Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2013 11:58:02 -0400
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthierdc@gmail.com>
Subject: Andrew Jackson High --  Squirt and Paul

				Squirt and Paul
				Andrew Jackson High 6
				by George Gauthier

				1. Paul

The name tag stuck to the blond boy's shirt announced in big red letters:
"Hi, My Name is Sprout!". Underneath, in a much smaller font, was the top
of a mailing label with his full name, which is William Pierpoint
Tagliaferro IV. That is quite a mouthful, too much really for such a little
guy, one who stands only five two. Which is one reason why we call him
Sprout. The same logic applies to my boyfriend Squirt aka Alex Conlon who
matches him in same height. The remaining two members of my coterie also
have nicknames: Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey, aka Squirrel and Zach,
i.e. Zachary Taylor, like the president. I greeted both with a hug and a
peck on the cheek.

Physically Sprout and Squirt are very much alike, slightly built youths
with wiry physiques. Both are blessed with fine-boned featured, blond hair
and green eyes. Both boys are impossibly cute. Sprout has a chiseled jaw
line and killer cheekbones that makes him look slightly more masculine than
Squirt who is more your gamin type, more into the androgynous look which
turns me on unbearably. He has that effect on a lot of guys, but especially
yours truly.

As for me, I am Paul Hansen, tall dark, and classically handsome, a jock
standing six-foot three. So Squirt and I make an odd couple given a
difference in height of more than a foot but we are item nevertheless. But
I have to say that I dearly love that boy. It was his beauty that lured me
not so long ago away from my exclusive interest in the female half of the
species. Thanks to Squirt, I am now also interested in guys.

We were attending a social at Andrew Jackson High School in South Florida,
an occasion where students in the senior class and their parents could meet
the faculty outside the formality of a parent-teacher conference. Actually
I myself am an alumnus, a college freshman, one year older than my four
friends, who are soon to turn eighteen. But my primary social group is the
five of us, those whose names I have mentioned. Which is why I was there
with my boyfriend and our three close friends.

I found myself being chatted up by one of the new teachers this year, a
veteran English teacher who had transferred in from another school recently
closed because of budget cuts. A well-preserved man in his fifties he
nearly six feet tall, with neatly coiffed dark hair now greying at the
temples and brown eyes. With his seniority, he had bumped a very much
junior teacher, a nice young lady who had made English grammar come alive
for me, no mean task, I can tell you, back in my junior year.

Anyway Oswald Chambers, to give the man his name, had basically cornered me
and plied me with questions about my friends and the exploits for which
they had gained some local notoriety. Truth to tell, I had taken an instant
dislike to the man for his role in getting my favorite teacher let go. I
mean, the man could have retired at three-quarters salary and let her keep
her job. I happen to know that she is a single mother of twenty-six with
two young kids and has student loans outstanding.

I was also turned off by his first name. Call it a silly prejudice, but no
one named Oswald has ever made his mark in this world. I would go even
farther and say that with the possible exceptions of Owen and Obi-Wan,
given names that start with the letter O are just awful: Oscar, Osbert,
Otto, Omar, Odo. They are also far down on the list of popular first
names. Also I didn't like the predatory way he looked at my younger
friends.

"So, Hansen, last week, when I was a chaperone at the spring dance, I saw
you in the company of a stunning female student; her name was Brenda
Simpson, I think."

"Simmons."

"Brenda Simmons. You looked like a dating couple -- a real couple I mean,
with all that implies. Yet now I am told you also have a gay boyfriend,
that investigative reporter for the school paper with the strange
nickname."

"That would be Squirt. And yes, I am a switch hitter as far as that goes. I
like to think it doubles my chances for a date on a Saturday night."

Seeing I needed rescuing, Squirrel, i.e. Brandon O'Rourke de Lyautey. came
over to give me a chance to disengage from old man Chambers.  The old man
was not going to make that easy.

"Now who is this delightful youngster approaching? Why he is even tinier
that the two boys you were talking to just now. Those were Sprout and
Squirt, so this stunning red head would be the notorious tree climber
Squirrel. Who's next?"

"That would be me, Zach" the fifth of our party of five said
decisively. "Zachary Taylor. Like the president."

"Ah! The entire clique assembles ranks. My cue to leave, or I miss my
guess. Good evening young scholars, and have a nice evening."

