Date: Tue, 25 Oct 2011 22:08:04 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Promiscuity and Purpose

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on
real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship
between the names used and that of any real person. Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com.

Michael Peterson


PROMISCUITY AND PURPOSE

CHAPTER I

EARLY ON

	My cousin Ned and I were about five or six when we first discovered
that sticking our fingers up our asses made playing with our penises more
pleasurable. What I find hard to understand is why it took us so long,
another year, to figure out that sticking our dicks in there was even
better. The heat moving up my soapy shaft as it slipped deeper and deeper
into Ned's slick hole that first time is a memory that has stayed with me
for over sixty years. We were in the bathtub at my house with the bathroom
door locked. Unfortunately, my concentration was broken by Ned's whispered
but incessant `Hurry up's!' which prevented the orgasm I sought. That's not
to say I didn't enjoy it. The incredible sensations generated as I slipped
in and out and around his rectum could well have been behind my nearly
insatiable sexual appetite for years to come. Then, still short of
fruition, the feeling of his cock moving around inside me moments later was
nearly as wonderful as when I was inside him. My dick stayed stiff as a
hammer handle the entire time. With me being a quiet little orifice, quiet
not out of any courtesy but because I was enjoying it so much, he got off
in a few minutes. Then, just as I was poised to stick myself back inside
him, my dear mother knocked on the bathroom door.

	"You've been in there long enough. It's your sisters' turn."

	 Unfortunately, my bedroom door didn't have a lock yet so doing
anything in there before everybody went to bed was far too risky, not that
my mother, had she caught us, would have punished me. As opposed to my
conservative, very correct father, Mother was incredibly open minded.
Thirty years later, she'd have been a flower girl. That's hippie for you
young folks.

	An example: Much to my father's consternation, she not only didn't
mind but encouraged nudity on the second floor, the idea being that the
less mystery there was to anatomical differences when we were little, the
less likely we'd have strong sexual needs or peculiarities once we'd grown.
Little did she know...

There were little occurrences such as when Ned, at age eight, always a bit
of a clown who enjoyed harassing others, particularly my sisters, parading
bare toward the bathroom, waved his long dick at my next youngest sister,
Patty.

	"Mommy," she complained with that rumpled up complaint face of
hers, "Ned's pointing his wee wee at me!" She was six.

	"Patty, it's called a penis. Ned, please don't point your penis at
Patty."

	Fortunately, Dad was at work already or there might have been a
change in the second floor dress regimen, and Ned might have had his fanny
smacked.

	About my parents, a man and woman who loved each other completely,
who never, to my or any of my sisters' knowledge, ever had a fight.

As mentioned, Ned and I were cousins. Our mothers were sisters. My father,
left with one leg shorter than the other due to a botched operation at a
city hospital after a bicycle car accident at age seven, was, since
graduating from high school in 1926, a hardware store clerk. He was a
decent man who loved all of us very much but Mother most of all. That love
was the reason he deferred so to her in the arena of child discipline. She
backed him on the need for chores and back yard cleanliness, but allowed
far more freedom in other areas than I think he'd have permitted had he had
his druthers. The tolerated nudity on the second floor for many years,
right up to Patty's first pubic hairs, would be a prime example. Our
relationship was more cordial than friendly but that's not to say he didn't
care. He just had difficulty expressing it.

Ned's father, on the other hand, due to a drinking problem and only a sixth
grade education as well as the effects of the Great Depression, had a hard
time finding and holding a job. So, in 1930, already with three children he
couldn't afford and a fourth, Ned, two months from being born, he joined
the Army primarily for the paltry but regular paycheck. Over the next
seventeen years, Ned only saw his father face to face six times, none of
them lasting more than a few hours.

	My mother, the eldest of six, didn't finish grade school due to the
family's poverty. which encouraged her to find work as a nanny at age
thirteen. The job left her with slots of free time during which she read
everything from novels to philosophy, giving herself probably the best
education of her nine child family including two younger brothers who
graduated from high school. Her father had been a wagon then truck loader,
whose work was always temporary and had the Irish yen for liquid spirits,
the latter greatly responsible for his death at thirty-eight in a head on
collision with a bus. Her mother died at forty-seven of overwork and
sadness due to her husband's untimely passing.

	It was my mother's reading, I believe, that turned her into what
would have been a free spirit thirty years later. She also inspired me and
then Patty to use books to broaden our perspectives. By the third grade, I
was reading full length novels like Call of the Wild and Horatio
Hornblower. My sister, Patty, was into more feminine fare like the Nancy
Drew series. Patty went on to become a teacher, the only one of us to go to
college, while Nellie and Deborah made do as housewives giving my
traditionalist father a moderate sense of parental success.

	Ned's mother can best be described as frustrated. I have no idea
why but she always seemed to be lamenting something though too many
children, particularly the fourth child after three girls, were probably in
the mix. Poor Ned grew up largely uncared for other than his basic needs of
food and clothing. There was pressure for him to drop out of school from
age eleven when certain kinds of earning opportunities were
available. Around that time he did share some of the fix-it income I was
generating by being a sort of helper and errand boy.

	When his father's monthly remissions began decreasing, probably due
to another woman, my ever responsible father helped make sure everyone in
his sister-in-law's family was fed and the rent was paid, that, of course,
squeezing our already very modest resources. Since I was the eldest and
seeing other sons of poor families do so, I sought out a means of
augmenting the family's income. It turned out that I was reasonably good at
fixing things. At eleven, with no knowledge of electricity, I figured out
that a neighbor's electric toaster had a bad connection in its plug,
cleaned it up, cut the wires back to an unburned portion and screwed it all
back together. That earned me a whopping twenty-five cents and led to other
opportunities. My father's employee discount at the hardware store made it
posible to buy a few tools. Gradually, by age thirteen, I had developed a
reputation as a minor jack of all trades.

