Date: Wed, 9 Mar 2005 11:51:04 -0500
From: kicky1000@yahoo.com
Subject: Young Genius
Young Genius
by
Little Dan
My name is Anthony, and I am six years old. Oh, I know what you're
thinking. That I have no business in these pages. But you couldn't be
more wrong.
You see, I have an IQ of over 200. The highest they've ever ever seen.
In my few short years, I have read most of the great literature and
philosophy of the world. Schopenhauer, Dickens, Homer, Virgil, Barbara
Cartland. I also speak roughly twenty languages and am about to add
Icelandic. I am a child prodigy. A genius. So you see I do belong
here. I know exactly where I am, and what I am doing, and what I am
planning.
I am at my computer taking college level courses, such as advanced
calculus. No. I do not go to school. At my age, they would put me in
the first grade, and wouldn't that be stupid? Yes. I do get lonely
sometime. I do miss companionship. But whom could I companion with?
Other children? Don't be stupid.
I am upstairs in my bedroom. My parents have to knock before they enter
my room. If I don't get my way, I rant and rave and carry on and throw
tantrums. I also threaten to kill myself. They have taken me to
psychiatrists, but the doctors all tell them to back off. There could be
the danger that I might really be suicidal.
So I pretty much get my own way. Which is great. I like being in
control. I like having mother and father afraid of me. They are
terrified that their brilliant special little boy whom they so love will
off himself. (I really wouldn't do that, but don't tell anybody.)
Recently, in search of recreation, I discovered some new sites on my
computer. They are porn sites. Naturally I had to hack my way through
parental controls. But parental controls are no match for me. What a
discovery!
I have become a member on some of these porn sites. I have charged my
membership to other people's credit cards. It's amazing what you can
do when you're willing to wander around town and sift through people's
garbage. All those unshredded credit cards numbers. Amazing.
When I accidentally landed on my first porn site, I looked at the
pictures, and didn't really understand what was going on. I had to
research it. I had to learn about sex. It was very exciting. More
exciting than Icelandic.
I saw the naked man and the naked woman. And the naked man was putting
his peepee into the woman. But it was very big and very hard and very
stiff. The naked woman looked like she was liking it. I began to feel a
little tickle in my own teenie peepee. The pictures were just
beautiful. Those beautiful bodies. Actually I liked the man's body
better than the woman's body. It was straight and strong and hard. Not
all soft and fleshy and bulgy.
I learned all the proper names for everything, like the peepee was really
a penis. But you could also call it a pecker or a dick or a cock or a
lot of other things. I learned about women's titties, and women's
vaginas, which you could also call cunts or pussies or twats or a lot of
other things. I learned that what the two people in the picture were
doing was called fucking. It looked so nice. I wished that I could be
fucking.
I explored further. I found myself on a different porn site. They said
it was a gay porn site. It was all men. Strong, handsome, body-builder
types with enormous cocks, and large firm meaty behinds, or `asses', as
they called them. I liked looking at those men. Then I found out that a
man could fuck with another man instead of with a woman. This was called
homosexuality. Most men fucked women and they were known as
heterosexuals. Some men, however, fucked other men and were known as
homosexuals. Heterosexuals, it seemed, were in the majority. They were
greatly applauded by the rest of the majority, while homosexuals were
frowned upon and treated with contempt.
I was looking at those pictures on my computer. I was looking at
pictures of one guy sucking another guy's cock. I was looking at
pictures of one guy sticking his cock into another guy's asshole. I
felt something happening to me. I looked down. I lowered my pants. I
had an erection. My penis was stiff. Yes, it was only an inch and a
half long, but it was still stiff.
I had the belated realization that I was homosexual. Hhhmmm. What a
disappointment. I had been hoping that I was straight. Didn't I
already have enough things going on in my life to separate me from
society's mainstream? And now, one more cross to bear. I was queer.
Well. I would just have to deal with it. I had no choice.
If I was going to be a queer, I might as well get started. I began to
make plans. I wanted to find out what it felt like to be queer. My first
task was to find someone I wanted to be queer with.
While I pondered this question, I shut off the computer and turned on the
television. There was an interesting science program on public
television, about the creation of the universe and the big bang, (and
how some very religious people didn't believe it happened that way. They
had a different science textbook. It was thick, with a black cover. (I
won't insult you by telling you the name of the book. You know what it
is.) But I felt like watching something a little lighter. I started
channel surfing and landed on an entertainment news program.
I was watching a not very interesting interview with Mella Allendale, the
star of the TV sitcom `Creampuff,' when all of a sudden there was a
newsflash, a special alert. Handsome movie star, Dirk Van Dark, was
breaking up with his wife, beautiful movie star, Sabrina Benfield.
Irreconcilable differences. This hit me like a ton of bricks. I was
crushed. I loved both Dirk and Sabrina, and had felt that they were the
perfect Hollywood couple. Gorgeous and madly in love. If their marriage
couldn't work, whose could?