We rolled our eyes as he walked away and started to circulate among the
grown ups.

"That man gives me the creeps." I said to no one in particular.

The others nodded their agreement. So I knew it wasn't just me who felt
that way.

"Let's try not to be alone with him, if we can help it. The buddy system."

Zach nodded then added: "And if we can't do that, then record the audio of
any encounter on your cell phone, inconspicuously of course."

Zach is an IT wizard. He is always thinking of such stuff.

Zach is the tallest of the little guys, as I think of them, though he does
stand a respectable five-nine. His raven locks and hazel eyes made him a
natural for coming in costume as Superboy in the body paint outfit I
created for him for last year's Halloween party. Basically he and the other
three guys were stark naked under a colorful layer of paint. They were the
sensation of the party and each won top prize for best "costume" in his
category.

Squirrel is a red-head, or auburn really. The very smallest of the group,
at five-foot-zero and 100 pounds even. Like the others his is arguably too
pretty for a male, though a chiseled jawline and strong chin keep me from
looking totally androgynous. He has spiky red hair cut short at the sides
with long narrow sideburns reaching below the ear lobes. They frame a cute
face with a high forehead, straight eyebrows with almost no curve to them,
sky blue eyes, and a perky nose slightly turned up at the end in keeping
with his Irish heritage.

Unusually for the five of us, especially the younger four, we were neatly
dressed in polo shirts, slacks, and sandals. Usually the guys snatch at any
excuse to run around stark naked, whether at the nudie beach beyond the
jetty, at the Sprouts' residence including the back yard (they have
understanding neighbors) and on their bare-ass botanical safaris to the
nature preserves in the region.

The usual drill for those expeditions is to first coat the body with
citronella oil to keep the bugs off then hoof it over to the woods barefoot
(or drive over) dressed only in skimpy running shorts which they strip off
and stash before spending the rest of the day communing with Mother Nature
in a state of nature. Quite often the boys commune with each other, if you
take my meaning.

Actually both Zach and Sprout have the excuse that as budding botanists
there is a legitimate scientific purpose to these collecting expeditions,
though really, after so many trips, the nearby preserves must be thoroughly
exploited. And there is no scientific reason for their habitual total
nudity. That is what I think, though I keep my mouth shut about it for the
sake of group harmony.

Squirt is more open about why he goes along and immediately shucks his
clothing, skimpy as it was to start with. While the botanical duo search
off-trail for specimens and occasionally a nice bed of grass to lie on and
commune with nature, he runs along the dirt trails, to build stamina, he
says. A second purpose of his outings is to encounter targets of
opportunity, lonely boys looking for a shag. Truth to tell, the nature
preserves are known as places of assignation for male sex. All the more
these days, with both Sprout's and Squirrel's nude adventures there turned
into books and made-for-cable movies.

In the nature preserves, Squirrel adopts yet a different approach and takes
to the high ground, the trees. He is a climber and very much into the
climbing sport of parkour. Trees, construction sites, walls, buildings, it
is all the same to him, an endless obstacle course, a fresh challenge
wherever he looks.

Parkour is a fairly new sport imported from France. The name is a variant
spelling for the French word for obstacle course, parcours. Only the
runners in parkour do not negotiate purpose built obstacles. They treat our
whole built up environment as an obstacle course. The idea is to move from
point to point as quickly and efficiently as you can, using the innate
abilities of the human body to run, climb, jump, fall, swing, slide, and
tumble. All done without ropes, hooks, or grapnels or other climbing aids.

Normally, on his runs in built up areas, Squirrel wears low rise canvas
shoes plus a pair of abbreviated bicycle shorts -- very low rise and with a
short inseam. They are made of an airy, lightweight, porous, and nearly
sheer tan-thru fabric. Colorful patterns printed on the fabric fool the eye
into focussing on its surface rather than looking through the flimsy cloth
to see the boy beneath. In the preserves, Squirrel prefers to go bare
ass. The folks he runs into do not seem to mind at all. Many take his
picture and ask about his three months of exile in the preserves while
hiding from the police and the Mob, all the while totally nude except for
body paint camouflage applied by yours truly. Squirrel is totally blase
about public nudity and lets folks chat him up and take pictures.