	Due to the poverty and unhappiness in his house, Ned, more often
than not from age three, had his meals at mine. My mother, who saw how he
was being ignored, told her sister that bringing him into our home was her
way of sharing some of the financial burden as well as providing a playmate
for me. She was still saying that years later when we were ten and eleven.
So, the two of us grew up as brothers and became quite close, inseparable,
with a few relatives combining the two names, mine is Steve, and calling us
`Sted'.

We generally walked arms over each other's shoulders. Right from our first
day in school, homework was done together. Thanks in great part to my
mother, and the lack of TV during that era, we were both good students,
particularly in math, and scholastically competitive. Anything less that a
hundred on an arithmetic test gave the other serious bragging rights. Play,
whether at school or on the street, found us together. Disagreements over
what to do were always, if eventually, settled amicably with one, often
bored by the argument or anxious about fun time being lost, giving in,
though not always gracefully. Admittedly, I gave in more than Ned, mostly
due to the acrimony involved in his losing. But, woe to the kid who went
after either of us. If one was offended or threatened, the other would jump
in front and dare the offender to continue. Yes, we got beat up a few
times, but together.

Our personalities were complimentary, Ned was outgoing, even aggressive at
times while I was somewhat reserved. He generally had the ideas then I
figured out how to pull them off. We were `Sted', two boys who were quite
comfortable with one another.

The intimate sex just sort of happened, beginning before my earliest
memories, probably from watching each other play with themselves, that
aided by mother's second floor nudity was okay policy and a lot of time
alone in our toyless bedroom after losing another battle to my three
sisters over which radio program was tuned in, few of which we liked. We
boys were outnumbered. I do recall one particular day, the both of us
sitting naked on our bed with the light coming through the simple linen
window curtain illuminating our flexing little bellies while the two of us
clumsily but ultimately successfully masturbated one other to dry orgasms.
We'd found that, for some reason, it felt better if someone else's hand was
on one's penis. Ned tended to `get the feeling', as we called it, before
me. When it took too long for me to get there, Ned would insist his arm was
tired. Then, I had to finish myself off. That may have been what got us
into oral sex. I only remember that we were doing it at six in the tub, one
at a time standing while the other, sitting on his legs, sucked, assured by
being bathed that what we took into our little mouths was clean,. I
remember one day when we neglected to push the door's slide bolt all the
way. Nellie, three years old at the time, burst into the room, in a rush to
pee. Ned was doing me. I don't think she saw the actual mouth to cock
contact, just our positions, my erection and our sudden moves, his
backward, mine down. With the toilet right beside the tub, she saw my hand
covering up.

All that came out of her mouth as she peered down into my crotch was a sing
songy, "I'm gonna tell."

However, she must not have been able to figure out what she'd actually
seen, or was quickly distracted on leaving the bathroom, because there was
no later comment from anyone.

The sex was, for the most part, merely fun, something to do. We certainly
weren't lovers in the romantic sense of the word. The affection was strong
but brotherly. We did hug one another occasionally, usually in times of
stress such as when Ned's mother became particularly abusive or, later,
when we began to realize how different we were from the other boys around
us. There was some experimental lips to lips smooching, mouth closed, until
one day we observed a teen couple in an alley really get into it. That led
to a single giggling, saliva dripping session of lip and tongue sucking
that, since neither of us had taken it seriously, later became a temporary
proof that we weren't `fags'. Note the word `temporary'. And, a couple of
times during after dark face to face fucking, light kissing just sort of
happened.

Right after the first time, Ned, nine at the time, who'd been on the
receiving end, commented with his clown smile that maybe now, "We gotta get
married."

He'd already screwed me so we lay back side by side and wondered if other
boys were being as intimate as the two of us. We decided there must be
others, even citing a few possible pairings.

In the end, I said, "It's `cause we're brothers." With that, Ned rolled on
top of me and planted a wet kiss followed by a giggle and wrestling induced
raspberries.

For a variety of reasons, we had a certain degree of awareness that what we
were doing was not socially acceptable. Part of it just might have been
genetic because, thanks to my mom's attitude toward nudity, it wasn't until
the nuns hit us with their chastity nonsense in first grade that we had any
idea there need be any shame regarding any of our body parts. Another
factor was the reticence on the part of some adults, my father in
particular, to answer our `where do babies come from' types of questions.
Even mother hedged a bit there with the confusing eggs and fertilizer
answer less the necessary mechanics. Finally, there were our peers'
attitudes and stories about being admonished or punished for exhibition or
touching. So, by age seven, we were careful to keep our fun and games
private though not entirely.

There were no thoughts that I might be in any way different from the other
boys until about age ten. Still, at six and in school, I became aware that
I liked to look at other boy's genitals but others did as well.

I remember Ned bringing up my staring at exposed penises in the boys' room
with something like, "I saw you looking at so and so's dick," a remark
quickly followed by, "Benny's is bigger," or some such.

