Date: Sat, 05 Nov 2011 23:10:34 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Promiscuity and Purpose 2

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

CHAPTER II

TIMMY

	Not all boys, indeed probably few, need to be seduced into sex,
well, at least back then before the current hysteria. Some just present
themselves. That was the case of the next member of our little sociosexual
group. His name was Timothy Matthew Dunkle.

	It was a Thursday afternoon in the middle of August, 1942. While
fighting raged and men died by the thousands in Europe and Asia, Ned and I
were enjoying an afternoon swim in the park pool after a morning of
plumbing, specifically, resetting Mrs. Williston's toilet which the adult
plumber hadn't properly sealed to the drain underneath causing it to leak
foul smelling water over her bathroom linoleum and down into the kitchen
ceiling below. It made us each two dollars fifty cents richer and in need
of a bath.

	As we lay drying in the sun, I noticed a small, bare-chested,
shoeless kid wearing ragged jeans, a red button up shirt tossed over his
shoulder, longish brown hair in disarray, standing in the grass outside the
fence, staring forlornly inside. His size suggested an age of six but I
guessed he might be older. A nudge and a nod and Ned saw him too. What
really attracted my attention wasn't the fairly obvious sad situation but
his squinty eyes, not Asian squinty, just squinty, the kind which when
smiling you've got to wonder if the person can actually see through those
narrow slits. He had a nice face, tanned like the rest of him, and tough
little arms on a slim but not skinny body. His too large jeans were held up
by a string passed through the belt loops and tied in the middle a couple
of inches below his cute `outy' belly button

	But the most distinctive feature, even more so than those great
eyes, was his hair. How best do I describe it? My guess is that it had been
all cut short or off at some point two or three years before, had grown
back out then fallen to the sides of its own weight because that's how it
lay, or should I say hung, near shoulder length except in the front where
somebody, maybe even the boy himself so he could see, had cut the bangs
nearly to the hair line. It looked ridiculous.

	I walked to the fence and said, "You can come in. It's free."

	"The man won' let me," he replied with a heavy southern accent.

	"What happened?"

	"Ah was goin' in and he made me go back out."

	"He say why?"

	"Jus' that ah gotta have one a them kindas shorts ya'll're
wearing. Ah ain't got none."

	"You can swim in your underwear, some kids do and he don't say
nothing."

	"Ah don't got that neither so he made me put mah pants back on and
go away."

	"You were coming in naked?"

	"Uh huh."

	I was immediately frustrated that we hadn't been in the dressing
room to have seen that. Ned had come up beside me. "He was gonna swim
naked?"

	"Ah alus done it nekkid befo' `n' nobody nevah said nothin'."

	"Here?" asked Ned before I could.

	"No, back home."

	"Where's that?"

	"Kintucky," he answered with a wonderful dip in the first syllable,
`Keeuntucky'.

	With the eyes, accent, and swarthy slim but strong body, I had to
get to know this Southern child.

"Wait for us out there and we'll see if we can find something for you to
swim in at my house."

Sex, as usual, was on my mind but I didn't see it as anything imminent. He
was too tiny. But, he was a boy, a pole instead of a hole like Ned said
when the subject came up. As usual, I wanted to see him naked. Trying on
underpants would accomplish that.

	I dressed far faster than normal, even walking out as another
preteen came in, something that, under normal circumstances would have
turned me around, feigning forgetting something that might have been
wherever the new entry was going to strip. Ned, less interested in what was
outside than what had just walked inside, took his time.

	When I rushed out, the kid was exactly where I'd spotted him and
quite amenable to go with us to my house. We had to wait another five
minutes or so for Ned. As we waited and on the way home, Timmy, told me
that he'd just the week before come up from Kentucky, Kee-un-tucky, to live
with his grandmother and her daughter, his aunt. His father had `went to
the war and got kilt'. However, he'd never met the man. His mother recently
had married a Christian who didn't like him very much, something about
being a sin, which was supposedly why his grandmother had come to `fetch'
him up North. She was `a nice lady' and was going to put him in school in a
couple of weeks. He `figgered' he was eight years old and had never been to
school. He lived "over yonder behind all them buildin's". That put him
somewhere between four and who knew how many blocks from us.

