Date: Sun, 25 Jan 2004 16:36:06 -0600
From: gloryhole JUNKIE <gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com>
Subject: Whoring with Dad PART 9

WHORING WITH DAD
Part 9 "In (Kevy) Like a Choo Choo..."
(or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE
gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com



DISCLAIMER & WARNING


No matter how over-wrought with that one particular vein of sexual arousal
(oh, you know the one) which "pushes the envelope to extremes" (funny
enough, rather like one's Jockey shorts); regardless of that depraved yet
oh-so-common male gene causing them to "bone up" at the slightest hint of
really, really naughty sex; and looking past the actual sexual activities
most of them secretly partake in whether at home, work or public toilet...

...the author's adult male readership is always reminded of the fact that
there is a world of difference between the inner workings of one's mind and
the actual unzipping of one's pants (especially when in the presence of
lil'ones).

Also, these wonderfully lusty men are reminded that there is a very
important difference between text and photography. While often times the
latter requires the "use" of another participant's sweet lips, yummy sex
organ or tiny tushy; the former requires only the use of the reader's gray
matter (remember "brain sex"?). It only involves you, the reader, alone at
his hi-tech masturbatory station in order to enjoy the written word. The
written word is about YOU while the graphic visual image (although most
certainly about you, too), requires, as in such cases, the involvement of
those who are not legally allowed to be involved. Certain photographic
pornography, as we all know, requires some other men "out there" to unzip
their trousers while in their kid's bedroom or while chaperoning a scouting
trip with tykes in kerchiefs and SpidyMan underpants. Such photographic
behavior is a certifiable no-no and is most assuredly not encouraged by the
author.

Erotic literature, on the other hand, no matter how great or, (as the
self-milking high school boys might say), "dumb ass...hell, I barely blew my
load to that one, dude" it may be, is of (and this is IMPORTANT) a very
different nature than graphic photographic imagery. Within erotic
literature, the only actual "images" utilized for a sexual purpose are those
you drooling wankers conjure up in your own head.

To paraphrase "Animal Planet": no actual children were used nor harmed
during the making of this tale.

Remember that! In fact, write that down on a Post-It note and stick it onto
your monitor. (Out of Post-Its? That thick semen you're going to shoot up
soon makes a find gluuuuuuuuuue).

What a man reads or thinks about as he masturbates is his own business. In
fact it's his Right! (The Right To Free Masturbatory Thought, Article 629,
Wankers vs Uptight Doooods).

Sure, some men masturbate to thoughts of Pam Andersen's forty-pound boobies.
But other men (or those same men only hours later in the day) secretly pound
the meaty keilbasa as they recollect all those huge jock dicks they saw in
the men's sauna at the Luxor Hotel while in Vegas last weekend.

And some married men, when out of town on business, beat off thinking about
their darlin'wives back home; while others of them beat off into the mouth
of the hooker they brought back to the room; while still others beat off in
their suite along with twenty other hung'n'horny out-of-town conventioneers
who are also staying at the same hotel (and you thought they just hung out
in the lobby bar talkin' sports all evening).

As men who have sex with other men, we dickhounds know first-hand that most
dads out there obviously aren't confined to thinking only sweet thoughts
about "the mother of their children", (who, coincidentally, are at that same
moment, picking up the kids from school) as they all surround, unzip and
gangbang some dude swallowing feeders' loads in the cruise woods. On the
contrary, many married men rather enjoy beating off into that cock hungry
dude's mouth while using their left hand - as to better advertise the fact
they're feeding him happily wedded daddymilk.

And we know those same (and other guys) when in the porno house ain't even
looking up at the screen where one Vivid Video. Inc. chick laps at some
other Vivid Video, Inc. chick's pierced cunny lips. Hell, how could a boned
up married fella even see the screen when he's got the bobbing heads of his
three super hungry cocksuckers blocking his view as they all give him head
in the back row?

And we know brawny Navy SEALS ain't just thinking about stripper chicks as
they line up to get head from some dude through the gloryhole at that one
"specially-protected" bookstore off base.

That's the "cool" thing about erotic writing and one's mind - they can take
men anywhere they want (and need) to go in order to get off.

When a handsome, hung married dad in his mid-fifties has just spent the
entire afternoon screwing thirty other men in the back room of a XXX
theater, um, what do people honestly think he's thinking about as he mounts
his aging wife later that same night? Minimally, my guess would be that his
mind "wanders" as he squirts up the last load his hefty nuts can muster that
day.

Or we all know what that tall, athletic young stud is thinking as he winces
for the fifth time while his gorgeous girlfriend scrapes her bonded teeth
painfully along his huge, porno-quality shaft as she blows him. Hell, we all
know that his mind's got to be straying backwards in time to that old man in
the park toilet that one time he wandered in when he was a senior at Main
Street Prep...the old man all the guys talked about; the happy geezer who
swallowed whole his youthful nine-inches like a champ and throat milked him
like a calf at the petting zoo. Heck, guys, especially straight guys, never
forget that!

Ironic how even a handsome stud with his AAA boner rammed up inside a
gorgeous, bosomy chick often still lets his mind drift to "better blowjobs"
he's gotten (and always from dudes).

Hmm, can't tell just by LOOKIN', can ya?

And therefore, how can anyone know what a humpy young dad-to-be is really
thinking about as he jerks off in the bathroom while his wife, in just the
other room, moans aloud as she goes into labor? Sure, he may just anxiously
be awaiting that due date and merely blowing off some tension as he wanks in
the bathroom after weeks of no sex. But, he could be thinking ANYTHING as he
stands there at the basin counter jerking his breeder rod. As he squirts
semen all over the mirror...looking at himself with a knowing, devilish
smirk...can any of us know what it is he's really, truly, deeply so excited
about regarding the impending birth of his firstborn son?

Unless he acts, can any of us know what another man is truly
thinking...sexually? Of course not! Any nasty depravity is simply within his
mind's eye. And every man has a right to the zillion and one things that
race through his skull (doth he not)?

The author strongly discourages his randy, erect readers from acting out any
of the scenes described in this continuing sexual saga. Instead, he
encourages his male audience to sit down to it, unzip, jerk the meatstick
while reading it, ejaculate (hopefully profusely), wipe up (eat up if you
like), zip up...and get on with ones normal day (whether that's work, study,
tennis or continued Internet masturbation).

As the author says, "Tis better a big-dicked, adult man blow seed whilst
reading than for said man to masturbatorially haunt the bushes at
schoolyards and local playgrounds."

And I can't think of a soccer mom out there who would disagree (Oh, my! The
author agrees with SOCCER MOMS!?).

It's also vital to point out that the author, whose tale continues in
"WHORING WITH DAD" was the first-grader protagonist and not one of the
countless men who took a ride in his tiny body cavities. Remember to keep in
mind the point-of-view from which the author is telling this tale.