With that first opening, we began expressing our observations to each other
but, for some reason, knew not to say anything to or near others. Over the
years, I've wondered if that caution might have been part of the
evolutionary package folks like us were born with. Our discussions went so
far as to include suppositions as to what it would be like to suck a
particular boy's cock, often due to it being circumcised or not. Ours were
both cut and, washed, tasted just like the skin on any other completely
hairless part of our bodies. We knew from experimentation that fuzzy parts
like lower legs and forearms were different. Ned was sure uncircumcised
penises had to have a different taste, even a foul one due to the probable
lack of cleanliness under the foreskin. We assumed that boys with such
wouldn't be able to get under there to wash. Most of our observations took
place at our parochial school's boys' room which, back then in the
thirties, had a single long urinal affording ease of opportunity to check
out other boys' organs. No one seemed to notice or find it strange that
we'd look. Some, on catching us staring, would thrust their hips forward to
show as much as possible. A few without belts would even push their pants
down below crotch level.

"Big, ain't it?"

During the warmer months, before and after swimming at a local public pool,
we'd spend a long time in the dressing room watching other boys in the
buff, then later discussing who had what, particularly when there were
erections. They were always more interesting.

	"You see the little kid with the fat testicles?" Mom had taught me
all the correct terms. "I'll bet he gets a really neat feeling."

	The lad under discussion was an eight year old who lived two blocks
from us and went to a public school. We were nine, still too shy to try
going after another boy. A year later we might have, well, did, though not
that kid.

The one we did pursue was named Bernard, not Bernie. He hated Bernie. I was
ten, Ned still three months shy of ten. We'd observed Bernard's slim body
at the pool. I had a thing about flat tummies and the gathering of muscle
into a sort of hangar for the cock, my pre-science vision of an ideal lower
torso. We played with him in the water then dressed with him. I asked him
if he wanted to come play at our house. He agreed and went with us up to my
bedroom. Impatient Ned waited only a few minutes before suggesting we beat
off together. Bernard suddenly remembered he had to be home by whatever
time it was.

Lesson learned, the next boy we invited over, a nine year old named Lester
Pearson, with rather common parts but interested in playing with us, was
shown my three comic books. After he'd gone through all three far too
slowly for Ned and me, we suggested taking a bath. He agreed and had no
problem stripping right there in the bedroom and traipsing down the hall
nude. Jerking off in the tub was also acceptable. But, when Ned suggested
we do each other because it felt better that way, our new friend calmly and
without any rancor explained that only homosexuals, the word he used, did
such things. Were we to touch each other, it could cause us to never want a
woman and, as a result, not make babies as God had wanted us to
do. Discourse over, he completed his masturbation.

	That, of course, initiated a discussion about our own desires and
actions. I was approaching eleven. Neither of us identified our desires as
in any way being `homo', `queer' or `fag'. Only boys who acted and spoke
like girls fit into that category. Even when we overheard twelve year old
Mike McMullen talking about a `fag' sucking his dick, the connection
remained tenuous. Careful not to anger God, Ned pointed out that he fully
expected to get married one day and have at least four sons.

I wasn't as certain. "Lots a guys don't get married."

	Some time later, on the same general topic, again with biblical
threats as a backdrop, I pointed out that, "Everybody jerks off and nothin'
happens to `em. I'll bet our fathers did it." Even as I said it, I couldn't
conjure up an image of my stodgy father touching himself for anything other
than to pee or wash. It was hard for me to imagine him having done what was
necessary for me and my sisters to exist.

	"And ain't nothing happened to us and look at all we do," added
Ned.

I worried there still might be a sin in there somewhere. After all, the
nuns regularly admonished us to be chaste and were amazingly capable of
explaining the meaning of the word without mentioning any specific body
parts or activities.

	I listened carefully to Ned's speech, alert for any sign of
effeminacy. There was none.

"Lester's crazy," I declared finally. "And the nuns too" almost followed
but the imbedded `fear of God' put a brake on it. Anyhow, I assured myself,
we weren't kissing each other like fags probably did, at least not as I
imagined they would.

	Though Ned stayed over that night, we didn't have any sex, nor the
next, a Saturday, with mass attendance and the weekly confrontation with
God and the need to be `pure' for communion looming in the morning. Sitting
in the pew with my extended family including Ned and all three of his
sisters, I had a hard time looking up at the figure of Jesus on the cross,
his face contorted in pain, pain possibly the result of my unconfessed
sexual sins, unconfessed to a certain extent due to the increasing lengths
I resorted to in confessional avoidance, not that I'd have admitted much
more than the standard getting angry at one's sister or lying to one's
mother. Years, a lot of years, later, I wondered if confessing what Ned and
I, at ten and eleven, were actually doing would have brought on an
invitation to the priest's bedroom.

	Back home, changing into play clothes with Ned, I worried, "What if
Lester's right and we're not supposed to be doing sex?"

	"Everybody does sex." He sang, "My Bonnie lies over the ocean, my
Bonnie lies over the sea, my papa lies over my mama, and that's how I came
to be." He finished up by pushing down his underpants and flipping that
snake of his. We both loved that little ditty, the song too.

	Rather than listen to the Fred Allen, Jack Benny and Phil Harris
shows on the radio that night, comfortable that my sisters were gathered
around our second hand Bendix, Ned and I did a sixty-nine on top of my bed.

	Further pushing bothersome doubts aside, we moved on to another
seduction attempt. Ned flashed a hard on beside a small classmate, Nicky
Stenson, at the urinal and suggested they beat off inside a toilet
stall. Nicky went along with that but when Ned wanted to see his bare ass,
Nicky zipped up and later made a comment to another boy which was overheard
by one of the girls and got back to our teacher, Miss Pudlovsky. She asked
Ned about it and he claimed it was a joke. After a required apology to
Nick, who hadn't mentioned the masturbation portion of the story, the
matter was thankfully dropped.