I prefer at least minimal clothing while in public. Not that I am a
prude. I do let the others coax me out of my Speedos at the nudie beach and
in the Sprout's back yard though I slip on shorts when I go inside. Unlike
the others who stay naked, except when they sit down for meals. Otherwise
they stay naked studying at their desks, watching TV, doing chores, or in
bed. Especially in bed.

In his role as live-in houseboy, Squirrel thinks nothing of strolling down
to the mailboxes in the rude nude to pick up the mail. By now the neighbors
are used to it, and many look forward to it. And why not? The boy is just
so damn cute and sexy. Same thing when he takes out the trash or mows the
front lawn. I have even seen him out front helping Sprout plant flowers,
both of them in the state of nature. More power to them, I say. With bodies
that lovely, they were born to run around in the nude.

				2. Squirt

With the warm weather forecast for the long Thanksgiving weekend, the five
of us made plans for a short vacation to Central Florida. Following a
traditional turkey dinner at the Taylor home, we got up early Friday
morning and drove to the first of the attractions we planned to visit:
Busch Gardens in Tampa. We already had our tickets, ordered on line
beforehand. Armed with their official map and my own unerring sense of
direction, ahem, we intended to explore the entire park in one day. And
darn if we didn't, with one interruption I will describe later.

Busch Gardens is a combination of zoo and amusement park with an African
theme. It has rides and animal exhibits spread over a wide area, all linked
by a train ride that serves as both transportation and an attraction in its
own right. There are five roller coasters and several water slides. Animal
exhibits too like elephants and cheetahs and giraffes and a good choice of
places to eat.

It is well laid out and doesn't have the interminable lines at Walt Disney
World. You can see all of it in a single day if you start early. We did
just that, but I would still go back there again before I went back to WDW,
and there is lots I haven't seen at Disney. It's a fantastic place for kids
of all ages, as they say, just perfect for a bunch of exuberant youngsters
such as ourselves.

We knew that, at a family resort, some patrons might not take kindly to our
usual carefree life style, so we dressed conservatively enough in form
fitting bicycle shorts. Very low rise and with a short inseam, they are
made of an airy, lightweight, porous, and nearly sheer tan-thru
fabric. Colorful patterns printed on the fabric fool the eye into focussing
on its surface rather than looking through the flimsy cloth to see the boy
beneath. If they only knew how next to naked we really were. All in all
these shorts were a great way to display our bodies without being totally
blatant about it.

On top, and you must have something on top in a family amusement park, we
chose different options: midriff baring tank top, mesh tank top, tan-thru
T-shirt, and, for me, an open Aladdin style vest, more decoration than
garment really, to show off my pecs and abs. Paul wore a grey cotton tank
top which highlighted his muscular shoulders. I looked pretty puny standing
next to him.

One thing we did not dial back was our exuberance. We are all gay and made
no attempt to hide our orientation. How could we. Just one look at us, our
body language, the way we interacted, and you knew. It was obvious that
Paul and I were a couple as were Zach and Sprout. Still we did nothing
overt that anyone could object to. No French kisses or naughty groping. Oh
there were some arms draped over shoulders and enthusiastic hugs, and Paul
did pick me up and whirl me around, but those were chaste embraces,
expressions of joie de vivre rather than lust. Just teenage friends and
schoolmates having a good time at an amusement park.

Still some people get uptight about openly gay guys no matter what their
behavior. Our very existence offends them. As I was chowing down on a hot
dog, I found myself under the stern gaze of a grey haired man in his late
thirties. With him were two women, who looked like sisters with five
children with them. As he stared at me he was joined by several strapping
teens about 18-19. Too old to be his own offspring, their T-shirts said
they were in some church youth group.

Not wanting a confrontation, I turned my gaze away, giving him a chance to
do the same. He continued staring at me fixedly. OK, if that was the way he
wanted it I was willing to oblige. Luckily I knew that the way to win a
staring contest is to keep facing your opponent but don't really look at
him. Let your eyes get crossed and day dream. It leaves you calm and
unselfconscious while the other guy gets nervous at your
equanimity. Eventually, he folds. As this man did.

Chagrined at his psychic defeat at the hands of an inferior creature, as he
viewed it, he raised the ante, briefing the teens on the situation, having
them form up behind him to back his play. Then he sauntered over to us, a
sneer on his face.

"Bunch of fags like you ought never to have been let into the park."

"It's a free country." I returned evenly.

