Date: Wed, 25 Feb 2004 17:06:29 -0600
From: MyDad's MyJohn <m_g_h_j@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Whoring with Dad" Part 9f

Whoring With Dad
Part 9f: "In (Kevy) Like a Choo Choo..."
(or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE
m_g_h_j@hotmail.com


Disclaimer & Warning


We'll keep this one simple.

Get your big, hairy molesting hand out of the kid's Barney the Dinosaur
underpants...NOW!

Start your engine...NOW...and get your ass out of the lot at that park where
you've been sitting, unzipped and jerking off, trying to lure little boys
over to your car!

Call your son and daughter-in-law back...NOW...and tell them you're sorry
but you can't "watch" the grandkids this weekend, after all. Oh, tell 'em
you got a touch of bursitis.

Go back to watching "The Simpsons" in the t.v. set in the family
room...NOW...and, instead, let your wife give the baby a bath tonight.

Quit your middle school P.E. job...NOW...rather than spend another afternoon
showing off your man boner that jockstrap just can't hide as you watch the
boys soap up after class.

Discontinue reading the following story...NOW...if you're either too young
to read porno in your area or if you happen to reside in an oppressive
locale, which does not permit men to "masturbate in freedom".

If you're thinking of using the following story, "Whoring with Dad" for
purposes other than your own personal masturbation (oh, and edification),
get the author's consent in writing...NOW!



Preface

The following story, "Whoring with Dad" is true. True does not mean
"typical" or "common place". Nor does it always mean "moral" or "right".
True simply means "fact" or "reality".

Now, without getting all bogged down in scores of philosophies surrounding
"Truth" or the metaphysics of what is "Reality", the reader must simply
understand that "Whoring with Dad" is, however jaw-dropping, sex as it
actually occurred in the childhood of its author.

One could alter the truth or choose to ignore it, of course. For the author
is sure there are far more men who walk among us, that, while in their
Youth, experienced similar - and even more extreme -- sexual things,
although most would never set such depraved truths to type. Many men, in
fact, work hard to lie about, discard or shelve away these sorts of boyhood
sexual experiences fearing perhaps they'll haunt their adulthood in a
negative way. And for them, turning their backs to such life experiences is
how they deal with the truth of their own - and others' - sexuality.

Then there are other men who, instead of cramming it back into Pandora's
Box, choose to face, perhaps even embrace, the lewd acts of adult sexuality
which they encountered in childhood. For many, it is a way to lay claim to
those past events and reduce their powers before they can overshadow one's
entire adulthood. To face such events is often healthier than to shut them
away where they will only continue to lurk and grow in magnitude.

And then there are still others, such as your author, who shed light on
these truths of one's own raucous sexual childhood, not to tame the monsters
in any closet, but, instead to shed light on that omnipotent dimension of
adult male sexuality which is almost certifiably and consistently muffled or
silenced.

And yet it's this same truth, which, ironically, never seems to "go away
from the face of the Earth" as some would hope.

Interesting that for all the scandal and outrage and torment surrounding
such licentious sex, these acts have existed and endured for centuries and
in every culture the planet has spawned.

Any way is that? Because it is, however dark and deep, a fundamental aspect
of male sexuality which fuels - is at the heart of -- the legacy.

Does that mean every man will act upon this most perverse drive? Certainly
not. At least no more so than any straight, sexually-driven father who,
while watching his pre-teen daughter showing off her cheerleading maneuvers,
will settle his eyes and thoughts on her budding boobs and pussy mound so
apparent in her pink tights. It would be lunacy to think some thirty-eight
year old construction worker doesn't have the lewdest thoughts about his own
daughter as she does a backbend, naively teasing his adult libido to the
point where he has to excuse himself in order to beat off in the bathroom
upstairs.

And, as such, although most men don't act on their most perverse desires, it
would be erroneous to conclude they're thinking "nothing" as they watch
their boy's swim team climb out of the pool, young cocks and scrotums making
impressive bulges in their wet Speedos. What father in such situations is
oblivious to his own boy's sexual endowment?

And what coach in a locker room isn't extremely aware of which of his boys
is "best hung" among his peers. Or what boy with a perfect bubble butt
escapes the almost reflexive notice of his coach or other men witnessing his
athletic prowess from the stands?

And few men at the mall can help but look at that tall, lanky kid standing
at the urinals, thinking he's got a bigger dick on him than most adult men!
It's not that the man will or desires to have any contact with the lad. It's
simply that the sexuality of such situations rarely escapes men due to their
intrinsic nature.