	An historical note to put the time frame of all this into
perspective: the world was embarking on the horror show that was to be
called World War II. The Japanese Imperial Army was wreaking havoc across
Asia. Germany had invaded most of Europe and was threatening to land in
Great Britain. America, though not yet officially involved, had put
together the Selective Service Agency which was initiating a limited
military draft. American industry was providing, courtesy of government
loans, much of the military supplies and equipment being used by the
British and would shortly be doing the same for the Russians.

	Roosevelt's propaganda machine was in full wartime mode pumping out
everything from radio ads to posters to movies preparing the country for
what he knew was inevitable. We kids were learning to hate the Nazis and,
in our Catholic school, give pennies to help the poor Chinese children
being abused by the evil Japanese. Still, it would be a year before it
became, for us, more than a news story.

	While all this was going on, Ned and I moved on to our next, and
most successful to date, sexual conquest, one Charlie Miller, aged nine,
two grades and thirty IQ points behind us. Ned liked his big rear end. I'd
seen his unexceptional cock in the boys' room a few times, unexceptional
except once when he had an obvious hard on and, giggling, stuck it out for
us to see. Ned invited him to join us at the public pool when it opened a
few weeks later. In the dressing room, Ned waved his impressively long dick
at him then pretended to be beating off. Charlie emulated, producing an
immediate and somewhat larger than expected erection. From there, we easily
convinced him to join us in my bathroom for a masturbation session, then
into the tub and finally bent over the side of the tub. We both fucked him
that day. He managed to get inside me but I don't think he got off.

	Our success with Charlie kept us content for about six months with
Saturday sessions in the tub or my bedroom. Being the only boy and the
eldest among the children is what merited my own room. The sliding bolt
locks we all had, and I'd proudly installed shortly after the toaster
repair, came at a discount from my father's hardware store. Charlie seemed
to like being screwed, especially with me sucking him while Ned poked in
from behind with that great dong of his. Mine, by the way, was fairly
average. Ned's, from age nine, according to my ruler, was just a hair short
of four inches long when fully erect and perpendicular to his body.

	Next, Ned and I became enamored with another nine year old, Billy
Turner. For me, it was love. While Charlie was plain, those big buns being
his only outstanding asset, Billy had it all: blond hair, blue eyes, a
bulbous backside, a soft but well formed body and a smile worthy of a
Colgate ad. His only appearance liability, one that caused a lot of abuse
from his public schoolmates, were his thick glasses, not as thick as the
Coke bottle bottom pair worn by poor Charlotte Means in Patty's class, but
formidable enough for him to be called `four eyes Turner' and affect his
position on the local social ladder. Still, while Charlie Miller had been a
relatively easy conquest, Billy took far more finesse. For one thing, it
was fall and there was no swimming pool dressing room in which to get him
naked and playing with himself. And, he had a group of kids his own age
from which Ned and I found him difficult to peel away. If we'd had money to
spend on him, it probably would have been a lot easier but America was
barely out of the Great Depression and just getting involved indirectly
into World War II. I was lucky my father had a job. I did receive an
allowance, five cents twice a week, for candy at school, not much different
from many of my other poor classmates, more than some.

	Though neither of us was an athlete or particularly high on the
social ladder, we did have Ned's popularity as a joke teller. "Benny and
Bobby were late for school so they took the shortcut across the railroad
trestle. As they were crossing, a train came along and hit Bobby in the
butt, sending him off to the hospital. When Benny got to school late, the
teacher asked where Bobby was. `He got hit in the ass by a train.' The
teacher corrected him, `You mean rectum.' Benny answered, `Wrecked him
none, darn near killed him!'" He used `darn' since Clark Gable's infamous
remark in `Gone With The Wind' had only partially legitimized
`damn'. Anyway, that joke and many others always got a raucous laugh.

	That was the tool Ned used to draw Billy into our little web. Ned
got his jokes from older boys, books and magazines like `Boys' Life' at
school then later, with me, at the public library. The older boys were
generous with their gags because Ned, even at ten, had the best delivery
and facial antics, always getting the most guffaws when he told them. So,
Ned found some new jokes and gave them unused to Billy to regale his
buddies and improve his popularity. The promise of more jokes got him to my
bedroom. The first attempt at a circle jerk scared him away and put me into
a panic. It took a month, most of my recess candy, often melting from being
in my pocket until after school, and a lot more jokes to get him
back. Then, on his third visit, Ned got him into a strip poker game.

	"I ain't sucking nobody," he insisted.

	Ned and I looked at each other. Was our little friend less innocent
than we'd surmised?

	Ned felt he could up the ante from just stripping to, "Unh uh, all
the loser's gotta do is beat off the winner."

	That got the game started. Ned's cheating assured the outcome
though I almost lost the last hand. My attention was entirely affixed on
that gorgeous bare body and the lovely soft penis nestled between milky
white thighs. It required great self control not to reach out for a
feel. Not losing was sheer luck.

	Naturally, even allowing glasses as an article of clothing, Ned
won. His cock was already at half mast when Billy reluctantly took hold of
it to comply with the rules.

"All you guys ever think of is sex," he commented.

	After his flight a month and a half before to avoid mutual
masturbation, his easy acceptance of having to do what he was doing had me
wondering if his mind was similarly directed.