Please DO NOT copy, re-print or in any way "use" this story for any purpose
other than that for which it was intended (for your libidinous good time in
the ol'pants department). Fellas are encouraged to pull down their trousers
and have a rollicking "personal use" good time with their boners while
reading. For any other purpose, any requests and permissions must be given
in writing.



PREFACE: A Word About All-Male Gangbanging

Please Be Advised: The following preface is relatively lengthy. Therefore,
(if its not down already), the reader is directed to unzip his slacks now
and prepare for a slow wank while reading something on the subject of the
"all male gangbang". Otherwise, those men short on time or patience or
struggling hard to wrangle in their raging boner that's already on the verge
of hosing down their keyboard in semen, should simply SCROLL DOWN in order
to get on with the continuing story of lots of men taking serious advantage
of a small, very young but very hungry little fella.


I would not be going out on any perverse limb when I say that the vast
majority of gangbanging which occurs in the world is most-decidedly all
male. Sure, there's a female "target" here and there in various sex-slave
brothels of Bangkok or straight dungeon clubs of Munich. And sure, no
vicious L.A. drug gang is worth its tats without gangbanging some lil'
sista-in-the-hood on a slow Saturday night. Oh, and on occasion, a bi-sexual
hubby will talk his malleable and often porky housewife into spreading her
legs for a buncha black guys in a motel off the interstate.

But, far and beyond those examples, most guys who participate as top men in
a gangbang situation, are plowing and splurting their sperm into an unknown
male. Let's just face the facts, fellas (don't worry, no one's telling your
wife).

Although up on the big screen (and now on DVD), the gangbang theme is huge
among straight men, cinematically feeding their "fantasies" of big-titted,
wild-eyed whores sucking down fifty huge dicks at a time (or better yet,
starring some na‹ve porn starlette going for the Video Queen Award by
letting five hundred men mount her all for the sake of "fame") such
so-called straight professional porn is but selling men product as
pornographers exploit their flights of wishful thinking. Never forget: in
any straight gangbang, dudes are principally getting off to dicks and
nut-blasts. That's why such a video title as "Cum Mistress Bambi's Las Vegas
SUCK-A-THON" sells wildly!  Yet, as we all know, even in Pornland, there
just ain't that many chicks willing to be gangbanged (without making a big
production out of it anyway) and the cum part has to be credited solely to
the hundred guys surrounding her pimped out body anyway.

On the other hand, look inside any gym, sauna, woods, XXX theater,
penitentiary, adult bookstore, barracks latrine or department store men's
room and a man's odds of coming upon a wild (and actual) gangbang surges!

The gangbang is, after all, basically and essentially a "guy thing".
Although men may be able to talk or force a chick into playing "target", the
gangbang (as men understand and enjoy it), isn't quite about women or female
sexuality.

The true spirit of the gangbang is primarily all about the numerous guys,
(more specifically, their cocks and their ejaculations) who encircle and
penetrate a single target. Certainly, one can utilize a female as a target
if one must, but, as all guys know...that ain't essential to the process.

If one were to conduct a poll of men who have actually participated in a
real gangbang, and if they were forced (say, by well hung SS officers) to
tell the truth, the vast majority of respondents would have to admit that it
was not only among other males they experienced the gangbang...but also
within the hole(s) of another male.

The actual opportunity for a mob of erect males to screw one other person
does not, in common course of life, come up all that often. But, when it
does, it's far and away due to the fact some other male is on his knees,
open mouthed and hungry for "juice pops" from the crowd.

Many handsome college boys may tell tales of gangbanging some sorority chick
up in the frathouse attic. But we all know that for any one such gangbang
which may or may not have actually taken place (and one that doesn't end up
as a date rape story on "Dateline" afterwards if it did), there are ten
other gangbangs in that same frathouse - gangbangs of one of their own. Its
just "easier" for guys to 'fess up to partaking in a gangbang by referring
to their little frat bro target as "some chick...we don't recall who she
was".

And any man who has entered a public restroom; come into a XXX theater; hit
the suck trail in the woods "at just that right moment" can attest to the
fact that they've seen and jumped into the gangbanging of (almost always and
exclusively) some other dude. Go into any shower room, sauna or steamroom at
most any health club and sooner or later a guy will be presented with the
occasion to gangbang a dude willing to suck off or "put out" for every guy
in the place with an open towel.

Ride any overnight train (Italian ones are the best) in Europe and if the
car is loaded with males, sooner or later some guy among them is going to
blow each and every one who wants to unzip. And as word gets around, from
engine to caboose, rather than disgust, guys on that train wanting head will
instead opt to display an ample basket as they get ready to be "next".

The strong desire to gangbang is a male sexual trait. Sure, men can force
females into gangbang submission or coerce their woman into it "as to please
her man" (makes one wonder why more country songs ain't 'bout gangbangin'!).

The act of a whole bunch of horny guys surrounding someone and fucking him
is purely male in its conception. In fact, its rather contrary to the
natural order of sex between the genders to gangbang. For the most part, men
want to know whose seed knocked up their chick and the gangbang contradicts
that innate sensibility (generally). And most females aren't too willing to
lose track of their baby's paternity as forty-three different males mount
her within an hour.

The all male gangbang is as old as the saltine hills. Remember the men of
Sodom (See? We cumpigs can quote the Bible, too) all erect in the streets
demanding that Lot send out his male visitors to them "so as we shall know
them". (Psst! Yup, that meant GANGBANG them).

And its as old as ancient war or the calderium when victorious and mule hung
soldiers screwed the muscled ('n'sorry) butts of losing armies...just before
chopping off their heads. When powerful senators and athletic lads, when in
the mosaic hot tub, all took turns blowing their scroto-seed inside the deep
throat of that "target" male of the bathhouse willing to diminish his
maleness for that of superior males (...and all that hooey).

"Leave our women alone! After all, there's a boy whose little butt is
willing to take all cumloads behind pillar forty-three at the coliseum!"

As sperm-shooting boys traditionally were separated from fertile girls in an
attempt to guard against pregnancy. Or more pragmatically, because the cave
dudes would be away for weeks at a time hunting the mighty bison as the cave
chicks stayed home to collect berries, more and more and more boys were
pressed together and confronted with the need to devise a way to satisfy
their boners without girls. And its always easier to find one hundred boys
wanting head than that one "special boy" willing to do them all. As guys
figured out whom among them would be willing to slug down a few pints of
combined cum, they quickly learned to corner such a mate with intent to
"gangbang".

Similar conclusions are reached in prison houses. Most guys want to keep
their virility "intact" and yet need to plow and blow seed into some hole
(or else...why...they may commit a crime or something). Targeting some lanky
prisonhouse cutie or other willing cockpig doing Life is easy as
hung'n'horny inmates take turns passing such a gangbang "target" around the
entire cell block.