Same is true when a young, handsome boy strips off his swimsuit in a locker
room filled with adult men - again, even "heterosexual" adult men. Few walk
away from such a sight. And why is that? They have no intent to molest the
kid, nor are they all that interested in sex with in another male. But,
again, its that instinctive, darker sexual drive within all men that has
them stay put as they surreptitiously watch the kid bend over. Most men
aren't even quite "seeing" a young boy as much as they're responding to the
sight of a smooth, youuuuung piece of flesh -- to fuck. Others simply assess
the naked lad and shake their heads as they know, know deep inside, the
kid's got a better ass than their own wives.

Does it mean they'll all gangfuck the boy? Certainly not. Does it mean any
of them will even wink at the kid in an overly friendly way? Probably not.
In fact, other than for but that one palpable second when a group of men are
lingering a bit too long, none in that room, including the boy, would even
know what any of the others had been thinking. Yeah, men are that slick.

But that doesn't mean they weren't thinking some awfully lewd and perverse
thoughts. It simply means that men are good at hiding their innermost
secrets.

Unlike my experiences as a boy, where for the most part, I was exposed to
rather public and promiscuous sex with adult men, it can also be relatively
guaranteed that in Life, most such encounters never near the open depravity
of my true story to which you're (hopefully) jerking off.

Instead, most such perversions occur in great secrecy and its "reality"
exists only between a man and a little boy. Only in rarer cases, such as in
"Whoring with dad, it's a group or "collective effort", if you will, that
engages in sex or molests a little boy.

And yet most contacts do not involve masks or feathers or plane flights or a
football team. Some do include unmarked vans, but even those are probably in
the minority when compared to how most lurid encounters come to be.

Instead, such sexual couplings most frequently occur without much fanfare
and rather quietly - even silently.

In reality, the actual "crossing of that line" occurs when that new father,
awash in his deepest fires of perversion (some of which he never considered
prior to his son's recent birth) suddenly feels a compulsion to act upon his
depravity. In a sense, it's a simple moment, rather than something
elaborate, which comes to him.

Hearing that his wife is going to take a nap after a long night up with the
baby, a surge of something courses through the veins and the mind of the new
dad. He doesn't quite think he'll do it but cannot get over the adrenal
rush, which just washed over him, as he heard his wife say not to wake her
until dinnertime.

Why? Why is that making his heart race? Because he knows its an opportunity
for his darkest... and most lurid...sexual curiosity.

Rather than a group of teamster crowding into a Motel 6 where some
lip-smacking tot is giving out blowjobs for a nickel a piece, this new dad
is faced with the more common reality facing many men. And, again, it's all
done in secret and quietly.

As the new mother escapes to the master bedroom and finally a contiguous
two-hours of sleep, the new dad, totally unbeknownst to her, is feeling all
revved up and edgy...but, oddly, in a good way...or is it a bad way? That's
something he can't figure out himself.

Although they live alone and are expecting no visitors to their
single-family dwelling in a fine suburb - the one with a freshly painted
nursery and a new Honda minivan in the garage all outfitted with a brand new
infant car seat -- for some reason or another, the new dad feels compelled
to look, no peek, out the window to the street.

Why did he do that? He knows...or fears...yet can't wait for the fact...that
in a few moments he may be doing the most licentious thing any man, any
father, can do.

He's not hopping on the telephone to call over all his softball-playing
buddies to pop by. He doesn't call his even nastier older brother over to
join in - hell, he doesn't even have a brother. No, instead he checks on his
wife one more time. Slowly approaching their bed, to his relief, he hears
her snoring. That makes his heart race even more. And ironically, at once he
hates her for napping -- yet hopes she'll sleep through dinner.

Or at least through...

Like a man planning an escape from Alcatraz, he paces out of the room and up
and down the hallway, passing "that other room" not once but twice. Damn,
what's he thinking, he thinks to himself.

He runs downstairs, for what he doesn't know, and sees the congratulatory
flowers where they line the mantel in the living room - pastel arrangements
sent to them only a few days ago at the hospital. He spots the basket with
the stuffed stork her sister send them and again shakes his head wondering
what the fuck it is going through his mind. And why the fuck does he have a
full-blown erection?

