Date: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 18:37:36 -0700
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Chapter 15 of my story Come Christmas Steve

Come Christmas Steve
Chapter 15
The Arrest

Whittaker started cleaning up and removing his condom when the apartment
door burst open and what sounded like an assault force stormed into the
apartment. "What the fuck is that?"  Calvin yelled as he scrambled off the
bed. Before any of us could even pull on a pair of boxers, the bedroom was
filled with guys wearing all black and wielding weapons, screaming and
yelling at us to get on the floor. One of them stood back and had a light
fastened to his gun. I nearly swallowed my tongue as I dropped to the
carpet. A knee drove into the small of my back and my arms were jerked
violently backwards. Cold steel handcuffs were clapped onto my wrists. I
was then hoisted up and dumped on the bed next to Whittaker and Calvin who
were likewise handcuffed. I was dazed and confused until the overcoat guy
walked in.  The guy with the light on his gun kept it pointed at us, but
the other three guys stepped back and held their weapons at ease.

The overcoat goon started laughing before announcing in his raspy voice,
"Well, well, well.  Look at what I found. You boys are all under
arrest. This is gonna be some useful arrest footage.  Looks like we caught
you practicing what you do best." He pulled a badge from inside his coat
and flashed it at us. He filled us in on our rights after he confirmed our
names.

"What are you arresting us for?" I insisted. I was dumbfounded and shaking
with trepidation.  "Are you even really a cop?"

"I'm a special investigator with the FBI Child Abuse Unit. You, Mr. Steele,
are being charged with sexual assault on a six year old boy while on
Federal lands in Yellowstone National Park.  Additionally, you are charged
with molesting three boys in connection with your employment with the after
school program at Longfellow Elementary School.

"What?!? No way!! That's not true!" I yelled. One of the guys dressed in
black pointed a taser at me and told me to shut up. I cowered back and
obeyed. I'd seen the YouTube videos.

The FBI guy in the overcoat then addressed Whittaker, "You, Mr. Whittaker
are accused of one count of sexual assault on a prepubescent boy involving
penetration."  Whittaker started to object, but the man in black aimed the
taser his way and he thought better of it also.

Lastly, the agent spoke to Calvin and said, "And you, Mr. Computer Genius,
are charged with thousands of counts of possession with the intent to
distribute pornographic images of underage children, both boys and
girls. You've been a busy little beaver."

"That's bullshit! Those images were not mine and there was no intent to
distribute. I can prove the source of those pictures. They weren't
mine. I'll prove this is all a bunch of bull ..." Suddenly, there was a pop
and a projectile on a wire hit poor Calvin in one of his flabby
boobs. Calvin's big mistake was jumping off the bed and stepping toward the
guy in the overcoat to plead his case. He let out a screech and started
flopping about like a big mouth bass just pulled from the lake and dropped
onto the bottom of the boat. He flopped and flailed and screeched in pain,
legs and head and hairless genitalia flying in every direction. The agent
in black, controlling the event, smirked in apparent satisfaction. Once he
felt Calvin had enough, he stopped the flow of current leaving Calvin a
blubbering blob of naked flesh on the floor. The agent retrieved the barbs
from Calvin's puffy man-tits with little mercy by placing a boot against
his chest and plucking them from his quivering boob. Calvin let out an
elevated wail as each one was extracted.

Then the overcoat agent paused a moment, waved at the guy with the light
attached to his gun, and told him to kill the camera. He addressed us with
a sneer, "All of you make me sick to my stomach and I wish I could deal
with you outside the law. I'd nail your balls to the floor and give you a
dull butter knife, but I assure you, the Federal and Montana laws are very
strict on these matters and you will pay dearly for your crimes. In fact,
you might wish you were dead before they get done with you in the big
house. They don't like your kind there and your sweet young asses will be
ravaged beyond recognition. The only question is whether you'll live long
enough to die of AIDS."

Calvin started crying again, sobbing uncontrollably. They all laughed in
scorn at him. I was on the verge of throwing up. Whittaker looked calm and
calculating. I could tell he was deep in thought. I was worried he might go
all Bruce Lee on the feds and we'd all end up dead from the crossfire. But
he didn't, and instead just sat quietly with his brow furrowed and his head
bowed.