They began to show pictures of the happy couple, in different movie
roles, smiling at premiers, smiling happily as they were interviewed on
late night talk shows. And then something struck me. Maybe this
break-up had a good side. A good side for me. As I watched, I became
more and more conscious that Dirk Van Dark was incredibly attractive.
That black hair. Those dimples. The cleft in the chin, the strong lithe
body, the round firm buttocks. I started squirming in my chair. How
come I had never realized how magnificent he was? I wanted him to sweep
me off my feet, to carry me in his powerful arms, to plant his lush meaty
lips over mine and kiss me until I lost consciousness. "Oh, Dirk.
Dirk. Dirk," I sighed. I wanted Dirk. I wanted Dirk desperately. And
he was free now. He had rid himself of that silly smirking blonde girl,
Sabrina Benfield, who, I now realized, was extremely overrated and
wasn't worth a fingernail paring off Dirk's pinky.
But how could I get to meet Dirk? Big problem. It's not easy for a
six-year-old little boy to meet a handsome popular movie star. It's not
easy for anyone to meet a handsome popular movie star. The break-up
story had mentioned that Sabrina was making a new film in Hollywood, but
Dirk had flown to New York for his Broadway stage debut in a new drama,
`One Stormy Night.'
He was on Broadway. Broadway was in New York. I lived in New York.
Maybe this could be managed after all. But how would I get to meet him?
How would I get to be with him? Big problem. My parents were not going
to let a six-year-old boy wander the streets alone. My parents were not
going to let their six-year-old son stay with a stranger. Could I
threaten suicide again until they acquiesced? It seemed to be my only
option at the moment. I would have to see how things proceeded.
A fortuitous event was about to happen the following Sunday. I was
listening to the television and they were predicting a major blizzard
that day. What a great opportunity! Things were coming together in my
mind. If I went out and couldn't get home, because of the weather^Å.?
It was still tricky, but I decided to try that course and see what would
happen.
I went into my mother's purse and borrowed her charge card. I looked up
the ad for "One Stormy Night," in the newspaper. Perfect. They were
doing a Sunday matinee and no evening performance. I would need a
ticket. There was a number listed in the paper for ordering tickets over
the phone. I touch toned the number.
"Ticket Express," a girl's voice answered. "What event are you
interested in?"
"One Stormy Night," I said. "I wanted a single for next Sunday's
matinee."
"Just one?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "A front orchestra if possible. Do you have
something good?"
"We have E 105 in the fifth row," she said.
"I'll take it," I said.
"Credit card number?" she asked.
I read off the number.
"Expiration date?" she asked.
I read off the expiration date.
"And who is the card registered to?"
"Mrs. Emma Percapnis," I said.
"Billing address?"
"977 North Manhattan Avenue, New York, New York 03714" I said.
"And is this Mrs. Percapnis?"
"Yes," I said.
"Funny," she said. "You have such a strange voice. Almost like a
little boy."
I gave a charming laugh. "Thank you so much. I suppose I should be
flattered."
"There are no refunds or exchanges, Mrs. Percapnis."
"I understand," I assured her.
"Would you like us to mail the tickets or would you like to pick them up
at the box office?"
"I'd love to have them in the mail," I said. "Do you think there's
time until Sunday."
"Yes. It usually takes only two days. But if you shouldn't receive
them, just go to the box office and tell them who you are. They'll have
a record."
"Thank you so much for your help, dear," I said. "What's your
name?"
"Anne," she answered.
"Thank you so much, Anne," I repeated. You've been a great help.
"It's been a pleasure to serve you, Mrs. Percapnis. Remember. Whenever
you want to order tickets, just call Ticket Express. We'll take good
care of you."
I thanked her again and hung up the phone. That had been so easy, I
could hardly believe it. Stealthily, I returned the credit card to my
mother's purse.
On the second day, I told mother, "I'll go down for the mail."
"No, darling. I'll get it."
"No. I'll get it," I insisted. "It was important for me to be the
first one at the mailbox. I took the mailbox key, and rang for the
elevator. I went to the mailroom and opened our box. Bills, magazines,
tax forms, and yes. An envelope from Ticket Express. Hallelujah. I was
home-free. I would be seeing `One Stormy Night' at the Sunday
Matinee. I stuffed the envelope in my pocket, and took the elevator
back upstairs to my apartment.
When I woke up Sunday morning, I looked out the window. The snow was
falling and swirling. The blizzard had arrived on schedule. I made idle
conversation with mother and father over breakfast, and informed them
that later I might be going downstairs to Jimmy's to play.
"I thought you hated Jimmy," said mother. "You said he was a juvenile
imbecile."
"You don't play with other kids," my father observed.
"Well. It's something to do on a snowy day," I reasoned.
They looked at each other and shook their heads. There was no figuring
me out. I wrote a note to them, which I would leave on my pillow.
Dear mother and father,
I have gone out to do something important, which I cannot disclose to you
at this time. Do not worry. I am safe. I have not been abducted. I
can take care of myself. Do not call the police. If you call the
police, I will most certainly kill myself. I have a bottle of iodine
with me, which I can swallow at any time. When I am ready, I will get in
touch with you. Again. Do not worry.