"Too free, with your kind on the loose, mixing with decent folk. Going
around in super skimpy clothes, all lightweight and form fitting to show
off those willowy fag physiques."

"I like to think I have a pleasing physique, as so many have told
me. Actually, yours is the first complaint I have ever had about it."

"Harrumph. And all that grab ass action just now . Carrying on right in
front of my young kids and nephews, not one of them over 11. You ought to
slink back into the closet where you belong and stay there, sissy boy. Back
in the day you wouldn't dare carry on like this in public."

"Times change. In this case, much for the better. The bad old days are done
and gone and good riddance to them."

I said all this in a flat, almost unemotional tone, holding my ground
without being deliberately provocative. That was his department. Then Paul
stepped between us.

"You're doing good, Squirt, but better let me handle this now."

I nodded just as the bully let out a guffaw.

"Haw! Squirt. Now ain't that just so right, fellas. This here sawed off
runt, they call him Squirt. So who are you big man?"

"Squirt's boyfriend. Call me PH. And these are our good friends, Zach,
Squirrel, and Sprout."

Paul was deliberately provoking him, using our overly cute nicknames. I
wondered why.

"Cute names for faggots. Now git or else."

"Or else what?"

"We thrash you then throw you out of the park. You are outnumbered nearly
two to one and your backup is all little guys. Mine are strapping young
men. Now move."

He punctuated his statement by slipping his belt from around his waist then
doubled it and snapped it threateningly, like a father fixing the give his
wayward son a beating. Several of the teenagers followed suit though a
couple of them wrapped a fist in leather the better to deliver a punch.

They advanced toward us, belts and fists raised threateningly. Just then
security showed up and got between us.

We told our story. They told theirs. The gray haired man who named himself
Wilber Jenkins spun a tale of fags gone wild. We were carrying on
licentiously, dancing and kissing and petting, even rubbing our groins
together. When he objected, we mooned him and his family. We even pulled
down our shorts and wagged our cocks at him.

The upshot of it was that the security goons took us into custody.

Suddenly a stranger stepped forward. He said he was an attorney though he
was speaking up only as a witness, not as the legal representative of
either us boys or the church folk. This attorney did point out that it
behooved the company to get written statements from the complainants before
it voided the contract they had made with us when they sold us our
tickets. It wouldn't be prudent to kick paying customers out of the park,
much less ban them, without documentation.

I was furious at what looked like an invitation to pound another nail in
our coffin, but Paul motioned for us to play this cool. Obviously he was
working some angle. We all trusted Paul, not only his loyalty but his
uncommon good sense. So we followed his lead.

The parties were directed into two separate rooms at Security HQ. After an
hour, that lawyer man asked Security to bring everyone together including a
sheriff's deputy and the park manager. It seems the man wasn't just a
lawyer. He was with the FDLE (Florida Department of Law Enforcement).

With the written statements of the complainants in his hand and copies in
ours as well he dropped his bombshell.

"Let me introduced myself. I am Lyman van Zant, attorney and an special
agent at the FDLE. I heard and saw everything that went down. These fine
boys, these so-called fags, are completely innocent of any wrongdoing. You
folks are a bunch of liars and shame on you for it. Your statements are
worthless except as proof of your own criminality, namely making false
statements to law enforcement. If you had repeated your lies in front of a
judge, it would have constituted perjury.

"Son of a bitch...", the grey haired patriarch began. Mr. FDLE cut him off.

"Exactly, That is just what you are, Jenkins, a sorry son of a bitch. And
all of you are liars. Not only that, you could be charged with assault or
menacing. Those belts in your hands count as weapons under the law."

"You are so wrong about us." one of the women complained. "We are good
people, church going folk."

Our lawman ally cocked his head back.

"Oh? Do good people bear false witness as you just did? Isn't there a
commandment against that? Do good people assault innocent citizens going
peaceably about their lawful business?"

"My suggestion to Busch Gardens, is that if they want to avoid a lawsuit,
bad publicity, and possibly a gay boycott, to blackball all these
miscreants from their parks for the rest of the year at least."

The park manager nodded and promised it would be so. We got an apology and
a free pass for future use, with free refreshments any place in the park or
another of their parks if we chose to go elsewhere. Fair enough.

"What made you take their side?", the patriarch complained. "They're just a
bunch of faggots."

