you feel that strongly about it, I'll postpone the school till next
week. Finish what you are doing in Florida."
I hung up and called Mike's number. "Joe, I just talked with your Dad.
He promised not to take any action till I get back."
"Thanks man, I knew I could count on you."
My mind was contemplating his dilemma as I walked back to the dining room.
His sense of propriety sucked. Joe's mother was too busy with the girls
to even attempt to understand her son's problem. His father wasn't exactly
a model from which one should shape ones image of propriety. But the idea
of sending him off to some "Jail School", as Joe had described it didn't
seem to me to be truly in the boys interest.
Back in the dining room I again continued to look over the menu. The
Maine lobster sounded good. But at $18.00 that was beyond my budget.
"Oh what the fuck," my mind rationalized. "OK. I'll have the lobster."
"I'll have a Big Mac for lunch tomorrow," my stomach out maneuvered my
good sense.
It seemed to take forever, as I sat looking out towards the ocean.
The volleyball game had come to an end. Sun worshipers were leaving their
god, having assimilated as much of old sols rays as they could; the evening
meal was approaching for most.
Eventually the lobster was served, complete with bib, butter, and bowl.
It looked damned dinky for eighteen bucks.
I tasted the stuffing; it sucked.
The claw crackers seemed to bend the shell, not break it. Finally, I
took a fork, sticking its prongs between the shell and the meat. Then
leveraging it like an old fashioned can opener, I was finally able to get
at the meat; and there wasn't much of it.
"I'll have the Chateaubriand".
I looked to my right. The guy from the volleyball court was ordering.
"Are you expecting another guest? The Chateaubriand is for two." His
waiter spoke as though his customer didn't know what he was doing.
"No, however Don", he nodded towards me, "seems to be having a problem
with that lobster, and I'll bet he would be willing to eat half of it."
I looked at him. My expression must have been obvious.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
I shook my head.
"Well, the years have been kinder to you than they have to me." He paused.
"The first time we met you sailed the Tehani into our harbor with Rocky,
Keno, Keoki, and Larry as your crew."
"John? John Hanshit?" He nodded. "I'll be damned. What are you doing
in Miami."
"Just on vacation with my partner." John moved from his table to mine.
"But he has a cousin that lives here and won't be back for a couple of
hours. I want you to meet him."
John had continued to work at Miss Doug's station while he studied law.
About 6 months ago he had passed the Bar and had joined his partner's law
firm. "Partner" in both family and business. They lived together in the
Kahala district of Honolulu, just Koko Head of Waikiki. Not too far from
where Jim Nabors and Bob Magoon lived.
The subject of the problems I had in Honolulu finally became the subject
of our conversation. John said that it was that event, more than anything
else that had driven him towards the study of law.
A whole new field of law had opened up as a result of both the black and
gay communities forcing our political systems to respect an individuals
civil rights. It was that field in which John and his partner were very
active.
John said that the very first thing they did when they set up their offices
was to target officers Kealoha and Tanaka. Getting rid of Tanaka was not
much of a problem as he had been a real sleezeball. It wasn't too difficult
to prove that he typically perjured himself in court in order to get convictions.
That's really part of the personality profile for "Vice" officers. But
Kealoha had been another matter. He was not vice. His name had not been
on any of the documents in my case. He had the backing of the Association
of Police Officers. However, John had done to him, what he had done to
me. They had set a trap, and every step that Kealoha had taken in order
to rid the state of another fag, had been caught on film or video tape.
As a result of that there had been a major shake up of both the D.A.'s
office and the Honolulu Police Department. The pastor at the Kaimuki Christian
Church had been forced to resign when the story of his involvement in ridding
the islands of homosexuals had hit the front pages of the Honolulu Star
Bulletin.
The state legislature had stepped in, and passed laws which recognized
the rights of the gay community even to the point of allowing same sex
marriages.
Kealoha had been forced out of the police department. John said he had
heard that he was now working vice in Detroit.
I began to ask him about his personal life. His partner had been a law
professor as well as being an established criminal lawyer. He was just
a few years older than John, and that being discrete in those early school
years had been difficult for both of them. That even though they now lived
together and considered themselves married, they lived very quite lives.
They did not go to the gay bars. Entertaining was usually limited to very
close friends. But they both were so involved with their practice of law,
that there was little time to be social. They put "getting away" for a
couple of weeks very high on their list of priorities, and every 3 months
they would take off to renew their interest in one another.
Almost as a side comment I learned that Rocky had also studied law, but
had left law school to run for the State Legislature, and it was he and
Governor Wahee who had been the driving force in the civil rights legislation.
He and his partner already had plans which could not be altered, and they
were returning to Honolulu on Sunday afternoon. We decided to have breakfast
on Sunday.
After the excellent steak we bid each other good night.
It was an early Saturday morning as I was driving down Collins Avenue,
on Miami's north side. Friday had been boring. When you are a stranger
in a strange city everything is foreign to you, and trying to find something
to do is a tiresome chore.
Saturday morning was not bright and cheery ... in fact it reminded me
of California's beach cities in midwinter. I was looking for a place to
buy breakfast. I again drove past the International House of Pancakes,
considered for a moment, rounded the block and parked next door.
Saturday mornings are always crowded in every one of those restaurants
I've ever been in, and this Saturday was no exception.
As I waited, I noticed one bus boy working his ass off. Cute guy; about
16 or 17 I guessed. He not only approached his work with enthusiasm, he approached
it with a joyful rhythm. Finally, I was seated. I ordered. The kid was
full of energy, and obviously trying his best to do his work well. Someone
had left something on the seat next to me, and as the boy passed I signaled
him to stop, and gave him the parcel. He smiled, and off he went. As
I paid my bill I commented to the manager that he was very lucky to have
that kid, and if I lived in Miami I'd hire him away. The manager admitted
the kid was a jewel. "Give the boy this as a reminder that a good worker
is a pleasant sight," and handed the manager 5 dollars.
On Sunday I suggested to John that we should breakfast at the International
House of Pancakes. We had to wait quite a long time, and I made a point
of talking to the kid. I asked him what his interests were; he said sports,
and music. "Our district manager might have a use for you, can we talk
this evening." The kid was overjoyed that someone was paying attention
to him. We set up a dinner date for that evening; I was to meet him at
6:30.
John said, "You never change do you? Always there for someone who might
need you."
We finished breakfast. John and I had exchanged addresses and phone numbers
avowing to stay in touch.
The morning meal had taken longer than we bargained for. John and his
partner were late, and rushed to finish their packing. It was almost noon
when I dropped them at the Airport. Their flight was to depart at 12:45.
The bus boy, Richard Holden, was not quite 17. He stood about 5 foot
11. He was dark complexioned, almost Cuban. His dark hair which was long
and rolled in the back became a inconspicuous pony tail. His constant
smile showed good white teeth. His brown eyes showed a high degree of
intelligence and awareness. He wore the kind of a shirt that a neck tie
would have gone with, and his gray jeans were clean, tight, and form fitting.
Returning from the airport left me with about five hours which seemed
to drag by. I was scheduled to move to a hotel in Ft. Lauderdale so I
checked out of my hotel, drove to Ft. Lauderdale, and checked into the
new one. At 6:15 I was parked outside of the restaurant, and by 6:20 Richard
Holden, arrived. We talked for a few minutes and he said his foster father
wanted to talk with me. I agreed. Two rather weird people showed up;
each in their late 20's. The woman was a happy over-weight blonde. Her
dark haired husband was skinny and tattooed. Neither looked the "Foster
Family" type. I had asked to see some of Richard's musical compositions,
and while we were waiting for him to return they filled me in on Richard's
background. His mother was a heavy crack cocaine user, and Richard and
his younger sister had been taken from the mother and placed in foster
homes. His mother fucked for a living, and whatever was left over after
the cocaine was paid for went to feed the kids; they didn't get much.
When Richard returned we discussed how my company might be able to use
him in the Miami area. How his musical talents would be of value in demonstrating
The California Sound guitar. The next two days were going to be at Sam
Goodies in Fort Lauderdale. I suggested that I hire him for two days to
train. I would take him with me that night, and return him Tuesday night.
I'd pay him $150 for the two days, and he would stay at my hotel. After
some discussion they agreed.
It was almost 9 o'clock by the time we reached Fort Lauderdale. On the
drive north we discussed many things, including his interest in music. I
tried to bring up the subject of his mother, but the subject seemed to
bring out anger. He was doing well in school; mostly A's and B's. His
foster family was into karate, and radical militarism.
At the hotel we unloaded our equipment, and made ready for bed. He was
wearing just a pair of thin, tight jockey shorts as he came out of the
bathroom.