He goes to the kitchen and almost shaking pours himself a glass of skim
milk. But as he drinks it, his mind goes right back to what's been torturing
him for days. In fact, seeing that white milk sends him over that line.

Without even finishing the glass, only taking a sip or two actually, he
looks at the clock over the sink. It's only fucking two in the afternoon.
Hell, why was he even thinking such things at this hour? But at that same
moment, he wonders why he hopes his wife stays sleeping till four?

The phone rings suddenly and he's startled. Startled to the point where he
thought he'd jump out of his Eddie Bauer plaid shirt and beige chinos. He
picks up the receiver, trying to control his voice.

It's her mother. She wants to know "What's wrong?" He asks "Why"? She says,
"Your voice just sounded a little funny". He laughs nervously and says,
"Everything's great. Susan... and the baby... are sleeping though".

He wonders why he so purposefully emphasized "...and the baby"? He didn't
quite know what the baby was doing up in his nursery. And even so, he
couldn't talk to grandma anyway.

After a brief chat with his mother-in-law who said she'd be by
tomorrow...that was tomorrow...yeah, tomorrow...not today..., he hangs up
the phone and for some reason, again peeks out the kitchen curtain. No one
there...no one anywhere out there as would be expected.

He almost thinks he'll get this crap out of his head by going out into the
garage to sort through boxes...but then he looks at that brimming glass of
white milk again and shuts his eyes in disbelief for what he knows...or
fears...he wants to do.

He ascends the stairs again, very quietly this time. Why is he being that
quiet? Surely, he could walk more casually and not awaken anybody. Yet he
finds himself nearly creeping up each step. He's never "crept" in his life
before!

He passes "that other door" again. His blood races and he can feel his
erection as it strains at the tight zipper of his chinos. Instead of going
in, though, he again returns to the master bedroom door, which he is
compelled to open although he doesn't want to. Yet he must. It's not so much
that he doesn't want to disturb his wife from her sleep. But rather, he
doesn't want to disturb her from her sleep ...as to then have her disturb
him from what he is wanting to do.

He quietly parts the doors slightly and sees his wife beneath a pile of
covers, dead to the world - for at least an hour - or so he's hoping. He
seals the door again and walks into the hallway's bathroom. He shuts the
door quickly and ignores the mirror. He unzips his slacks, needing to piss
although he's hard. Maybe if he pisses, he thinks -- already knowing it
won't -- this gnawing, perverted thought will go away. He pulls out his
impressive piece of meat and as he looks at it, willing it to soften to
where he can pee, he really wonders what he's thinking. Hell, he's thinking
he must be nuts. But as he looks down at his thick penis -- the one that
just made a baby -- he thinks, just the head...sure...doesn't have to be all
seven and half inches of it...so long as the head's in, I can cum in...

His stream of urine loudly hits the water and for some reason, he
spontaneously  aims his penis so the stream makes less noise as it hits the
inner side of the toilet instead. He doesn't even flush - he's that
concerned with noise waking up his wife.

As he stands there, he finds himself unbuckling his belt. Why's he doing
that? Its just two in the afternoon, he has to run out to Target after
dinner, and he 's not planning to change clothes. But he whips off his belt,
careful not to let the buckle clunk. And that's why he took it off. He knows
that it'll be quieter...and make it easier this way.

And as he thinks such a thing, his erection returns. He now splashes water -
cold water - on his face, and realizes nothing much is going to work. He
wants to do it...yet he doesn't want to want to...yet he does want to "want
to"...deep down.

He looks at himself in the mirror and although he sees his clean-cut image,
he doesn't quite recognize himself. He diverts his own glance.

He stuffs his erection back into his beige trousers and zips up, but its
tenting them big as he cautiously opens the bathroom door to return to the
silence of the hallway.

But, damn, he thinks. She could have gotten up in the few minutes he was in
there. He doesn't know what he hopes...or fears...he'll do...but he has to
triple-check on her... just to make sure.  He pads softly back to the door
of the master bedroom and again opens it a few inches. He sees and hears his
wife's heavy breathing as she enters what must be an even deeper cycle of
sleep. He closes the door.

This time he makes a beeline for "that other door". Maybe he'll just check
on him...he thinks, knowing better...it's a good excuse at least. He very
gingerly opens the door to the nursery. Last thing he needs now is little
Jeremy being startled awake and screaming. He knows he's just eaten before
his mother went to nap herself, so there's no real reason for his baby son
to start crying.