"So was my son. He was a Marine rifleman till he got killed in a firefight
in Afghanistan. I am proud of him for his service to our country and glad
he had come out to me beforehand as a proud gay teen."

"Which was your war, sir?" I asked.

"Desert Storm." he replied. "I was a tank commander in the Army's Third
Armored Division."

So things worked out well for us. Paul told us that he had met Lyman two or
three years ago, when he enrolled in a course to learn sign language,
ASL. Paul was dating a deaf girl at the time. The FDLE agent was a student
there too. He explained his own motivation.

"I once stood by doing nothing while local law enforcement arrested an
excited man with blood on his shirt. He wouldn't go peaceably but kept
trying to get his arms free. Turned out he was mute and was trying to
sign. To get the cuffs on him the cops put him in a choke hold, which lead
to brain damage. Turned out the man was trying to get help for his injured
six year old who had fallen out of a tree."

"I blamed myself. Oh it isn't FDLE business to interfere with local law
enforcement, but if I had known then what I know now, I would have stepped
in anyway. That is why I took that sign language course. Now I am able to
tell a deaf man to stay calm, that we know he is trying to sign but first
he has to let the police take him into custody."

Van Zant had chuckled when he learned that the Paul was taking the course
to impress a girl. Anyway, that is why van Zant remembered him. Recognizing
him at Busch Gardens the FBI agent signed to Paul that he should give the
bigots enough rope to hang themselves. Which is just what happened.

That night I rewarded Paul for his cleverness and gave him some of the best
sex of his life. I rode him cowboy style, astride his hips like I was on a
Western saddle, posting up and down as if we were trotting down the
trail. All the while he played with my big cock and tweaked my nipples, and
tickled my ribs. He liked it a lot when I bent forward and licked and
kissed his pecs and nips and abs.

It isn't that often that little guys like me get to be on top like that and
with a super-masculine type like Paul. Usually I am on my back, heels in
the air or rolled back onto my shoulders as I get drilled and reamed
out. Or I am put on all fours, taken doggy style, my small body nearly
engulfed by Paul's so much larger physique. He comes at me like a stallion
mounting a nervous filly, first bracing his arms on my shoulders, as he
impales me on his prong, then drops to all fours as he pumps away at
me. Gods how I love it when that big guy mounts me.

That evening, our lovemaking was so enthusiastic, the folks in the next
room pounded on the wall. Oops. Sorry.

The next morning, we made it up to the folks next door, a husband and wife
pair of optometrists, treating them to the deluxe breakfast buffet which
included unlimited free refills for their mimosas.

And I finally got my very own war story. Not so dramatic a story as the
others could tell, but I stood up to bigotry and had the satisfaction of
seeing them get their just desserts.

				3. Paul

The next day we went out to a water park. It was an unusually warm day for
a time of year which even in Florida is often cool. Remember our climate is
only sub-tropical. Anyway it was their very last weekend before the park
closed till spring. With a low attendance that day, it was like we had the
park to ourselves.

I am so glad that hygiene at water parks is much better these days thank to
automatic gates to the pool area. Their people sniffer technology simply
won't let swimmers pass until they take an adequate shower, discretely
redirecting them back to the showers. That keeps all sorts of body gunk out
of the pool water. Not that we needed such reminders. As gay youth we are
always conscientious about personal hygiene.

Despite the near naked bodies and the grab ass games, a water park is just
good clean fun. Even more than the wave pool, I loved the water slides best
though I was surprised and even alarmed at how fast we shot down the
tubes. The first couple of times, I half-expected to be flung right out of
the slide or slammed into a wall as it bent in a different direction.

Then I realized the reason we could go so fast was that our hard muscular
bodies slip along the wet surface of the slide with minimal friction. With
the softer bodies of females or fat people their flesh spreads and sticks
to the surface acting like a suction cup. Our Speedos helped too; very
little fabric and that very smooth so very little friction. Board shorts
are just the wrong thing to wear to a water park; they hang you up. And
then there are those really baggy shorts that extend below the knee. I call
them knickers for the short pants kids wore a century ago. Board shorts and
baggy shorts, Ugh and Ugly for short.

For the occasions we had settled on a style of Speedos with a little more
coverage than our swim team wore at school. These trunks had liners in
front to soften the outline of our manly parts. Squirt looked great in his
yellow Speedo, the color chosen to match his corn silk hair and to contrast
with his bronzed skin. The fabric was printed with white polka dots. Liner
or no, the nylon could not really soften the outline of the boy's huge
schlong which slanted upwards and to the left toward his hip, the knob
almost poking out of the waistband. Shameless boy!