I had rented the room before I realized I would have a guest, so the room
had only one king sized bed. Richard was already in bed when I came out
of the bath. Turning out the lights I went to the far side of the bed
and got in. Richard was moving about, "My back itches, would you scratch
it?" I moved next to him and began to scratch his shoulder blades. "Ooh,
that feels good, just a bit lower." I worked my way down the center of
his back using my finger nails. His sighs were testimony to the fact that
it felt good.
"Want me to do your whole back?"
"Yeah, Man." I moved my hand up to the base of his neck and began to
scratch his back and massage it at the same time. As I reached the small
of his back, I could feel him shift his position a bit, like he was getting
a hardon. My fingers explored the waist of his shorts, moving slightly
under the edge; he squirmed some more.
"If you'd like for me to work on your butt and legs, you'd better take
your shorts off." He hesitated for a moment, then slid them off, throwing
them on the floor. I moved my hands first over the right cheek, then the
left. Working my way down to his inner thighs my fingers touched that
muscle under the testicles and from its rigidity it was obvious he had
one hell of a hardon.
I worked my way further down his legs to his knees. His leg muscles were
firm, and felt good to my hand. From the knees I moved back to his butt,
put a hand on each cheek, kneading it and spreading the cheeks. His body
smelled of Ivory Soap. My fingers moved between the cheeks and brushed
pass his rectum. I heard a groan. My finger moved back and was a little
firmer on the touch of his hole. He moved his butt very slightly upward.
"Oh, fuck me, fuck me." I opened one of those little sample bottles of
body lotion that the hotels supply and began to rub it into the checks
of his ass. My finger, moist from the lotion began to probe his little
ass. Being gentle is the only way to fuck someone that young, so my finger
probed all the way in making circular motions. As the muscles began to
relax I inserted two fingers, continued, then made it three.
I straddled him, resting gently on his legs, and rubbed the head of my
dick between his cheeks. Putting a bit of the lotion on the head, I began
to gently probe, first in a very small amount, then out. His butt was
moving up to meet me, so I let him do most of the work. As it slid further
in I would lower myself slightly so he wouldn't have to come up so far.
His ass was really tight, and oh so hot. "Pull it out; let's change positions."
I withdrew. He flipped over on his back, brought his knees to his shoulder;
"Go for it."
This new position brought his rectum in to full view. His cock was enormous.
As I moved toward the waiting ass hole, he guided my cock into position
and pulled me in so that I could feel my balls hitting against his cheeks.
"Oh, Oh, Oh, that feels so good. Go for it, go for it." Richard rested
his knees on my shoulders, but that didn't give him enough leverage, so
he put his legs around my waist and pulled me into him with great vigor.
As I was about ready to come, I felt this tremendous squirt of hot sperm
pelting my stomach.
I laid down beside him, he sighed, and rolled over on top of me. I could
see a happy, satisfied smile on his lips in the dim light of the room.
He kissed my cheek, "Oh that was good."
I fell asleep with Richard still on top of me. His now limp dick was
resting in a pool of his cum on my stomach.
A few hours later I awoke; he had rolled over to my side, his right leg
between mine, arm across my belly, and head resting on my shoulder.
He felt me stir. "Let's take a shower," He hopped out of bed and bounded
for the bathroom. "Come on."
The clock showed just after 2 AM. I joined him in the shower; he was
vigorously washing his ass and legs. "Wash my back," He handed me the
soap.
Taking the bar from him I created suds and scrubbed his back, the cheeks
of his ass, his legs, and his feet. The water splashing off of him was
getting into my eyes so I closed them. I could feel him turn around.
He put his hand on the back of my head as I kneeled washing his lower legs.
His cock was erect, and hit me in the nose. His fingers moved from the
top of my head to my nose, then my lips. He moved his fingers into my
mouth and then rubbed his dick against my lips.
I filled my mouth with hot water, and then let him slip his dick between
my lips. The warm water surprised him; "Oh that's good." My hands cuddled
his balls, and then stroked his hardon muscle. I could feel his cock throb
in my mouth. Releasing his cock, I moved to his balls, and sucked them
into my mouth, the clean water tasting delicious. Gently, he pulled my
head away from his balls sticking his dick back in. This time, he held
my head more firmly and began to really fuck my mouth. When he would pull
out I would open my mouth and suck in as much hot water as I could. His
abdomen muscles would go from relaxed to taut, and back again, then they
just stayed rigid.
I knew he was about to come, so I put my finger against his ass hole,
moving it in and rotating all of the way, till I was touching his prostrate.
As I rubbed it he came. It had that slight ammonia smell to it; its taste
slightly salty, and oh so fresh and pleasant. Lovingly, he pulled me to
my feet, put his arms around me and squeezed.
The rest of the night Richard curled up against me, and slept like a baby.
His skin was cool to the touch, only the heat from his crotch was warm
on my body. The pubic hair felt good against my hip, and his gentle breathing
was like a lullaby.
We were due at Sam Goodies at 10 AM. Monica, our district manager, was
to meet us and learn how to set up the demo. I had told her that I would
try to find someone to work part time, so Richard's presence wouldn't come
as a surprise.
At 8 I felt Richard stirring, and by 9 we had showered, dressed, and were
in search of breakfast.
Richard took to the California Sound guitar, and learned well. Dinner
that night was lobster and champagne in our room, with the rest of the
night a beautiful repeat of Sunday night, and of course on Tuesday I had
to drive him back to Miami.
We discussed many things. I found that one of his mothers best paying
customers raped Richard when he was 9. And after that when his mother
was really flying she would watch while her men friends would fuck him.
I returned to California, intending to stay in touch, but never wrote.
Then in March I telephoned his foster home only to learn that they had
caught him smoking grass at home and had thrown him out.
--------------------------
I had hardly stepped through the door of my motor home when the telephone
rang. It was Joe. "Don. DON. Help me." I heard a background noise,
some cursing, and the phone went dead.
I called Mike Browns number. It rang and rang. Finally Mike answered.
"Is Joe there?"
"Oh Don. You wont believe it, but they kidnapped Joe this morning."
"What? What do you mean they kidnapped Joe?"
Mike said that at 7:30 that morning, there had been a loud rapping on
his front door. He had opened the door and Joe's Dad and two big burly
guys forced their way in, and grabbed Joe. When Joe resisted they had
put him in a straight jacket and had taken him away.
I called the Franklin residence. The maid answered. She spoke no English
but conveyed the message that, "There was no one at home".
I told Mike about the telephone call I had received from Joe. We decided
to stick by our own telephones in the event Joe could get through to us
again.
The day and evening passed. There was no further call from Joe.
The next morning, at work, I talked with Ray. He had promised not to
send Joe away until I had returned to California. He had broken his word.
I was not happy. However, Joe was his son, and there wasn't much I could
do.
"And in San Francisco he created such a commotion at the airport that
they wouldn't permit him on the plane to Spokane." Ray explained why he
had to pay for a charter flight from San Francisco to Spokane. $3,000!
At 8:30 I received a telephone call. It was Joe. He had found an unsupervised
phone at the school. "Don, you've got to come and get me. They kidnapped
me. They have me in this fucking prison. Don I want to come live with
you. PLEASE!"
I explained that as much as I wanted to I couldn't. His dad could have
the police on my tail within minutes of my doing that; I could be charged
with interfering with parental custody. I promised to talk further with
his father.
At ten o'clock I got a call from Kevin. He was in Detroit. He was supposed
to fly into John Wayne Airport, but he had run out of expense money, and
his tickets had not as yet been paid for.
Ray said he'd take care of it
I called Kevin back with his flight times, and agreed to pick him up this
evening at the airport.
I asked Ray what hotel he had booked for Kevin. "Can't he stay with you?
Joe's expenses have got me in a hole".
I was tempted to ask why Kevin couldn't stay with the Franklin's, but
decided against it. Kevin was too horny to be trusted in a household of
mostly females.
Ray and I also discussed some promotional ideas he wanted to implement
to increase sales. We talked about Infomercials, and Magazine Ads. Ray
dug out several issues of national magazines which had full page, full
color ad's for the California Sound Guitar. I noticed they were dated
the month that the guitar had been featured on the Regis and Kathy Lee
show.
Infomercials were half hour television shows which would be aired either
on local stations late at night or on cable networks. He wanted me to
look into the cost and also try to find a celebrity to host such a program.
Kevin didn't seem to be displeased at shacking up with me. When I told
him about the Infomercial idea he became quite excited.
While he had been in the east he had been thinking of new ideas for our
line of California Sound audio tapes, the idea of possibly making this
into a video intrigued him.
Now that was a new idea. Instead of making a normal Infomercial, we could
make a Music Video Infomercial. Then instead of TV Stations or just any
Cable Network, we could target MTV and VH1; we would be targeting our most
prospective customers.
My imagination took off. If we did this right, MTV and VH1 might, at
first, run this as an out and out Music Video; for free. We could put
all of the production money into the video; we wouldn't need a celebrity.
It could "Star" Kevin. He certainly looked the part. He had the talent.