Your son,
Anthony
Then I sneaked into my parents' bedroom and extracted a small sum of
money from my father's wallet.
Around two o'clock, I got dressed and prepared for my journey. I would
take the subway to the theatre. Even on snowy days, the subway ran. I
left the letter on my pillow.
"Bye, mother. Bye, father," I said, as I went out the front door.
"Why are you in your snowsuit?" asked my mother.
"I thought maybe Jimmy and I would go outside and build a snowman," I
answered.
My parents seemed pleased. They had never known me to want to do
anything normal like building a snowman.
"Don't be back too late," said my mother.
"Oh, mother," I said. It was so exasperating. She fussed over me as
if I were a baby. Didn't she realize that my intellect towered over
hers?
I trudged to the subway in my high rubber galoshes. The snow was already
up to my knees. The ticket was secure in my pants pocket. I bought a
subway ticket from a machine in the station. I didn't need the
tollbooth clerk wondering what a little child was doing alone in the
subway.
The train came in and I got on board. It wasn't very crowded. I guess
a lot of people were staying home on a snowy cold Sunday. At the next
stop, a tall, scraggly looking man with a black beard got on the train.
He looked around the empty car and sat down right next to me. I was
immediately suspicious.
"Hey, little guy. What are you doing all alone on the subway?"
"I'm going to grandmother's house," I answered.
"You're a cute little kid. You know that?" He asked me. I suppose
most other kids would have eaten up this kind of flattery. I didn't
answer him.
"My name is Bill," he said. "I live at the next stop. How would
you like to come over to my house for a nice big piece of chocolate cake?
I didn't answer him.
"And I have a lot of video games. We could play video games. We could
have lots and lots of fun." Now he was getting more brazen. He was
starting to fondle my snowsuit-covered leg. His hand was moving up
toward my crotch.
I looked at him coldly. "Listen, creep. Back off, before I scream and
call the police and have you locked up as a child molester."
His face went gray. "Sorry," he mumbled. He got up and moved toward
the door, waiting for the train to stop at the next station so he could
make his escape. He obviously had not expected this kind of a reaction
from a small boy. He thought I was going to fall for all that crap and
go over to his house for chocolate cake and video games, so that he could
get me to play with his penis or something. He had expected innocent
delight from me, not shrewd precocity.
I got off the train at Times Square, and trudged (the snow was now up to
my thighs) to the Lillian Russell theatre, where `One Stormy Night' was
playing. Outside the theatre, in glass cases, were photographs of some
of the scenes in the play. There was Dirk Van Dark. Shirtless. Muscles
rippling. In another picture he was in cut-off jeans, again shirtless,
lying on top of Lorna Lexington, the leading lady, and it looked like he
was feeling her breast. I felt a stirring in my snowsuit. He was so
big, so powerful. So alpha-male.
I was in the fifth row. E 105. I wondered who would be in front of me.
I was only three feet tall. With my luck, I'd probably get some
seven-foot giant with shoulders the size of a football field. I probably
wouldn't be able to see anything.
But I lucked-out. Whoever had bought the ticket for the seat in front of
me, obviously hadn't wanted to go out in a blizzard. The seat stayed
empty. The theatre was more than half empty. The curtain went up. It
was the story of a poor southern family. One stormy night a tall
handsome stranger knocks at the door. (Dirk Van Dark.) His car ran out
of gas. They invite him to stay the night. Clotilda, the daughter,
falls madly in love with him. They have some very hot scenes together.
I was squirming in my seat. I was already a little warm in my snowsuit,
and the theatre was well-heated, and the play was steamy.
If Dirk Van Dark looked good in the movies and on television, you just
didn't know. You had to see him in real life. You had to see him in
the flesh. And he was showing a lot of flesh. I wanted to see even
more. If my plans panned out, I would be seeing even more. That curly
black hair, the bulging biceps, the pectorals, the bulging triceps. The
bulging glutei. The long triangular back leading from the wide shoulders
down to the narrow waist. And those thighs. Wow! Hot!
At the end of the play Rufus, (Dirk Van Dark) jilts Clotilda and runs off
with Clyde, her brother. Clotilda turns on the gas oven and drops off
her chair. Too late her parents return from church and find their
daughter dead. The father holds his sobbing wife as the curtain falls.
When the actors came out for their curtain call, I applauded like crazy.
I just loved it. It was wonderful. Dirk Van Dark was wonderful. I was
so glad I had defied every convention and come to the theatre. The
curtain fell again and the house lights came on. It was time to embark
upon the next stage of my plan.
I zipped up my snowsuit and went outside. It was dark now, and the wind
was biting. It was bitter. This was `One Story Night,' all right.
Even in my snowsuit I was shivering. You could walk on the sidewalk. It
had been shoveled and salted, even though new snow was now covering it.
But the streets, themselves, were another matter. The snow was over my
waist now.