	In my bedroom, I dug out a pair of underpants from a year or so
before. They were going to be too big but that wasn't of concern. He undid
a string that had held his pants up and they dropped to the floor. What was
underneath removed the exclusivity I'd always felt Ned enjoyed in that part
of his body.

	He saw us staring, grinned and said with a nod of his head, "It's a
big'n, ain't it? Granmaw says it's gotta be from mah paw `cause none a her
men got nothin' lahk mines."

	Not completely in control, I had him step into the obviously too
large underwear and made a point of brushing against his elongated organ as
I raised them. He didn't seem to notice or just didn't mind. I hoped it was
the latter.

	"These'n are way too big. Don'tcha got nothin' littler?"

I really loved to hear that slow southern drawl.

	With the morning's earnings and what was stashed in my dresser, I
had over eleven dollars, a chunk of which I felt I had to hand over to my
mother for food and such and two for the bank. Still, there was surely
enough to buy this boy something that would get him into the pool.

	Ned, full of admiration for the long dong dangling in front of him
and, as usual, with his mind on sex, suggested, "If you need to take a
bath, we got hot water in our tub. You can wash in there."

	I was kneeling in front of him, waiting for him to lift his feet
out of the drawers, my eyes doing a complete physical exam of his cock and
balls, the latter hanging loosely almost an inch below his body.

	"Can ah? If'n it's okay. Yo' maw ain't gonna git fits, is she?"

	Leaving his jeans and shirt on the floor and bed respectively,
Timmy followed us into the bathroom where I put the plug in the drain and
turned on the hot water, running it until the late arriving hot warmed up
the initial cool. During the tub fill, Ned and I took turns speaking to our
new friend while the other ogled his body parts. There wasn't much rear end
but enough to provide a curvature instead of a flat drop to his thighs like
some kids have. Much as I wanted to see that long cock hard, his age held
me in check.

	We learned that he'd lived on a small farm in Kentucky that
produced everything from corn to collard greens, that he only had shoes for
church and important events like weddings, which explained the broad feet
and thick, sturdy toes, and that his grandmother had a radio that didn't
need a tractor battery to run it.

At first, he snatched his foot out of the water. "That's awful hot in
theah!"

I convinced him to try it again. With his face in a grimace, which seemed
to close his slit eyes completely and might have, who knew, he gradually
got both feet in. Ned rubbed his back, right down to his thighs, with the
warm water until he was able to sit. His dick floated on the surface for a
few seconds as he lowered himself.

That accomplished, I beat Ned in offering to wash his back and did so as
Ned would have, right down to the back of his knees though careful not to
let my hand go too deep between his muscular little buns.

	"Warsh mah ears, won'tcha. E'reybody's alus sayin' ah don' git `em
clean."

I did his hair, neck and face, then chest and slightly rounded belly,
stopping just above where I really wanted to go.

Ned feigned fucking him when Timmy closed his eyes to keep the soap out. I
gave him a dirty look and mouthed. "Eight years old, stupid."

Ned held his hands palms up and mouthed `so?'

When Timmy washed his crotch, bringing on a partial erection, mine
responded as well. It was gorgeous if not as straight as Ned's. Either
there was just too much flesh for the pumped in blood to lift or it
naturally twisted down and a bit out, like a great curve ball.

Since he wasn't sure where he was, we walked him home. He'd been to the
park twice before so knew what street to enter at the west end and how many
blocks ahead, two, and down, four houses. On the way, we told him to meet
us the next day at ten in the morning at the pool. He wasn't sure how to
tell time but said he'd ask.

Ned was all over me the moment Timmy walked inside. "We coulda had him!"

"He's eight, Ned. He'd probably say something and, anyway, he's not from
here. Maybe he's like Lester and won't wanna and then I know he's gonna
tell his grandmother."

"Granmaw!" he corrected. "I'll bet you anything he plays with himself. Nah,
he ain't gonna say nothin' and I'll bet he likes it. Can't have a dick that
big and not like playing with it. He might even like gettin'
fucked. Anyhow, Charlie was only nine when we started with him and he ain't
said nothing'. You gonna buy him some underpants?"

"Unh uh, a bathing suit. Mine only cost a couple bucks. An' we knew Charlie
a lot better'n we know this kid and he was a lot bigger. I'll bet yours'd
hurt him. And you heard him say his grandmother talks about his big
dick. Maybe he's gonna tell her anything we do. You think about that?"