He had the personality. He had the drive. He also had something else
that just might attract the "right" kind of Hollywood talent we otherwise
couldn't afford.
My mind began to explore who we might be able to get to produce this thing.
Kevin suggested we see if Michael Jackson's producer at Epic Records might
be available. However, I suspected that he would be tied to an exclusive
contract and wouldn't be available. BUT, maybe, Just MAYBE we might be
able to get some pointers on who might be capable, and available if we
could make a connection with either Jackson, or someone on his production
staff.
That night Kevin and I stopped at a Pizza Hut for dinner. After just
a little conversation we selected a Deep Dish Pizza Supreme together with
a pitcher of Micholob.
"How come ya had to take off for Miami so fast?"
I used the story I had given Ray.
"Well, damn it, I haven't really had a chance to get to know ya."
The waitress showed up with the pitcher thus allowing me to dodge further
discussion. I knew Kevin had something on his mind. I reflected for a
moment, then after the girl had left, I gave him a straight answer.
"Kevin, I think you are going to be very good for The California Sound,
but I'm not going to mix business with pleasure." I paused, making up
my mind to meet this problem head on. "Frankly, I didn't think much of
the way you were treating your new friend in Minneapolis. I'm not going
to allow that to become a problem here at California Sound."
Kevin smiled, "Shit man ... Ah told ya, I know which side of the bread
my butter is on." Then he added, "But I do like spreading my butter around.
"Don I like ya, and there is nothin' more that I'd like than to get closer
to you. And ya don't have a thing to worry about. You're the boss, and
ah knows it's going to stay that way. I know that Ray signs the pay checks,
but the ideas are coming from you."
The Pizza arrived just in time.
The pitcher was empty before we had eaten half of the Pizza, so Kevin
ordered a second.
As we exited the restaurant the cold air seemed to turn our breath to
steam. We had crossed a bridge that was going to lead somewhere, but the
question was where?
Kevin wanted to shower as soon as we got home. After drying off he threw
the towel aside, standing there for a moment before moving to the couch
where I was sitting. "You gonna shower?"
I told him that I had done so just before picking him up at the airport.
The heat that was radiating from his body, was not just body heat; it
was laden with sensuality. He put his arm around my shoulder and hugged
me towards him. Then he surprised the hell out of me, and kissed me squarely
on the lips. His tongue passed my lips and rubbed against my teeth, before
I lost control, and allowed him to explore my mouth. "I want to sleep
with you tonight. You'll see that if we keep our sex lives just between
us, then we don't need anyone else. We can be more productive." That
had been true back in the days of Jimmy and Thunder. Could this be my
second chance on the merry-go-round?
"We'll talk about it in the morning." But already I knew that I had lost
the battle.
Most of my Hollywood connections had eroded away. I called Dick Claymore's
office. Dick had retired, but was still quite active. They gave me his
number. Dick wasn't at home. They suggested I call Golden West Broadcasting.
He wasn't there either, but they took a message. "Have you tried David
Saks' office", they gave me the number.
My memory began to click in. David Saks had been a youngster just starting
out in the agency business at Famous some 20 years ago; he had been close
to Dick, and if I remembered correctly also close to little Tony.
Next I made two calls. David's office. He remembered me. I told him
about my new project; he was excited. The next call was to the television
production office of which Tony (now in his forties) was a three way partner.
They still had two Shows in the top 10.
Tony "Was not available", so I left a message.
Fifteen minutes later Tony was on the line. "Sounds like one hell of
a good idea. Let's have lunch on Friday and explore this a bit."
Even though this was only Tuesday, we had a lot to do. First I wanted
a thorough presentation. Kevin and I discussed this new, ever widening
project with Ray and were given cart blanche. I didn't bring Tony's name
into this; he was too well known, and "The Stardom" status would hinder
us if Ray insisted on active participation.
Kevin and I rented several Michael Jackson videos and studied them closely.
There was no question that Jackson was good, but the real success of those
performances came from outstanding video production. Also, these productions
were grandiose; expensive. Jackson could afford it; we couldn't. But
then originality had always been the pathway to success. We simply needed
a different approach.
I began to think in terms of maybe doing the production in Hawaii; at
the edge of the exploding volcano. I rationalized that doing it in Hollywood
would be very expensive in as much as we would need union or guild members
for everything, while if we did it in Hawaii we could make better deals
even if they were guild members from California, and we could also use
fresh new talent that were still looking for that special break.
Kevin was more into contemporary music than was I, but we spent most of
Wednesday sitting in front of the TV at Ray's home at Emerald Bay watching
MTV and VH1.
Thursday we had a documented production plan to run past Tony and David.
This preliminary outline required that Kevin and I fly to Hawaii for a
couple of days to check out the big island, check in with the Don Ho office
to see what new talent was around that he might think would be suitable,
and to see how much of the equipment we needed could be obtained locally.
On our return to California we would then try to cast and crew the project,
holding out "doing it in Hawaii" as a carrot. We would negotiate a deal
with either Hawaiian Airlines or Northwest for the round trip air transportation.
Then it would be back to Hollywood for post production. Once we had the
video in the can, we would contact the booking people at MTV and VH1 for
airing.
It was too early to try to plug in dollars. I suspected we were looking
at at least one hundred thousand dollars. I didn't want to scare Ray off
with that figure, so I decided to pursue the plan, plugging in the cost
as the final step.
Tony had suggested we have lunch in a conference dining room in the commissary
of his studio.
Getting on the lot was more a matter of finding our way than it was getting
through the gates. The guard was expecting us. Kevin seemed quite excited,
as we walked from the parking lot to the commissary. David was already
there, Tony was not.
"I was surprised when Tony suggested you have lunch. He's usually too
busy to see anyone outside of his own production staff." David had grown
older in the intervening years; but then hadn't we all.
Tony arrived with two other guys talking his ear off. "OK, you guys go
have lunch, and we'll talk in my office at 2." He looked around. Then
smiled in my direction. "Hey Don, it's nice to see you".
I didn't recognize him. He was no longer 16, and he was no longer a thin
kid. His hair was still jet black, but he weighed close to 200 pounds
and it was all muscle. He also was sporting a beard. The last time I
had seen him he wasn't even shaving.
I introduced Kevin, and together we laid out the plan.
Tony asked a few questions, then suggested we talk to Hal Cohen over at
Capitol. "He's the most knowledgeable guy I know doing Music Videos."
Then Tony asked some more questions, mostly about The California Sound
company, and about my relationship with it.
David had not added much during the short conference, but suggested that
we stay in town and have dinner with him.
The conference with Tony was a bit disappointing. As we started to leave,
Tony called me aside. "Don how much do you know about Ray Franklin and
the California Sound?"
I told him about how I got involved. "Well watch your back, that guy
has put five corporations into bankruptcy. A Potato Chip factory in Georgia,
a Diet Food Company in New York, and a couple of others. You might want
to talk to Danny Abrams over at Slim Fast. I tried to get a D&B on California
Sound, and got back a 'No Report'. Keep in contact," and he was gone.
I joined David and Kevin. We walked out to the parking lot. "How long
have you known Tony?"
I answered David's question, "We were pretty close when he was 16. But
then I moved to Hawaii and lost contact with him."
"Well he must have thought pretty highly of you. He's a hard man to get
any time with."
David gave us directions to get to his home. We'd have dinner at 8, but
"be there for cocktails around 7:00".
It was just 2 o'clock. We had five hours to kill, and Orange County was
too far to make a round trip a practical idea.
Kevin wanted to see what "The Strip" looked like, so we drove over Laurel
Canyon to Sunset, then right heading towards the Whisky A-Go-Go. At the
corner of La Cienega and Sunset there was a sign "Roman Baths".
"What do you think that is?"
I thought it was probably a health club. The building was sizable and
pretty fancy.
"Let's see if they have a steam room."
My back was getting a bit tired, so I thought if they had a Jacuzzi I
could use that as well.
We found a place to park on La Cienega, and walked up hill to the entrance.
The foyer was very plush; the carpets thick and soft. At the end of a
short hallway a very beautiful receptionist type sat behind a hand polished
oak desk.
"Can I help you gentlemen?"
I asked if they had a steam room and a Jacuzzi. She confirmed that they
did.
My eye caught sight of a posted price list. They apparently specialized
in various types of massages. The prices ranged from $125.00 to $300.00.
There was no listing for just the facilities. The sign also said that
they accepted MasterCharge, Visa, and American Express. I suspected this
was going to be out of our price range.
"How much for just the steam room and Jacuzzi?"
"$25.00 for the two of you."
I gave the girl $25.00 in cash. She handed us a key, two towels, and
directed us to a private dressing room.
There didn't seem to be very much going on. We saw no one else.
We undressed. Hung our clothes in a small closet, wrapped the towels
around our waist and headed for the steam room which was just down the
hallway.