I walked into the alley at the side of the theatre. It was hard to
walk. It had not been shoveled. I finally got to a row of steps and
pulled myself up using the steel railing. I opened the stage door and
went in.
The stage doorman turned and looked at me with surprise. He was waiting
for the door to open again. He was waiting to see an adult. No adult
came.
"Can I help you?" he asked me.
"I'd like to see Mr. Van Dark," I said.
"Is he expecting you?" He asked me suspiciously.
"No. It's a surprise," I said casually.
"And who should I tell him is here?"
"Anthony," I said. That was the truth.
He went up a short flight of stairs and knocked on a dressing room door.
"Come in," a voice said. It was Dirk's voice. My heart started
pounding in my chest.
The doorman went into the dressing room, and after a few minutes he came
out. "Come up," he told me. I climbed the stairs and entered the
hallowed dressing room of my idol, Dirk Van Dark. He was sitting in
front of his mirror, removing his stage make-up. He was sitting there in
a pair of clean white jockey shorts. My mouth was so dry, I didn't know
how I was going to speak.
"Anthony?" He said, turning to me, and smiling. A little boy had come
to see him in his show.
"Yes," I croaked hoarsely. I was so nervous.
"Nice to meet you, Anthony," he said. "Did you see the play?"
"Yes," I croaked again.
"Did you enjoy it?"
My tongue felt a little looser, and I wanted to expound about the
construction and the dramatic tension and the skillful direction, and the
superb acting by one and all, but especially by him, but I couldn't do
that. I had to act like a real little boy. That was part of my scheme.
"Yes. It was very good," I said.
"Are you here with your mother and your father?" He wanted to know.
"Actually, I came by myself."
"You came by yourself???" He was dumbfounded.
"Yes. I wanted to see the play."
He reached out and took my hand. "A real little theatre lover," he
marveled. "Do your parents know where you are?"
"Not really," I said, looking forlorn.
"They must be worried sick. What with this blizzard outside. We'd
better call them right away."
I nodded.
"You ran away and came to the theatre by yourself? I don't know how
you did that, Anthony. You really shouldn't have done that."
"I know. But I wanted to see the play. And now it's dark, and it's
cold and it's windy and it's snowy. And I live way way uptown, and
there are no taxis anymore, and there's no way to get home. I'm
afraid." I started crying, "Where will I stay tonight? What's going
to happen to me?" I bawled, and I sobbed. He was feeling so sorry for
me. This foolish, silly little kid, who'd come to the theatre to see
his show. He reached out and clasped me to him.
"Now. Now. Don't cry. Everything's going to be all right. Uncle
Dirk has a beautiful apartment near the theatre. You can stay with Uncle
Dirk tonight. We just have to call your parents."
I stopped sobbing and started to smile. "Oh, Uncle Dirk," I said,
sounding so relieved and so grateful. I hugged him. What a nice man
Uncle Dirk was.
"We have to call your parents right now, and let them know that you're
safe."
I nodded contritely.
"What's your phone number?"
I told him the number and he rapidly pressed out the numbers on the
keyboard, area code first. "What's your last name, Anthony?"
"Percapnis," I told him. "Anthony Percapnis."
Someone must have picked up the phone at the other end, because he
started talking into the phone.
"Is this Mrs. Percapnis?" he asked. Pause. "This is Dirk Van
Dark." Pause. "Yes, the actor." Pause. "Yes. This is really Dirk
Van Dark. I know this is going to shock you, Mrs. Percapnis, but I have
your son, Anthony, here in my dressing room." Pause. "Yes. He came
to see my show `One Stormy Night'." Pause.
"Yes. I'll put him on the phone. Hold on." Dirk handed me the
receiver. I hated to take it. The last thing I needed to hear was my
mother's whining and complaining.
"Hello," I said.
"Anthony. What is wrong with you? How could you do a thing like
that?" She was screaming at me.
"I wanted to see the show," I said. "It got very good reviews."
"Your father and I have been going crazy. We found that note on your
pillow. We didn't know what to do. You're a very naughty boy. I'm
very angry with you."
"I'm sorry," I lied.
"And the weather's terrible out. How can we get you home?"
"You don't have to," I said. "Mr. Van Dark is going to let me spend
the night in his apartment, which is right near the theatre."
"That's ridiculous." My mother was screaming again.
I handed the phone back to Dirk. "You'd better talk to her," I said.
He lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Mrs. Percapnis. Mrs. Percapnis. Now, stop worrying. I'm going to
take Anthony over to my apartment for the night. I promise you, he'll
be very safe. I'll take very good care of him. In fact I'll give you
my phone number so you can call later and check on him." He gave my
mother his phone number. Pause. "She wants to speak to you again."
Dirk handed the receiver back to me.
"Hello," I said.
"I hope you realize how nice Mr. Van Dark is being," my mother said.
"I hope you'll be a very good boy for him, and not give him any
trouble. Promise me," my mother insisted.
"I promise," I said.
"Goodbye, honey," she said. "Daddy and I miss you."