One by one, we identified our clothing on the floor and they assisted us in
getting dressed. I was relieved we weren't going to get hauled into jail
naked. I'd already heard all the horrible rumors about what happens in
prison before the raspy voiced agent reinforced it. I could only imagine
what a target three naked teenagers accused of sexually abusing boys would
be. I began fearing for my life. I was shaking so badly at this point that
I could hardly walk as they escorted us out of the bedroom and down the
hall. Outside, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to see what was
going on. I was surprised to see Jensen standing there amongst them.  Even
more surprising, the agent thanked him for his help. Jensen pointed his
scrawny finger at us and sneered, "I knew it. I knew you fags were up to no
good all along. Serves you guys right."

"Fuck you, Jensen!" Whittaker snarled back. "You and the WHORES you rode in
on."

"Jensen, I'm innocent. Help me, please! Please! None of this is right. Call
my brother Karl at Dartmouth. He'll know what to do. PLEASE! You have to
..." I was cut short by my escort. We were pushed into the back of an
unmarked box van and the doors were slammed shut with an ominous
thud. Calvin was still in tears and shaking worse than I was. Whittaker
remained stoic and silent.

"Why me?" Whittaker asked, almost to himself, as we jerked away from the
curb.

"Why you what?" I replied to clarify where his mind was going.

"Why did this just happen? I get why you were arrested since you've been
diddling with the little boys at school and that cute little guy in the
room next to us in Yellowstone. And I get why poor Calvin here was arrested
since they found all that stuff on Calvin's computers and the thumb
drive. But why me?"

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I screamed. "You really think I would do something like
that?"

"You practically admitted what you did in Yellowstone and you are always
going on about how cute the little boys are at the school you work at. You
never mention the little girls, only the little boys. You fit the profile
dude."

"Oh, that's unbelievable. Because I'm gay? Huh? You think because I'm gay,
I must surely be a molester of little boys? You sit there and pass
judgment, but the FBI doesn't go around arresting people without evidence
so if they say you "penetrated" a young boy, they must have some evidence
of it. It's funny how you used that word against Simba earlier today. You
seem to know a lot about penetrating. So don't go getting all high and
mighty Mr. 'I'm-so-straight'. It doesn't look to me like you're any less
gay than the rest of us. Didn't I just watch you plowing Calvin's chubby
ass just thirty minutes ago? Huh? You're about as straight as the Missouri
River. And as for your lover boy over there, did you hear the agent? He's
got both boy AND girl images on his computer and we know he goes both ways,
so he isn't so fucking innocent either."

"You're a piece of work. You get us both involved in you and Steve's weird
shit and then you start accusing us of this kind of nasty business? No, it
just doesn't make sense. Calvin, tell me straight up, did you have kiddie
porn on your computers besides what was on the thumb drive?"  Whittaker
asked.

Calvin shook his head no. "Sure, I've downloaded some porn, mostly girls
but some hot twinks too. Who hasn't? But only five or six thousand and only
of legal age. Why would I want to look at kids? That's just sick."

"Five or six thousand? Holy shit. That's more than a few." Whittaker looked
away from me and went back into his trance.

"We're going to prison," I lamented. "We're going to get beat up and gang
raped and probably murdered. This is not how my life was supposed to turn
out. My family will have a good reason to be disgraced by me now. And I may
never ever know what happened to Steve."

"Don't fucking mention that asshole's name in my presence ever again. I
swear if you do, I'll rip your fucking head right off your fucking
shoulders, handcuffs or not," Calvin cursed. "That fucker is the reason
we're all in this mess and he was smart enough to skip town before this all
went down. I swear he left that flash drive behind on purpose just so we'd
become the targets and he could escape."

"Hmm," Whittaker mumbled again. "The flash drive. It's all about the flash
drive. Why? Why are they interested in me and Calvin since they have the
flash drive now?"

"Fuck both of you. You willingly participated. It's not my fault you're in
this. I'm just as much a victim here as you are," I insisted. "None of that
shit about me is true. None of it."

"Except for the part about being naked in the room with the kid in
Yellowstone. We already know that was true. You're a guilty victim. We're
innocent victims. You probably knew what was on that drive all along. You
probably were in on the whole child abuse thing. I bet you got your share
of little orphan boys to play with. You and your roommate will rot in hell
for this. I swear you will," Calvin seethed.