Ned just shook his head in frustration.

The bathing suit I found was baggy but was sure to fit and only cost a buck
ninety-five, the value of my not this time savings deposit.

	I easily agreed to an incremental seduction of the new boy. To
avoid a potentially problematic rejection, we put together a plan. I was
torn by a desire to have that nice body in my hands and long cock in my
mouth but was aprehensive that this boy from the country was too unaware of
the ways of us sophisticated city folk. It was the height of unwarranted
arrogance.

	The plan: in the dressing room after swimming, we were going to do
some mild masturbation, if there is such a thing, and let him catch us
though acting as though we hadn't noticed. His reaction would determine
what we did next. That `what we did next' remained undefined.

	Timmy was seated in the grass outside the pool when we arrived. "My
granmaw ain't so good with time so I come after it was light."

	His pants seat was still wet from the dew so we figured it had been
there at least two hours. He loved the bathing suit though commenting how
much better it felt "nekkid with the water goin' all over." That sounded
sexy to me.

	We swam for a couple of hours then, after letting the sun do what
the towels we didn't have would have, we went in to change. Now, usually,
having lots of boys come in and get naked was just dandy but this time we
had a different goal. But, being who and what we were, we did spend time
checking out the trio of twelve-thirteens who were changing to go swim,
putting us well behind Timmy who was dressed, jeans and unbuttoned shirt,
and ready to go while we were still sitting and fiddling with our socks.

	Timmy reminded us of his presence with, "Let's go ta yer house an'
git in that hot water agin."

	That yanked my eyes off a developing but still hairless phallus and
also further weakened my restraint regarding what we would eventually do
with little Timmy.

	"Don't you got hot water in your house?" I inquired as we walked.

	"Uh huh, but it ain't near hot as yers. My granmaw says hot water
ain't all that good fer a body an' it costs too much."

	As he undressed in my bedroom, again shoeless with only two
articles of clothing to remove, he asked, `Ain't ya'll gonna git in too?"

	We stripped.

	While Ned and I fit comfortably in the confines of our tub, the
third person had always required considerable maneuvering, especially with
growing Charlie Miller. Timmy, small as he was, still had to scrunch up to
sit in the middle between us.

	"Well, who's gonna warsh first?" asked our little guest.

	I stood up and took the soap off the wire dish beside the tub.

	"Your dick's got hard," observed Timmy with a devilish grin. "I'll
bet you're thinkin' `bout sex."

	That stretched it full out.

	"Ah likes to mastabate when nobody's lookin' `cept maybe one a mah
boy cousins. Ya'll do it too?"

	His knowledge of the word `mastabate' very briefly jolted my
attention away from the more important act of agreeing with him.  It also
greatly lowered though didn't entirely dissipate my previous apprehension.

Ned's was gone. He blurted out, "Yeah, we do it in here all the time."

	"Wanna?" asked the suddenly not so innocent tyke.

	"Okay," replied Ned and got up on his knees, immediately attracting
Timmy's attention.

	"Wow! Yers bigger'n mines. Lemme see." He reached out and took hold
of Ned's already fully erect organ. "Shore is." He got up and sat against
the side of the tub, his snakelike penis quickly responding to his hand,
filling it to a point of spillover. Using his extended thumb and little
finger, he measured his own erection then put his hand over Ned's. "Dagone!
I'm near as big as ya'll." He sounded delighted by the prospect.

	Sitting back down, his head shaking in wonderment, he moved back to
center tub and, hunched over slightly, glancing at one of us then the
other, running his fist furiously up and down that lengthy uncircumcised
shaft.

	For a while, all that could be heard was the slap, slap, slap of
boys beating off. Then Timmy let go of his cock and stared at it. Without
raising his head, he asked, "Ya'll ever heered of brown eye?"

	This mountain boy's vocabulary had some surprising but interesting
terms. We both acknowledged ignorance of the term.

	"It's, uh, doin' it back heah, one t'othah." He pointed at his
little fanny.

	Simultaneous epiphanies then anxious silence followed as we waited
to hear more of his thoughts.

	"Well, mah cousins and me, we done it a lot. It feels purty dagone
good. Wanna? One a ya'll kin do it to me first. Then ah kin do it to one a
ya'll."

