Date: Tue, 4 Oct 2005 10:40:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rob Hoek <storyguy22@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Island (1)

   All usual disclaimer language applies to this work of fiction. To my
personal knowledge, none of the people, places, or events that are depicted
here has any basis in truth, or reality. Enjoy, and feedback is always
appreciated. Storyguy22@yahoo.com



   The descending airliner gave forth the usual thumps, and groans, that
signaled its final approach to the airport, and I felt my heart rate
increase. It was actually beginning, with the ending of this flight, the
fruition of a twenty year dream, one that until recently I doubted would
ever come true. Following the flight attendants instructions, I dutifully
raised my tray table to its full upright position, and snuggly buckled my
seat belt for landing, lest any small disaster foil my careful planning at
this late stage. As the plane began its slow descent, I leaned my head back
on the seat, and reflected on the events that had given birth to this
moment, and the moments yet to come, that I so eagerly anticipated.

    Around the time of my early twenties, I had come to terms with the long
denied admission that I was a bonified boy lover. It would be the second
time in my young life that I had at first wrestled with, and then accepted,
the sexual oddities of my makeup, the first being when I embraced my
gayness at the age of fourteen, or fifteen. I had struggled mightily with
my sexual attraction to other boys at that juncture of my life, a text book
case of denial. I told myself that it was a passing phase, fueled by my
intrinsic shyness with girls, which reached near phobia in its
dimensions. I had been a popular member of high school society back then,
blessed with physical attractiveness, and a pleasing personality that was
further enhanced by a great sense of humor. All outward signs indicated
that I occupied a strong foothold on the very top of the world.

  The outward me that everyone knew, and liked, portrayed the classic,
all-American high school boy, a joiner of campus clubs, and activities,
even attaining a modest degree of stardom on the school baseball team. I
dated pretty girls, albeit awkwardly, and was always invited to attend the
most popular parties, dances, and other teen social events. My grades were
impeccable, and my advise, and council, were frequently sought, and
accepted by my peers. I had so polished the outward persona, that were you
to consult Webster's, seeking the definition of "consummate teen boy," you
might very well encounter my photograph.

   The inward me was a much different picture, indeed. The inward me was
the boy with the raging hormones, the never-ending erections, and a very
serious penchant for devouring all manner of raunchy porn, virtually all of
it inclined toward the male of the human species. I loved boy's bodies,
pure and simple. I literally drooled over countless images of naked males,
happily flailing away at my own poor penis, so enthusiastically that it's a
small wonder I didn't break it completely. In the early stages of my secret
adventures, all that was required to fuel my inward fires were males,
period, their age, or the physical dimensions of their equipment that so
rocked my soul, being of little consequence to my raging hornieness.  As is
true, I suppose, with any practice that is oft repeated, a certain "honing"
takes place over time, and my personal predilection was no different. With
the passing of time, I became aware that the brunt of my barely checked
passions tended toward very young boys in particular. Once recognized, this
little quirk rapidly rose to the forefront of my sexual ambitions, and I
began to invent countless ways to immerse myself in the activities of, and
the associated company of, tender lads in the ten, to thirteen year old
range.

   Once firmly established as my infatuation of choice, my range of
attraction seemed to freeze there, and in spite of my own steadily
advancing chronology, never wavered. This condition, of course, created its
own set of frustrations, given the stringency of the laws of the land
regarding adult/child sexual activity. It would have been, and on few
occasions, was, one thing, for a boy of fourteen or fifteen to engage a ten
or eleven year old lad in some form of sexual activity, but as I reached
legal adulthood, I realized that my little bent would be viewed as an
entirely different matter. Indeed, one of most serious consequence. It was
my concern for a less than stellar outcome to my otherwise very satisfying
life that kept my desires in tight check over the years, never allowing the
smoldering beast access to dictate my actions beyond the secure little box
of my fantasies.