I started to lash out again but lost the will. I was deeply hurt at his
accusations.

We traveled for a long, long time - seemingly hours - sitting on a hard
metal bench. No one spoke after that initial strained exchange. The cuffs
were uncomfortable and cut into my wrists.  Each bump in the road or hard
turn jostled me into the side wall of the van and sent a fresh, jabbing
pain through my sore wrists and shoulders. Whittaker and Calvin finally
slid off the bench and lay on the rubber matted floor. Calvin lay in the
fetal position and Whittaker spooned up behind him as best he could. Our
shirts were just pulled over our heads and shoulders but the sleeves were
armless since we had our arms cuffed behind our backs. The two on the floor
actually fell asleep. I needed sleep badly but couldn't and I didn't want
to lie on the floor. There was really no room with the two of them there
anyway.

Finally, the van started making twists and turns and then came to a
halt. My back and shoulders were killing me. I was sick to my stomach and I
was desperately hurting emotionally from Whittaker's horrible
accusations. Calvin's barbs hurt too, but not like Whittaker's. Calvin was
kind of an asshole, but I thought Whittaker was in my corner and a
friend. The idea that he believed the accusations against me burned deep in
my gut. And I just kept thinking about Steve. Was he alive? Why did he
participate in the child porn ring? What was going to happen to me now? I'd
passed the point of emotional breakdown. I'd had a good cry along the way
once Baby Balls Calvin and King Dong fell asleep. Now, I was in battle
mode. Not physical battle, that was futile, but mental warfare. I was
innocent, dammit. I had to prove it. But how? I knew who my phone call
would be to: Karl at Dartmouth. When it came down to it, even though we'd
had our differences, I knew he'd be in my corner and he was the legal guy
and would know how to get me legal help. I started trying to remember his
cell phone number.

The doors were jerked open with a bang that woke the two on the floor. We
were pulled out and once my eyes adjusted to the light, I was surprised at
the jail. It wasn't like any I'd imagined. We were taken to a room from the
parking area and turned over to other guys wearing blue t-shirts that said
FBI on them. One by one, the cuffs were removed and we all rubbed our sore
wrists with welcome relief. We put our arms into the sleeves of our shirts
and felt slightly more human. We each filled out an information sheet with
our personal information and then signed at the bottom. Whittaker read
every word on every line. Next, we were asked to remove all personal items
from our bodies and pockets. All I had were my wallet and keys. They went
into an envelope, were quickly sealed and we signed for them. Calvin had a
gold chain and a ring to remove. He had a hard time getting the ring off.

"I guess we'll need to cut it off," the guard snorted.

"My class ring?" Calvin whined.

"Nah, your finger." He started laughing when Calvin's mouth dropped and all
the other guards laughed along. "Of course your ring, you dumb fuck."

"Can't I just leave it on?"

"No. You can't. No jewelry in jail, cupcake."

Calvin dribbled saliva on his finger and tugged as hard as he could and
finally ripped it free of his knuckle. Even though his knuckle was
bleeding, Calvin looked pleased to have salvaged his ring or maybe his
finger. I don't think he was all that sure they wouldn't cut his finger
off.

Next we got fingerprinted, officially read our rights again and told what
we were charged with.  Then, we had to hold up a placard with numbers and
letters on it and get mug shots taken.  Lastly, we were marched into a
neighboring room where there was a guy in a white lab coat waiting for
us. The room looked like any typical medical clinic exam room, paper
covered table and all. "Strip!" the guy in the coat ordered. "Naked!"

"What?" Whittaker asked. "Why?" Those seemed to be his two new favorite
questions.

"Two reasons: one, because it's easier than cuffing you to the table here
and cutting your clothes off and two, because I have to do a full physical
and cavity search. Also, we have some stylish orange jumpsuits for you to
wear when we're all done."

I'd never been fond of physicals. Stripping in front of a doctor and
getting his finger up my butt always bothered me and I was always deathly
afraid of boning up again during the finger thing.  It happened to me when
I got my first real athletic physical at age fourteen. It was a young
Canadian born doctor, if he even was a real doctor and not just some
medical assistant.  Anyway, my mom took me and Billy to him together to get
checked before hockey season.  Mom and Billy stayed inside the room the
whole time and being oldest, I had to go first. Billy and I were both
stripped to our boxers and had already done the weigh-in and blood pressure
check, and so on. I had no idea what to expect. Past physicals had been
merely, check the heart and lungs, look in the ears and eyes and ask if I
had any pains anywhere. I'd never had to take more than my shirt off
before.