It simply makes "masculine sense" to gangbang. Why have a whole bunch of men
on their knees going all "homo" when just one cumhole will do (the entire
place). The "logic" of an all male gangbang is that if a dude lets one dude
screw him, he may as well let one thousand dudes screw him. And as a top
man, the logic holds up that as long as this one dude is just a conduit for
the majority of ejaculating men, then pass him down when you're done.

In any good all male gangbang, there's at once this interesting combination
of intense sexual, physical pleasure along with what is a very male
sexuality component - the desire for total objectification of their sex
partner (when it comes to pure lust, that is). And gangbanging affords guys
the carte blanche opportunity to use a hole simply for their own pleasure
and convenience. As a mere cumhole, the target male becomes a conduit of
pleasure for as many men as can put their dicks to his lips or sphincter!

Rarely does this same logic or male drive hold up (for very long at least)
where a female target is concerned. Usually purchased (whether she be a porn
actress, crack addicted hooker, wife promised a tummy tuck when its over or
a bukakke Geisha) for the gangbang occasion, as is often the case when a
woman is the target, the pure act of being merely a conduit for men's
ejaculates no longer holds up. In the back of the minds of all men
participating, they know she's been paid to do this (and that diminishes
some of the objectification). And should they rape a female in the pursuit
of the gangbang, that adds baggage to what is suppose to be all about their
own pleasure and penises. Or even if it's an unpaid wife or girlfriend who
allows herself to be gangbanged, that rarely works out in the long run.
Either the boyfriend or husband ultimately betrays his truer sexual
preference for homosexuality or the jealousies and innate sense of ownership
over the wifely sex hole overwhelms one or both of them.

But its an unbridled, pure gangbang that men are afforded when they come
upon a target male on his knees or leaning over a railing in a XXX, legs
spread like an alleywhore, taking on every erection needing a place to spit
its sperm. No commitments, no tangled webs of gender interaction, no social
rules to follow, no worrying if he'll get knocked up or scream rape (even
date rape) or fear that some husband is on the sidelines directing the
action. Hell, the worst thing one may hear in a massive all male gangbang at
the local XXX is, "Where'd my wallet go?"

For every one female who will permit herself to be gangbanged in the woods,
every man reading this (and who has live a real life), knows there are a
thousand guys in the woods being gangbanged on any given day of the year.

Or, sure, fellas may "fantasize" that the anonymous mouth wagging its tongue
through a heavily-trafficked gloryhole at the dirty bookstore is that of
some hungry chick (looking something like the one they're watching on the
50-channel monitor perhaps). But, when they're cumming down that well-lubed
throat, they know, deep down, its some dude in there gulping down their
fiftieth slug of seed for the day. And yeah, men knowingly using (and
feeding) gloryholes that, shall we say, "experience a lot of foot traffic"
are indeed men in what could be called "gangbang mode".  For even if you
think you're the only dick to plug those lips, don't fool yourself! Instead,
you most likely are dick number thirty squirting its sperm into whomever is
on the other side of that service hole. That's gangbanging by gloryhole (an
official sub-set to the definition of gangbanging: loads of different dicks
screwing and squirting cum into one "target").

Its this collective use of a target hole and the objectification of that
hole which permits a wide range of men to use it. And as the hole taking on
all cocks is but a hole (BUTTHOLE?), it makes little difference to men who
gangbang whose hole it is.

And that's how an entire adult bookstore of assorted men can gangbang the
hungry fella at the gloryhole between booths five and six. And how a team of
brawny football players can gangbang their scrawny waterboy. Its how cable
guys and salesmen can all gangbang some early-retiree in the local forest
preserve. And how Marines can gangbang their designated "platoon pussyboi"
aboard ship. Its how a slew of suburban dads can all gangbang some jock in
back of the local porn theater.

And, yes, it goes far in explaining how a huge number of adult men, who are
otherwise law-abiding chaps, can even succumb to gangbanging a willing
little kid inside a public toilet.

Its all because gangbanging is
thismuch
about the target and
t      h        i         s               m           u        c       h
about the men using that target.

Not that gangbang targets mind that fact at all! On the contrary! The very
concept, the heart, of the gangbang is that all these fellas over there are
getting off in that guy over here. The target is on his knees or bent over
for just that purpose - to be the objectified sexual conduit for all these
horny bucks!

I sucked off an entire straight XXX theater just the other day. In fact, it
was the Saturday after Christmas which, traditionally, has always been one
of the best days of the year for a public cocksucker since the dads and
college frat boys are around, all killing an afternoon while the wife or mom
is at Target returning things.

It's an adult cinema I like to frequent; a place that is often wild with
married and well-built closeted guys who spend the day utilizing, while in
the shadowy recesses of the theater, the anonymous butts and throats of
cum-dump queers on their knees servicing the general public (you know, the
usual pornhouse stuff).

It's a place where most any dude over the age of eighteen is guaranteed the
opportunity to pump his babybatter into some hot cum-swilling hole - always
a male cum-swilling hole (but, hey, when a dude's gotta shove his boner into
something...anything...he'll unzip without too many homophobe questions
asked).

So I was on my knees, sucking off dick number seventeen of the afternoon
(hell, I was there for a full hour already) when this silver fox of a man in
his early-fifties steps up to where I'm planted on the cement semen-puddled
floor (how sad that ejaculating men were there before I arrived).

His slacks already unzipped, and without even needing to ask, he sticks his
thick erection between my sperm-glossed lips (I think he watched and waited
as only moments before him a humpy blue-collar Hispanic guy had left his
paternity wad on my tonsils). As he begins to buck in and out of my sextoy
mouth like a man long in need of a truly good blowjob, he starts
"interviewing" me as my throat's impaled on his married penis (Oy! So many
gold wedding bands in such places).

And he ain't shy. He's standing there with about fifteen or so other men
watching and stroking as he rides my head and asks me a lot of questions.
Exactly HOW a cumpig can answer back while with a thick boner lodged in
one's throat didn't seem to bother him. He was like many vocal XXX trade
tops: his questions and my enthusiastic "uh-haaahuhs" were enough to get him
revved up big time.

He asked, "Are you here all day sucking cocks?"

"Uh-haaaa!", I uh-haaa-ed happily.

"So what number does that put my cock?", he asked wanting to know where his
erection fit into my busy schedule.

I pulled off just long enough to reply, "You're number seventeen".

"SEVENTEEN?", he asked happily although already sort of knowing what the
answer might be (after all, he was plugged into the throat of a guy on his
knees in the shadows of a very busy adult theater).

"You ever suck ten guys off here?" he asked in a clear, well-modulated
voice, (soft, yet loud enough for all the other men surrounding us to easily
follow along).