As we opened the door a rush of steam enveloped us. As the door swung
closed we could make out a redwood tier of about four levels. We were
alone.
We folded the towels into pillows which we placed beneath our heads, as
we laid upon the tiers, face up.
The door opened, a pretty female voice said: "Gentlemen here are some
cold, wet towels"
The girl was gorgeous. She was dressed in a bikini style bathing suit.
And the girl was not embarrassed by our nudity.
I glanced over at Kevin, and he was sporting a major rod.
"If you gentlemen would like one of our special massages, just let me
know. My name is Suzette." The girl was definitely looking at Kevin's
hardon when she said that. "Also if you wish to use the Jacuzzi, you just
continue down the hallway; it's at the end."
After she left Kevin laughed. "I think we found ourselves a Hollywood
whore house."
I looked over at him; he was gently massaging his tool.
"You'd better get that thing under control. I noticed she didn't knock
before entering."
"Yeah, you're probably right. She'd get jealous if she didn't do the
work."
The steam was getting too thick for me. "I'm going to the Jacuzzi."
Kevin said as soon as he got "Junior" under control he'd join me.
The Jacuzzi was more like a small swimming pool. It measured about 10
feet across. Marble steps led you into it's depths. Air jets had the
water in a bubbly turmoil.
I sat on the second step from the bottom. One particularly strong jet
was tossing my cock and balls about; an erection was inevitable.
I closed my eyes, relaxing, enjoying the sensation. The noise was so
loud that I didn't hear Kevin enter the water. A hand began to massage
my penis. The surprise brought me out of my reverie.
"You'd better knock that off, some one is going to see us."
"So? It's a whore house isn't it?"
He had released my cock, and laid back in the water. Just then I noticed
Suzzete escorting a customer up a flight of stairs. 20 minutes later,
they descended the stair case.
Shortly, both Kevin and I were drained of energy and returned to our dressing
room.
We had hardly closed the doors before he insisted that he "Just had to
have a B.J." before we went to David's for dinner.
The dressing room was equipped with a good sized "single" bed. We put
it to good use for the next hour.
As we left "The Roman Baths" the receptionist smiled. "You gentlemen
fall asleep in the dressing room."
I lied that we had.
We continued our sightseeing. In many ways it was quite nostalgic as
I drove back up Laurel Canyon, passing Mann Realty. The office was still
there, but I had heard that Wally Mann had passed away a few years ago.
At where the old Houdini House had been, I made a left on to Lookout Mountain
Drive. The Log Cabin was no longer there.
I took the Wonderland Avenue fork, heading up past the Air Force Motion
Picture Lab. The building was still there, but it was in need of upkeep.
The Air Force no longer owned it.
We drove up to the end of Wonderland, and continued to the left on a dirt
road, then right, and down Sunset Plaza Drive.
It was close to 6:30. Kevin dug out the scribbled directions to David's
house that I had made.
We drove back down Laurel Canyon. At Sunset you could see across to where
the Garden of Alah had been replaced by a Home Savings and Loan. We turned
left, heading down Sunset towards the old NBC Radio Studios; that also
had been replaced by a Home Savings and Loan. Old memories were filling
my mind, replacing today with yesteryear. At the moment it was not 1994,
it was 1944, 1945, 1946.
"Your being awful fucking quiet." Suddenly 1994 had returned with a vengeance.
We found David's house. It was small but pleasant.
David had another guest. "Don, Kevin, I would like for you to meet Hal
Cohen."
This was the man Tony had suggested we talk to. David certainly didn't
let any grass grow under his feet.
Hal seemed to be quite interested in our project. And he agreed that
if we could get Michael Jackson's production company to do our video it
would be a guaranteed hit. But, the dollars weren't there, and trying
to get an audience with Michael just wasn't possible. Getting into Never
Never Land was impossible; it was another world. He seldom left the estate
unless he was working, and if he was working he was in another universe.
HOWEVER, there had been a really talented director that had been a protoge
of Jackson's producer, and he and Jackson had crossed swords. The boy
had been let go. He was almost as good as Jackson's producer, and was
available. AND, if there was a possibility that this video could make
Michael regret his decision to rid himself of this kid, then he was SURE
he'd sign on.
Hal promised to contact the kid on Monday, if not before.
Cocktails were Vodka Martini's. They were cold with just a hint of vermouth.
They were strong, and they got both Kevin and me loaded.
Dinner was simple, and very good. It was a pot roast with plenty of carrots,
and potatoes. The meal dissipated the alcohol.
It was past 10:30 when Kevin and I begged off from further socializing.
Tustin was too far away to prolong our departure.
We bid our farewells to David and Hal.
On the way home my mind was full of ideas for the video which I shared
with Kevin. We seemed to create and bounce ideas off of one another.
Our written plan was being vastly modified during that hour drive, as I
began to assimilate this contemporary music.
I began to realize that I needed to redefine the term music. This stuff
was mood enhancing. It was a driving force. It contained rhythm. Somewhere
deep down inside of it it contained melody disguised in a mathematicaly
derived pattern of sound. As with the early days of rock, the problem
was that we allowed our minds to filter this information before it was
distributed to our bodies; you had to let go.
Kevin had the radio playing all the way home; our conversation had to
compete with the music; it helped guide my thinking; No! it helped guide
my physical response.
We had had a full day, and we were both tired. However, Kevin had taken
to sleeping with me, and his dick was always up. On more than one occasion
he had masturbated in the bed when I attempted to ignore him and played
games with Morpheus. In those instances he almost always lost control
and squirted his juices all over me and the bed. He had taught me it was
less effort to participate (and even more fun). Despite our earlier exercise
(or maybe because of it) at the Roman Baths he was randier than usual.
It didn't take much effort on his part to get me into the same mood. Thus,
it was almost three in the morning, before we finally got to sleep.
The telephone ringing woke me at 11:30. It was the answering service
that handled weekend calls on the California Sound's 800 number.
"Don, we have a call from a Mark Wherly. He left his telephone number.
He said Hal Cohen had asked him to call."
I dialed the number while Kevin was stretching. His dick was still hard
and ready for action as a deep, resonant, voice answered my call. "This
is Mark, how can I help you?" Mark's voice had a powerful English accent,
so strong in fact that by comparison the Queen of England would have sounded
like an American.
It was Saturday, and Mark suggested he drive out to Orange County this
afternoon, and we could talk.
I suggested we meet at the California Sound offices. Ray never worked
on Saturday or Sunday, so the plant was totally ours. The appointment
was set for two o'clock.
Kevin and I were at California Sound at 1:15. I wanted to set up a guitar
and sound system like we did on our demo's.
I signed on to the company's computer, got into Word Perfect, and using
our Business Systems Plan as a foundation, started to modify and expand
it reflecting the ideas we had generated on Friday night.
At 1:45 I heard the throaty sound of a sports car drive into our parking
lot. The conference room had a great view. We were both taken by surprise:
first the car was a Maserati, second Mark Wherly was black. Now I don't
mean dark; his skin looked like it had been polished with a high luster
walnut stain. Mark Wherly was also TALL. I would have guessed him to
be at least 6 foot 6. And most of that 78 inches was in his legs. His
upper body was relatively short for his height, it created the illusion
that the man was walking on stilts. His hair was curly and hugged his
head. Despite his height, and general appearance he looked like he couldn't
have been more than 18 or 19.
Both Kevin and I went outside, welcoming our guest.
"I'm Mark; but most people call me Squirrely." He explained that his middle
name was Squire. In his early youth his peers had combined Squire and
Wherly into "Squirrely"; and the name stuck.
Another unusual thing about Squirrely was the way he walked. He bounced
along like a drummer with a natural beat that seemed to resonant his long
tall frame.
He sat at the conference table, sprawled out with his feet on a chair;
totally relaxed.
I explained, and then demonstrated the California Sound Guitar.
Mark looked at Kevin, "You the talent on this gig?" His eyes were piercing.
He took the guitar from me and handed it to Kevin. "OK, let's see what
we've got to work with."
Kevin popped in the Nirvana tape he had acquired in Seattle. The sound
blaring from the speakers blended with Kevin's own note picking. His body
swung back as he got into the mood of the music.
"OK. Stop!" Mark took the guitar, popped the Nirvana tape out of the
cassette mechanism. "Now let's see just how good you really are."
Kevin was just a spectacular. Squirrely was pleased.
We went over the video outline we had created, stressing the use of Hawaii's
Volcano as the back drop, and as the driving force.
For the most part Mark liked our concept. The only problem was going
to be money. Taking a crew to Hawaii was going to be expensive.
I had an idea. I dialed Miss Doug's home and put it on the speaker phone.
Doug was intrigued by the entire concept and offered the facilities of
KDDB-TV. "Don't worry about our charges, I'll keep it to a minimum."