	"Ain't fair you gotta do it and nobody's doin' you," said Ned
sympathetically with a coy grin, "so I'm gonna be fair and do you," already
working little Billy's nice cock as he spoke.

Billy didn't resist that either, opening his legs to make it easier,
obviously finding it enjoyable. From there, it was easy to take him the
rest of the way, over a month or so, to fucking and getting fucked. As
opposed to Charlie Miller's first attempt, Billy did get off up my ass
after figuring out that fast, full penetrations were the most enjoyable. I
found his ass even better than Ned's and Charlie's though it was almost as
nice having his very hard, thick cock in my mouth and that wonderful body
in my hands. He did think it strange that I'd want to suck him and
continued to refuse sucking either one of us but was having far too much
fun to stop participating in the anal action. I succeeded in restraining my
desire to do some lips to lips but did fanaticize about it.

	Our schoolmate Mike McMullen's remarks about the `fag' who sucked
him, the realization of how much I enjoyed looking at Billy's naked body
writhing during sex, and mostly, my unrequited desire, no, passion, to make
out with him, all together brought on the first conscious realization that
I might be different from other boys who at that time were, as best as I
could tell, completely disinterested in other boy's genitals and either
neutral regarding girls or going after them. I would jerk off at night with
visions of Billy's pecs hardening as he masturbated or his tummy muscles
flexing as he fucked Ned. I dreamed of the two of us in bed making out, our
bodies entwined, his tongue deep inside my mouth.

	Armed with the library card mother had arranged when I complained
of a lack of new reading material in the closet sized school library, I
went to the city's main library downtown in search of information about boy
boy sex. Unable to bring myself to ask any of the library personnel about
what I was looking for, I went to the index cards, first under boy sex
then, finding nothing there, under sex, boys. That also didn't exist. Under
sex, there were at least several hundred cards. Self-consciously, I started
going through them, sure everyone nearby was noticing which cards I was
perusing. Nonetheless, I checked every one and found nothing that seemed to
fit except references to homosexuality so, with a number of titles written
down, I went to the shelves and, even more self-consciously, started taking
down books. They were useless, all using words I would have had to look
up. It was nineteen forty-one. Kinsey was seven years away.

	I left the library frustrated, more confused and concerned about my
sexual orientation than before.

	I brought it up during Ned's next sleepover. "You think we're
homosexuals?"

	Ned thought about it then, "I like girls too. So what? Anyway,
everybody likes sex, except sisters." He meant the nuns at school, not the
three biddies back at his house. We'd already heard stories about Susie,
five years older than Ned.

	I had no interest in girls and knew it. It was a sign of my
confidence in our relationship that I was then able to say, "I just like
boys."

	Ned studied his toes then said, "I like `em too. It's just what we
like. So what?"

	"I wanna kiss Billy."

	He chuckled. "You better not. He might get mad and never come
back."

	"He likes what we do too much. Anyway, maybe he'll let me."

	"He don' wanna suck. That's almost the same as kissing. He ain't
gonna do it."

	After a brief bout of depression over that sad fact, I asked, "How
come I wanna kiss Billy and we don't kiss?"

	"We kissed some."

	"That was different. I wasn't thinking about it." As mentioned,
we'd kissed a few times, just lips to lips during frontal fucks or that one
wild giggly session after seeing a mixed sex pair of teens go at it.

	"You wanna kiss me now?"

	"No, I wanna kiss Billy."

	"Well, that's `cause you're my cousin. We're like brothers. It's
different. Anyway, I think I'd like to kiss Billy too. Anyway, he's gonna
say no."

	That was a surprise. Ned had always seemed to like sex for purely
physical reasons. I saw myself as the more romantic. Then, I thought,
kissing might feel good as well as being romantic. "We gotta get us a kid
likes kissing."

	"I'll bet Charlie would. He likes it when we fuck him."

	"But he never sucked us either, just fuck. Anyhow, I really like
Billy, a lot."

	Ned rolled to me, his silly grin pasted on. "But you love me. Kiss
me."

	I did. The tongue on tongue didn't stop until the hard ons pushing
into each other's guts demanded more attention.

	Charlie didn't like kissing, rejected it before my lips got to his.

	An incident with my sister Patty entered and affected my mind. It
was a Thursday evening. We thought my sisters were down-stairs listening to
the radio. Ned and I had just removed our clothes in preparation for a
bath, and all that could entail. As we walked bare ass, dicks at the ready,
into the hall, we ran smack dab into Patty who had the same plans, less the
`entail' part, and was likewise naked.

	"I'm going first. You take too long," she insisted. Then she
noticed our hard ons. "Tssk. I know what you two are gonna do."

	After looking down and flipping what motivated her remark, Ned
said, "You do it too."

	"No, I don't. Just boys, nasty boys like you do it."

	"Bull! Every girl I know does it."

I wondered who Ned was talking about.

	"So, at least we don't do it in the bathroom and make everybody
wait."

By then she was looking at Ned playing with his long organ.

"Girls, girls don't do it all the time like boys, just sometimes."

Keep in mind, she was nine, and Catholic, in a school run by nuns. Did it
make a difference?

	There was something on her mind. We waited for it to come out. Ned
urged it on by developing a full four inch erection.

"Wanna touch it?"

	"No!" But she was looking around, perhaps to see if anyone else was
watching. "Okay."

	Ned moved his hand away. Patty stepped forward and touched Ned's
cock with the tip of her index finger, pushing it down slightly.

He said, "Go ahead, hold it."

	She wrapped her fingers around it lightly, briefly tightened up,
then let go.