Damn exhibitionist that he is, Squirt relished the way that so many pairs
of eyes gazed at him hungrily, persons of both genders and a full range of
ages right up to a guy in his sixties who could not hide the look of
unbridled lust that swept over his features when he caught sight of the boy
in the tiny tight yellow Speedo with the white polka dots, a male
incarnation of that gal in the old song about the Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny
Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. Only Squirt was more shameless than shy about
showing off his trim body.

Squirt loved all the attention, as he stood waiting his turn at the top of
the slide, hands on his hips, fingers pointed to his groin, all bright eyed
and bushy tailed, Squirt was the little cock of the walk, a super cute
twink strutting his stuff and challenging anyone else to match it. For me
no one else can.

Words fail me in describing my feelings toward the guy. Yes, he is
impossibly cute and sexy, a walking wet dream with a hard athletic
body. But it is is more than his physical attributes that make being with
him so exciting. He is so much fun just to be around, to see that pretty
face break out in a smile as he delivers the punch line of a joke he has
interjected into the conversation or lays one of his truly terrible puns on
his latest victim. His verbal agility, his exuberance and joie de vivre are
among the chief aspects of his charm. And always there is that tight little
body of his, looking so athletic and healthy and inviting. To me Squirt is
the epitome of the male teenager, a boy in the full bloom of his youth.

I am so lucky we got together when we did. For all he always says that I
took his cherry, he took mine as well. He introduced me to male sex as much
as I did him. I was just as much a virgin in that department as he was,
that afternoon, under the stands at school. We still chuckle about the
scene that awaited him at home with his pops and his uncle when he showed
up next thing to naked, in a pair of shorts I had lent him. Eight sizes too
large, he had to clutch the waistband to keep them from sliding off his
narrow hips.

We are talking about a boy who would be a mini-flyweight (under 105 lbs) if
he ever took up boxing. The hickeys and love bites showed what he had been
up to and the label in my shorts, gave away the who with. Not that his pops
had not already guessed it was me.

Since then I have frolicked with the other boys. Sprout and Zach are a
couple but with an open arrangement, like mine and Squirt's. The four of us
sometimes trade partners. Or we make a three boy daisy chain. Occasionally
we go all out with a four way orgy of boy flesh. Good thing for that sturdy
futon at Sprout's house. Only Sprout goes over to Zach's for a sleepover.

Squirrel for one is always up for a shag with any of us, and is
conveniently to hand at the Sprouts. As their live-in house-boy and cook he
shares the nude life style of the younger generation there. Though he has
his own room with a half bath, he often shares a bed or a shower, with
Sprout or Zach or both at once. As the smallest, he often finds himself
inside a boy sandwich, spooned from behind, fondled and stroked from in
front. He loves having two boys make love to him at the same time. While
one addresses his front, the other addresses his back.

I can tell you from personal experience how sweet that boy's kisses
are. And like Squirt his small body is a delight to grapple with and to
hold on to as he gives in to the good feelings coursing through him. Once
he gets going, his whole body shakes and shudders in an internal orgasm as
his body responds to the stimulation of his prostate by my fingers or my a
cock up his quim. Like Squirt, this is a pretty boy born for male sex with
caring lovers.

I just don't understand males who get rough with their boys and treat them
meanly. Boys like Squirrel and Squirt are meant to be cherished as lovers
and friends and made a part of your life. I am so lucky they are part of
mine.

Squirrel goes about the Sprout premises as unconcernedly naked as Sprout
and Zach and Squirt. Four pretty boys without a stitch on, reading,
studying, working at their computers, sunning in the back yard, or
gardening. About the only time anyone except me puts on shorts is when they
sit down at the table for a meal. And none of this grab a bite and run
business. With a cook on the premises, whichever of the boys are over there
gets a proper hot meal, which often includes breakfast, when they sleep
over.

In the kitchen Squirrel wears a blue striped apron like those in French
bistros. It does little for his modesty, open at the back as it is. Which
is fine with me. He has the tightest buns of all of the boys, from all that
climbing, no doubt. They are a delight to behold.