"Goodbye," I said, and hung up the receiver. "It's okay," I told
Dirk. "I can stay in your apartment."
"Good. That's settled. Just let me get dressed." He finished
removing his make-up and put on a flannel shirt, and work pants. Then, a
heavy sweater. It was a crime to cover up that magnificent body.
Finally he put on a heavy quilted jacket with a hood, which certainly
disguised him from the adoring public. Lastly, he sat back down in his
chair, and pulled on a pair of large rubber galoshes. He took my hand
and we went down the flight of stairs. He said `goodnight' to the
doorman, and we went out the stage door. The wind was howling
furiously. The snow was whipping all around. I shivered. Dirk
shivered. We started down the flight of steel stairs into the alley.
When we got to the bottom, it was obvious that I wouldn't be able to
walk. The snow was too deep. He lifted me up in his arms and carried
me. I threw my little arms around his strong neck and rested my face
against his quilted jacket. He carried me for several blocks. All the
way to his apartment building.
When we got upstairs, we took off our galoshes in the hall, and carried
them into one of the bathrooms. He hung his wet jacket and my snowsuit
on a chrome bar over the bathtub. The snow melted and the water fell
into the tub, and ran down the drain.
"I'd better fix us something to eat," he said. We went into the
kitchen, and he took two packages of macaroni and cheese out of the
freezer. He began to boil water.
We ate dinner at the dining room table. Dirk sat across from me. He
seemed to be enjoying his dinner. I ate mine, but to tell you the truth,
I'm not much for frozen food. Still I was here in Dirk's apartment.
With Dirk. Everything was going so right.
"Is it good?" Dirk asked me.
"Yummy. It's delicious," I answered, and smiled coquettishly at him.
After he washed the dishes, Dirk led me into a small bedroom. "This is
where you're going to sleep," he said.
"Alone?" I asked.
"Yes. You have your own bedroom. Isn't that nice?"
I started to cry. "I don't want to sleep alone. I'm afraid."
"Come on, now, Anthony." He hugged me and tried to sooth me.
"There's nothing to be afraid of. You're a big boy. You have your
own little bed here. Don't you have your own bed at home?"
"Yes," I said. "But it's my real bed. I don't want to be alone
here. I'm afraid." I started crying again. I threw my arms around
his waist and I beseeched him. "Please. Please. Don't make me sleep
alone. I'm afraid. Let me sleep with you. Please. Please."
"All right, Anthony," he conceded. "You can sleep with me."
So far, so good.
"We'll both take a shower, but I have nothing here for you to sleep
in. You'll have to sleep in your underwear," he told me.
"No. No. That's not clean. After my shower I can't put on dirty
underwear."
"But my clothes won't fit you," he explained.
"I'll sleep without clothes. I'll just get under the covers." He
saw he was dealing with a stubborn child and didn't pursue the matter
further.
I showered in the smaller bathroom, off his bedroom. I ran and got
right under the covers. Then Dirk got in the shower. I watched him
drying that incredible body with the large yellow bath towel. The prick
which dangled over his large hairy balls was very long and very thick.
He turned away from me and bent over to dry his feet. I saw his firm,
muscled asscheeks, and when he bent over, I could see the little pink
flower between them. As he dried, his large balls swung back and forth
before my tantalized eyes.
He walked over to the dresser and took out a fresh pair of under-shorts.
He stepped into them and walked to the far side of the bed and climbed
under the covers next to me. There was a television across from the
bed. He turned it on, and pretty soon we were watching sports. I hated
sports, but I didn't say anything. Mother called while we were watching
television. We both spoke to her and assured her that I was fine. She
told Dirk again how grateful she was for what he was doing. He thanked
her and we said good night.
We watched sports for a couple of hours.
"Are you getting sleepy?" he asked me.
"Maybe, a little," I said. He turned off the television, and switched
off the lamp on the night table. It was dark, and we were lying side by
side under the covers of Dirk's bed. I was lying in bed with Dirk Van
Dark. I was lying in bed with Dirk Van Dark. Could life get any
better? Yes. Maybe a little.
I started to cry a little.
"What's the matter?" he asked me.
"I'm still afraid," I sobbed. "I'm still afraid."
"Now, Anthony^Å."
"Could you hug me? Please," I pleaded. "Could you hug me? I'm
afraid."
"Oh, Anthony," he said in a soothing tone, almost laughing. "Yes. I
can hug you."
He wrapped his arms around me and held me to him. I lay my face against
his strong hairy chest. I could hear his heart beating against my ear.
I wrapped my arms around him, and held him close. First my hands were
around his waist, but little by little, one of my hands drifted down and
was on his buttcheek. Then my hand slipped down and was resting against
the large penis, which was packed into his jockeys.
We both pretended not to notice. After all, what would a six-year-old
know about a packed penis? Ever so subtly I began moving the back of my
hand against his packed penis. Very lightly. Very gently. He was not
even sure that I was doing it. He barely felt it. He barely felt
something. I felt something too. I felt the packed penis getting
bigger. I felt the packed penis getting harder. Harder, and longer and
thicker. He was under the covers, but with the back of my hand, I could
feel how his underwear was getting stretched. Stretched all out of
shape.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
"Nothing. What do you mean?"