He closes the door softly and for the first time ever - at least since the
den was converted into this pale blue nursery - he locks it. He knows why he
did that although he's still not done anything - he's still just one more
all-American dad of a newborn son.

Its all still perfectly normal...just a dad checking on his son...totally
normal...for a few more moments, at least.

His heart racing and his breath shortening, he again finds himself creeping
- like some lecherous giant ogre in a fairy tale - over to the crib they'd
found in the Pottery Barn Kids catalog. Even when they were outfitting it in
bumper guard and teddy bear sheets, more than a week earlier, he knows he
was assessing the width of those slats and the ease of dropping down that
one side -- for other reasons than mere safety.

Silently panting without ever opening his mouth, he approaches the crib and
sees his son, his new son, made of his own sperm, lying on his back. But
he's not sleeping; he thought they slept all the time. Instead he's just
laying there in a baby blue flannel onesie beneath a fleece receiving
blanket.

Like any new dad he gently smiles as he softly whispers, almost mouths the
words, "Heah-woe my widdle guy".

Although he knows its securely locked, he looks again at the door. He's got
to be careful. He's got to be nuts. Then, knowing how obscene it should be
-- is - he gropes himself, for the first time in front of his own son, he
gropes himself, squeezes his own lengthy erection right through his chinos.
In his adult mind, he acts as though he's some john cruising his own newborn
son for a blowjob. And although he knows his son has no clue as to what he's
doing; he does it anyway and ever more lewdly as he approaches the crib like
a lewd back alley john.

And once he slides down that slatted side of the crib; puts a hushing finger
to his lips; and hauls out the erection in his slacks, this new dad sets off
the chain of events which, very quietly, yet lasciviously, will occur in
that room.

In fact, it will be done so quietly and easily that even after this new dad
is "done" and zips up again...and cleans up the little guy...and checks
again to make sure he got it all...and then unlocks the door...and returns
to the kitchen downstairs...and even turns on the t.v. for a while...and
then does actually sort through a box in the garage (and the whole while
shaking his head not quite believing what he'd done...and yet how fabulous
it was...but really bad...) its still another hour and a half before his
wife even awakens from her nap.

Its almost six, as he then thinks, hell, he'd have gone "round two" with the
little fella had he'd known she'd be down for so long.

But then his heart pounds a beat as he hears her coming down the stairs,
ready to start making dinner.

What if she knows...but how could she know...she can't possible know...God,
don't let her know...

And he greets her in the kitchen, mostly with the motive to promptly assess
her awareness -- or lack thereof. But when she smiles and kisses him as she
thanks him for letting her nap for so long -- and then adds that she checked
in on the little fella and says he looks so dreamy and content -- this new
dad knows he's gotten away with it.

And its then plans for the next time start racing through his mind. Wearing
just a bathrobe will make it easier...maybe wait till she goes out shopping
with her mother...

In reverse, the sexual connectivity is also always secretive, often quiet
and something only the two participants know their shared masculine
sexuality is permitting. In such cases, it's a son whose libidinous ways
drive him to lust for and, sometimes, sexually obsess, on his own father.

Far less rare than the son strutting about the dining room like a boy
strumpet as he openly boasts to his mommy and daddy, while at the dinner
table, that he loves to fellate older men and wants to blow his sire...

...are those common cases where a son is the silent aggressor and his father
a mums-the-word passive co-conspirator in their sexually charged games. In
many households, it's the pre-teen or adolescent son who is taken with his
father's body, energized by any fleeting sight of his penis. Its often the
son who takes any opportunity presented to him to ogle his father at the
pool or in the bathroom. Its often the boy who never misses an opportunity
to tail his father into the public restroom, just with the hopes of seeing
his large adult penis hanging out of the man's fly.

Its most often done without any exchange of words or even a single "knowing"
glance. Its simply something the father and son share in secret, even
keeping the sense of secrecy from one another.

In more cases than could be enumerated, it's the son who takes any
opportunity there is to go into the bathroom while his father is drying off
after a shower; takes the seat next to his dad in the car just so he can
give side-long glances to his daddy's bulge as he drives; helps his daddy
mow the grass only so he can watch the big meat in his daddy's sweatshorts
flop and sway as they work.

Many sons even go so far as to peep on their dad while the man is
masturbating. Some know their father's j/o routine better than does their
own mother. In some households, horny preteen sons will actually find a
split in the bathroom doorjamb, even widening it for a better view, as to
spy on their father naked, standing at the sinks, masturbating.