Squirrely asked what kind of a video animation setup they had. Doug said
it was a broadcast version built around an Amiga CPU. I had no idea what
they were talking about, but Mark seemed pleased by what he heard.
In the end, Doug offered to loan us a Sony Beta CamCorder from the News
Department and that Squirrely could use the production facilities anytime
between 10 PM and 10 AM.
The more they talked, the more I began to realize I wasn't going to contribute
much to this effort.
If Ray and Mark could come to terms on the matter of money, then next
week Kevin and he would fly to Honolulu, pickup the CamCorder, proceed
down to Hilo, spend two days shooting at the Volcano, return to Honolulu,
spend two more days (nights) doing post production, and be back in California
within a week.
In a face to face negotiation Ray convinced Mark to produce the video.
He would pay all expenses, plus a fee of $30,000 plus two percent of increased
sales. The fee would be due on airing by either MTV or VH1. Mark would
own the copyright on the video, but would assign it to California Sound
upon payment of the $30,000.
On Thursday Kevin and Squirrely left for Honolulu. Friday morning I got
a call from Miss Doug. "You ought to see that black boy in the nude.
Wow he's something else, and his dick is bigger than Kevin's by at least
twice." Miss Doug had wasted no time in discovering "The Lay of the Land".
Phillip had retired as Chief Engineer of KDDB-TV, and had volunteered
to fly with them to Hilo as cameraman.
I kept getting reports from Hawaii. They decided to spend more time in
Hilo. Roycroft had retired to the big island, and they were staying with
him. So this wasn't going to cost any more than planned; if anything maybe
a little less.
They were in Hilo for ten days.
A call from Honolulu informed me that Kevin and Squirrely were staying
with Miss Doug, so they could spend more time on the post production.
Another call from Kevin told me just how great Mark was at his craft.
I laughingly thought "Yeah, which craft."
It was three weeks to the day when Kevin and Mark walked into the California
Sound's office. Mark had brought along a Sharp LCD TV Projector, and a
surround sound audio system.
It only took them 10 minutes to set things up.
Ray and I were seated next to each other facing the screen. Kevin and
Mark were seated where they could observe our reactions.
The fucking tape was SPECTACULAR. Most of the footage featuring Kevin
had been shot either at the edge of Kileua Volcano, or at the bluffs overlooking
where the lava was flowing into the sea. This material was combined with
footage the KDDB News Room had shot over the years when the volcano was
erupting. There were single fountains of red lava being blown into the
air; there was a curtain of fire; there were a few aerial shots.
Mark had blended this footage with shots of Kevin. All of the footage
had been processed through the computer animator. At one point the shot
was looking towards an exploding fountain of fire. The shot zoomed in
close, Madam Pele was morphed from the fountaining lava. Her hand projected
outward; Kevin was centered on her extended palm playing a contemporary
piece of music that I did not recognize. It was unique. It was hot.
It was a winner. And I knew we had lost Kevin.
Mark had an appointment with the west coast representative of MTV on Monday.
He wanted Kevin with him.
On Tuesday we heard that MTV had scheduled the video. On Wednesday we
heard that Mark and Kevin had been signed to a recording contract at Capitol
Records. On Thursday, Kevin moved his things from the motor home to Squirrely's.
On Saturday and Sunday the video was repeatedly played on MTV.
On Monday the telephone practically rang off of the hook as dealers from
all over the United States and Canada were placing orders for the California
Sound Guitar.
On the next Tuesday, Mark called Ray for an appointment; he wanted his
thirty grand.
In the afternoon Mark arrived. He and Ray went into the conference room.
Ray had explained that the sudden rush of orders had taken all of his available
capital. He then negotiated a codicil to their agreement where Mark would
receive ten percent of gross sales for the next year in lieu of the thirty
thousand.
Ray asked me to help in the front office.
A call came from the electronic parts manufacturer in Mexico. They needed
more money. Ray asked if they could ship on 30 days credit. They agreed,
but the price would be increased by 25 percent. Ray agreed.
Our assembly line of Mexican Illegals took first priority on money. They
were paid in cash at the end of each day.
Pay day came and went. I was not paid. Ray asked if I could wait till
the end of the month.
I was shocked to learn that just before he couldn't make payroll that
he had withdawn $15,000 for personal expenses: rent on the house at Emerald
Bay; lease payment on his Lincoln Continental; tuition on Joe's school in
Idaho.
A call from our district manager in Miami disclosed the fact that both
her expense and payroll checks had bounced.
Ray started parking the Continental inside of the warehouse instead of the
parking lot.
The landlord wanted his rent. Ray dodged the calls. The electric company
threatened to turn off the power. Ray paid the bill, but the check bounced.
Over the next two months things went from bad to worse. We were being
sued and Ray started moving his checking account from bank to bank, avoiding
attachments.
Even though I hadn't been paid for almost two months I elected to continue
working; the way Ray handled creditors, and serving officers was astonishing.
He wasn't afraid of threats from bill collectors or collection agencies.
He didn't own anything, so they couldn't get anything.
The one positive occurrence was that when Ray was 30 days behind on Joe's
tuition, the school sent him home.
During all of this financial turmoil the Franklin's life style never changed.
The first $15,000 of money always went home with Ray before ANY expenses
were paid.
Six months later, it was obvious The California Sound was going to be
the 6th Corporation Ray had seen through bankruptcy.
Summer came. Joe went into business for himself. He purchased used vehicles
from the Post Office, had them refurbished, and sold them for 3 to 4 times
what he had paid for them. Dad was in bankruptcy, but son Joe earned more
than $20,000 that summer.
School started, and Joe enrolled at USC.
Kevin had become a super star in the music business. Michael Jackson
did come to regret his not holding on to Squirrely.
I eventually left the California Sound, and moved my motor home to Las
Vegas. It was there that Doug and I had met up in a trailer park in Las
Vegas. I was between jobs and spent a lot of evening hours picking at
my guitar, half heartily composing. Rap seemed to be the rage amongst
youngsters, and I thought it would be interesting to try mixing country
western with rap.
Many kids have told me over the years, I have the heart of a teenager;
or I am cool; or you sure don't seem to be 69.
As I was trying to create the beat with my foot while strumming the guitar
this young fella (must a been about 16) standing next to me took up the
rhythm as I improvised on the strings. He picked up the pace and kind
of took over the beat leaving me free to concentrate on melody.
Doug was tall, lanky, with brown curly hair at shoulder length. I would
guess him to be about 130 lbs., 6 foot tall, and cute as can be. His smile
was overpowering.
He was just passing through Vegas. His folks had a drinking problem,
and didn't have the patience for raising a teenager, letting him do as
he pleased, and he pleased to leave.
And so the story ends. Or at least for the present.
My Teenage Heart
The Last Chapter
REVELATIONS
or the
WORLD ACCORDING TO DON
This Chapter is the dessert at the end of my meal. It is my opportunity
to be serious and wane philosophical. This chapter expresses my feelings
about what I think I have learned after more than 55 years of being a teenager.
That brings me to the title "My Teenage Heart". Many times youngsters
experience psychological traumas that arrest their emotional growth. Certainly
many Gay's will agree with that conclusion. In my case, as in the case
of the narrator of this story, his emotional growth was halted in those
early years. We find that his love life continues as though he were still
an adolescent. His peers are those boys who grow to him, and then pass
him.
Writing My Teenage Heart has been a unique experience. I've learned a
great deal about myself, and drawn conclusions not only about my life,
but about the world as a whole.
This is a singular work. While the story is fictional, it is based on
real people and real events. But as the poet can fall back on "Poetic
License", to make his work rhyme, I fall back on fiction to give this material
rhythm and meaning.
If the reader can identify with any of the characters in the story, then
learn from it. All of the characters are based on real people, however,
in most instances the names have been changed to protect the guilty. If
you feel you have been libeled, resist the opportunity to come forward,
use the cloak of anonymity lest ye be found out.
One of the most controversial issues to be addressed in this book is the
matter of a child's developing sexuality. The word pedophilia comes to
mind. It is the magic word that brings down the wrath of the community
like Queer, and Gay used to. At what point in a young boys life does he
have the right to pursue sexual interests?
Most parents bear children not as planned events, but as a byproduct of
sensual pleasure. Our world is very complex, and is becoming even more
so. Few parents are psychologically or educationally equipped to train
a child.
Separating a boy from his father, allowing him to grow up without that
masculine affection that only a birth parent can give, is, I believe, the
most dastardly deed society can impose on a child.
Yet, the world is full of children that grow into adults, that pass through
that period of adolescence without the love and affection that should be
their birth right.
I have shared those adolescent years with many, over these past 60 plus
years. They passed into adulthood knowing that someone cared a great deal
about them; enough to have shared those rising passions of developing sexuality.
Almost all have become successful both in professions and as parents.
They do not abuse their children, they provide the love and understanding
which comes from having experienced early emotional starvation. I have
kept in contact becoming a father figure; they have become my children.