He paused a second. "Never mind," he said. How could he accuse a
six-year-old child of fluttering the back of his hand against his penis?
He couldn't tell a little boy that the little boy was giving him a
hard-on. The little boy didn't even know what a hard-on was. He
groaned and tried to move his waist back, away from the little boy. It
wasn't working. It seemed almost as if the little boy's body was
following his own.
Finally I decided to move into the final stage of my plan. I thought
that if ever there might be a right time, this would be it. I turned my
hand around so that my palm was facing his penis. I moved closer to him,
so that my palm landed firmly on his penis, which I started feeling, and
holding in wonderment.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Move your hand, Anthony," he said in a choked voice.
"But what is it?" I asked. I kept exploring. I was intrigued and
wasn't going to move my hand. I wanted him to tell me what it was.
"It's my penis," he said.
"Your penis?"
"Yes. My penis. Every boy has a penis. I have a penis. You have a
penis."
"But mine's not like that. Yours is so big and so hard. Mine isn't
like that. You want to feel mine?"
"No, I don't," he said. He was freaking. "Take your hand off my
penis, Anthony."
"But it feels so big and so hard. Like a salami. Can I see it?"
"No, you can't, Anthony." His voice was sounding exasperated. This
was a situation he had never expected to find himself in.
"Why can't I? Please, let me see it. Please. Please." I started to
cry again.
"This isn't right," he grumbled. "All right. If I let you see it,
will you be a good boy and go to sleep?"
"I guess so," I conceded.
He turned on the lamp next to his bed again and rolled down the covers.
I was staring at his now-very-packed form-fitting (erection form-fitting)
under shorts. I was waiting for him to lower his jockeys. He gave me
the strangest look. Then he raised his rear and eased his shorts down
his thighs. This left his large penis airborne.
It was standing there. Big. Perfectly formed like the rest of him. Waving
around. Pulsing. It was a deep red. It had a smooth pink knob at the
end of it.
"It looks like a salami. Or maybe even a big raspberry all-fruit juice
pop."
I started sniffing it.
"What are you doing?" he asked, horrified.
"Nothing," I said. I reached out and wrapped my hand around that iron
bar.
"Don't touch it," he yelled and jumped back.
I took my hand away, but that was when I made my most daring move. I
quickly lowered my head into his lap and engulfed his penis in my small
mouth.
"My, god. What are you doing?"
"I wanted to see what it tasted like," I said, not quite removing his
penis from between my lips. "It's not like a raspberry popsicle. But
it tastes very good."
I started sucking him again. Hard.
"Oh, my god. I could go to prison for this. I could go to prison."
"No one has to know," I said, looking him in the eye.
I think it was at this point that he realized I was not your ordinary
six-year-old child. I was a little more sophisticated. His mouth dropped
in horror. He was not reacting the way I would have wished. He had not
fallen into a mad sexual passion. But I wasn't going to let that stop
me. I lowered my head over him and began working on his dick.
"Oh, my god. Oh, my god," he crooned. I didn't know if that meant it
felt good, or if he just was terrified. I continued sucking, as I tickled
his large balls with my little hand. With my other little hand, I
grabbed the base of his cock as I fed on it. His bottom seemed to be
bucking up and down on the mattress now. It was almost against his will,
but he couldn't help it. His dick was starting to feel really good.
"Where did you learn to do that?" His voice sounded gravelly and seemed
to come from a great distance.
"This is my first time. Does it feel good?"
"Yes. It feels very good. I don't know how you can get so much dick
into your little mouth. My wife couldn't go down that far."
"Maybe she didn't really love you. If she really loved you like I love
you she would have done anything for you. Anything." I looked him
squarely in the eyes again. I think he shuddered. I think he was
beginning to be afraid of me. Like my mother and my father were afraid
of me. It seems as if adults really cannot deal with an intelligent
child. It goes against all their preconceptions and instincts.
I continued to nurse on his pecker. At the same time, I took his arm in
my hand and arranged it over my body, so that his hand was touching my
behind.
He gave me a cockeyed look again, but he started to fondle my cheeks. I
rolled my body around under his hand to show him how much I liked his
gentle touch. Then I positioned my behind and thrust it back against his
open fingers. The fingers went between my cheeks and touched my tiny
hole. I remembered all those beautiful pictures on the porn site, and
wondered what it would be like when his enormous penis penetrated my
little-boy hole. My own one and a half inches was now incredibly erect.
"Fuck me," I begged him. "Fuck me."
"What?" He asked in astonishment. How could a six-year-old even know
such a word? How could a six-year-old even begin to comprehend what
fucking was?
He was afraid again. I wasn't going to let that stop us.
"Fuck me," I said coolly. "I want you to put your big thick long
prick into my little tight little-boy behind."
"No," he said.
