Date: Tue, 23 Oct 2012 10:35:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: ON MY HONOR 1

This story is about sexual activity between boy scouts and a scoutmaster.
It is total fiction.  There is no Poconola, MS.  Any resemblance between
persons or events depicted and actual persons or events is purely
coincidental.

If you are offended by depictions of explicit homosexual activity, or if
you are underage, please do not read further.  Otherwise, the author
invites you to enjoy the story and to respond with comments or criticisms.
The author would especially appreciate responses from readers who have been
involved in scouting.  All email will be answered.  Please address
macoutmann@yahoo.com.

Also, please remember that nifty.org needs your support to keep this
service available to all.  Please donate what you can.


			     "ON MY HONOR..."

			      by Macout Mann


				 Chapter 1
				   Sammy



"...I will do my best."

Sammy Brent had been in scouts only three months.  It was a hot, summer
Saturday afternoon, and he was knocking at the side door of Mr. Masters'
house, just like he'd been told to do.  Mr. Masters was the senior scout
master, and Sammy was working on his first merit badge.  Mr. Masters
generally left the everyday running of the troop to the assistant
scoutmasters, but he did take a special interest in some of the boys and
offered to be their merit badge counselor.  Sammy was very proud that
Mr. Masters wanted to help him with insect studies.  Bugs and stuff was
something he'd always been interested in.

Sammy was a sandy-haired twelve year old with deep set grey eyes and a
winning smile.  Of medium height, he had been very athletic since he was
first able to walk.  By the time he was four, he could exercise on the
park's monkey bars like a circus acrobat.  So even at twelve he had
developed a fine looking torso, to which his faded black t shirt clung
nicely, and well developed thighs, which filled out his somewhat threadbare
cut-offs.

Mr. Masters let him into a pine paneled den, which obviously had once been
a garage.  These days we'd call it a man cave.  It had a card table on one
side of the room, an overstuffed sofa and arm chair in the middle, and a
wet bar on the other side.  On the back wall there was a door leading into
the rest of the house next to a mounted deer head, testimony to
Mr. Masters' hunting prowess.

"Come in, Sammy," Mr. Masters said.  "I see you brought your scrapbook."

"Yes sir, I think I got a good start on it."

Duane Masters was in his fifties with a well-trimmed moustache and dark
hair, graying at the temples.  Was in very good shape for his age, and was
a highly respected realtor in the growing South Mississippi town of
Pocanola.  He and his wife of almost thirty years were pillars of the First
Pentecostal Church, and they had two lovely daughters.  One was recently
married and pregnant, the other was away visiting a relative before heading
to college.  He was also wearing a t shirt but with expensive Bermuda
shorts.

Sammy was aware that a third person was supposed to be present whenever he
met with his merit badge counselor, but nothing had been said about that,
so he figured that that was just a rule, like so many others.

"Let's sit here, so we can both look at your scrapbook," the scoutmaster
suggested.  They took their places at the gaming table, and Sammy described
which insects in the book he had made were beneficial and which were
harmful to humans.  As they talked, Sammy couldn't see where, but it seemed
his mentor had an itch.  He was scratching a lot.

"You've done a wonderful job this far," Masters complemented.

"I've been watching the caterpillar I'm cultivating," Sammy announced. "The
pupa's formed already.  I can bring you a butterfly soon.  I thought
raising an insect would be the hardest part."

"Let's plan to meet here next week and we'll see," Masters suggested.  Then
he said, "I'll bet you'd like something to drink.  I sure would."

"Thanks," the boy responded.

"Coke?"

"Great!"

"Have a seat on the sofa," Masters told him.  "I'll bring us something."

It was "coke" for Sammy, beer for the scoutmaster.

Also, Sammy noticed that a magazine had been left on the coffee table.  On
the cover was a naked dude with his dick at full mast and a gal seen from
behind staring at it.  "Oh," Masters seemed alarmed, "I shouldn't have left
that out, should I?

"But you're getting old enough to understand about that sort of thing,
aren't you?"

"I...I guess," the half-frightened boy answered.

"Surely you've played with yourself, maybe with a buddy."

Sammy's face became crimson.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Masters assured the boy.  He picked up the
magazine and stuffed it under his butt.  "Everybody does it.  And I like to
read sexy stories and look at sexy pictures.  Nothing wrong with that
either, but not everybody would agree."  This time he clawed his crotch in
full view of the boy.

"Drink your `coke,'" Masters urged.  "I like a beer this time in the
afternoon.  Would you like a taste?"

"I dunno," the boy responded.  "I aint never tasted beer."

"Some of the older scouts like it.  You may not at first."

He passed his pilsner glass to the adoring boy, and being the adoring boy,
Sammy drank a sip.  "It's bitter," he said.

"They say it's an `acquired taste,'" the older man observed.  "Maybe you'd
like to try more another time."

At the end of an hour Sammy left.  He was to return next Saturday at the
same time.  By then he might bring his butterfly.

Masters was just finishing his beer, when his wife came through the door to
the house.  "So," she sneered, "did you find another member for your little
club?"

"I got a great knack for picking `em." he laughed.

