Date: Tue, 08 Oct 2002 16:38:20 -0400 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: The Innocents by Richard Dean - Part 3 Chapter 4 Gay - A/Y Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ The Paratwa Partnership, Inc. is a publication and marketing agency and is not responsible for the content of the Tom Cup Library, TomCup.com or its affiliate sites, or stories written by Mr. Cup or his associates. ************************************************************************ The Innocents By Richard Dean Part 3 Chapter 4 The Opening At long last we were able finally to agree that Our Brothers Keepers was ready to admit students and get them settled into their new lodging and school facility. Paulo and Beto had done an outstanding job in preparation of the Grand Opening. Applicants had overwhelmed us in droves, however we could only accept 100 students initially. Because we had to turn away so many of the eager applicants, Toninho insisted--demanded--that the kitchen be open 24 hours each day so that no child would go hungry. He agreed that the sheer numbers of children would strain our resources if a full meal were offered, however we agreed, at least after the dinner hour, sandwiches, soup and milk would be available for those who came in to be fed. It must be said that our organization was not the only `soup kitchen' in Rio de Janeiro. Some were operated by various denominations of churches, social welfare societies, even two governmentally funded. None of them offered schooling or job training, and housing while enrolled. Julio and Elena, our dear friends and neighbors, already generous to a fault to our effort, had caused a plaque to be made in brass bas relief of our Lady of the Candles, our co-founder; and a story of her courageous effort to ensure the safety and future for the `street children' of Brazil was also commissioned. Julio and Elena named Toninho as the other co-founder whose dream and idea inspired others to join with the effort. Deeply moved and somewhat embarrassed by the attention given him, Toninho accepted the accolade with humility and grace. Within the first two weeks of operation, Beto, Paulo and their staff had handled most of the little problems that beset and nag the new establishment with efficiency and direction. On visits to the facility, I was thrilled to hear the chorus singing songs of hope and joy, the small appliance repair shop was made very busy by citizens of Rio dropping off toasters, mixers and other appliances for repair at a reasonable cost of $1.50 USD per item, parts were extra of course. The structured hive of activity pleased me. "So, you see, Miss Flavia what you've wrought? It's like a community center with a heart; your heart, my dear lady." We didn't see much of Paulo or Beto those first few weeks. They arose early and returned home late. Their excitement and pride of accomplishment and self-satisfaction showed in the smiles generated from their ebullient faces. Toninho was busy with his final preparations for his A level exams which would be held within one week. I was busy getting ready for the upcoming march within two days. Cards and letters of condolences over the death of our Miss Flavia from outlying cities within Brazil and from other countries, most notably the USA, were still inundating us. The checks, in addition to the words of condolence, reminded me of a special quality of the North Americans peculiar to that of the most advanced first world nations. Regardless of the national distress, most usually those of large calamitous events, something in their collective national makeup seems to express their sympathy and understanding by writing out a check. Is it possible, the wealthiest country in the world -- the strongest militarily and governmentally -- has pangs of guilt for the fortunes they reap? Does shame and embarrassment of the national economic situation become a knee jerk reaction when, troubles, difficulties, strange weather phenomenon occur to countries who only yesterday were in conspiracy to wipe the USA off the face of the map? The largesse and kindness offered by the citizens of the USA, is often considered to be a sign of national weakness by those countries that are ruled by religious zealots or fanatics, or those countries that are governed by systems of an opposite polarity than Capitalism. Some scoff at the `checkbook diplomacy' used by the beneficent and generous expressions affected by that country. We are thankful and remind ourselves to thank those whom have contributed from afar with words expressing our deep appreciation. We consider this not as a weakness, but an indication of a country willing to assist with a hand up, not a hand out. I took note of the memo portion of the check that may indicate to which account or purpose the contribution was given. The stewardship and husbandry of accounting for these monies are taken seriously. Our Brothers Keeper is ready and willing to make available our books to those who ask or seem interested. Were it not for the generosity of others, the ovens of Our Brothers Keepers would soon be cold. Our Brothers Keepers is a life-ring tossed into tumultuous seas upon which our children tread. We are neither judgmental nor accusatory in moral fault or bearing. We leave that to other services or other agendas. Our Brothers Keepers