   And then, as the old song goes, along came Jones. Ben Jones, to be
succinct, a guy I met in an internet chat room that catered to like minded
boy lovers. Ben and I had shared some open chat exchanges on several
occasions, and seemed to share a similar viewpoint on the subject matter,
though much of our shared chats were pretty vanilla, and benign. During one
of the late night chats about six weeks hence, Ben had "PM'ed" me, and we
got bolder, and much more specific, in our private exchange of thoughts
ideas, and desires. It was through Ben that I learned of the Island, a
place, according to Ben, where boys, and an almost limitless menu of sexual
activities, were available for a fee. Needless to say, my prurient
interests were peaked at such a possibility, and like a hungry trout to a
well presented dry fly, I rose to the bait.


   Ben elaborated slightly on more detail, but was understandably cautious
in fully disclosing the specifics of such an operation to a virtual
contact. I doggedly pressed him, my excitement growing rapidly at the
prospect of finding a resource to actually fulfill a long term dream in a
safe, and sane environment. He relented slightly, finally telling me of his
personal experiences on the Island, the details of which left me literally
drooling with the desire to pursue such an adventure of my own. Over a
period of some time, I was finally able to convince Ben to connect me with
the anonymous source that brokered arrangements for a trip to this boy
lover dreamland. I gave him my clandestine email address, which he promised
to pass on to the secret contact, who would in turn contact my email, thus
beginning the arduous screening process that could possibly result in my
acceptance as a client of the Island.

   The ensuing days passed in seemingly slow motion, with me pinging my
email several times a day in the fervent hope of a response of some kind
from the broker. Some six days later, my heart leapt with hope, when I
received a generic email, much like many of the common place spam messages
that one receives all too frequently, but with a mind grabbing attachment
named simply, "B-Isle." With a slightly shaking hand, I clicked open the
attachment, finding a questionnaire of sorts. There were also instructions
to forward the completed questionnaire to one of those websites that is
nothing more than a mail rerouting vehicle. I would have absolutely no idea
where the personal data I provided would actually end up. Some alarm bells
were clanging in my mind in that regard, but I squelched them, ignoring my
usually conservative nature, so strong was my desire to be accepted as a
client of the Island.

   Another week drug by, as I waited for some kind of reply to the
questionnaire I had submitted, and finally, the following Saturday morning,
it arrived. The message came in the form of a terse statement indicating
that I had apparently "passed" the pre-screening process, and contained
further instructions that I was to present myself, at three o'clock that
same afternoon, on a certain bench in the city park that surrounded the
local court house. All very James Bondish, to be sure, but I knew instantly
that I would be there, with bells on.

   The appointed hour found me seated on the designated park bench, my
heart hammering loudly in my chest, as I waited for God knew what. After a
very long half hour or so, an older man approached my position, and I noted
a business size manila envelope tucked under his arm. He paid me absolutely
no attention as he walked up to the bench, and sat down. He placed the
envelope onto the bench seat between us, and bent down to retie his
shoe. Finished, he stood, and walked rapidly away, crossing the small
square of the park, and disappeared into the passing crowd on the
sidewalk. I glanced over at the envelope, and saw that it had some small
printing in an upper corner. I picked it up, and brought it closer to my
face, and read the imprint. "B-Isle" leapt off the page at me, and my heart
skipped a few beats, as I quickly tucked the envelope under my arm, and
exited the park at a rapid pace.

Hurrying home, I locked myself into my apartment, and opened the envelope
with slightly shaking fingers. Inside were several color brochures, and
some type written pages. I shook the whole thing out on the table, and
picked up one of the pamphlets, my eyes focusing on the photograph on the
front. It was an aerial photo of a small island, surrounded by azure blue
ocean, and ringed at the shoreline with what appeared to be pristine, white
sand beaches. My hands still quaking slightly, I opened the cover and
groaned, my cock growing instantly hard in my slacks. The two sided page
that faced me was made up of numerous small photos of absolutely beautiful
boys, probably ranging from ten, to maybe thirteen years of age. Each was
equally exquisite, and very nearly nude, save for the tiny strip of loin
cloth that barely preserved their young modesty.