	Ned took the next step. "Let me touch yours."

	Patty frowned. "Okay, but just touch, on the outside."

	Ned stepped to her and ran his fingers between her legs, over the
fat lips of her vagina.

	Patty asked, "Show me how you, you know, do it."

	I said, "Okay, but in the bathroom. You can say you had to pee if
anybody comes up."

	Behind the closed door, we both began masturbating ourselves.

"You too," said Ned.

	Patty used her index and middle fingers and rubbed up and down her
little clitoris.

	My curiosity was aroused, along with my lust. "Lemme see what it's
like inside, just see."

	She opened her legs wide and spread her vagina lips with the
fingers of both hands. I leaned over but could see very little.

	"I can't see nothing; Sit down on the toilet."

	She did, opened her legs and again pulled the lips apart. I got on
my knees and looked. Ned joined me.

He commented, "There's skin in there."

	"It's called a hymen, stupid. It's so kids like you can't fuck
little girls like me." Legs closed. "Okay, now let me see you do it, all
the way."

	Ned hadn't stopped. Seeing the reddish, wet insides of my sister
had turned me on so I was well on my way.

"You too," I said.

She put her fingers back to work, concentration on her face, eyes
closed. "Tell me when it comes so I can see."

"You too."

It didn't take long for either of us. Ned was first.

"Now!" He let go.

Patty opened her eyes, stood and grabbed Ned's throbbing penis.

I came. "Me too,"

She took mine in her other hand, the one she'd been masturbating with. It
was warm and felt great.

	"Finish yours," ordered Ned.

	She let go of us. "You can't see nothin' and I ain't gone let you
put your finger in me."

	"That ain't fair," I said. "You got to feel us getting our
feeling. We get to feel yours too."

	"Unh uh, okay, but I put your finger there and you don't do
nothin', just feel where I put it."

	We agreed. She sat down and got back to work. It took a while. My
horns were quick to return. I considered seeing if she'd let us fuck her in
the ass but, sure she'd reject it and maybe say something, I just
watched. When her lips pressed harder against each other and her eyes were
squeezed shut, I knew she was close.

	I knelt again in front of her, Ned at my side. He stuck his finger
between my ass cheeks and poked at my hole. I pushed his hand away. Eyes
still closed, Patty held her free hand out. I beat Ned and gave her
mine. She fumbled around until she had my index finger and put it right at
her opening. Her working fingers repeatedly touched mine.

	She breathed in, took her masturbating fingers away and poked mine
about an inch inside and down. It was wet and warm but that was it. She
seemed to shiver. "Feel it?"

	"Unh uh. Where?"

	She pulled me in against her hymen. "Now?"

	"No."

	With another deep breath, she said, "Well, it's there."

	I had no doubt she was being truthful with us and just figured
that's the way it was with girls.

	After we swore each other to secrecy, we let her take her bath,
went into my bedroom, locked the door and fucked each other, hard.

	Still uncertain about my desires but seeing the possibility of
being excited by a girl, I decided to give one a try. Even Ned hadn't a
real girl friend yet but I was older, by six months. So, with Ned rooting
me on and making suggestions, I focused on Judy Frontberry, a moderately
pretty, shy new girl in our class. She liked my strawberry blond hair. Her
remarks about it were how I found out what it was called. I'd just thought
I was a blond with a few freckles. I began by splitting my twice a week
candy with her. She thought that was nice and sat with me by the playground
wall. Unfortunately, I hadn't the slightest idea what to talk about and
mostly sat sucking on a Sugar Daddy or munching on a Tootsie Roll while she
watched boys nearby tossing baseball cards. Billy rolled his eyes when he
saw us.

	To test her level of sensitivity to sexual matters, one day in the
playground during recess, with Judy in the crowd, Ned told his great god
Thor joke. "Back in the days of the ancient Greeks, there was a bunch of
gods, not just one like we got now. There was different gods for different
things like rain and trees and all and one for sex. The sex god was named
Thor and he had a really big dick." Smiling, he glanced down at his pants
drawing a few knowing chuckles. "Well, one day, the great god Thor is out
in a field and he finds this woman he likes and he tells her she's gotta
take off her dress. That's all they wore back then, no bras or underwear or
nothing. So she does and he fucks her hard until he cums. Then he stands
up, puts his arms out and yells, `I am the great god Thor' and goes back
down and fucks her again. Then, when he cums that time, he gets up again
and yells, `I am the great god Thor' and fucks her again, three more
times. The last time when he gets up and yells, `I am the great god Thor,'
she says, `You think you're Thor, I'm tho' thor I can hardly pith!'"

	Even Judy laughed, though with her head down.

	Ned thought I should invite her over to the house but her mother
flat out forbade her from doing "any such thing" as Judy quoted her. Ned's
next suggestion was walking her home to see if there was any privacy
there. She was the middle child of seven, several of whom were always
around, all of whom shared a single bedroom with homebrew bunk beds so that
wasn't going to offer any possibilities for intimacy either. I wasn't
completely disappointed because, as I realized, I wasn't really interested
in intimacy other than actually trying to fuck her which the rosary around
her neck seemed to indicate wasn't going to happen. As a matter of fact,
rather than being frustrated by all the impediments to bedding Judy, it was
a relief. I knew that Billy Turner's body was far more interesting to me
than any girl's, and that, yes, I was different. However, it still seemed
possible that, eventually, I would like girls and get married, with the
prospect of having sons, as Ned hoped, being the most enticing reason to do
so.