operates knowing full well, it can neither save nor shelter all of the hordes of lost children. Those whom cross the threshold will one day leave confident that they have training and purpose for entry as a citizen responsible for their own welfare and livelihood, During these past few weeks, I usually accompanied Toninho and waited for him in the safety of "Herbie," while he searched out those children who may have been hiding in the lowest of places, covered with cardboard, dirt and vermin. He does not minister to them, but offers them the word that Our Brothers Keepers is open to those who are hungry. He returns to "Herbie" with tear filled eyes, knowing full well, many of those with whom he talked may soon die of infection, disease or maltreatment. Some evenings are more difficult for him than others, as the sights and sounds that become open to him were more than he can cope. "Hold me, Pae, hold me," he wails as he presses himself fully weeping against my chest and enfolded in my arms, "there must be more we can do! I feel so lost. What if my brothers and sisters are out here somewhere?" I can only invoke silent prayers to God to save my son from the visions he must contend on his quest to search out the lost, the forgotten, and the discarded. I had forgotten that he as oldest was the first to be dismissed from his home but that in all likelihood, as his brothers and sisters grew older, they suffered the same fate. I held him tightly, smoothing his hair, placing kisses on him until he gathers his resolve, sits upright within his seat behind "Herbie's" wheel, engages the starter and we drive away from the scene of disparity to the solid sanctity of our home. I have no way of knowing how deeply the visions, sounds and sights of these "babies" -- all of them are babies -- affect him. There are times when Toninho will suddenly explode into the study where I am working on correspondence to beg, plead for assistance and help in monetary gifts to keep Our Brothers Keepers from foundering. I write articles about the plight of Our Brothers Keepers and send them out to news organizations in hope that a miracle may become reality. "Fuck this piecemeal bullshit! We've got to fight politics with politics! How can we do that, Pae? Gran wouldn't let those politicians get away with this would she?" "Toninho! Stop! Take a deep breath," I say as he collapses sprawling into a side chair, "I've no way of knowing how Miss Flavia would have perceived this. Do you want me to go through my litany of lowlife politicians as we both thought and think of them?" "Come on, Pae. Get real. You know what I'm talking about. I think we've got to fight fire with fire. Julio believes as I do. We have to take a political stand to fight the bureaucrats on this. We have to shake their core belief that these are kids that need us to rally on their behalf." "Have you forgotten, Antonio, about our march tomorrow evening? I believe a peaceful confrontation is as effective as a fight between politicians or factions." "Crap, now you're pissed off at me. I'm not being confrontational with you Pae." "Antonio, why would you assume I'm pissed off at you?" "You only call me Antonio, when you're pissed at me. Duh!!" "You cheeky little shit. I should come over there and give you the punishment you deserve for being so insolent." "What's stopping you big man. Is "Mr. Wiggly" tired?" he asked sardonically His suggestive tone, slitted eyes and upturned brow bade me arise from my chair as it skidded back. Toninho's hands were rubbing his genitals in anticipation that he had me within his grasp of seduction. Two can play the same game, I thought. As I stood before him, he positioned his face into my crotch and exhaled deep hot breaths, which awakened "Mr. Wiggly's" somnolence. An evident role reversal was in play, as Toninho became the hunter and me his victim. He tugged me onto the carpeted floor, while placing little nipping kisses on the areas of skin that he had uncovered. I had become pliant to his will as if I were putty in the hands of the modeler. I had awakened to reality when I realized he had somehow during his ministrations taken all of my clothing away from me. I noted they were lying around the room in a casual pile here and there. He too, was naked as me, lying on top of me, while washing me with his tongue into my armpits of hair, digging into them with the wet hot moisture of his saliva. I dutifully co-operated in positioning my arms over my head as his washing slithered to my nipples. Slightly pinching and teasing one while sucking, nipping, washing the other, sent wave after wave of shudders rippling throughout my corpus. Growling murmurs of `rrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmm' alerted me how turned on he was during those ministrations. My head tossed back and forth in suppliance of his tenderness. I could feel the wet warm suppurations discharging from our penises. His tongue continued downward to my pubis, showering the hairs with his spittle. He stroked his cheeks across in long sweeping movements which further excited me. He captured the head of my weeping prick in his mouth, while groaning in basso moans giving me shudders felt from the tips of toe to top of head. My prick had entered his throat, which was making swallowing ministrations as if muscularly stroking me. I had