I am really getting into boys, but don't get me wrong. With me girls will
always be on the agenda. Only now they have to share me with the fellas.

Back at Andrew Jackson High, Squirt had a confrontation with that creepy
teacher Oswald Chambers who tried to blackmail him into sexual service. The
aging lecher knew that all four boys, Squirt and Sprout and Squirrel, and
Zach, had to pass his course to graduate with their contemporaries in
June. He kept Squirt after class and locked the door. Then he threatened to
flunk all four boys if Squirt did not surrender his sweet body to
him. Squirt's vehement protests and heartfelt pleas fell on deaf ears. The
man would not be dissuaded. He wanted Squirt and would take him, right then
and there. Squirt reluctantly agreed.

"Good! Now you are being reasonable, my young friend. Cheer up, it is only
a couple of times a week till the end of the school year. Then I will
retire, and you will be free of me."

"My oh my, Alex, you do look ever so sexy standing there in these poplin
shorts with the five inch inseam which show so much leg. I have watched
students of both genders ogling those clean limbs of yours, wishing they
could look up those shorts too, knowing you don't wear underwear."

"You usually top with a very loose-fitting sleeveless shirt like this one,
no collar and sides split all the way to the hem. No doubt you chose that
style for the way it affords glimpses of your entire chest when you lean
forward and let it billow out. Anyone can see those corrugated abs and
small teats crowning your flat pectorals. I approve of that too. I just
adore tiny teats on a boy, which look like twin beauty spots."

"But now, it is time to unwrap this scrumptious package which I have
arranged as my own birthday present to myself. Please raise your arms above
your head that I may lift this top off your torso and lay it aside. Now
kick off those flip flops. Good. Now the unveiling as I pop the button and
unzip you and let these shorts slide off your hips to the floor. Kick them
out of the way, will you?"

"There, now I have you properly naked, totally on display in all your
boyish glory. My oh my, you really are hugely endowed. On so small a youth
as you, it looks like it hangs halfway to your knees. So long and thick and
pendulous. You are blessed, my boy, blessed."

Squirt let the older man feel him up, hardly able to keep his gorge down as
the man petted him. Not from physical repulsion; the man was not ugly by
any means. For a man in his mid fifties, he had quite a decent body. No
Squirt's revulsion was a physical reaction to humiliation and blackmail,
his body's rebellion at what it was being forced into. Squirt didn't know
which was the stronger emotion in him, anger or disgust. The kisses the man
pressed on him were unwanted. The attentions he paid to Squirt's outsized
virile member were even worse. This man had no right to put his gnarly
hands on it in the first place. Ignoring Squirt's obvious displeasure,
Chambers hefted and stroked his heavy pendulous cock and slicked the
foreskin back to uncover and thumb its sweet spot.

"I have been dreaming of this moment since long before I arrived. You know
I am one of your biggest fans. Oh, not just you alone but all four of you
including Sprout, Zach, and Squirrel as you call yourselves with those
endearing nicknames. I set aside Paul Hansen as just a fifth wheel in your
group. As a college freshman, he is outside the picture and beyond my
power."

"You boys just don't realize the extent of your notoriety in South Florida
and on the web. So many videos have gone viral depicting you in your
various misadventures and escapades. Why two of you spent last summer as
virtual sex slaves in that reforestation camp in Haiti, stark naked the
whole time. Last year, one of you turned fugitive from both the police and
the mob, hiding out in the woods for three months stark naked except for
body paint camouflage. I bought Squirrel's ghosted account and the video of
his movie from that cable channel's on-line store. Getting Brandon to
portray himself was a master stroke of casting. He spent weeks in the same
locations as during his real life exile only this time a whole movie crew
was around to watch him cavort in just body paint makeup or just his skin
when the took a shower at the end of a day's shooting. Lots of fine shots
of him nude in the 'Making of' Video.

And there is Will or Sprout as he calls himself, kidnapped and carried by a
leather master to be trained as a sex slave with much candid video seized
from his captor. His story was in all the media. Not to mention so many
lesser episodes, like those outrageous costumes for Halloween and Mardi
Gras or your salacious antics at the nudie beach."

"I think they should devote a whole section of your class yearbook to the
four of you. You make fantastic copy. The four of you are why I transferred
to Andy Jackson High instead of putting in my retirement papers. Mind you,
I am not a callous man. I would otherwise have stepped aside for that young
teacher and taken my comfortable pension. But the chance of getting to you
four or at least to one of you made me change my mind and stay with the
school district for one more year."