"You're going to get you ass in prison one of these times," she spat.

"You knew what I was like when we got married," he countered.  "And you've
done pretty good for yourself."



All week Sammy thought about his visit with Mr. Masters.  Especially the
dirty book and what he said about some of the older scouts liking beer.
Well, golly, Mr. Masters was an important guy, and if he said there wasn't
anything wrong with it, there must not be.

Sammy's father worked offshore.  He was on the rig for three weeks at a
time, then off for a week.  He might be home four days at most during that
week.  And when he was home he spent more time with Sammy's mama than with
Sammy.  One day Sammy would realize his dad was making up for lost time in
the bedroom.  Right now, he didn't understand, and Mr. Masters might easily
become the important adult male in Sammy's life.



When Sammy arrived at the Masters' house the following Saturday, he did
bring the pupa of the butterfly with him in a quart jar.  You could already
see the wings forming.  Very soon the butterfly would have completed its
gestation.  Sammy would have completed an important requirement toward his
first merit badge.

This time Mr. Masters again wore shorts, but these were much shorter, short
enough that when Masters lifted one leg his ample dick might plainly be
seen peeking out of the other.  They sat at the table again, however, until
they had completed their business.  Then once again Mr. Masters suggested
they have refreshment.

This time he brought two beers.  "I thought you might like to try a beer,"
he told Sammy.  "If you decide you don't want it, I can get something
else."

Masters continued to talk about merit badge requirements.  He mentioned
that one of the last things Sammy had to do was to study career
opportunities in the study of insects.  Then he said, "Hey, I just
remembered.  I have a book that could help you a lot with that.  Let me get
it for you."

He went into the house proper, but left the door cracked just enough so
that he could observe what Sammy was doing.  This time there was gay porn
on the coffee table.  On the cover were three naked youths.  The title was
The Hot Musketeers.  Sammy resisted the temptation to pick it up for a
couple of minutes.  He figured it would take Mr. Masters a while to find
the book, so he finally picked it up and started to check out the pictures.

Masters watched until he saw the tent that had formed in Sammy's tight
cutoffs, then burst back into the den with the book, which had been
secreted just inside the door.

Sammy, caught red handed, blushed and dropped the book back on the table.
Masters laughed and said, "Got you hard, did it?  That's o.k.  Gets mine up
too."

He put the book he'd retrieved on the coffee table next to the porno and
sat in the chair opposite the sofa.  He put his left foot on the ottoman,
which left his half-hard dick staring at the youngster down his right leg.
He seemed oblivious to the exposure.

"This is a really good book about biology careers," he suggested.  "I'd
forgotten I even had it.  Take it home.  I think you'll find it's useful."
His hand found its way to his groin, and as he grabbed it, more of the
fabric concealing his dick slipped up, revealing even more to the
youngster's surprised eyes.

Sammy had been sipping his beer.  It was beginning to taste better.  And he
was beginning to feel its effects.

Masters moved over to the couch and picked up The Hot Musketeers.  "This
book really turns me on," he admitted.  He turned to a page which showed
one of the musketeers being spit roasted.  "Ya gotta wonder what something
like that would feel like."  The tip of his hard-on was sticking a
half-inch beyond his shorts.  Sammy had tented up again.

"That sorta stuff don't really happen, does it?" Sammy asked.

"Sometimes," Masters replied, sounding his most fatherly.  He let his hand
fall on Sammy's privates.  "Guys just need to relax and take things as they
come."



Sure, he'd seen Mr. Masters' dick.  Mr. Masters didn't realize it, though.
Mr. Masters had touched him.  It had felt so good.  But was what he did
bad?  It had felt so good.  Sammy had a whole week contradictory thoughts.
His father was a hundred miles into the Gulf.  It wasn't something you
talked to your mother about.

The following Saturday, Masters signed off on all the requirements for the
insect study merit badge and suggested that the fishing badge might be a
good one for him to go for next.  "We could go fishing together," Masters
promised.

Today there was a pile of porn on the coffee table.  As they downed their
beers Masters said, "You know I like this shit, so why pretend?"

Sammy's father used words like "shit" a lot, but that was the first time
Mr. Masters had ever said anything obscene.  Sammy thought that meant
Mr. Masters was...well, like his father.

They looked at more pictures.  "I'd like to see your dick," Mr. Masters
said.  "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

They touched each other, but nothing more.

When time came for Sammy to leave, Mr. Masters gave him a great
complement. "Sammy, you're goanna be a really good scout.  I can just feel
it."

Then he added, "I've got a few boys from the troop that are sort of
special.  We get together a couple of times a month, on Friday nights
during school, on Wednesdays right now.  And we go camping together.  We
have a lot of fun.  Like men have.  I think you'd like to join our little
group."



Manly Simms was on track to become an Eagle.  Sammy was surprised when, as
the next meeting of the troop ended, Manly sought him out. Reaching down
and outlining his dick print with his thumb and forefinger, he said
"Mr. Masters says you're goanna join our group," he said.

"Sure am," Sammy proudly replied.

Manly's hand lightly brushed the younger boy's jewels. "Good," he said.



Copyright 2012 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.