I nodded - like "What do I look like? An AMATEUR?????!"

"More than twenty?" he said with bated breath.

I nodded again while wolfing on his bone down to his hairy low-hanging nuts.

"More than like twenty-five?" He asked with glee.

I wondered why he'd stopped rounding off at tens... I am on the metric
system when blowing crowds after all.

I pulled off his throbbing cock, showing the ogling men the string of precum
connecting him to my slutty lips as I attempted to save him the trouble of
playing 'The Price is Right' by saying, "I can do about forty to fifty guys
here on some days."

That seemed to send this top man into seventh-heaven (XXX-style) as he now
knew he had a real community cumpig's lips glued to his boner. He then
started more freely asking a barrage of questions as he screwed away. It was
clear he was asking them for both himself and all the other guys waiting in
line to use the same (my) throat. As if they were all thinking, "Hey, we got
a cumpig who will answer all those questions that occur to we straight dudes
once we feed 'im cum, zip up and are driving home!".

And while I may write profusely, one must remember I am not a chit-chatter
while on the job sucking our nation's men! But I figured, his lewd
questioning is getting ALL the other guys in the place huddling even more
closely as they "eavesdropped" on the, well, lets call it a "conversation".

And that's good for business! I looked around (the man's uncut cock still
jammed down my throat) and now saw about three dozen men staring, listening
and stroking as they learned more about the public-utility head they were
all going to wind up screwing full of the mixed wads of their cum.

What was getting me off, besides this man's penis adding to my nearly one
and one half dozen tally marker for the day, was the mere fact this man and
the hot-eared wankers around us were all such curious "straight trade".

It wasn't so much that my grunted answers fueled the man's questions but
that his very questions revealed his, and most probably that of all the
other men there, inner-most sexual secrets which most men don't often get an
opportunity to reveal (verbally, at least).

It was like "Interview with a Cumpig" as he asked me this'n'that - things
from "How does my cock taste compared to other guys?" to "You swallow all
our cumloads I bet, don't you?" to "You suck big black dicks, too?" to
"What's the biggest dick you've sucked?" to "You know most guys here are
married, don't you?" to "How many dicks have you sucked at once?' ...to the
inevitable...

..."How long have you been sucking dicks?

That last question is most pertinent here I would imagine especially since
my standard reply of ,"'Been sucking off men in mall toilets since the first
grade", oddly enough, almost UNIVERSALLY gets guys plugging my throat
harder, faster and gets them off in half the time of a regular encounter.
Funny how when they hear that one so-called depraved and most taboo FACTOID
about Yours Truly, the info sends most all fellas (no matter what hat they
may wear) over the edge into spontaneous ejaculatory mode. Ha! And here
society thinks such thoughts among full grown men are supposedly so perverse
or just a sexual anomaly of a tiny minority.

The man, after a good twenty or so minutes of head'n'conversation, finally
stepped back, boner drained and satisfied (SMACK!) then waved over other
guys to take a shot at using my mouth. He said, "I want to watch you suck
all of them..."

I am, as my reader's know, most happy to oblige. And it occurred to me as I
blew guys as fast as they stepped up to the plate, that I've been doing this
"oral thang" for gawd-knows-how-many guys for a full thirty-four years. That
adds up to tens of thousands of dicks (and cumloads) that have been screwed
into me (just lil'old me).

In all that time, and since the start, I have been gangbanged more times
than one could count. Perhaps some guys attract a gangbang. I don't know. It
may be a vibe or signal one sends out to other surrounding males. Or perhaps
guys just join the pack which surrounds any open hole.

Or maybe it's the cosmically ordered sexual destiny of some guys - to be a
service hole for as many guys as get in line for his talents. One thing I do
know, although I suppose on occasion I put myself into just the right
situations, I have never quite "planned" to be gangbanged. I doubt one could
ever plan so many gangbangs anyway - especially when those popping loads
into you are all random strangers and mostly straight guys (in the broadest
sense of the term). One simply starts sucking dicks...and I guess that sends
out the "okay" to any other guy in the surrounding area needing a bj to
unzip his slacks, pop open his jeans or yank down his sweats.

I have seen it over and over and over...and over again. I barely need to say
a word and somehow guys just know they've struck XXX gold when I start
blowing the crowds. In woods, theaters, restrooms, men simply love to
surround a guy who is "open and available to all cummers" in order to add
their load to the pot (so to speak).

I've never found it difficult to blow every guy in a place. Why that is, one
may never know. In fact, if I have had one "problem" over the years, its
that they just keep coming. It may sound "crazy" to some but I will start
out sucking "a mere" four or five guys and yet be continually surprised as I
look around to see another couple of dozen dudes all standing around
stroking and waiting their turns to screw my throat. Its not as if I said
they could; its just that guys figure (and figure right) that they've scored
some community throat.

Hey, call me easy! But what's particularly interesting about being "gangbang
easy" is how men go nuts for such an easy hole! After all, its one thing for
a slut to think himself "easy" but, let's face facts, he's got to have a
shitload of dudes with boners pushing at his lips or puckered sphincter in
order to be classified as certifiably "gangbang easy". It's the top men who
make a guy a gangbang whore, afer all and not the reverse. I mean, what's a
nickle whore without boatloads of horny men all jingling pockets full of
shiny nickles as they wait their turn to screw him next?

One cannot "plan" to have, for example, an entire XXX theater of guys - a
mixed lot of horny blokes for sure - gangbang one's throat. Especially if
the cocksucker is a guy himself. That's not to say that the whole place
won't fuck their wads down your throat; just that it's nearly impossible to
plan such a massive homosexual encounter involving so many "straight
feeders". That's what's so wonderful about theaters and woods -- guys of
every stripe can partake in the best of licentious all male sex without ever
having to utter the word "homo"!

The all male gangbang, as it relates to straight or nervous types
especially, removes their fears of the homosexual "approach" or "pick up
line" or worries of rejection (or worse, coming across as "gay") since all
those challenges are removed as they join a large huddle of other men taking
turns getting off in some gangbang guy at the back of the XXX or under the
huge oak tree in the woods. All that these men need to do is wander up and
take a free ride to orgasm! Perhaps, as in a good gangbang, seeing all these
other men getting off the same way (and quite literally off in the same
hole) gives a man license to unzip and partake ("Well, geez golly, hon, all
the other men were doin' it...).

Perhaps it's my "karma" but I have always attracted crowds of men when it
comes to sex. Since I was little, it's just been a natural thing to be
screwed by a dozen or more men at a time. Perhaps it's the fact I'm too damn
cute for my own good. But I would say a lot of the credit simply goes to
male sexuality and its shared camaraderie through the gangbang, as most guys
like to screw in packs.