"You see Alex. You are my first. The very first student I have hit on. In
all my years as a teacher I never touched a student, no matter how strong
the attraction. Why? Ethics, really, though you may find that hard to
believe under the circumstances, but it is true. But every man has his
limits. Came the day I turned fifty-five I decided that thirty years of
self-denial was enough. I lost interest in my occasional rent boys and
turned my thoughts to you and your friends.

"Now I have you Alex, naked and compliant, ready to bend over my desk, so I
can impale you on my manhood. If you will do the honors..."

The boy complied laying his small frame over the man's desk. Chambers
rolled his wheeled desk chair directly behind the boy and began to play
with the tight ass he had so long coveted. He rubbed the fleshy globes
delighted at the lack of any tan lines, the sign of shameless show
off. Chalmers weighed the buns then grabbed and squeezed hard enough to
leave bruises. Alternating left and right, he slapped them hard and watched
the buns tremble nervously. Strong fingers probed and lubed the channel in
preparation for penetration then Chambers reached between the boy's legs,
his hand slick with lube and milked the boy's turgid cock like a cow's
teat. Kicking the boy's feet farther apart he stood and brought his cock to
the entrance of the boy's hole. With a slow but steady thrust he impaled
Alex to the hilt.

Surprisingly there was nothing spongy or old-mannish about the man's cock,
whether from his general good health or from Viagra. He got it up and kept
it up as he drilled in and out rhythmically punctuating his rhythm with
slaps to the boy's ass. His stroking even got Squirt aroused though not to
orgasm. In his eagerness, Chambers climaxed too quickly. Given his years,
once was all the man could manage during a short tryst, so the teacher
insisted on a reprise that evening at his house.

Which is when Squirt drew the rest of us into it. You see, the reason I can
quote both of them at length even though they were alone together is that
Squirt recorded the audio of their entire encounter. He did it again that
evening. At the climax of their tryst the four of us burst into Chamber's
bedroom and took pictures with him naked and his cock up Squirt's ass.

The man tried to bluff and bluster his way out of it, but he was condemned
by his own recorded words. My boyfriend's verbal agility had lead the
unsuspecting teacher into blurting out everything during their
assignations.

The administration hushed things up for the sake of the reputation of the
school. Anyway Squirt did not care to testify at a public trial, and the
man might have raised a defense of entrapment, for that evening session
anyway. Investigation showed he had been truthful about this being his
first offense. Temptation had finally proved too strong, as it has done for
many middle-aged men who feel their lives slipping away unfulfilled.

So Chambers got a walk and his pension, but he did leave our school and
good riddance to him. My favorite English teacher got her old job back. We
gave her a big welcome, her and her kids. There wasn't a dry eye in the
place.

As for Squirt, he is gratified that he now has two war stories to tell
potential grandchildren, though mine more likely than any of his own. I am
a switch hitter. Squirt most definitely is not.

				Author's Note

If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, I hope you will consider
making a donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit
cards.

This tale was inspired by my recent story 'Squirt' and is the sixth in a
series set in and around a fictitious Andrew Jackson High School in South
Florida.

Meanwhile, good news for readers disappointed at how few stories I have
published of late. Folks, help is on the way. I have written my first
novel-length story some 125 thousand words.  Mostly I publish novelettes of
10 -15 thousand words.

The novel is in the genre called heroic fantasy. Like so many stories in
that genre it is set on an imaginary world where wizards and druids and
others work real magic, a world populated by several sentient races
including humans, elves, giants, and dwarves. Unlike most such worlds, this
one has an awful lot of cute young guys running around in the skimpiest of
costumes or even nothing at all, and taking every opportunity to hop into
bed with each other and to switch partners.

Sorry, no dragons, but I bet you never read a tale that featured a naked
teenage druid leading the charge of a herd of brontotheres against an army
of Amazons. What is a brontothere? Look it up, but not in the
dictionary. Try the Wikipedia instead.

Look for publication of my very first novel this summer on most of these
same stations.

Readers who like this story might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy'
and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive or my 'Jungle
Boy' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the Gay/Authoritarian
section. Also available are my older 'Track and Field' stories in
Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to my
stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

Comments and feedback welcome.