I love them. They love me.
There are many young lads who are starving for an adult to share their
adolescent years. The need is so great that they seek out those who can
provide that security, just as Don did after having met Hal.
THE MAN WHO CONTROLS HIS DICK CONTROLS THE WORLD
Sex is as much a human need as is air, water, or food. Sexual appetites,
however vary from low to extremely high. Those with low sexual needs,
enter into the act more as a matter of competition than to satisfy that
need, while those with high requirements find sex almost a compulsion.
The opposite ends of that scale do not understand the others feelings.
Society's rules of sexual conduct do not take into account this basic
need, and the wide range over which it spans.
After reading the first 12 chapters of My Teenage Heart, I came to the
conclusion that it was one long fuck story. In reviewing not only my life
but the real lives of others, I realized that Life is one long fuck story.
The first book in the Bible is a condensed fuck story, telling you who
fucked who, and who begat who.
I divide time into two periods, BTV and ATV. Television came upon the
scene immediately after World War II. Before television mass communication
was slow, and cumbersome. Newspapers, Magazines, Radio were the primary
tools. After Television became a household appliance the world began to
shrink. Today, with inexpensive telephone, cellular phones, home computers,
Satellite Communications, and now the Internet, the world has become so
small that mankind has been captured in a world of data, and mass dissemination
of matters both large and small.
In the ATV world the objectives of pockets of people through out the world
are brought together forming a powerful group of people. Without the mass
media the Civil Rights movement could never have gotten off of the ground.
"The Gay Community" would never have become a phrase. Masturbation was
a church propagated No-No, and could never have become a Yes-Yes.
In the ATV world pockets of minorities have found each other, and welded
themselves into a group wielding astounding power.
I suspect that there will become another marked boundary in our history,
the AI World and the BI World. The Internet cannot help but be the most
effective tool man has yet to invent. Like the computer, it is only a
tool which can be used in ways we have yet to think about. It will change
the world we live in. It will change our world so rapidly that politicians
"Who Must Have Control" are becoming frantic.
I came across a posting on the Internet titled : "To the Homophobic; ye
are the sinners." It says a lot, and I think it deserves to be read.
To the Homophobic; ye are the sinners!
It is people like you that would have greedily pounded the nails into
the palms of Christ; in the name of the political morality of their times.
After all, he not only was a radical, he spent all of his time in the company
of men, with only an occasional female contact. Also, don't forget he
never married; never had that particular relationship with a female that
your kind demands else the target of your derision is deemed homosexual.
It is the homophobic of the world, who like piranha, devour those in their
path, never giving credence to those creative individuals who change our
world for the better. It is people like you who, while enjoying the fruits
of our most creative individuals attempt to destroy them. Many of the
worlds greatest philosophers, writers, and inventors have been homosexuals.
Oscar, Leonardo, Plato are among those you would have deemed unfit. Like
the Nazi's you would have happily permitted them to be destroyed in the
chambers of Auechwitz.
You hide behind one of the most corrupt of human inventions. The earliest
form of politics, Religion, allows you purveyors of ignorance to control
his fellow man in the name of "faith".
I have never been able to understand what it is in man, that demands of
his fellows that they exhibit adherence to the same beliefs, else they
be destroyed.
Parasite, leech, piranha, are all names that apply to the likes of you.
You use your numbers of equally stupid people to destroy those of greater
intellect, of superior creativity. You greedily lap up their productivity,
while attempting to grind them into the dust, with the only tool your kind
has ever "invented"; politics, and its predecessor, religion.
This note to you, will have only one effect: it will make you angry.
It should, but will not, cause you to rethink your philosophy. It should,
but will not, cause you to appreciate those amongst you whose great contribution
to our culture are homosexual.
In a world which, increasingly, finds itself over populated, you illogically
reject all attempts to solve these problems. Putting your genitalia where
"God" says it belongs, ignoring the fact that doing so will further burden
the world.
You may think me an atheist; I am not. You may think me an anarchist;
I am not. I do not buy into the fantasies of organized religion. I think
that belief in a higher form is best left to the individual. One can not
ignore the uniformity of cyclic pattern which permeates our universe.
But to use those fundamental human yearnings for a high power to impose
your particular brand of life rules is the most immoral of human behavior.
So enjoy your homophobic attitudes. Continue to destroy others. But
do not fool yourself that you are doing so to better mankind. Face up
to the fact that you are the perpetrator and purveyor of the worst that
man can bring to his universe.
END OF INTERNET POSTING
Another philosophical statement that I believe is worthy of rereading
is the one expressed in Chapter 8:
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 8
The Homosexual lifestyle is radically different from the Hetero. Both
start with that prepubescent interest in sex. As they develop to the point
of real ejaculation, the hunt begins. It is usually at this point where
the development of the Homosexual freezes for all time, while his Hetero
brother, goes beyond seeking to stabilize, seeking to spend less time on
the prowl, more time in the less demanding pursuits.
The Gay, is more hedonistic, more adventuresome, always seeking new and
exciting adventures. Being male, he understands the male physiology, and
the male psychology. As with the experienced big game hunter, he continually
expands his knowledge, his intuition, his appreciation of his prey.
You wont find, within the straight world, the exotic establishments, where
leather, display of form and revealing figure strike at the foundation
of the soul. You will find few gays who adhere to the straight philosophy:
"Put a flag over her head and fuck for old glory." At the heart of the
gays appreciation of life, is the glorification of beauty. The world of
the Gay is the world of forever adventure, spanning the time between that
early suspension of maturity to the final adventure, death; where Youth
is the forever treasure at the end of every rainbow.
END OF EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 8
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN
They are a different species.
Few women really understand the difference which begins between his legs,
and winds it's way to his mind. And certainly, few men understand the
difference which begin in her mind, and eventually finds it's way to her
crotch.
A girl who, without permission, fondles a boys penis will meet a surprised
welcome. A boy who, without permission, puts his hands down a girls pants
is most likely to end up on the floor with a black eye.
The human female learns to use her sexuality to control the male.
Here is another posting from the Internet which bears upon this subject:
THE SCARLET WOMAN
She was a Scarlet woman, bearing upon her chest; that Big Red Letter "A",
someone had gotten into her nest.
Pretty, Beautiful and Gorgeous all describe her, and more; many other
things I'd heard which seemed she was a whore.
It was the ugly married women who ruled and set the pace; making it hard
for a working girl who would not join their race.
Yet what wife has not withheld her favors to impose her will; and what
husband has not lusted after the girls upon another hill.
Every woman is a prostitute within her heart, you see; and within their
minds, all men would like to be.
END OF SCARLET WOMAN
Rape is both physical and psychological. If a woman sells her pussy,
then how can rape be much more than petty theft. Yet the whore does suffer
psychological trauma that goes way beyond. As a male, I don't understand
it. Yet the suffering is real whether I understand it or not.
Men are much more emotional than women in matters of marriage. Every
facet of that contract is approached, and settled from a different point
of view. If the marriage fails many women heap scorn, anger, and abuse
upon their former partner.
Many of the males who have sought my solace came from broken families,
whose mother used her children to exact revenge upon their father.
The trauma that a boy child suffers when deprived of his fathers love,
is extreme, harmful, and is the frequent injury that mothers heap upon
their sons which drive them across the border into our camp.
The adult male, who has been sought out by such a boy child, who has the
opportunity, to sink to the boys level, share his pain, and his growth,
helping him pass through that valley of anguish, has the stroke of luck
to make a difference in that boys future. However, he does so with great
risk, as the offending parent will not acknowledge their guilt, and will
heap fiery passions of retribution upon the boys savior.
THE LAW AND LAWYERS
People seek out the type of careers that best suit their personalities.
So it is not surprising that we find the modern crusader, the champion
of the people, in the practice of Law.
Whether I draw your attention to Bill Spetstein, or Johnny Cochran, F.
Lee Bailey, or a bright new graduate from Law School, you will be looking
at the true protectors of our world.
Many young attorneys start their career as prosecutors; the gifted, the
caring ones move to private practice; the others either stay prosecutors
or become politicians.
Although every attorney will tell you there are two types of law (Legislative
and Case), there are in fact 3.
The Legislature passes laws which must work harmoniously with society
and with existing laws. Legislative laws are then tested in the furnace
of the court room. Judges argue, consider, and rule as to whether Legislative
Laws violate existing laws. When a law is held unworkable, the law becomes
invalid, and the Legislature must then adjust the statute to meet what
it believes is the basis for the courts criticism.
The third kind of Law is created by attorneys, in the court room, by jury's,
as exemplified by the Simi Valley trial of the Police Officers in the Rodney
King incident.
IF YOU CHEAT YOU LOOSE
Why is it that government agencies ignore that moral plank by which most
of us are raised.