Straight or gay, men like to share one wet, warm, slutty hole. And coming
upon such a hole is sometimes less common than porno would make them think.
Therefore, when they encounter a kid letting men mount him over and
over...or a cocksucker blowing each and every row of a XXX theater, that
common male sex desire for pack-sex suddenly becomes a reality. The porn
movie suddenly comes to life - forget the chick has a hairy chest! It's
sometimes about the person they're dumping cum into but most often, it's
about their own maleness and bonding as they take turns screwing the same
body.

A lot of gangbanging is about the top men, straight or gay. It may be a
simple expression of most men's intrinsic bisexuality. And it may be an edgy
competitiveness which is often very male: whose dick is the biggest; who's
able to fuck the hardest or longest or which of the pack will shoot up the
most sperm into the community-use slut?

In a sense, gangbanging brings men closer (literally and figuratively). As
they each invade the same "love canal", knowing they're each feeling the
exact same squeezing, milking orifice. As each squirts his creamy DNA into
that hole, mixing it up with all that semen of the others, there's a
brotherhood of males which transcends any sexual identity. Its about being
"greatly male" rather than straight or gay or any label in between.

I have lived this reality over and over again as countless men have
encircled me. A willing gangbang slut is open to all who may unzip. In a
restroom or woods or straight XXX theater, the diversity of men screwing
their loads into you is as broad as any census demographic can be. Married
fathers and gay single men and divorced bi sexuals and college kids and
retirees and macho construction dudes and shy ministers are who take turns
shooting sperm into you. The widest and most diverse examples of malehood
are watching one another copulate with the same cumdump hole.

And that's often part of the curiosity of a true, random, anonymous all male
gangbang - the very fact that so many males of all types are whipping out
their boners and using them on the same willing depository. Sure, its about
their fascination with that cum slut who would let so many differing fellas
squirt sperm into him all day long but is equally fascinating to top
participants in so far as they're joining a mixed pack of bucks all with one
thing in common.

And knowing or living or expressing that shared commonality is what brings
the men together. After all, the term "all male", although often construed
to mean, "gay" actually, simply could be re-stated to say "without females".
All male sex is the sex men have without females. And that is saying
something more than "gay" to any male out there who has had such sex.
Instead, when with other males, it's the sort of sex men have which is more
physical, animalistic, perfect in its understanding of the male anatomy and
libido. There is a different level of appreciation that goes on among men
when having sex together - something that cannot be sloppily labeled as
"gay". Its something most every male appreciates and enjoys when he partakes
in it. Heck some of the best sex married dads and straight jocks enjoy is in
the hands and mouths of other men. It's a level of physical sex which men
can only achieve among other males. And like they say, "You ain't met a
person into your muscles, chest hair, boner or hungry for your sperm til
you've had another guy at your zipper!"

And since first blowing men at a very precocious age (shall we say), I can
attest that it never gets old! I recall men standing tall before me when I
was seven with that same look and tenter in their chinos as they have as I
kneel before them today. If you're blowing one fella and seem "open" to
blowing ten others, almost unfailingly, the man will step aside a bit to
make "room" for the other men poking their boners at your lips. That's a
basic fact.

Another fact of life is that more married men have more sex with groups of
other men than they ever do with women (even their own wives).

Another fact is that most any guy who enters a XXX or woods known for
male-male sex will get sucked off due to the simple fact that cumpig
cocksuckers who are insatiable for cock will unzip any dude who comes within
arm's reach!

Another fact is that most guys love to watch other men ejaculate. Lets not
forget that no porn scene is complete without the stud's obvious money shot
(heck, even fraternity house straight boys return movies if there ain't no
gooood CUMSHOTS...all over the chick of course...cough).

And a very real fact is that most men will unzip for most any sexual
encounter which promises to be really, really naughty...so long as they
don't get caught.

And one sees the vast diversity of men, which diminishes as they all huddle
around the same head for a freebie cumslut blowjob. It's as if all ages,
races, nationalities fall away as guys enjoy a good community-use suckhole.
Ah, if only the United Nations could put me on staff (cough), for there'd be
no more war!

It's a simple truth that where the penis is concerned, most every guy wants
the same things. You can take one hundred divergent guys off the street (as
any XXX bookstore does); guys who have nothing in common with one another;
guys who battle over religion, ideas, lifestyle, race, economics and all
sorts of other heated "stuff". You can then put 'em at my mouth and suddenly
they're all the same! Boner straining in their slacks; all grins as they
want to screw a pro throat; all hyped as they learn they can not only screw
it but shoot SPERM into it (and as much as they can muster out of their
scrotums).

As the cocksucker in such situations, we see the man in all Men.

As a cocksucker for other guys since I was a tender age, I know, have lived,
the fact that homophobia is but a puff of smoke. I have lived at the zippers
of married men, dads, the best-built jocks and construction workers and
college water polo players! I have sucked off priests and attorneys and
physicians and CPAs and lampshade salesmen. I have eaten the semen (all in a
single day sometimes) of divorced dads (just after they've dropped off their
kids after a weekend of "custody"); from anonymous sports fans at Soldier
Field and from lines of corporate suits in some of the world's tallest
skyscrapers. I have deep-throated the handsomest men on the planet as well
as a slew of regular Joes ...and even been known to rip open the slacks of a
few less-than-attractive men (any cumload in a storm, says the cumdawg).

I have sucked off young frat dudes and guys in their twenties who work at
Best Buy and beefy butchers from the deli and lanky violinists and tall
bureaucrats and short auto-body shop mechanics and blue-eyed news anchors
and just THOUSANDS of penises of guys I could never even pick out of a
police line up!

I have wrapped my lips around the dicks of hirsute cabbies and smooth
Varsity wrestlers and big biceped ranchers and lithe middle-aged joggers in
Lincoln Park. I have had brawny UPS men, big-nosed carpenters, mild-mannered
insurance agents, aggressive stockbrokers, happy retirees and wired
motorcyclists all ejaculate in my throat. I have sucked off the biggest
boners the human race cranks out as well as small, Napoleonic penises (and
everything in between). I have sucked off rows of men at XXXs and huddles of
fellas in the woods and boner after boner coming through gloryholes.

I have sucked off men in malls, office buildings, alleyways, zoos, schools,
hotels, motels, XXX bookstores, XXX movie theaters, liquor stores (did you
know a blowjob can get you a free bottle of Amaretto?) cars, trucks, vans,
park toilets, health clubs, luxurious homes, trailer parks, woods, churches,
outhouses at rock concerts, department stores, water parks, casinos,
nightclubs, bars, basements, desolate shipyards, and MORE!