	Right about then, the Japanese made their ill advised invasion of
Pearl Harbor. Everyone's attention turned to the war our country had been
thrust into. Perhaps `thrust' isn't entirely accurate as we'd been
providing arms and equipment to the anti `Axis' nations for well over a
year. The Selective Service went into action and sent out enlistment
letters to a huge number of young and sometimes not so young men. By the
first of March 1942, many of our schoolmates' fathers, brothers, cousins,
you name it, had either been called up or volunteered to battle the evil
Nazis and Japs. Others were working in factories hastily retooled to
manufacture military equipment and supplies.

Gasoline and certain kinds of foodstuffs were or were about to be
rationed. Newspapers and the radio were full of stories about the war and
the horrors being inflicted on conquered innocent civilians by our
enemies. President Roosevelt was calling on everyone to step up and do
their part. Ned and I and our schoolmates had to make do with expressing
our hatred for the enemies of freedom, except, of course, for a refurbished
Stalin who was on `our side', with a more patriotic singing of the national
anthem and occasional drawings supposedly to be sent overseas to our
valiant warriors.

	Other than some dietary changes having something to do with types
of food needed for the troops, our lives remained relatively the same as
always: school, homework, chores, my occasional repair jobs and a
continuing full sex life. Charlie, by then ten and getting fatter, was
coming around less but my beautiful Billy was with us at least once a
week. He even allowed brief lips to lips kissing once each session. Though
still a little boy between the legs, he too was growing but at pretty much
the same rate as us. We were doing a lot of both sides with him, Ned
behind, me in front, which he liked very much. When I lay head to toe with
him, he would jerk me off. There was never any sign he might be willing to
take me into his mouth.

Since he was sleeping with me nearly every night, Ned and I were sucking
and screwing each other several times a week. I did feel bad for the poor
Chinese kids our nuns were hustling funds to feed but it was hard to
commiserate. Our poverty and theirs didn't seem that much different other
than their lack of food. Of course, no one was shooting at or bombing us
but, never having experienced it except for the sanitized version in the
movies, it was difficult to relate to.

	The war did come home somewhat when a pair of soldiers visited
Ned's mother with news that her husband had been killed, not in a battle,
but in an accidental munitions explosion at a base in Alabama.

Ned's reaction was a cold, "Fuck him. He never done nothing for me, the son
of a bitch." Despite the bravado, he was very quiet for several days,
pensive.

I hugged him in bed that first night. He didn't resist. It's possible he
was crying but he kept his back to me and wouldn't let me touch his face.

	When I told Billy about it two days later, he came home with us and
lay naked with Ned sandwiched between us while Ned fucked him slowly for
nearly half an hour, wordlessly getting off three times. My cock was inside
Ned most of the time but just there. I let him do all the work until I felt
him throb that third time and quickly took myself the rest of the way.

	Billy came over four days in a row including that Saturday,
consoling Ned with words and his warm body. Since Billy's father had left
his mother years before, it seemed likely he understood what it was like.

	Ned wasn't the last to lose a parent or other relative. The father
of Lester, our religious friend, was killed on a Pacific island in June
during that trying period when American forces were being routed from their
bases out there. One of Charlie's cousins died during a Japanese attack on
his ship in that same part of the world.

	With each death, the venom we felt toward the Japs and Krauts, as
they were called, grew. Lester couldn't wait until he was sixteen at which
time he planned to lie about his age and kill as many of the `slant eyed
devils' as he could. The words came from a movie we'd all seen, one of many
of that type in the theaters at the time. Even cartoon characters killed
our enemies. Bugs Bunny became a flag toting patriot. Ned was all for it. I
wondered about the Japanese and Germans not involved, perhaps not wanting
their country to be at war with anybody, especially innocent children,
particularly the boys, being grouped with the men killing Allied soldiers.

	For some reason I've never been completely able to pull together,
nearly everyone's grades went down that first year of the war, Ned's and
mine included. It wasn't drastic, B's instead of A's and so on though
failures by others increased. In many cases, it might have been because so
many parents were both working, women in factories producing military
hardware and the businesses that supported them and men often off in some
capacity with the military.

	That was my case. My mother took an office job in a small factory
producing electronic components for a larger plant outside the city. They
arranged her hours so that she was able to be home by five and fix our
dinners. My father took care of breakfast and we, except for Debbie,
prepared and packed our own lunches. Patty took care of our youngest
sister.

So, with mother there to make sure Ned and I did our homework, there really
was no reason for our studies to suffer. Of course, we were in sixth grade
and the material was more advanced, more difficult. Who knows? Billy
managed to maintain his as always B+ average. Lester failed English and
Social Studies and was required to repeat fourth grade. Other kids, though,
whose level of supervision dropped were no longer doing all their homework
or doing it well.

Something else that did change was our sex; not the amount nor what we did
which actually became more varied. It was just more subdued, kinder
really. Even Ned was more loving, holding me as he fucked, every once in a
while kissing my head or shoulder when doing it from behind or on the lips
or cheek when in front. At night, we often found ourselves embracing,
frequently sleeping one half on top of the other. A couple of times, with
our faces on the same pillow, we gave each other sometimes long good night
kisses. It might have been our age though neither of us was showing any
signs of entering puberty.

What could have been behind all that was a feeling of impermanence caused
by the constant reports of death and grievous injury, not just by our
troops, but by the totality of people of all ages in the war zones. Kids
our age were being blown apart by bombs dropped by both sides. The Japanese
had already attacked American soil. Were England to fall, everyone was sure
the Germans would be coming after us. We lived in a major port city with
several important arms manufacturers not far by air from the Atlantic
Ocean. There was no doubt we'd be a primary target. Ned and I could be
blown up too.