Without regard to guilt or innocence, the Los Angeles District Attorneys
office cheats, and looses. The behavior of Marcia Clark and Christopher
Darden during and after the O.J. Simpson trial was shameful. They cheated,
they got caught, they lost. Oddly, they never considered withdrawing the
murder charge even after they discovered their case was riddled with lies,
deceit, and perjuries.
LIKE THE BOY SCOUTS,
POLICE DEPARTMENTS ATTRACT THE WRONG KIND OF PEOPLE
If you write a job description for what a police officers duties are to
be, you must realize that no one in their right mind would want such a
career. Bullies, people with god complexes, those who have an inborn need
to dictate to others how they should live would be the only candidates.
So it is not surprising that you find the Kealoha's, The Furmen's, The
Beck's of the world enjoying their professions as community dictators.
A thinking Tryer of fact, whether judge or jury, should look skeptically
at both testimony and evidence given or collected by police officers.
Most officers are accustomed to perjuring themselves; making facts fit
where they don't in order to win a case.
The Hawaii case with Officer Kealoha is an extreme example of this, where
not only did the officer engage in illegal activity, but did so with the
working knowledge (before and after the fact) of the prosecutor's office
and a church. Again, the O.J Simpson case was riddled with similar incidents.
JUDGES & COURT ROOMS BEWARE
Our legal system crowns the Judge as God within the confines of his
court room.
Judges that come to the bench from private practice are usually honest,
exercise their power with discretion, and above all think about what they
hear and what they do.
Judges who come to the bench from the political arena should be considered
less likely to be capable of doing their jobs; be more likely to be subjected
to outside pressures; be less likely to think about what they are doing;
be more likely to have their own hidden agendas.
WHY IS SEX a matter for the Law? Damned if I know. In many countries
it isn't even mentioned in their legal code. Why should I care where you
put your dick, any more than I care where you eat or take a shit. If you
forcefully subject someone to being shitted upon, then I should care about
your behavior. But if the girl down the street asks you to take a crap
on her breasts, then that's between the two of you.
I suspect most of our concern about sexuality stems from a concern about
continued propagation of the species; that coupled with religion's need
for political constituency.
One of the most fundamental characteristics of our universe is its repetitiveness.
If you look at the tiniest thing we know of, we see that the Atom consists
of a nucleus around which planetary electrons rotate. If we examine the
largest thing we can see in it's entirety, solar systems, we find they
are similarly constructed. Everything in our universe repeats; is cyclic.
Drop a rock in the water, circles appear as the waves expand and become
so small we can't see them. Even human behavior exhibits a cyclic nature.
We all have a need for crests and valleys in our lives; if we don't have
them, we create them. Moving away and starting over again doesn't work,
because the troubles you experienced will go with you; you caused them.
You dropped the pebble that created the highs and lows.
If all of the matter in the universe is finite, and time is infinite,
then everything that has been will be again, and everything that can be,
will be.
The cyclic behavior of the universe from the Big Bang theory to the Black
Hole suggest that, indeed, there is no beginning, their is no end.
Then the Dinosaur and Newt Gingrage will live again; God that's depressing.
This chapter like any other dessert is a concentrated package of experience.
It is at an end.
But at 70, My Teenage Heart has yet to mature, has yet to pass through
the valley of adolescence. Like the Vampire, I feel like I will live forever
as long as I can avoid the shadow of the cross, as long as I can share
my love with the next lad who needs me.
SPARE THE ROD AND SPOIL THE CHILD???
The Learning process is one of applied logic, not physical hurting. My
mother disciplined me with a leather strap which brought red welts on my
skin, and screams that could be heard for a half mile. I do not remember
what violations of her ethics brought forth these punishments, I only remember
the punishments themselves. Those chastisements continued until I was
physically large enough to take the strap away from her. When I did I
could see fear in her eyes, as I ran away from her and hid the strap under
a bed. "Don, give me back that strap?" I did so, where upon she hung
the strap where it always hung, and was never again used.
I hear the term tough love .. My Response is Bull Shit. If you are at
a point where "Tough Love" is logical, then you have already failed miserably
as a parent. Real love, coupled with understanding and logic are the tools
leading to a properly raised child.
STREET HUSTLERS: I have never met a male street hustler that I didn't
like. At the beginning of their chosen life style they are outgoing, fun
loving, and intelligent. They have chosen to live their life by using
their wits, in a carefree and sharing fashion.
Earlier in my life I mistakenly attempted to assist several young entrepreneurs
to escape to a safer life. All such attempts were unsuccessful. Hustling
is what they want to do, it is not what they must do.
Television has had several "specials" covering this subject. Two of particular
note centered on Seattle and Hollywood. Both presupposed erroneously that
the youngsters were being forced into hustling by circumstances.
My Teenage Heart has been recorded as a "Book on Tape", with 17 Cassettes.
Inquiries are invited to AUTHOR22@aol.com.
My Teenage Heart
An Important Issue
Many times youngsters experience psychological traumas that
arrest their emotional growth. Certainly many Gay's will agree
with that conclusion. In my case, as in the case of the narrator
of this story, his emotional growth was halted in those early
years. We find that his love life continues as though he were
still an adolescent. During his entire lifetime his peers are
those boys who grow to him, and then pass him. That is why this
novel is titled "My Teenage Heart".
The work is a full length novel, describing the development of a
young boy into a bi-sexual man of 70. It traces his evolvement
from a rejected child, thorough adolescence and as a 16 year old
run-a-way, his maturing as a Marine during world war 2, continuing
thorough his development as a musician, and eventually closing as
an itinerate country western performer at age 70.
For readers who find graphic sexual descriptions not to their
liking, they should read no further, and certainly should not
request the book by E-Mail. The same restriction apply to those
under the age of 18, or those who find sex between males, or sex
between females, or sexual development between children as offensive.
For the rest of the world I invite you to partake of this adventure
as it leads from the 1930's into the 1990's, as it traces
the development of a young boy's sexual development thorough
adolescence, young adult, middle age, and old age. As he evolves
from a rejected child to a teenage hustler, to a United States
Marine, to a successful Country Western Musician, viewing him at
the peak of his career, experiencing his slide from the crest;
his evolution to age 70.
One of the most controversial issues to be addressed in this book
is the matter of a childs developing sexuality. The word pedofilia
comes to mind. It is the magic word that brings down the
wrath of the community like Queer, and Gay used to. At what point
in a young boys life does he have the right to pursue sexual
interests?
Most parents bare children not as planned events, but as a byproduct
of sensual pleasure. Our world is very complex, and is
becoming even more so. Few parents are psychologically or educationally
equipped to train a child.
Separating a boy from his father, allowing him to grow up without
that masculine affection that only a birth parent can give, is I
believe, the most dastardly deed society can impose on a child.
Yet, the world is full of children that grow into adults, that
pass through that period of adolescence without the love and
affection that should be their birth right.
If the reader can identify with any of the characters in the
story, then learn from it. All of the characters are based on
real people, however, in most instances the names have been
changed to protect the guilty. If you feel you have been libeled,
resist the opportunity to come forward, use the cloak of anonymity
lest ye be found out.
But as with all works of fiction, and "My Teenage Heart" is a
work of fiction, people and events appear real, because in fact
they were real.
Your honest thoughts on this book, chapter by chapter, will be greatly
appreciated.
For AOL and NETCOM members the entire book can be downloaded in Zipped
format, others will receive it by E-Mail, Chapter by Chapter. 17 in
all.
Just let me know by E-Mail
AUTHOR22@aol.com
Thank you
AUTHOR22
THE CAST of My Teenage Heart: (And what became of them)
BOB SCHUBERT: [I didn't hear Bob Schubert come up behind me. "What are
you doing here", he yelled. He was the town bully, and he delighted in
making my life miserable. He pushed me down on the ground. The other
boys hearing the commotion came out of the tank. One suggested they take
my clothes off and then chase me home naked. And that's what they started
to do. Eugene held my arms while Bob yanked off my pants and shorts.]
Now in his 70's he retired after having worked as a mechanic for the Oil
Company. He is a grandfather. He is an old man who spends his days with
his butt in a rocking chair on the front porch of his home in California.
JOHN: [Standing in the doorway was a young fellow, of about 17 (1943).
He had a short brush hair cut. He was staring at me with a big grin on
his face. He was from New Jersey.] John is now a retired stock broker
still living in New Jersey. My namesake, Don, lives in Hawaii, and is
married to Rocky's cousin.
BURT: [My bunk mate, meaning the guy whose breath I smelled if we slept
facing each other, was from New Orleans. Stocky, Muscular, 5 foot 6 inches,
A well defined babies butt, and a good tan: Would be his foundation description,
upon which I would add, happy go lucky, carefree, and with a perpetual
hardon. Man, oh man had the intervening years been good to him. You can't
change short to anything but short, but his Stocky Muscular build had been
developed into quite a hunk. His perpetual hardon had been harnessed into
a projected sex appeal that radiated from him like heat from the fiery
furnace. His hand tailored slacks accentuated that butt, that still looked
like it belonged to a baby.] He retired to Kentucky after a short, but
successful career in films. He owns a horse (Stud) ranch. Has never married.