I have blown men at every hour of any day. Done the early, er, risers -
sucking off scores of men on their way to work at seven a.m.. And slurped
down boners all morning and done the noon whistle crowds as well! Sucked off
men in need at two in the afternoon and at four in the afternoon and blown
the entire afterwork rush hour crowd at super busy XXXs located near most
any major highway (so many times how can I begin to relate the sheer numbers
of men who want to shoot a wad of their sperm down a throat before heading
home to wife'n'kiddies?). I have sucked men all evening and all night and at
three in the morning in the chilly toilets at interstate rest areas!

I have sucked off guys who were "virgins" to a homo mouth (and some just
plain old VIRGINS). And have sucked off men with empty infantseats in the
back of their Volvos (telling me all about their kids for some reason as I
blow 'em). I have sucked off leather daddies built like bull VIKINGS and
non-descript slim jims with more meat in their pants than any 7-11 may sell
to a druggy with the munchies!  I have sucked off gay bois in shiny disco
shirts and rugged bruisers covered in plaster splatter. I have swallowed the
breeding goo of men in Armani suits as well as the fertile milk out of guys
with barely two nickles to rub together. I have sucked off groups of
suburban dads (who seem to enjoy the same secret...over and over again) as
well as groups of esoteric urbane fellas with degrees and attitude out the
WHA-ZOO!

So there is a communion of men going on...inside my throat. And throughout
all these vast and myriad experiences (and men), one thread holds true: most
all get off on my having been a child cumpig. For all the other stuff and
sex and environs and whatnot, that's one commonality most all guys share in
making them go from hot to wildly hot. The "news" crosses all ages and
demographics. College kids get as into it and hot as do their dads when they
hear that men screwed my mouth and butt all the time as a kid. Truckers and
store managers go from sexual 60 to 145 mph when their ears hear another guy
admit to having been a child blowjob expert in the public toilets. Even if
they act a bit "amazed", they always need to hear more. Perhaps they're
imagining a seven-year-old blowing all those men in the mall. Or perhaps
they have a new consideration of that mouth they're fucking - like - "Man,
think of all the other dudes who have shot in here since this dude has been
sucking dick since he was a little kid."  I don't quite know the inner
dynamic of each man, but suffice it to say, all like the news.

For society's better or worse, its simply an objective observation based on
years of "research". Many men "prod" (anally, sure but I mean inquisitively)
to go there when they know they have a whore on their drooling knob. I
suppose guys feel "safe" with their innermost, darkest secrets when using
such an obvious homo cockslut.

Some men are direct and to the point asking (usually out of the blue) such
things as, "You ever blow men when you were a little kid?" or "Did your dad
ever have you suck his dick when you were a baby?"

I always reply since I think its healthy for guys to know a worldclass
cocksucker doesn't just get that way overnight. And who knows, perhaps that
humpy investment banker asking wants to reveal something about his own
upbringing. Things he wouldn't even confess to his wife!

But others (most) go about broaching the topic in a roundabout way starting
with, "Maaaaaaaaaaan, you're goooooood! Sheeeeeeeeet, whadda fucking hot
throat...you must suck a loooooooot of cocks..." (okay here it comes)
"...you musta started ...like...reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealllllly early to be so
damn fuckin' great. Am I right?"

Boy, what a leading question!

They ALWAYS get there - no matter the approach. Men just like to know
they're using a well-utilized throat and seem to like to know said throat
started yooooooooooooung. Its just someplace most guys "go to" if they know
they can. Again, tell most any man you started swallowing cumloads by age
five or ten, and well, it just causes their knees to buckle and nuts to bust
in one-third the time it would have otherwise (a good trick for both hookers
and amateur penisworkers on the clock) - even if they act all uncomfortable
AFTERWARDS

Have a trade man find out you've been blowing men since age seven and he'll
tell the other five men in the back bull pen at the XXX. Always a line like
"...and he's been sucking down loads since he was a real little kid...tell
'em how old you were, babe...".

I don't think I've ever seen a man zip up once learning that tidbit of info.

And so there is a need for such true tales as "Whoring with Dad" to be
related among we guys. It speaks of some inner and powerful drive or
dynamic, which fuels a lot within male sexuality - from any perspective.

It touches a chord in straight men who'd most assuredly not zip up if such
opportunities would ever present themselves.

And it's a voice for those guys out there who shared a parallel existence
with our child hero. After all, the author was not the only little kid out
there slugging down wads of sperm from huge boners. Some of it may be
cathartic but a lot of it is simply a right for guys to relate and
understand the sexual beginnings of themselves and other fellas in the
crowd.

Funny how "straight" men can share their earliest sexual longings for Sophia
Loren or Farrah Fawcett. How easily acceptable it is as they explain that
time when they were ten years old and wanted to eat out such women's cunts.
Yet, when its HOMO, it has this veil of perversion when a man recollects his
earliest hunger for Sean Connery's semen!

Think about the double standard for a moment: A straight man writes his
memoir including passages of how he, when but a randy boy, first sucked twat
as he prowled the whorehouses of New Orleans' French Quarter. It's
considered to be a colorful tale of a young kid's sexuality. Forget the fact
that those fishy, spongy vagi-lips, which his mouth slathered over, were
those of an overweight prostitute...and his own MOTHER! Such "details" are
barely a taboo in such a Philip Roth-ian coming-of-age recollection. Shucks,
its just Huck Finn getting his rocks off at an early age - that's all.

Yet...have a queer recall his earliest sexual deflowering and WHAM! If its
not a recollection of playing doctor with a boy his "exact same age", all
hell breaks loose. Should a man recall his insatiable thirst for semen when
only age four...or of how, at age six he was able to chow down on men's nine
inch erections like a pro while servicing the local woods...or of how he
played with his father's semen as pops "napped" or...should he have the gall
to disclose his lusts for ogling the bulges of high school swimmers when he
was but a lad himself...and well, everything it seems gets spun into
absurdity.

It's as if there is this unwritten rule pertaining to homosexual
experiences. As if its "okay" for a man to relate his own childhood
experiences should such a childhood have been devoid of sexual thought (or
deed) and/or if those childhood experiences are, somehow, ironically, deemed
"politically correct" (as in "I'll show you mine if you show me yours with
another boy in the same second grade class").

Funny how that works. A straight man can tell of how he and all his buddies
in high school got blowjobs from buxom Mrs. Smith, the town's nymphomanical
school teacher. How she, a woman of forty-five "blew every teen boy in six
surrounding counties...that dusty ol'Spring of '65..."

And yet, it gets "touchy" when a homosexual (or, again, even a straight guy
for that matter) were to relate how he and all his buddies in high school
got blowjobs from well hung Mr. Smith, the town's cumaholic school teacher.
How he, a man of forty-five "blew every teen boy in six surrounding
counties...that dusty ol'Spring of '65..."

The former passage is considered a racy yet charming recounting of an
adolescent's first blowjob and use of a community strumpette while the
latter passage is considered the "pedo perversion of a middle aged man
sucking down teen boners all day...".