There are even those who secretly make a hole in the wall to better ogle
their pop as he's naked. And, of course, in most cases, the dad is aware and
gets off on being the object of his son's lusts. It's a heightened sexual
excitement, which many fathers never expected would enter their lives as
they approached middle age. And any man responds to that.  As his wife's
interests perhaps wane after fifteen years, it's a sexual boost -- no matter
how "perverted" -- to find his physique is the focus of his own son's
drooling.

And from that juncture, many dads create or "see happen" opportunities or
other events, which will make such secret lusting easier for the two of
them. A dad "passive aggressively" planning short trips where he and the kid
"must" share a motel room; going to the community pool - sometimes putting a
pool in the backyard - just to let his boy see him almost naked; suddenly
and more regularly -- and oftentimes unnecessarily -- opting to strip off
the t-shirt more often when playing ball with his son; knowingly taking his
son to KFC with the sole idea of eating the chicken at a cruisy park he
knows - nothing will happen but the dad just gets off on bringing his son to
a place where dozens of men suck dick.

And all of it is usually "quietly" done; without outside influences; without
anyone knowing; without anyone ever even guessing in most cases. Most
usually, after a father has done a "secret" j/o show for his peeping son,
mom will call up the stairs for them to eat dinner. The son will freak but
only for a moment as he darts back to his room; dad will wipe up his semen
and flush the toilet - giving his son a few seconds to get away from the
door. And then, separately - always separately -- each will make their way
downstairs to the kitchen and dinner. Almost always the dad will ask,
perhaps to defuse any sexual tension, something along the lines of, "So how
was homework today...'hope you're keeping your grades up."

This same simple, quiet secrecy also is typical of the random sexual
crossings of most men and boys. Having been a kid in mall restrooms, I know
that most often no words were exchanged. Perhaps men were too nervous to
"chat"; perhaps remaining silent kept the encounter a bit surreal for them;
perhaps there was nothing really to "say" as a man's erection speaks volumes
for him; perhaps none wanted me to be able to identify their voice later.
Whatever the reasons, many encounters, even if three men were playing with
me in that mall toilet, were relatively swift and silent.

Men would come in, pee, and then scope out the place looking for a blowjob -
most all fully expecting to find another middle-aged married man such as
themselves waiting in a stall - finding me instead.

>From the time they left their families in the food court until they returned
to them, perhaps only ten minutes had passed - but what a ten minutes! In
the time it took his wife and daughter to merely figure out which shoe store
to go into, he had, never expecting to have done so that day - or ever --
"molested" and fed his semen to a young boy in the restroom.  There had been
no exchange of words with the lad - just an exchange of body fluids.

It was not an elaborate plan on his part or time-consuming or the least bit
apparent to anyone else what he'd done. Even if the boy had serviced two
other men at the same time, the three men so quickly went their separate
ways when done, each carried their big secret" away with them forever.

And is often the case, when he meets them again at the food court, the dad
confuses his wife and daughter as he suddenly and rather emphatically
suggests they get out of there and head to a different mall. He'll even
treat them to shoes at a more expensive store on the other end of town...if
they want to leave...now.

They just think daddy's in a generous mood...

....but he, the two other men and the kid with his semen in his system would
know the truth.

And then, of course, there are the millions of other dads and sons and
strange men and curious tykes out there who all fantasize, even suffer, over
their salaciously taboo passion...without anyone ever suspecting. They're
the majority who have never, would never and will never, "act" upon their
darkest lust (other than jerking off to the idea of it, perhaps).

And that's about as "silent" as this secret truth can get.



Whoring With Dad
Part 9f: "In (Kevy) Like a Choo Choo..."
(or "Little Boys Love Trains")

By: Mr.gloryholeJUNKIE

I wasn't scared as the men encircled me in the fog. I had that happen before
with other men and liked it. Besides, the men I allowed to "molest" me in
the steamroom were being quite loving and gentle as they feasted on a body
half their stature. Their tongues and fingers felt great as they tasted and
explored my first-grader's body. And no matter how young he may be, no male
would pull away from such wondrous sensations.

It's almost as though these men knew that fact, as my body grew limp in
ecstasy, making it theirs as they supported my weight. I was like a
volunteer sex toy for their perverted use as I barely stood on my own feet
while these men lapped at and sucked on my most private parts.