	Ned again proved to be more aggressive than me. "Sure. Okay, get on
that side of the tub." He meant the door side since the other was flush
against the wall and wouldn't have allowed room for Timmy to bend over, a
not necessary but more comfortable position for both. We nearly always did
it that way no matter who was receiving whom. With Charley Miller and that
great butt of his, upright didn't allow much penetration.

	Timmy knew just what to do, even spitting in his hand to lubricate
his port of entry. Ned put his hands on the side of the tub and lined
himself up, reached down to put himself on target.

	Timmy held him back with one hand and said, "Jes' wait," then
dribbled more spit between his little buns down onto Ned's dick. "Okay,
ya'll kin put it on in now."

	Ned pushed his hips forward until he was flush, flesh to flesh. His
eyes closed. I was amazed, both at the obvious ease and painlessness of
penetration and the idea that this eight year old bumpkin knew so much. It
caused an immediate reassessment of what country life must be like.

Ned waited for a few seconds then began fucking slowly. It was how he did
it with Billy. I was tempted to get behind and make him feel even better by
poking mine in him but, brotherly love aside, I wanted to get off inside
Timmy though not as much as I'd loved to have Timmy's curly cock in my
mouth while Ned probed his rectum. I tried to see Timmy's dick but, bent
over the wall of the tub as he was, there was no way. I held onto my own
dick and balls and watched Ned's buns move back and forth and his cock
appear and disappear between Timmy's.

	Rather than speed up toward the end, Ned thrust in harder, lifting
Timmy more than banging him against the porcelain. When he came, it was
with every muscle in his body flexed, even in his face.

	Timmy said, "Ah kin feel it," and looked at me for approval. I
nodded, loosening the hold on my tool to avoid anything premature.

	I expected a turn around in positions but, unpredictable Timmy
wanted to fuck me. It was an experience. After spreading my crack, applying
saliva right into my hole, dripping more onto his dick, he leaned down to
ass level and pulled my cheeks open again, located his target, poked a
finger tip inside, stood back up, pushed his cock in alongside his finger,
then simultaneously yanked his finger down and out and poked in his
cock. Full penetration was swift, ending with a slight smack, running his
cock right up against the good feeling spot as I called my prostate. Right
away, he got into hard fucking, banging in at a two per second rate and I
do mean banging. That little boy put power into his thrusts, slamming me
into the side of the tub but making my cock sing. To avoid orgasm, I had to
pull back so my rock hard penis wasn't rubbing up and down against the
smooth porcelain. Later, Ned told me of watching Timmy's stringy arm
muscles flex as, hands gripping the front of my hips, he yanked himself
into me time after time.

	It didn't take him long, no more than two minutes, to reach a
powerful pulsing climax. "Whee, Bobby!" he declared as he came then pulled
himself free to "watch it bounce all over".

	We did too and bounce it did, for at least another half
minute. "Ain't done it in neah three weeks is `cause it's so good."

	To stall and calm my gonads, I asked, "How often you do it?"

	"Neah e'ry day when we could, sometimes two three times but mah
cousins, they's mama was alus makin' `em do chohes er go off somewheahs ta
buy somethin' or ah don' know what all so sometimes it was a couple three
days afore we could do it agin."

	"And nobody ever caught you?" asked Ned.

	"Unh uh, but that's `cause we alus done it in the old bahn, the one
was fallin' down an' nobody kept nothin' insahd so nobody nevah went in
theah. C'mon Steve. It's yo' turn. Ah'm thinkin' ah wanna do it wif Ned
too."

	I really loved hearing him speak. There was always a surprise in
there somewhere.

	I let him slick up the both of us then pushed inside. It was good
as Billy but looser than anybody, even Charlie. His small buns allowed
greater depth of penetration than either of them. It was like the skin at
the base of my cock was going a little inside of him with each thrust.

	Using Ned's slow style because I was so hot, I tried to prolong the
pleasure as much as possible but blew that by reaching around and taking
hold of that huge thing of his. The feel of its length and fullness set me
off. I continued to thrust slowly even after my orgasm had run its course.

	"You gonna git it agin?" asked Timmy. "Ah kin do that too."