Well, the author wished to just point out that double standard.

But that must not deter men from retelling their true tales no matter the
sexuality nor the extremes of one's own experiences. If one hundred men
screwed me while I was still in a diaper, what's a writer to do with that?
Political correctness would have it one of two ways: swallow it (so to
speak) and never share such salacious truths publicly and/or make certain
the point of view in the telling is condemning and self-hating. Rather like
in old Hollywood, audiences will watch a film about a homosexual sucking
dicks in the park all afternoon...so long as he jumps off the Golden Gate
Bridge by movie's end.

Fortunately, it's 2004 and more fortunately, most queer guys are not so
ready to sacrifice either themselves or their realities for "political
correctness". Get an audience off on lurid detail and THEN conveniently kill
oneself? Come on. Instead, the author suggests society widen its scope on
sexuality to accept the genuine realities which surround them everyday.




WHORING WITH DAD WHORING WITH DAD
Part 9 "In (Kevin) Like a Choo Choo..."
(or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE
gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com



The day after my special zoo adventure, dad told my mother that on the
following Thursday he'd be taking me along with him to a workshop for
fishermen up in Waukegan. It would only be an overnighter in the lakeshore
naval town an hour or so north of the city. And since I had the Friday off
from school anyway, due to a Teacher's Institute Day, in addition to the
fact that my mom would have a hard time scheduling being at both the
bookstore and at home with me, she promptly agreed that taking me along
would work out perfectly.

My dad showed my mother the brochure for the two-day workshop, "Great
Fishermen of the Mid-West Program: You and Your Rod". Inside, it outlined
the program for a series of lectures and demos, as well as, booking
information and prices for the motel where the workshop would be held. And
at the bottom of the beige and green fold-out were large logos proudly
advertising their sponsors: the Elks Club of Waukegan; Retired Officers Club
of Great Lakes Naval Base and for "Bob's Outdoorsman Shop: Where A Man's
Favorite Sport if Fly Fishin'!".

Once or twice a year, dad, along with several of his married college
buddies, would take a one week "husbands-only" fishing trip down to the
Ozarks. But when he'd go, it always seemed rather out of character for him
since he barely had much natural angling aptitude. I suppose that's why my
mom agreed readily to the workshop idea.

But she asked him if it might not be too late to reserve a spot. "It's just
four days from today", she said.

All dad said in reply was a simple, "I'm pretty certain there will be no
problem with that."

He was all grins as he got the greenlight from mom - who was always a bit of
the manager both at home and at the bookstore.  He promptly disappeared into
the library to make a last-minute reservation by calling the number on the
brochure.

Of course, he made no such phone call. Although the program was legit, dad
had other ideas for our little overnighter.

But my mom didn't know that (ever) nor did I at the time. On the following
Monday, my mother called the Cathedral School to tell my principal I would
be missing classes on Thursday. The priest knew my mother well since she was
a prominent Cathedral Board member. He affably replied, "The following day
the children will be off anyway so that will be fine. But I do appreciate
the fact you called so early in the week...oh, and, while I have you on the
phone, we need to start thinking about replacing the choir loft seats...".
Their conversation quickly turned to having a small fund-raiser dinner at
some point.

I scampered about the house, trailing mom all that week, as she gathered
this'n'that for the fishing workshop. My mom, who generally hated plaids
even brought home on Monday night, a little green plaid shirt she'd bought
for me at Lord & Taylor's Boys Shop thinking it would "be suitable for the
occasion".

Watching this flurry of packing all week, my dad just kept reminding my
mother that I wouldn't need much; not to pack me too much, since it would
just be an overnighter.

"... And the boy doesn't need all those clothes where we're going!" He stood
over my suitcase at one point, exclaiming, "Six pair of Snoopy underpants? I
am positive Kevin won't be needing all those!"

And he barely packed much for himself as well. In fact, the night before we
were to leave, while I was taking a bath, my mother needed to remind him to
bring his tackle box. "Won't you want to have this in the trunk of the car
at least?", she asked as she pulled the large red plastic box out of the
back closet off the service entrance. "Surely, you men will want to compare
your tackle", she said.

Mom was so straight-laced that my dad's smirking chuckle escaped her when
she said it.

The alarm rang on Thursday morning - and rang even earlier than it would
have had it been a normal school day. At four-forty-five in the morning, my
'Green Hornet' alarm clock went off. Even though it was super dark in my
room and outside, I bounced out of bed, so excited to be going on a special
trip with my dad! As I flicked on the light in my bathroom, my bedroom door
opened, and my dad peaked in whispering enthusiastically, "Mornin' Kevy! I
just wanted to make sure you were up and at'em!"

Entering my bedroom, he then shut the door. He turned on my burnt-orange
gooseneck desk lamp. In the light, I could see he stood there wearing only a
pair of white jockey shorts; his bulge looking enormous as the lamplight,
glaring in the dark of the room, cast a large, harsh shadow along one of his
thighs. At I stood at my potty peeing into the bowl, he looked around my
room and spotted my canvas bag. "You're all ready to go I see! Your mother's
still sort of sleeping but she said to wake her up so she can kiss you
goodbye before we head out."

He then wandered over the bathroom door, which I had left open out of habit.
He stood in the doorway watching me pee as he said, "When you're done, I
think I need to do that again, too".

When I was done, dad told me to pull off my jammies and wash my face real
good. When I went to stand in front of the basin and pulled down my flannel
pj bottoms, dad stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

As if he felt he were compelled to have to give me some excuse, he said, "I
don't want to keep going in and out of my bedroom while your mom's
sleeping..."  He then pulled down the front of his white Jockeys, allowing
his long, meaty penis and big scrotum to hanging freely before my ogling
little eyes.

That was just fine by me. It was cool having such a considerate - and well
hung father - I thought to myself.

Being that the antique pedestal sink was so high, I still had to reach up on
tippy toes a little bit in order to turn on the faucet. As I washed my face,
my naked little butt couldn't help but stick up and outward as though I were
some four foot tall wanton street whore begging for anonymous tricks. As I
scrubbed with my Dino the Dinosaur bar of soap, I sort of could see my
father looking over at me as he held his penis while directing his stream
urine into the toilet water.

"Make sure you wash real good and brush your teeth, too", he said as his
eyes scanned up and down my little frame. "Good thing you took a nice long
bath last night."

He quickly jerked his big penis a few times but then pulled up his underwear
again as he flushed the toilet. Then he stood there looking at me. "I think
your mother thinks we're going on a three-month safari to Africa with all
the things she packed for you."

I giggled as I pulled out my extra jumbo long tube of toothpaste and started
brushing my teeth.

"Six pair of underpants for you", dad laughed. "What is she thinking?"

My dad stared at my mouth, now all frothy with creamy whiteness as I
garbled, "She thinks we're going to Planet Mars I bet!"