The two men whose erect penises I masturbated held my wrists and forearms as
to make sure I wouldn't - couldn't - pull away from them. What they didn't
know was that pulling away was the last thing I'd ever do. Perhaps they
simply regarded me as some random kid they might have done the same to and
therefore thought or feared there was no way I'd want to be there - really.
They didn't know (or did they?) that even at seven, I was supremely enjoying
every moment and every obscene caress.

In retrospect, I would have to figure that I was a taboo delicacy these men
never in a million years thought they'd encounter in the flesh. As if they
were thinking as they seized the opportunity with great vigor, "...in all
the gin joints...".

There was no way most could have ever known a little kid would there at the
Lawson that morning; never could have known he'd be totally naked (except
for those plastic flip-flops); never could have known he'd be led into a
steamroom; and never could have known they'd join a pack of other men in
luridly "molesting" him.

But there they were, a group of men, all given some courage by the anonymity
of mist and, I'm sure, the fact that as each played with my little body,
each found himself colliding with another man's molesting hands or lips.
Some boldness comes out of men when they know they're but one among many
doing such a licentious deed to someone.

I then heard a voice within the blanket of white whisper in an excitedly
hushed voice, "Someone gunna screw him or what?"

I don't know which of the men said it, other than knowing it wasn't Douglas
because he was still sucking on my hairless genitals and lapping - like some
big-tongued hounddog - further down to beneath my scrotum.

Two, or maybe it was three, of the men moved me a foot or so to the left
where they bent me down, by the scruff of my neck, until I was leaning
forward on a tiled banquette of seats.

I could hear another, different voice, whisper, "Oh, man, are we really
gunna fuck him? Can you fuck a little kid?"

A couple of sardonic laughs permeated the fog as some other voice said,
"Never have before but this sure does seem the perfect time."

Another round of lewd, low, nervous laughter broke the relative silence of
the steamroom.

I had hands grab me by my inner thighs, as to part them. I leaned forward,
balancing myself on the slippery tiles as I again felt a rough chin at my
little buttocks. A wet and wildly aggressive tongue went straight past my
tight sphincter, hungry to lick and lap at the tender flesh of my butthole.
I knew, could tell, it was not the same man who'd been doing the same a
moment before. This tongue and the man's grip on my small hips felt
completely different.

"Stick one in his mouth", I could hear Douglas whisper. And suddenly, not
one, but two men leapt at the chance to put one knee up on the tiled
banquette. At either side of my face, two erect penises pushed at my lips.
The large hand of man at my right cupped the top of my skull and pulled my
face to his oozing penis first. Upon contact, I tasted sweet-salty precum as
he penetrated my lips and slowly pushed his erection into my mouth.

And just as suddenly, the other man, at the left of my face, mimicked the
move, and snatched my skull away and over to his very wide cockhead. I had
to open my mouth wider as he forcefully shoved the mushroom head and a good
four inches down my throat in a single swift move. He then pushed his hips a
few times, in a series of short, thrusting motions, trying to see if I could
get his remaining two inches of adult shaft into my throat as well.

A man I couldn't see but sensed was very big and muscular, stood between my
little buttocks, as two men held open my buttcheeks for him. "Hold his
mouth...if it hurts", the muscular shadow whispered to someone. Immediately,
some hand came around my jaw, and the penis in my mouth withdrew, as I was
lightly muffled. Again, these men could not have known that I, moreso than
most other little kids my age, was more accustomed to having an adult penis
rammed inside me than they could have possibly imagined. Or perhaps they
simply enjoyed the process.

"Don't hurt him", another voice muttered as he helped the muscular shadow
spread my smooth buns in order to sodomize me. Interesting the dichotomy
which exists in many men when molesting a boy - at once all caring and
fatherly yet intent on fulfilling the most depraved, hardcore sex.

The saliva of the other men had made my butthole a perfect target for this
man's wide corona. I could tell he was big just by the way he pushed and
prodded at my hole. I could feel his shaft run along the inner sides of my
buttcheeks, even though they were being held widely apart by other hands.

Slowly, as if he were a bull being lowered onto and into me, the man entered
my body. "Shit", me mumbled as his cockhead pushed past my tight sphincter
muscle. "Shit, shit, shit...I'm in a little kid", the man mumbled.

A few of the men laughed with the same edgy nervous energy that filled the
room.

"Do him...", a voice encouraged.

"Yeah, do him...fuck him", another man whispered through the heavy cloud.
"Come on, before somebody else comes in."