	So inspired, I upped the tempo and, a few minutes later, got that
familiar glowing feeling that precedes climax, a feeling that this time
took a bit longer before the spine straightening orgasm.

	Timmy fucked Ned the same way he had me, fast and furious, taking
about the same amount of time and making the same amount of racket. Deborah
was in her room and mother downstairs. I needlessly worried they'd hear.

	Ned wanted to hear more about Timmy's sex life in Kentucky so, he
told me, he could compare it to ours.

	First, "How old were you when you and your cousins first had sex?"

	"'Ah don' know. Long time ago. Ah think ah was mebbe six or
sumpin'."

	"What'd you do first, jerk off?"

	"Uh uh. Both of `em fucked me, hurt too."

	"How old were they?" I asked.

	"Well, Eddy he was mebbe `leven an' he was still had a little dick
but Henson, he was thirteen an' gittin' big an' he hurt a lot but he done
it anyways."

	"Gees!" exclaimed Ned. "How big was Hen, what's his name's dick?"

	"'Bout like that." He held his hands about four inches apart.

	"And how big are they now?" I asked.

	"Lot bigga, like this. Leas' Henson, but it don't hurt no mo'." His
hands were around six inches apart.

	"And they got `em all the way in you?" asked Ned.

	"Uh huh. All the ways in."

	"I mean when you were six, when they first did it."

"Unh huh, well Eddy done but he din' nevah hurt none; but Henson, that's
his name, Henson, he din't right then `cause ah was screamin' fer him ta
stop an' he was `fraid somebody was gonna heah an' git mad but afta he done
it some it was goin' all the way in."

	"Did it hurt, when he put it all the way in?"

	"Shore did but then it din't, mebbe after a month, mebbe two `r
three."

	Ned and I were both trying imagine how far up inside this small
body Henson's cock must have gone.

Ned asked, "And you got to fuck them?"

	"Nah, jes mah otha cousin. He's nine, ah think."

	"They fuck him too?"

	"Ah guess so `cause ah ain't theah no mo'."

	That night, Ned fucked me from the front. With him in as far as he
could go, we calculated, using our school knowledge of human plumbing,
where in my gut he was and how far up in Timmy's abdomen a six inch cock
would reach.

"Gotta go halfway up his colon to about here," I remarked, my finger to the
left above the level of my belly button. "That's why he's so loose
inside. A dick like that would tear my ass apart."

	We conjectured what it would be like for Mike McMillan, then
fourteen, if one of his adult customers wanted to fuck him. "He ain't all
that big. Gotta hurt unless he does it a lot. I ain't never goin' with none
a them."

	"What," I asked, "if when we get big, we still like boys like Timmy
and Billy? You think we'll be able to fuck `em. I don' wanna hurt no kid."

	We mulled that thought over for a while until Ned opined, "We'll
just hafta find kids like Timmy already used to it."

	"Big as yers gonna be?"

	After a few moments of silence, "I wish it was smaller."
	Timmy was back, knocking at our door the next morning a little
before seven. My father was taking his shower. Mother worked on Saturdays
and had already left. Patty heard the incessant rapping and thought, she
told us later, "It was the cops".

	Ned and I were still in bed asleep. Patty banged on our door. "Some
stupid little kid outside says he's looking for you."

	I went into my parent's bedroom window and looked down. "Timmy, it
ain't even seven yet."

	"Kin ah come in?"

	It took a while to explain what normal hours were to city
folks. While I spoke, seeing I was naked and looking under the covers at
Ned's bare body, Timmy untied his string, tossed off his shirt and hopped
into bed promising to be quiet until it was time for us to get up. Over the
next half hour or so, we used a fair amount of saliva.

	Dad didn't mind the extra mouth at breakfast, even congratulated
Ned and me for being so nice to such an obviously poor child. He suggested
we use some of our earnings to buy him some shoes and socks, "and a shirt
that still has its buttons, and maybe get him a hair-cut or a big brush."
That was about as humorous as he could get.

	Complying with my father's suggestions required taking Timmy up
into our local commercial district to the shoe store where dad always
bought ours. Due to Timmy's broad feet, we had to buy him Keds sneakers
that were in reality much too big. The shoe saleswoman suggested we stuff
some cotton in the toes so his feet wouldn't slide back and forth causing
blisters that would burst and become infected. Instead of that, we bought
him oversized white athletic socks and bunched them up in front of his
toes. That seemed to work.