Lives a quiet secluded life, but has made a few TV appearances; rare, but
good. He obviously doesn't need the money.
MATT: [Dark Brown Hair, Short (5'10) Muscular. Ordinary Hair Cut. Clear
Complexion. Great Smile, seems a little dumb, has a Giant Dick and is
willing to display it to anyone who shows an interest.] In 1994 Mat became
the pastor of the First Church of God somewhere in Colorado.
JEFF: [Young American. University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. While
Jeff was in his early twenties he looked like he was in his mid teens. His
short stature helped portray that image. I thought he was cute.] In 1995
Jeff joined the Peace Corps and is currently serving in Central America.
LUKE: [Blonde, Tall (6'), not thin, not fat. Crew Cut Hair, rosy complexion.
Hazel Eyes, just a little fat, likes beer. Has an alcohol problem.] As
of 1994 Luke was a construction laborer, building houses in Colorado.
He married and has 3 youngsters, all girls.
BOBBY SCHULTZ: [16 year old. His complexion was light, but his eyes had
that almond shape. He had jet black hair. Racially he was half German
and half Japanese. Bobby looked more Caucasian than oriental. Bobby,
on the other hand, while sporting a deep tan, had very white skin below
his tan line. Oddly Bobby's Cock was smaller than Charlie's. He and his
younger brother lived with their parents at the end of "Charlie Pier" aboard
a 50 foot motor sailor.] Bobby and his 3rd wife live in Honolulu. They
have 2 children. He works for the Department of Defense.
CHARLIE SCHULTZ: [15, a year younger than Bobby. , Charlie looked more
oriental. His face was rounder, the color not quite dark, but not really
white. I noticed how well his unclothed body looked; a living sculpture.
A dark skinned, athletically built, 15 year old piece of the worlds greatest
art: the wind in his hair, ocean spray sparkling from his skin.] Charlie
lives in Seattle. While not married, he has lived with the same woman
for more than 16 years. They have 2 Children. One boy and one girl.
LARRY BUTLER: [A young fellow, perhaps 16 or 17, wearing a brown suede
western style jacket, and tight Levi Jeans. A Texas accent. He had golden
light brown hair worn shoulder length. Square face with Apple Pie, mom,
and America all over it. The fly on his Jeans were bleached several shades
lighter, showing exactly where his equipment was positioned. Little Larry
was still short of stature. Even though he was now almost 20, he still
had that Apple Pie and Mom look about him. His hair was still long, but
just a shade darker. He still dressed in Blue Jeans chosen for their tightness
rather than comfort. His body was still that of a youngster.] Sadly,
Larry died last year of AIDs. At the time he was managing director of
one of New York's Television Stations.
ROCKY KAUANUI: [He was short and thin. His skin was dark; almost black.
His Dark Brown Eyes bespoke a smoldering sensuality. About 16 or 17.
5'10" tall, slim waisted, VERY cute Butt, well developed chest from swimming,
jet black curly hair, dark skinned, and a beautiful smile. His Grandfather
was a famous Hawaiian Musician.] Rocky has become very political. Last
time I heard he was running for the state legislature.
KENO & KEOKI HOPII: [Age 15 & 16. Full blooded Hawaiian Brothers from
a rural village on Maui. The boys could have been identical twins, but
in fact were a year a part: 15 & 16. Their jet black hair was long, but
appeared shorter because of the curliness. They were a little less than
6 foot in height, and probably about 145 lbs. Their old, worn, blue jeans
suggested that they had gone swimming in them many times, as they had shrunk
so tight that you could see every detail of their beautifully curved butts.
They wore no shirts, their chests attesting to their abilities as swimmers
and surfers.] After the scandal they moved back to their tiny village
on Maui. Both boys married, and have children.
JOHN HANSHIT: [Mid Teens. Half Oriental Half Haolee. Otherwise similar
in body structure to Larry at the age of 15. A beautiful stranger. Black
pubic hair. Teenage Sensuality. From Hana Maui. Plays Hawaiian Guitar.
Falls in love with Don.] John has become a successful attorney. He married,
but the marriage was short lived. He recognized his homosexuality, and
has a life partner 10 years his senior. They live in the "Black Point"
area of Kahala in Honolulu.
COUSIN HAROLD: [Mid 20's. over 300 Lbs. Hana Maui. Untutored Musician
with a sense of humor. Eat, Beer, Talk story is his life. Owns a beat
up, lopsided VW Bug.] Died of heart failure in the early 90's.
PHILLIP: [was very blonde. (In 1950) He was a bit taller than the other
two. He was also a surfer, with the stance of a surfer. His voice was
the voice of a surfer, light, almost child like. His blue green eyes almost
matched the shade of the shallower water at Hanama Bay.] Phillip retired
from Broadcasting and now owns a restaurant in downtown Honolulu.
JAY: [The kid was fucking gorgeous. Long Blonde Hair. Surfer's build.
A little on the thin side. He was wearing swimming trunks and a Tee Shirt.
He was barefooted, but had a skate board alongside. The trunks seemed
molded to his behind. We sat in the Jacuzzi buck naked, and talked while
drinking 2 Long Island Ice Teas. Jay lived with his mother in Kailua.
He had an older brother with whom he did not get along. The family was
poor, the mother worked as a hotel maid in Waikiki. Jay and his brother
had a fist fight 2 days earlier, and Jay had told his mother he was going
to move out. His interests were almost entirely Body Boarding, and Skate
Boarding. His mother, Michelle, had 3 sons, sired by three different fathers.
Now, in her more mature life she had turned to "The Church and had been
saved from a life of sin." She attended the Kaimuki Christian Church at
least 3 days a week: Every Wednesday for Prayer Meeting; Every Sunday Morning
for Sunday School and Morning Service; Every Sunday night.] Within 6
months Jay had met a Korean woman several years older. She was the editor
of a small town newspaper in central California. He was her play toy.
She accepted the editorship of a Newspaper in San Diego. After 6 months
in that community she dumped Jay, who then returned to Hawaii where he
met, and then married a Japanese woman. Jay is employed as a manager of
a men's clothing store. They have one child; a girl.
JOE FRANKLIN: [Early Friday afternoon a young teenager breezed right passed
me, and into Bruce's office. I looked surprised as I had never seen him
before. Bruce brought him into the Music Section. "This is Joe Franklin.
He works in the back unpacking and putting things together on weekends,
and on some afternoons." Joe flashed me a big smile, and shook my hand
vigorously. "If you need anything moved or packed just tell Joe."] Joe
is working with his father in corporation number seven. He disagrees with
his father's ethics. He and I have been talking about starting a publishing
company on the Internet. It probably will happen.
MIKE BROWN: ["This is Mike Brown". The boy extended his hand. We shook.
"He's going to help me with the FFM if it's OK with you." ... I couldn't
believe what I now saw. Mike had the most beautiful cock I have ever seen.
First, it was large; probably between 9 and 10 inches. I have seen large
cocks before, and large isn't necessarily good looking. No, Mikes hard
cock was exceptional in it's aesthetic appearance. The curvature was upward,
but the size and weight of it caused it to project straight outward. The
diameter was significant, but not out of proportion to its length. The
coloring was almost as though he had a tan, with a slightly reddish cast
to it. The head was perfectly shaped. He was cut. The surgeon that had
performed the circumcision was a skilled, artistic genius. However, it
was the curvature that added that final touch of awesome architecture.]
Mike has his own business specializing in video photography; wedding, sporting
events, and the like in the Newport Beach area of California.
KEVIN RANGER: [Kevin Ranger was in his late twenties, was a little over
six feet tall, but yet had that boyish appearance that girls like to mother
or fantasize about, and boy's seek to make their best buddy. His hair
was not really blonde but close to it yet on the brownish side. It was
shoulder length, and gleamed from good care and brushing. He wore tight
fitting Levi's, a colorful "Grateful Dead" Tee shirt, and a western hat.
While he was tall, he was not skinny thin, and his clothes were designed
for younger men.] Kevin and Squirrely are very successful. Kevin divorced
his Japanese wife, and sends a support check to Seattle. However, he has
a deep seated "Need" to have his boys with him.
***DISCLAIMER****
My Teenage Heart is a work of FICTION. Celebrities like Don Ho, Sammy
Kapu, Aunty Clara, Hilo Hattie are names like The Grand Canyon, or Maui,
or any other public edifice, and are used in that same context. To be
more specific: Don Ho, Don Ho Enterprises, or any other celebrities name
used in this work, is used for purposes of flavor. They were not, in reality,
part of this story.