The big "bull" of a man slowly, carefully, plunged more deeply into me, as
if he knew he had a little kid beneath him that he didn't want to hurt. He
lowered himself a centimeter at a time it seemed. And with each centimeter,
more and more of his very large erection slid into my child-sized butthole.

Without much more than another deep, purposeful plunge into me, the man
found he could enter me completely. "Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man...!", the man
muttered in a shaky voice.

"He got you all in?", another man asked in an evil tone as he felt around my
sodomized butthole where he found the man's pubic hair scratching at my
backside. "You're all in, buddy...now don't pull out till you squirt some in
him", the man laughed as though to congratulate the muscular molester.

"Yeah, don't pull out", Douglas instructed, as I noticed it was apparently
he who was masturbating my penis throughout the buttfucking. "Shoot your cum
in him...it'll make it easier for the rest of us."

The man got in only a few slow strokes, each time feeling his heavy nut sac
bounce against my smooth butt, before he gripped my little hips again and
his body tensed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck...", he mumbled as though not believing
what he was doing...and was about to do.

"You going to cum?", a man's voice asked, knowingly. "Come on man,
come...come in him."

Douglas again instructed the muscular man, "Don't pull out, shoot your cum
in him...make it easier for the rest of us and fill his innards in
cum...come on..."

That made the man lose his load. And as he struggled to muffle his orgasmic
grunts, I could feel the man's shaft thicken as it pumped its daddymilk into
my body. It felt like I was burning up and yet I loved the sensation of
feeling his erection pulse as it spewed cum into me. In that second, I
remembered what my dad had told me about the stuff in a daddy's semen and
imagined this man's millions and millions of live sperm swimming up into my
butt!

The bull of a man pulled out of me just as slowly, seemingly knowing even
that might hurt and stepped back from me.

"Whew...never...ever...did I ever think I'd do such a thing.", he said,
sounding equally boastful and embarrassed.

In a flash, some other man took his place, and knowing the bull's seed had
lubed my tiny hole well, he enthusiastically grabbed my small hips and
plunged right into me -- barely taking a moment to prepare me for his
penetration. Fortunately, the other men were still holding onto me,
otherwise the man's first forceful thrust would have pushed me forward
causing my nose to hit the wet, tiled wall.

As men took their turns ejaculating into a first-grade butt, Sid was on the
other side of the same floor having his own fun.

He was in the small inner office of the towel room. It was really not much
more than a space with a desk, chair, a small black & white t.v. and an old
black phone. A large board nearly filled one wall and was used to schedule
towel collection and wash cycles.

And there sat Sid on the burgundy vinyl and metal chair, turned away from
its place at the desk, as he bounced Tomas on his lap. He looked at the door
and leaned over to slide the bolt lock shut.

"We're going to play some now", he said with a huge smile. And with his next
bounce of Tomas, he made sure the baby's bottom made contact with his
crotch. "Oh, yeaaah", the towel attendant laughed. "Your daddy left me to do
anything I want with you. And you do anything and everything I bet."

Tomas laughed, seemingly enjoying the silly tone of the man's voice. Heck,
Sid could have just as easily been asking him who his favorite character was
on Sesame Street with the way he spoke to the kid.

"I bet you wuv big dicks, don't you, you little slut?", Sid cooed some more.
"Yeah, you look like you could use some big dick right now...can't you,
slut?"

The man placed Tomas on the floor and then stood up. Looking at him, Sid
smiled as he unbuckled his black belt. "Oh, you're going to like this
one...its bigger than you are, I think...I can just see you're one of those
that likes the real big ones, eh?"

Tomas stared up at the man, his naked tiny butt sitting on the linoleum
tile.

"Yeah, you're used to this, ain't you, you little sluthole?", Sid said with
a grin as he undid his white slacks. "Sid's gunna give baby what he
needs..."

The man let his slacks drop to his knees and his erect cock caused his white
boxer shorts to tent obscenely. "You're gunna like what Sid's gunna give
you...Sid can tell just by looking at you."

With that, the man slid his undershorts down his lean thighs to where they
fell at his knees. His rockhard cock pointed ten inches straight out. The
man's big nuts hung long and low between his lithe, pale thighs.

He wagged his huge erection obscenely at Tomas who just stared at it as
though semi-hypnotized, making Sid laugh some more. "Baby likes the big
ones, huh?"



To be continued...
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