	He didn't want to get his hair cut. Since there wasn't anything
even the best barber in the world could do about the front but wait for it
to grow out, I dropped the matter. There was a brush back in the bathroom.

	Timmy was very quiet during all this then, as we walked back down
toward the park, stayed a step in front. Two blocks down the street from
the store, I noticed a quick hand to the eyes and caught up to him. He was
crying. Tears were forcing their way out of his eye slits. I stopped
him. "What's wrong?"

	He pulled his arm across his eyes then his dripping
nose. "Nothin'."

	"Then why are you crying? Your feet hurt? You can take the shoes
off if you want; just wear `em a little at a..."

	"It ain't nothing `bout the shoes. It's jes' that ain't nobody
never been so nahs to me is all. Ah jes' said ah had shoes befo' so you
wasn't gonna think ah was po' but it was a lie, jus' a big ole lie. Ah
ain't nevah had nothin' on mah feet `cept rags when it was real col' an'
theah was snow `r somethin'." He reached out and gave me a ferocious
hug. Very self consciously, I returned it, watching for witnesses out of
the corners of my eyes.

	Back at the house, Timmy showed off his new sneakers to Patty who
admitted they were `nice' and Nellie who agreed with Patty. Debbie wanted
to know why the long socks, at that point flopping off the front of his
feet. Ned explained but I don't think she understood.

	Timmy became a daily visitor, arriving after eight, just in time
for breakfast. He went on three jobs with me that week, was amazed that I
knew so much, and insisted on holding and handing over tools as
needed. When we offered him some of our earnings, he would only accept ten
cents at a time `cause he owed us for the bathing suit and sneakers.

	Billy Turner showed up Thursday afternoon but found a reason to
leave shortly after meeting our new friend.

"Shit, he's just eight? You guys are crazy'"

	Friday morning after breakfast, naked, about to take our `bath', I
suggested we have fun on top of the bed first. My sisters had gone down the
street to a friend's house leaving us all alone, the first time that
week. Sucking Timmy's great organ had become an obsession. With me talking
about it with him every day, Ned had urged giving it a try.

	I began by taking Timmy's dick in my hand as though to masturbate
him. He returned the favor. Ned lay playing with himself, waiting to see
Timmy's reaction to what he knew was coming. I debated whether to ask
permission or just go down on him. I opted for a request.

	"Okay if I put my mouth on it for a while?" I asked nodding toward
his slightly curled hard on.

	With a puzzled expression, he asked, "Why you wanna go doin' that?"

	"It's different, feels good."

	"But it's dirty, been up yo' back side."

	"We washed after, remember."

	"Do ah gotta do it too?"

	"Not if you don't want to."

	"Well, ah don't think ah wanna. So if ya'll wants to, go ahead."

	He let go of mine as I slid down, leaned across him and took in his
curled wand. If I hadn't already had an erection, there'd have been one
instantaneously. Timmy's dick felt as big as Ned's but gently curved over
my tongue. Ned said Timmy's slit eyes opened wide enough to see the whites
the moment my mouth closed. I revolved my head, sucking gently, moved my
tongue around and over the shaft then began going up and down on it,
sucking it in each time on the way down. Timmy's belly and thigh muscles
tightened. At about the fifth or sixth time up and down, his hand came to
rest on my shoulder. Soon he was making short pushes into my mouth. I slid
my hand up the inside of his thigh to his balls and fondled them, fingering
his perineum back to his hole. His legs closed tightly on my hand. He
pumped harder into me. I sucked a bit harder on him. Squeezing his dong
between my lips, cheeks and tongue, I upped the tempo. His one hand gripped
my shoulder. The other came down onto my head, following it up and down,
urging me to speed up with his finger tips.

	"It's comin', it's comin'," he whispered.

	He jumped slightly as the first throb passed up through his cock. I
went completely down and enjoyed the subsequent strong pulses, staying on
him until he relaxed.

	"That okay?" I inquired.

	"Whoa, Bobby!" he exclaimed quietly shaking his head. "Ya'll can do
that any ole time ya'll wants."

	He was still able to fuck us both.