Dad rubbed to the top of my head as he laughed. He leaned against the wall
as we chatted and it was so neat to be locked in my bathroom alone with him.
I didn't know it at the time, but my dad was letting me get a good, long
look at his muscular, hairy physique as he stood there. My face was level
with his huge bulge and if I didn't have a toothbrush jammed into my mouth,
I would have reached out and squeezed it for him.

As I rinsed my mouth, again leaning up and forward to reach the tap, dad's
eyes looked me up and down staring at my little round tushy. When I started
to comb my hair, he said in a lower, slightly hushed voice, "You enjoyed
going swimming the other day, didn't you, Kevy?"

I nodded my head enthusiastically recalling all the adult penises that put
their daddymilk into me that day at the Lawson Y. - although I didn't tell
my dad that. "It was fun in the big pool and I can swim good, can't I,
daddy?"

Dad smiled broadly as he nodded in agreement. "You sure were doing great. My
own little swim champ!"

"And I was in the pool swimming on my own, too", I said proudly. "Even
though I had to use a board thing...does that still count?", I added with
some concern.

"It sure does count", dad said. "It even counts when men in the pool are
helping you like they were that day."

"It does?" I said with relief. "Then I really liked swimming a lot then."

"And you're getting to be such a big boy, daddy can leave you like that
again?", he asked cautiously.

"YEAH!", I said with spontaneous elation. Obviously, my dad didn't have a
clue as to what the men did to me that day. And good thing that was since I
wouldn't want any of those men to get into trouble with him.

"And you like the Y?", dad prodded cautiously. "I mean that Y...the Lawson?"

I nodded and grinned, "It was the bestest fun ever!", I said - although I
sort of now knew that the big gloryhole at the zoo was almost as fun a place
too."

"Even though there are no other kids your age there?", dad pressed. "I mean,
I don't want you to feel scared or bored there or anything like that."

"I wasn't bored", I said as dad handed me my Batman and Robin underpants. "I
liked it and those men were neat."

"The ones who helped you swim, you mean?",dad said with a smile.

"Yeah! And the locker room is hugest place and the men are nice where the
showers are...", I said wanting my dad to know I loved the Lawson.

Indeed, no truer lyrics were ever written than that Village People anthem to
health club sex, "Y.M.C.A." And the Lawson Y.M.C.A. on Chicago Avenue, where
it was first made possible for me, just a first grader at the time, to
"offer a full work-out" to so many, both exemplified the spirit of, and more
likely, inspired that song.

It was typical of most big city Ys of the era which catered solely (well,
sort of) to adult men. It was immensely popular with sailors and divorced
dads and traveling salesmen and every variety of assorted man in between.
All of them usually looking for that extra special something that, at the
time, only such a Y guaranteed them (that extra comfort, shall we say, which
a standard motel could not).

Although at the time it didn't occur to me, I never ever saw another kid my
age (or anywhere even near my own age) at the Lawson. I don't know why that
didn't dawn on me at the time. I suppose it was simply because I understood
their rules regarding gender and age -- and I was simply fortunate to have
had a dad who'd take me there with him. If anything, I may have thought that
other kids didn't have dads who belonged to the Y or didn't have dads who
were nice enough to take them along. Hey, it was the reasoning of a
seven-year-old.

In fact, it was rather rare to see more than one or two college-aged guys
there. And those guys in their twenties tended to be mostly sailors
traveling on leave. After that, the men were easily over the age of
thirty-five. But as a kid who always had an intense sexual fascination with
adult men's bodies, that vast age gap didn't bother me in the least. I
suppose I may have gawked more than I thought I did at the time - but as we
all know, youthful, wide-eyed, hero-worshipping stares catch any man's
attention (making him stand taller as he slowly removes his towel with a
grin).

In retrospect, it mildly surprises me that no man ever complained or asked
the Y why I was there. Although I was a tyke certainly out of place there,
none ever made negative mention of that fact to either my dad or anyone else
I knew of at the time. But after my swimming pool introduction, I guess
their "gentlemen's agreement" to silence made sense.

And although always clean, the Lawson was also kept rather dim and chilly
throughout the year. To say the least, they did not waste money on heat or
high wattage light bulbs. In the winter months, one could feel a bit of the
chill in one's bones - even those bones of a grade school age boy!

To the na‹ve, this physical condition of the facility may have been chalked
up to its being an older building or a semi-public operation pulling in
money only from minimal membership fees and its cheap by-the-night or weekly
single room rates on its upper floors. But the men who frequented the place
always soon came to (happily) know better.

One thing I noticed at the Lawson, was how immodest most all of the men were
even around a little kid. I suppose the majority figured that if a dad took
his own little son there, he had to know what he was doing.

We were on their turf, so to speak. Sort of as if the men, there to cruise,
were saying, "You brought him here...and this is what big adult men look
like, kiddo."

So as we stood in my bedroom's private bathroom, all decorated with whale
tiles and little soaps shaped like Flintstone's characters, dad watched me
as I pulled my Batman and Robin underpants over my small, round and
well-fucked seven-year-old butt.

He then knitted his brows a bit as he surprised me with a question. In a low
voice, as he sort of looked over his shoulder even though the door was
locked, he asked, "How much you like fishing...I mean really?"

I didn't know much at all about fishing except that mostly men did it and
that's how people got to eat flounder.

"Whatcha mean?", I asked him.

"Well, do you like fishing enough to spend a whole overnighter talking about
fish and worms and all that other stuff?", dad asked almost knowing what a
child's response would be.

"Well", I replied thoughtfully. "I've never been fishing or anything...but I
like that one movie where that nerdy man turns into a fish and it all
becomes a cartoon..."

Dad chuckled. "I know you do but that's different than fishing..."

"I guess not really then",  I said hesitantly. In the back of my mind I was
trying not to be too non-committal since I feared dad might want to go to
his workshop overnighter without me. "Why?", I asked nervously with sad
eyes, "Don't you want me comng?"

"Well, sure I do, my lil'champ! I was just thinking that if you don't want
to go and you faithfully promise not to tell your mom", dad said in a
hushed, deep, conspiratorial voice, "I was thinking we'd spend our
overnighter someplace more fun..."

I perked up and smiled big. "COOL!", I said. "Like where?"

Dad opened the bathroom door and we went to my overnight bag that sat on my
desk. He reached in and pulled out all six pair of my underpants. As he held
a finger to his lips, he opened my dresser drawer and put them away again.
"Well. Its someplace you won't be needing any of these.", he said with a
grin.

"Are we going swimming at that special Y again?" I asked hopefully.

"If you want...and can keep it a secret", dad whispered back to me. "We can
spend two whole days having fun there."



More to come...

gloryhole_junkie@hotmail.com