But this time, it was way different. We had to lay on the table with the
paper liner and he felt all over my body, thumping on my stomach and
pushing on my feet and hands. He did the usual stethoscope stuff and
looking in the mouth, eyes and ears, but then he said stand up. I was
relieved it was over because I'd managed to not get fully boned and I
didn't think my pudgy was noticeable by anyone. Once I was standing, the
doctor appeared in front of me on a rolling stool blocking my path to my
clothes. He had disposable gloves on and without any warning, he simply
grabbed the sides of my boxers and jerked them down. I gasped and
instinctively reached to save them, but it was much too late. They lay at
my feet. I stood there in exposed shock as he just matter-of-factly started
fondling my balls, right in front of my mom and Billy.  First one, and then
the other. Well, what would you expect? My young dick started to grow.
"No, no, no," I chanted over and over in my mind. "Please God, don't let me
pop a bone. Not here, not now." I fought it off, but I was definitely
approaching half mast.

He pushed in along the base of my dick and asked me to turn my head aside
and cough and that actually helped me get my mind off my ballooning dick
and it drooped back down just a bit.  Then, he took my hips and spun me
around and told me to bend over. When I did that and leaned on the table
thing, I realized my semi-stiffie was in full view of my mom and Billy. I
peeked and they were both staring right at it. Then I was shocked beyond
words when a slimy finger touched my bung hole and pushed its way up inside
me. I cried out in surprise and straightened up to protest. I wondered why
my mother sat there so calmly while this guy violated her son. He rudely
ordered me to stay bent over while he wiggled his finger around up inside
my butt. All hope of control was lost at this point since that was my
favorite thing ever for when I jacked off. I loved sticking the brush
handle up there. My dick sprang to full attention and even started dripping
a bit. I wanted so bad just to die on the spot. I peeked again and Billy
was snickering, of course, but so was my mom! Holy shit! My mom was
snickering at my boner.  I felt the heat of my blush burning on both cheeks
and thought I might just burst into flames.  When he extracted the trigger
finger, and had me stand up straight and face him again, he said in his
Canadian accent, mostly to my mother, "Young boys and their oooveractive
hormones, eh?"

"Tell me about it, I have four boys at home. Well, five if you count their
father," Mom joked.

"Well there, you certainly know all aboot it then. Don'tcha, eh?" Then he
apologized to me that he'd forgotten to check my meatus and made me expose
my boner again while he spread my piss slit apart and peeked at it, asking
if I had any pain when I urinated. I had no idea what a meatus was and was
stuck on figuring that out. He could tell I wasn't processing what he'd
asked me and he clarified, "Does it burn here when you go pee? It's a bit
inflamed, ya know." I told him no, it was fine, and I was relieved that he
cleared the path to my clothes.

I dressed quickly - pants first, of course. Naturally, Billy's exam was
uneventful and he stayed perfectly and un-embarrassingly limp the entire
time. He took it up the rear like a trooper with barely a flinch. He made
sure to rat me out to all my brothers when we got home, though, and I
endured weeks of humiliation over it. Now, I feared what fresh humiliation
I was about to get thrust upon me and what the penalty might be if I boned
up in front of this guard or doctor guy, whatever he was. And, that whole
cavity search thing worried me a lot.

"Well? Strip!" the guy barked. "I ain't got all night. Actually, I do have
all night, but I don't want to spend it staring at you ugly fuckers, so get
naked."

We all complied, quickly pulling off our clothes. I had the thought that it
would have been easier just to leave us naked in the first place. But I was
glad we didn't because I remembered the crowd on the sidewalk and that
asshole, Jensen. I wondered what kind of help he'd given the FBI. I
wondered if Jensen made up more to the story about little Daniel in
Yellowstone when he talked to the agent in the overcoat. I wondered if he
knew all along that the guy in the overcoat was FBI and not a PI like he
claimed. I stood next to the pile of my clothes with my hands over my dick
just like Whittaker was doing. Calvin, on the other hand, made no effort to
hide his small hairless package. One by one, Whittaker first, we had to go
through the normal physical drill, finger and all. Then after the finger,
for added measure, the guy greased up this contraption that went up our
assholes and spread them open, Then with a light, he inspected up inside to
make sure we weren't smuggling anything up there. I groaned when I saw
Whittaker have it done. Afterwards, Whittaker returned to get his boxers on
and the guy immediately scolded him.