	Timmy wanted to spend the night every once in a while, probably in
hopes of more blow jobs, so we went to meet his grandmother. My goal was
more complex. Timmy had aroused a kind of protective instinct in me, if you
could call it that; perhaps the beginnings of love. I wanted to convince
the woman to put her grandson in my school if they'd accept him. I had
enough and was willing to buy him his uniform and school supplies.

	Mrs. Dunkle, it turned out, wasn't all that old, not much over
forty, not very tall, slim like her grandson, but slower talking. When
Timmy introduced us she said, "Well," pronounced `wayell', "it's about time
Timmy brung ya'll up heah. Ah'm so grateful fer all you done fo' `im." I
expected her to go on but she just stood there, hands together in front of
her apron.

	To fill the silence, I said, "It's okay. We got money from working
and now that my mom's working, we got extra."

	She nodded slowly.

Seeing that no words were to follow, I got down to business. "Timmy wants
to spend the night at our house and my mom says it's okay if you say so."

More nodding.

"Okay if he sleeps at our house tonight? We got plenty of room."

After a few more nods, she said, "Well, ah s'pose that'll be fahn."

Again, sure there'd be no more, I continued, "And if you want, he can go to
our school. It's a real good one with sisters teaching. We'll get him his
uniform and stuff. Won't cost you nothin'."

No nodding, just slightly pressed together lips. "Wheah's yo' school, boy?"

"Just a few blocks from here. We can take you there Monday if you want and
you can see it and the principal's gonna be there. You can talk to her."

At that point, I was winging it, not really sure about the principal's
presence, just that there were supposed to be registrations.

She looked at Timmy who looked anxiously back.

"Well, ah s'pose ah kin do that. What's he gonna hafta take with him?"

"Nothin', maybe his birth certificate."

She had it.

After dark, in bed, we introduced Timmy to the thrill of simultaneous front
and back attention with me, the oral provider, in the sixty-nine
position. It made him squirm and hold tightly onto my middle, his face
turned away from my stiff cock. His orgasm beat out Ned's by half. Then, he
fell asleep as I screwed him, breathing heavily well before I could cum. I
tried to sleep that way too but his head on my arm put it to sleep. When I
rolled back, he put a knee up on Ned and nestled into him, his arm over
Ned's. Feeling left out, I moved in behind him, shoved my right arm under
the pillow below his head and was soon in dreamland myself.

Due to our weekly attendance at Mass, worried about his lack of decent
clothing, his hair as well as what his Baptist grandmother might think of
her grandson in a Catholic church, we told him we couldn't have overnight
guests Saturday but he was welcome to stay with us Sunday. He was waiting
on the stoop when we got back from church.

Monday morning, the principal was at school. She received Mrs. Dunkle and,
praising us for the act, accepted that we'd be in charge of seeing to
Timmy's scholastic needs. We were also told he would probably need our help
with his studies, an idea that I relished but didn't excite Ned. Then came
the hard part. Timmy must have a haircut leaving his ears visible and no
longer than the nape of his neck. Otherwise, he wouldn't be accepted.

I glanced at Timmy as Sister Mary Ellen spoke. The only sign of possible
emotion or resistance were the arms tightly folded across his chest. It
wasn't until we were outside that I saw the despair. "Kin we do it now so
ah don't go runnin' away `r nothin'?"

Timmy insisted the barber's chair be turned away from the mirror so he
couldn't watch then, best as I could tell, kept his eyes closed for the
entire ordeal. The barber did what he could to leave it as long as he knew
was acceptable, even tried to get some of the hair to cover the disaster on
his forehead. Nothing worked. He would have to wait for it to grow out or
accept a crew cut. Tough little Timmy accepted the crew cut. I bought him a
cap.

	A few days after Labor Day, 1942, Timothy Matthew Dunkle started
school. To our surprise, he'd just turned eight on May 29th. Right off the
bat, there were problems. A couple of fifth graders claimed, based on his
narrow eyes, swarthy skin, what they saw as a military haircut and strange
speech which they felt was probably a poor attempt at American, that he
might be a Japanese spy sent to get information so the Japs could better
bomb us. We didn't know a thing about it until he'd been pushed around and
kicked several times in the ribs. A fifth grader who knew we'd brought
Timmy to school that morning came rushing into the lunch room to tell us
what was going on outside. We ran out. A nun had put a stop to the abuse
and had one of the second graders involved in the attack. Timmy was
kneeling on the ground, bent over in pain, trying mightily not to cry.