"Yes," I insisted. "You know you want to. You know you've never
been in anything as narrow or as tight or as grasping before. You know
you want it.
Get some cream."
He nodded. He was an actor. He was used to being directed. He got up
and went to the bathroom. He came back with a tube. He had the most
puzzled expression on his face. He couldn't understand any of this.
But lust had taken over. He was beyond cool reason now. He wanted to
fuck. He wanted to try my tight little asshole.
He knelt on the bed and began slicking up his large organ. I rolled over
on my belly and put a pillow under my middle. I held my cheeks open, so
that he could grease up my hole. He squeezed some gook onto his finger
and began working it into my opening. My ass was even tight around his
finger. He added more gook and began working his finger into my ass
again. I raised my ass and tried to will it open. I couldn't will it.
It was a tight elastic band. But his finger was starting to ease it
some. He stuck in a second finger and began working the two of them
around inside me. I kept myself from groaning. I didn't want to
discourage him, or give him an excuse to stop. I wasn't going to be
happy until I had his whole big endowment inside me. So I just kept
rotating my ass as if I loved his fingers in there. Now there were
three, and he was twisting them clockwise. Now counter-clockwise, now
clockwise, now counter-clockwise. My ass was really opening up. I was
starting to really like the feeling of something in my ass. And why
shouldn't I? I was queer, wasn't I?
He spread some more gel on his large dick and spread-eagled over me. He
was bigger in every direction than I was. Now he lowered his body, and
holding his prick in one hand, fed it between my little-boy cheeks and
began pushing at the portal. The portal was spreading. Ever so
slightly. Then more. Ever so slightly more. The knob was moving past
the elastic band. It was inside me. I gave a little gasp of pleasure
and raised my bottom toward him. I wanted the knob deeper, deeper. It
was going deeper, deeper. It was never-ending. I think the length of
his cock must have been one quarter the length of my whole body. How
would we ever get it all in? But we did. I felt his curly hairs
brushing against my cheeks. I felt his large balls hitting my buns and
upper thighs.
When it was all in, he rested for a few moments. He just let it sit
inside me, getting used to the feel of me. Letting me get used to the
feel of him. I started closing my muscles around him. He gasped. Then
he started moving. A gentle come and go movement. I had handsome Dirk
Van Dark inside my body. I had accomplished my mission. I was in tenth
heaven.
And more than that, I now knew what it felt like to get fucked. And
feeling it was even better than looking at it. And I was not a passive
partner. I raised my middle up to him on his instroke. I lowered my
body onto the pillow on his outstroke. Instroke. Outstroke. Come and
go. Come and go. Come and go. Yes. Yes. This is what we are born
for. The intellectual life, of course, has its place. But fucking.
Fucking. What could be better than fucking?
I felt Dirk tensing up on top of me. Making the strangest, craziest
movements. Gurgling under his breath. "Oh, this is so great. I love
it. I love your little ass. My cock has never been in anything like
this before. Never been in anything so tight. Your ass is just a little
cum-suck machine. Do you like it, baby? Do you like it? Tell me how
much you like my big dick fucking your little cum-suck machine."
"I love it. I love it," I said desperately, meaning every word and
smashing my ass into his pubic hair. "Give me your hot cum. I've never
even seen cum, but I want yours. I want it now. I want it in my ass.
Shoot it into me, Uncle Dirk. Drain your balls inside me."
My words seemed to drive him wild. His movements got even more erratic.
His gurgling became non-comprehensible. And then I felt a perceptible
difference. The cock in my ass was longer, harder. His movements froze
for a second. I felt hot liquid spraying into my body. Then this taut
ass started hunching again as he worked the last few drops out into me.
He licked my cheek. I turned my face and opened my mouth. He licked my
teeth and my tongue, holding me tightly against his chest with one hand,
and holding my middle tightly against his balls with the other.
"Thank-you," I said. "Thank you, Uncle Dirk. I wanted that so
badly. You've made me so very happy."
"And I thank you, kiddo," he whispered into my ear. "What a great
little fucktoy you are, baby." He licked my mouth again.
After that we fell asleep.
The next morning after breakfast we turned on the television. What
luck. The mayor was in deep trouble. The plows hadn't done their job,
it seemed. The streets were still pretty much impassable. They were
begging everybody to stay home if they didn't have to go out. Dirk
called my mother, and it was agreed I would stay with him the next day or
two. I got on the phone. "I love you, mother," I said. "I'll see
you when the weather gets a little better."
Now that my ass was open, I wanted to use it. I had no trouble
convincing Dirk to fuck me all day. We just lay in bed and fornicated
every few minutes. I sucked him. I made him fuck me. I learned to
pleasure his rear rosette, as he called it, with my soft gentle little
tongue.
Between fucks, we chatted a little, and unfortunately I exposed my
extraordinary intelligence. I couldn't disguise it any longer. He was
stunned. In his wildest dreams he could never have imagined that there
would be a six-year-old like me. Kiddingly, I told him that he would
always have to do whatever I said or I would expose him as a pedophile.