I let my hand drop to my very tented lap, and gave my aching tool a
squeeze, as I feasted my eyes on the photos, moving slowly from left to
right. Each lad was stunning in his own right, and sported a dazzling smile
on his fresh, young face. The hair colors covered the spectrum, and each
little cutie appeared flawless, and totally devoid of any trace of body
hair. The complexions were a golden tan, and creamy, each wide smile
revealing rows of small, snow white teeth. Their bare chests varied
slightly in development consistent with the age difference, and each was
dotted with tiny nipples that caused my mouth to drool, as I envisioned
gently sucking the tender nubbins into stiffness. The delightful chests
diminished into soft little tummies, and I smiled at the variety of
concave, and convex, little navels, easily picturing myself probing each
tiny orifice with the furled tip of my tongue. The small loin clothes were
suspended from a dainty gold chain that encircled each slim waist of the
boys, and several indicated a slight bulging from behind, as though
straining to contain the swollen boy treasures within. Their legs were
equally as golden tanned as the torso's, and appeared toned, and totally
hairless, save for a few of the slightly older cuties that appeared almost
shimmering as the bright sunlight reflected off the fine little peach fuzz
coating. Even their feet were cute, I decided, and I knew, then and there,
that I had to get to this Island, no matter the cost, or the risk.

I slowly turned the pages, and my constant flow of precum began to soak my
silk boxers, as I savored the incredible boy photos, each page increasing
in boldness. The digital quality of the photos was exquisite, making each
grinning lad appear almost life-like, as they cavorted alone, and together,
on pure white sand beaches, or around, and in, a very large swimming pool
area. There were shots which plainly depicted a range of sexual activity
occurring between boys, or between boys, and adult males, and even though
the actual points of bodily contact were blacked out, it was patently
obvious what pleasures were being taken at the moment of capture. One
particular beauty caught my eye, a treasure of a cutie, probably about
eleven, happily smiling at the camera, as he rode the lap of a reclining
man around my age. The loin cloth covered the doubtless penetration that
was happening, but the look of joy on the man's smiling face belied any
doubt of the action. His hands seemed large, as they encircled the lad's
slim torso, his fingers lightly pinching the tiny nipples that dotted the
boys creamy smooth chest. Unable to contain my rising passion any longer, I
shuddered deeply, and my cock ejected a searing load into my boxers,
totally untouched.

Recovered, I forced myself to set aside the mind boggling photo's, and
scanned the package options, and prices, that were offered by the
Island. It was going to mean a serious flirtation with the poor house, and
debtors prison, for sure, but by this point I would gladly have severed a
limb, if doing so would secure even a few paltry days in this boyland
paradise. I did a rapid mental calculation of my available funds, and
decided that the future would just have to fend for itself, as I opted for
the "premium" package that the brochure offered, a full seven day stay in
the five-star rated bungalow that fronted the white beach, and azure blue
sea. The brochure indicated that this particular package included my "total
choice" of boys, and any "activity" that I might desire over the length of
my stay. The only restrictions that were advertised as "strictly enforced"
were harming the boys in any way, or any forcing of a particular activity
that any boy might decline. Management strongly reserved the right of
immediate ejection from the island in the event of any rule infraction, and
refunds of payment were not, in any case, to be forthcoming. I could
certainly live with those very appropriate conditions, I quickly decided,
and executed the application document. The following morning, I submitted
the application, and completed a wire transfer of the required funds. That
done, I hurried home to await my travel instructions.

   Once the money had changed hands, the arrangements had been promptly
executed, and within the week, I was at the airport, boarding my flight to
the boyland paradise known as the B-Island.

(To Be Continued)
Storyguy22@yahoo.com