lost control of my senses and discharged into his throat, while he backed off to taste and savor me. He was not done as I heard him smack his lips to garner and gather all of my essence. Pushing my legs upward and backward to my chest, I relinquished his hold and took possession of them with my own arms and held them to make my nether parts available to use and purchase as he wanted. I am become his servant and vessel. "Fuck me, Ton. Use me. I've got to piss. Take me, honey." In growling deep baritone voice he issued, "I'll fuck you, when I'm ready to fuck you, Pae. Piss on yourself, I'm going to taste and eat all of you." Crying in sexual fervor I allowed the floodgates open and drenched myself with my own golden hot liquid as the stream coursed up to my chest and drained to the carpet below. Toninho vacuumed my liquid from my chest and stomach, and recaptured my streaming prick in his mouth. What had once been an act of which I would not countenance, became at that moment a declaration of complete and total love without statement by my son, lover, man. Toninho returned to pay homage to my testicles and the juncture between them and my inner thighs. The odor of semen, urine, spittle, sweat of man and child permeated my senses and being. Regrasping my hold of legs to my chest, I felt the aperture of my ass become open to the light of day and to the tongue of my lover. I could feel him separate my ass with his hands and could hear him spit at my rose-like opening. He followed with an ablution of tongue and pressure washing, tasting, and savoring the flavors that returned to his vacuuming mouth. I had become a mass of raw nerves, shuddering with excitement and abandonment. I was eager to accept whatever his desires. Finger, fist, arm or prick, I would accept his offering to appease his release and my enthusiasm. I watched Toninho stretch and strain to reach a throw pillow from the sofa and place it under my hips to aid in his penetration of my ass and bowel. My nerves were bouncing ajumble with bursts of electrical pulses, which excited all of my senses. Anticipating his smooth steady entry, I envisioned I had become jello-like to accept his throbbing pulsing cock. Had he ejaculated previously it would be that this teenaged man would become ready with little thought or preparation. I could only dream of his recuperative powers as mine had once been but no longer able to recover as rapidly as him. I opened to his entry with locked eyes onto his. He had no need to look down to see if he would find the target. He instinctively gained entry in a steady forward motion. He slipped through the inner muscle, which is guard to all exit or entry. His eyes never leaving mine, he continued his plunge-like entry until he felt his pubis make contact with the taughtness of my ass. Rolling his hips while thrusting in and out, he grazed my prostate, which caused my toes to curl, as electricity seemed to pulse through my body. Seldom greedy for an ejaculation he smoothly and wisely considered my feelings, awaiting my signal for him to accelerate or slow down. Toninho is a generous lover, alert to my perceptions and countenance. His sperm factory is working three shifts, while mine is working part-time. He no longer becomes alarmed when he hears my grunts as his prick rolls over and against my prostate. "Unnnnh, mmmmph, unnnh, hnnnh, gawwwwd." As my grunts and groans become whines, he speeds up his movements. Tears run down my face in delight and intense love. His body caroms from my ass to return with a harder push to insert himself as totally and completely as he is able. I pray for his release of warm lusty hot sperm. He prays for his ejaculative release. The final moment of the most intimate display of affection and adoration is announced when I hear his, "Ai, ai, ai, aiiii, aiiiiii." I can feel his pulsing prick at the point of entry--my rosebud--as it shoots its' jets of fluids deep within my innards. He collapsed onto my chest in search for my mouth, as I strain to lower my aching legs, which I had forced into an unnatural position during our copulation. Our muscles shudder and shout out with relief from the tense moments during the apex of our union. Deep kisses penetrate our mouths as if we were tongue fucking each other. The merge of saliva marries us once again. "Baby," I respond to Toninho, "I want this so much more often, if you think this is a punishment." Toninho looked at me with a devilish little smirk and said, "I am good aren't I Pae? Come on admit it. I am good, huh? Admit it. Come on, Pae." "Ton, there is no comparison. Not only are you a brilliant fucker to me, you're a brilliant cocksucker too, as Paulo tells me." I look smiling at him as he became aware that I know about the trick he likes to pull on Paulo so often. "Pae, you're too smart for your own good. Do you know that, huh?" he responded while attempting to tickle me. "I'm only as good as my Son." I discern two tears form in his eyes, as he said, "Thanks Pae." ************************************************************************ This story is part of the Tom Cup Library. Visit us at http://www.tomcup.com. Send comments to comments@tomcup.com Calvin: A coming of age story by Tom Cup - Now in Paperback! Visit TomCup.com for details. ************************************************************************