	Over the next year, due to Charlie's generally available backside,
the unabated excitement of sex with Billy and the security of my physical
as well as spiritual relationship with Ned, any sexual orientation issues I
might have to face later in life became no more than an occasional
itch. Billy particularly pushed back my worries with his uncritical
acceptance of my lovemaking. I think he enjoyed my licking all over his
middle and down between his legs. Then, one day after bathing, having
personally cleaned off and out his anus, I lifted his legs and stuck my
tongue where it had never ventured before. The desire to go there had been
growing ever since the first time I mouthed that nice lump below his
balls. I couldn't get in very far but just getting inside that soft fleshy
rim felt good right down to my gonads. Billy's only reaction had been proof
enough he liked the soft invasion. He pulled his legs higher and his dick
stayed stiff as a bed post. It only required a minute or so of fellatio
afterwards to carry him to orgasm.

	Later, Ned, who'd been watching me, asked what it was like.

"Chocolate pudding," was my answer.

He later did it with Charlie, telling him it was to better lubricate his
hole. As he fucked him, Ned looked at me and nodded that it had been okay
but nothing more.


Sometime after Holy Week, our school's number one warmonger and religious
fanatic (He was a prayer book carrying altar boy.), Lester Pearson, started
sitting with us during lunch, not talking very much, just sitting. I got
the impression he had something to say but wasn't able to articulate it,
possibly due to the presence of others. Twice, he walked briefly with us
after school but then headed off after a block or so. Finally, on the third
afternoon, he quietly asked me, not Ned, me, what else other than beating
off we did. Unsure of what he really wanted to know and a bit suspicious of
his motives, I answered, "Just jerk off. Why?"

"I think that stuff in the bible is bull."

The lack of the `shit' after `bull', which is the way most kids would have
put it around each other, crippled the authenticity of his remark. I waited
to see where he was going.

"Can I go to your house with you?"

Ned, of course listening in, smelled a new sexual adventure. Being less
cautious than I, he whispered, "Let him."

So, with plans that Lester would have to be the leader of anything beyond
standard masturbation, we took him along.

In my bedroom, door closed, hand on his crotch, he said, "Wanna, you know?"

As we opened our pants, I asked, "So why don't you believe the bible no
more?"

"Not all of it, just the part about doin' stuff, you know, sex."

We only lowered our pants. He took his off, along with shoes and socks,
then sat beside me, a stiff three inches at the ready. "Wan' me to do
yours?"

His idea.

"Sure." I took hold of his after he began wanking mine.

Ned, the adventurer, sat on the other side of him and lay back, his big
wong, unattended, stiffly bobbing over his belly. Lester took the hint and
did us simultaneously. It wasn't great, just different. His cock was like a
flesh covered stone pillar. I did him slowly, worried if he was about to
cum.

Ned, who later told me Lester's lack of skill was causing his cock to
soften, kicked off his shoes and, using his feet, worked his pants down his
legs to the floor as he was unbuttoning his shirt. Finally naked, he sat
beside Lester and said, "You suck me, I'll suck you."

Lester's fingers tightened around my cock. I looked to see how he was
taking Ned's proposal, worried that it was premature, maybe even dangerous,
but, as usual, my partner's instinct was right on the mark.

"Okay," answered Lester calmly, but breathlessly.

He was unsure what to do. Ned had to position him, nearly open his mouth
for him. Lester's fellatio was awkward, nearly as bad as his hand
job. Nonetheless, he emulated Ned's actions best he could. Ned, realizing
as I did how close Lester was to climax, kept his mouth loose which, of
course, Lester also copied. Frustrated, Ned suggested, "You do me first
then I'll do you. I'll show you how."

Lester seemed a bit embarrassed but, following Ned's detailed instructions,
"close you mouth tighter", "suck harder", "go all the way up and down", and
so on, managed to eventually get him off. Lester came in less than a
minute, and immediately realized he had to go home. He promised to suck me
the next time he came over.

That didn't happen for almost a year.

Ned figured he was a little nuts. I thought he probably liked it so much it
scared the crap out of him. Going from biblical abstinence to wild sex was
quite a jump and may have been too much for his confused ego.

When summer came, with both my parents bringing in small but full salaries,
I didn't feel the need to work all that hard. What money I made, except of
course for Ned's part, stayed mostly with me. I did buy sneakers for all
three girls and Ned and paid for the repair of our radio when it stopped
working. Dad opened a savings account at a bank and recommended I put in
ten percent of my earnings. So I did.

The majority of our vacation time, however, was spent doing whatever moved
us at the time. There were a few extra chores when dad decided to do a
major house cleaning but there was plenty of time to read, go with Ned to
the public pool, movies on weekends and exploration trips via streetcar,
trolley and bus to other parts of the city, particularly the harbor area.

For you young whippersnappers, a trolley is a bus running off overhead
electric cables much like an electric powered train, the big ones, not a
Lionel.

Taking streetcars and trolleys to the ends of their lines introduced us to
how the other half, or the lower portion thereof, lived. Out there, even
when the houses were still stuck together in rows, people had cars and
lawns. Seeing situations like this in the movies or magazines was one
thing. Coming face to face with the real McCoy was another. The first
spikes of ambition rose up in my psyche, ambition that was to be constantly
trumped by my desire for boys, more and more boys.