He laughed, but his face turned green. He had been warned.
Monday night Dirk had no performance, so we were able to be together the
whole evening. After an exhausting orgiastic day, we finally fell asleep
in each other's arms. Twice during the night, we stirred and he fucked
me. The next day the roads were passable. Dirk hailed a cab and we went
up to my apartment.
My mother opened the door and was so happy to see me, she almost cried.
She thanked Dirk profusely again for taking care of me. But that was not
to be the end of our relationship. Every Sunday night, Dirk would come
and get me and we'd go to a movie, and then I would stay over at his
apartment. And we would fuck like mad. My mother had no idea why Dirk
was being so nice, why he was spending so much time with me. But she was
so happy that finally I had a friend. Even if he was much older than I
was. But, of course, there was no way I could ever have a friend my own
age. What would we have in common? Of course my mother never dared to
imagine what Dirk and I had in common.
Dirk is so handsome, so gentle, so wonderful. Such a terrific lover.
That gorgeous face, those lush meaty lips, all those muscles, that
powerass which he uses to slam his dick into my boyass. I love him so
much. But let's face it. I am only six years old. I want more
experiences. More lovers. I want to play the field. I am way too young
to settle down.
I choose my new lovers carefully. I watch television. I search the
Internet.
I managed to entrap a strong handsome right-wing United States senator.
Also, a brilliant handsome university professor, slightly graying at the
temples. I would establish contact with these people. Everyone was
thrilled to meet and discuss world affairs with a six-year-old genius.
They were all famous, influential, thoroughly upright people. They would
speak to my parents over the phone and arrange for me to fly to their
homes for the weekend. My parents were so proud. They drove me to the
airport. The gentleman would meet me at the other end, so anxious to get
to know this brilliant young boy. He had no idea what was going to
happen to him over the weekend.
After a long political discussion, I asked the senator to tuck me into my
bed. He smiled at his wife, and accompanied me up to my room. I got
undressed and got into bed, but when he stepped forward to tuck in the
covers, I reached over and unzipped his fly.
"Whoa," he said. "What are you doing?"
"Quiet," I cautioned. "Your wife will hear." Quickly I dug out his
dick and while he was still in shock, I locked my mouth around it. He
was torn between disgust and titillation. Titillation won out. He let
me suck. I tickled his balls as I was sucking.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he said.
"Maybe not, but I want to and I know you want to. Look at your cock.
It wants to get sucked. It wants to fuck."
"No. Not that," he protested.
"Yes. It wants to fuck. I can tell." I whipped over on the bed and
pulled him down on top of me. For someone who was hesitant about
fucking, it was fairly easy to work the tip of his prick into my behind.
I pushed back against him. "Ussshhh," he breathed.
"Quiet. Your wife will hear," I warned again. He was on automatic
pilot now. He was fucking like a trooper. He was fully clothed and only
his stiff dick was sticking out through his fly. I felt the hard edges
of his zipper against my tender little buttcheeks. This was so great.
Dirk had really opened me up. I didn't even need lubrication any more.
I could go right at it. The senator shot into my belly, huffing and
puffing. It was very exciting. I had made another conquest. I loved
getting someone who didn't want to fuck me to fuck me. Every fuck was a
personal triumph.
"What a hot little firecracker you are," the senator observed, in
wonderment.
The university professor. Well. That was a weekend. I'll tell you
about it some other time. It would take too many pages. At the moment,
I am corresponding with a famous trial lawyer, a best-selling novelist,
the top heart surgeon at a large hospital in Chicago. I have seen
pictures of them all. They are all to die for. They are all married,
but that is no barrier for me. They all want to meet this brilliant
little boy. I have sent them each my picture, and they all think I am
very cute. `Adorable'. We talk on the phone and plan our approaching
get-togethers.
My parents are excited that all these famous influential people are
interested in their little boy. They happily pack my bag and send me
off for my meetings. All these men are so respectable. They never dream
how their lives will be changed by me.
I talk to Dirk all the time, and every Sunday night, when I am not with a
new contact, I sleep over at his apartment, and we make `mad passionate
love'. I must say that his cock feels so comfortable in my ass now. It
was that cock that shaped my ass, so it really feels good. It just fits
so well. Dirk has lots of beautiful Hollywood girlfriends, but he calls
me his `little fuckbuddy.'
I wonder what it would be like to fuck someone and shoot my load into his
ass. But my penis is still too little. It wouldn't even go inside
anyone. Ah, well. Maybe someday. But in the meantime, I've gotten to
really love being on the bottom. I think I'll always prefer being on
the bottom.
So now you know all about me. If you're interested, and if you're very
handsome and very intelligent and very powerful and very influential,
perhaps I would be interested in getting together. Feel free to E-mail
me. You have my E-mail address. Photos requested. Feel free to describe
to me what we will do together. How you will make me suck your big
cock. How you will stick same big cock into my tiny asshole and plow the
*********** out of me. Waiting to hear from you. Yours truly,
Anthony.