"I never said you could get dressed. Rule 1: You never do anything without
asking first. Rule 2: You immediately comply with anything an officer asks
you to do. Now just stand there while I do your butt buddies." Calvin got
the treatment next and grunted when the tool pierced his hole. I thought it
was probably good that Whittaker had stretched him out down there in
preparation. I really didn't think I'd have a problem with boning up, since
I'd just shot my load at Calvin's apartment plus from all the nervousness I
was suffering.

It all went well when it was my turn. He about gagged me with the tongue
depressor as he checked every millimeter of my mouth cavity. I understood
why the other two flinched when he felt up their balls, because he was
excessively rough about it. I braced myself after the finger and when the
cold steel of the inspection tool slid in and then expanded, I drew in a
breath. It was very stimulating. I was taken by surprise at how much it
affected me. It felt like Whittaker times another quarter percent was
spreading me open. Finally, he extracted it and to my disappointment, I'd
boned up. Not like crazy hard, but definitely past halfway and noticeable.

"Hah, you're the king of the butt pirates, aren't you kid? If you liked
that, you might just enjoy your little stay in our hotel here. You might
never want to leave." I held my tongue. He continued, "Good thing you boned
up, though. I need some photographs of it. Finish getting it hard, I need
it completely erect."

"Why do you want pictures of my erection?" I asked.

"Rule 3: Don't ask why when a guard tells you to do something. Just fucking
do it." Then, he consented once I started stroking myself to try and
comply, and he answered my question.  "Because you've been charged with
sexual assault crimes. A description of your penis often comes into play
for the prosecution and they always want pictures. It's just easier to have
them on file from the get go."

The idea that people, strangers no less, and kids possibly might be
discussing my boned up dick and looking at pictures of it made me
squeamish. I couldn't help but be suspicious whether they really wanted
photos to show to the kids. That way, when it came time to testify, they'd
be able to lie convincingly about what my boner looks like. I briefly
considered refusing to continue, but then I remembered Rule 2 and Rule 3
and also thought back on Calvin flopping around on the floor from the taser
and decided to keep on stroking.

I was losing the battle, though. The more I stroked, the more it
deflated. "I might not get it up all the way. I just blew my load before we
got arrested."

"I can cure that," he said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a needle and
syringe along with a small brown bottle. "I got some erection injection
juice here," he said with a smile. I freaked.  "A couple squirts into your
trouser snake and you'll be as stiff as a porn star on Viagra."

"NO! I'll get it up." I started pumping faster and harder as he laughed at
me. I wasn't getting it all the way, though, and as much as I hated asking,
I definitely didn't want shots into my dick.  No way, no how. My dad always
said that and I was briefly reminded of him. I was thankful he didn't know
where I was and couldn't see what I was doing. So, I asked, "Could you,
umm, stick that thing back up my backside? I think that would help me in
getting hard."

He laughed his ass off and Whittaker and Calvin did a little too. The
doctor guard complied though and I bent over while he shoved it as deep as
it would go and spread it as wide as possible. I also used some of his KY
Jelly on my dick and in no time I was stiffer than a dead steer in a winter
blizzard. I modeled for him while he took multiple shots of my boned up
dick from various angles.

Next, it was Whittaker's turn and no matter how hard he tried, he could not
get a full erection.  The doctor followed through on his threat and
injected Whittaker's dick in two places on both sides to get it to bone
up. The guard gripped Whittaker's dick with both hands and told Whittaker
to do the top part of his dick and squeeze really hard for about three
minutes after the injection to control excess bleeding inside the
penis. The combination of medicines, he explained, caused the soft muscles
in the penis to relax allowing more blood flow from the veins and also
causing the backflow restrictions necessary to trap the blood. In a few
minutes, Whittaker was rock solid and his photos were taken.