	At first, I thought Timmy had gotten into a fight and worried he
was going to get himself expelled if he kept it up. It wasn't until the
nuns got the second grader, a kid named Sean O'Brien, to explain why they'd
attacked him that I realized what had happened. We took Timmy to our house
and put cold towels on his reddened ribs. He thought maybe he should go to
another school but we promised to protect him from any further
attacks. What made it difficult was his complete lack of knowledge
concerning the war raging across the planet. He had no idea who the
Japanese were or why people would call him that.

It took the nuns the rest of the afternoon to trace the instigators but, by
then, rumors about Timmy's origins were all over the school. It required a
full assembly the next morning to blunt the animosity and that was all it
did, blunt it. Timmy was called up onto the stage so all could see he was
as American as they, that his eyes were narrow, not slanted, that his
speech was the way they spoke in Kentucky.

We spent much of the rest of the day filling him in on not just the war but
about there being other countries in the world that spoke different
languages. He did know there was a place called Africa because "that's
wheah niggahs come from". Mother didn't allow any kind of racial prejudice
in our home so there was another matter to be dealt with. Our mother's open
mindedness did have its limits, however. She harbored a very low image of
`those lunatic fundamentalist so called Christians', especially
Pentecostals. Later in life, she repented on that too. "It's not their
fault they weren't educated properly," she said then.

Keep in mind, our school, like the rest in our geographically southern
city, was all white. Desegregation in schools was well over a decade off.

There were still stories. Even a few parents came in to complain and insist
the `Jap' be put out of the school. To her credit, the principal, a nun we
generally feared, stood up to and gave a full explanation to each
parent. Then, the police showed up. They wanted to see this Japanese kid
and find out why he hadn't been interned with the rest of his
countrymen. Apparently, they left with their tails between their legs when
Sister Mary Ellen took them to Timmy's classroom door and gave them a look
at him and his birth certificate.

	Surprising enough, our `Jap' and `Kraut' hating, biblical scholar
friend Lester became one of his defenders.

"I got a neighbor talks like him but he's some kinda half Indian comes from
South Carolina. Stupid kids don't know a Jap from one of our own!" It was
still a few months before he returned for sex.

	Not all the animosity disappeared but, with a group of us older
kids ready to defend him, no one did more than make remarks. Timmy came
straight to us during recess and lunch breaks and the minute the three
o'clock bell rang.

	Timmy's many needs captured my heart. Even Ned came around to
really caring for him and not just his body and the great sex he
provided. Every day, we helped him with his studies. Ned took charge of
math. I was responsible for everything else. It motivated the both of
us. Our grades shot back into the nineties, the high nineties along with a
few hundreds. Timmy was a slow starter but gradually got the hang of the
written word and numbers. From there, he moved along well enough that the
principal gave us second grade material to see if we could get him jumped a
grade. By mid year, with my mother involved too and Timmy staying with us
school nights, there was no doubt he would go to third grade in
September. It wasn't that he was particularly bright which he wasn't,
possibly a smidgen better than average. The concern everyone showed him,
even Billy Turner once he'd fucked him, moved Timmy to take full advantage
of his multiple tutors and become an A student.

	About Billy Turner and Timmy: Billy was coming over once every week
or so for sex. Timmy was there a lot, most of the time to be exact, so
there had to be a meeting.

	At first, Billy, who'd never believed Timmy was Japanese, was
concerned about his age, figuring him to be seven at most due to his being
in the first grade and about the right size for that age. Once he realized
he was actually eight, some of the resistance disappeared, or was quashed
by a desire to screw him. Keep in mind that Billy was very cautious about
word getting out about his sex with boys. You'll note that he never did
anything with us but have sex, not even swimming. He didn't want anybody
thinking he was a `fag', a word he politely didn't use around us. After
deciding not to get involved that first time, his horns got the best of him
and he was back a few days later. Timmy didn't mind another dick in his
behind so we did a sort of four way with me sucking both as they were
penetrated by Ned. It wasn't until the second time that Billy let Timmy
stick him. That sealed things. Billy even let Timmy hug him, something I'd
never really tried.