"That'll last about thirty to sixty minutes. If it goes over four hours,
tell someone and I'll shoot you up with an antidote." Whittaker nodded and
started modeling for his photo shoot.

"I'm ready," Calvin announced pointing to his small erection.

"I appreciate your efforts junior, but I don't need pics of yours. You're
not accused of molesting anyone. You're just here for the porno charges."

"Oh," was all Calvin answered. At last, we were allowed to put on a pair of
white boxers and an orange jumpsuit with numbers stenciled on them. Mine
was the only one that fit. Whittaker's was way too small and Calvin's was
too big. We were led down the hall to our cell. It was a room with a small
window in a heavy door. The small room had a cement table in the middle and
in the corner by the door was a drinking fountain, a toilet and a sink - no
soap. The walls were a drab white as was the concrete floor. The room was
harsh and cold. There were no beds and only three plastic fold-up
chairs. There were some metal hooks and lots of bright lights in the
ceiling. All three of us were ushered in together.

Calvin slumped into one of the chairs and pressed his palms to his
forehead, elbows on knees, and he started whimpering. "I can prove I didn't
download those kiddie porn pics and the ones I did download, they're all
legal. If I get the chance, I can prove I'm innocent," he grumbled.  Then
he launched into a series of expletives.

Whittaker and I stared at each other for a bit. "I didn't do what they
said," I finally told him as sincerely as I could be. "I didn't know what
was on the flash drive."

He stared at me. "Doesn't make any sense any other way, Shane. One of us
has to be guilty and they're just scaring the others of us to try and get
information. It's the only thing I can figure out. How they think they can
get away with this without my parents suing their asses off, is beyond
me. But the Federal agencies have all gotten some pretty big balls since
9-11. They seem to be able to do about anything. I know I'm not guilty, and
we both know Calvin isn't. That only leaves you. And Steve, of course. Why
don't you just confess and tell them whatever they want to know and maybe
Calvin and I can go home. Please. Don't drag us any further into this."

"You know what? Fuck you! It's no use even trying to talk to you." I took
my chair and dragged it away to the far end of the cell and sat down with
my back to them. I felt so abandoned. I supposed I should be hating on
Steve too, but I couldn't. None of it made any sense. Exhaustion overtook
me and I slipped off the chair, laid down on the hard concrete floor and
fell fast asleep.

There was no rest, however. No rest for the wicked they say. It took
forever to fall asleep and when I finally did, I dreamt of the wild apes
chasing me through a vacant warehouse full of broken cement and rusting
steel. As always in this dream, I was naked. Men in dark t-shirts just
ignored me. Suddenly, the gorilla appeared and I couldn't outrun him. He
grabbed me, dragged me into a white room and forced me to my knees. He
wiggled his gorilla penis in my face and then moved around and shoved it
forcefully up my ass. While the gorilla was fucking me, dry and painfully,
the guard doctor walked slowly into the room holding a syringe with a large
needle attached. The doctor sneered and yelled at me to get an erection or
he'd stick the needle in my dick. Just as the gorilla was about to climax,
Whittaker appeared and with one sudden swing of his massive dick, snapped
the gorilla's head back. The gorilla groaned and fell backwards, slipping
from my bleeding ass.  Suddenly, Whittaker screamed out in pain and I woke
up, sweating and panting. The bright lights hurt my eyes. I could see my
cellmates sleeping across the room and after I confirmed they were still
there, I shut my eyes again.

Eventually, I drifted back to sleep, once my heart rate had dropped and my
dick had shrunk. I wondered if Whittaker's dick was still hard. The
curiosity overcame me and I wandered over. I knelt and felt him up. He was
soft and his large penis hung limply along his leg. Curiosity satisfied, I
sat back and stared at the two of them lying there. I pitied them. I was
responsible for dragging them into this mess. My simple little attempt to
do something nice for Steve and get him a laptop had exploded into a
massive pile of shit. No good deed goes unpunished, they say. That was
never truer in my life than at that moment. I made my way back to my corner
and lay back down for another crying spell. I needed to let it out. The
dream had left me shaken and I was just overwhelmed from all the crazy
events of the day. After I fell back asleep, if I dreamt again, I don't
remember it.

_____##____

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Chapter 16 will follow soon.

Sincerely, Hans
h.schreiber@hushmail.com