Date: Wed, 13 Jul 2005 09:56:41 -0400
From: kicky1000@yahoo.com
Subject: The Lap Dancer

			      The Lap Dancer

				    by

				Little Dan


I'm not going to tell you how very young I was, when I first discovered
the thrilling joy of sitting in a grown man's lap.  You'd probably just
tell me that I was precocious.  Well, maybe I was.  I don't know how
many other young boys would have become so aware and become so excited at
such a tender age.  But it all came about in such innocence.  Really.  It
was just that we had a large family and a small car.

I lived with my mommy and daddy and we all lived with my mother's
parents, and her two older unmarried brothers, Hamilton and Monroe, in
the big old family house up on Songbird Hill in Pawtucky, Pennsylvania.
My mother's parents were family people and they didn't like to have
their children scatter after marriage.  There was plenty of room in the
big old house for husbands, and wives, and lots and lots of children.  So
far I was the only one.

I loved having a big family.  I got lots and lots of attention.  Nannie
(my maternal grandmother) would take care of me during the day while
mommy was at her secretarial job, and my father and two uncles had joined
my Grandy (my maternal grandfather) in the family business, selling life
insurance.

Every Sunday we would get in the car and drive to Coltonville, which was
about an hour away to the west.  That was where my daddy had grown up,
and my Gram and Gramps still lived there.   My father was also very
family oriented, and he would never miss visiting his parents each
Sunday.

It was so cozy in our Chevrolet.  Packed together. Driving through the
snow, with the car heater on.  Grandy drove and Nannie was squeezed in
right next to him in the middle of the front seat.  My mother had a
tendency to get car sick, so she took the remaining spot in the front
seat, to the right of Nannie.

In the back seat, my father always sat directly behind Grandy on the
left, and poor Uncle Hamilton, who was the skinniest, always had to sit
in the middle.  Uncle Monroe got the right back window.  He was a bigger
man than Uncle Hamilton, and he was also about two years older.  I figure
he must have been thirty around that time.  He had a big, powerful, bulky
body, with thick legs.  Being sqeezed like that couldn't have been all
that comfortable for him.  Uncle Hamilton, who was about twenty-eight,
was more slender.  Lanky and rangy.  He had blonde floppy hair, and a
thin blonde moustache above his upper lip.   He was not dark and swarthy
like Uncle Monroe.   Probably daddy was the most handsome of any of
them.  Later in my life, I thought that if we had lived in Hollywood,
daddy could have probably become a movie star, in dashing pirate films.
He was so suave.  So debonair. So swashbuckle.

You've probably noticed that there were already six adults totally
filling the car space.  That really didn't leave very much room for
little me.  Obviously I was going to have sit on someone's lap.  That
someone was usually Uncle Monroe.   He was very affectionate toward me,
and also he had a window that I could gaze out of as we drove along.

When I was very, very little, I used to sit on mommy's lap in the front
seat.  But she had a bony scrawny lap, and it wasn't very comfortable.
I was constantly moving around trying to better my position.

"Roger.  Can't you just sit still?" she would ask in exasperation.

"It's not comfortable," I would complain.  And her hands around my
waist weren't comfortable either.  I just wasn't comfortable there.
Until one day, a car went through a stop sign at a crossing, and Grandy
had to slam down on the brakes.  I went flying forward, and I was very
lucky that I hadn't cracked my head open on the dashboard.  That was an
object lesson.  From now on, I would have to sit in the back where it was
safer.  I had always been Uncle Monroe's `Little Champ," and he was
happy to have me sit on his lap.

The next Sunday, I climbed into the back seat and Uncle Monroe gathered
me in his strong protective arms.  I knew right away that this was
different.  He folded those strong protective arms around me, but now I
was comfortable.  I was very, very comfortable.  As we were riding, I was
just sinking into Uncle Monroe's big lap.  I felt his powerful legs
beneath my skinny little lower limbs.  I put my legs outside his and
pressed.  I turned around and smiled at him.  He smiled at me.

And there was something else.  Uncle Monroe had a big squoogie lump in
his lap.  Mommy didn't have anything like that.  I sort of rolled my
bottom around on it a lot as we rode.  It felt nice.  The more I rolled,
the tighter Uncle Monroe would hold me, and I sort of felt the squoogie
getting big and hard.  That was really strange.  But interesting.  I was
liking it.  I knew that Uncle Monroe was liking it, the way he was
holding me.

One time he was holding me so tight.  So very, very tight.  And it was
like he was pushing me down on his spike.  Cause that's what it felt
like now.  A hard metal spike.  He was pushing and pushing, and then he
made a funny noise, and started shaking a little.  I turned around and
gave him a questioning look, but he just smiled at me in an embarrassed
kind of way, and a little after that I didn't feel the spike anymore.  I
just felt the squoogie.  And what was really strange is that my bottom
felt damp.  I tried to peek down between my legs.  And it looked like
maybe Uncle Monroe's pants were a little dark and wet right there.  But
I could be mistaken, of course.

The next Sunday, Uncle Monroe said that sometimes it was a little drafty
in the back seat, and he didn't want me getting a cold.  So he brought a
little afghan blanket to throw over our laps.  After a few minutes of
getting really comfortable in his arms, poised atop his big fleshy
squoogie, he released his arms from around my waist.  He was digging for
something in his pocket.   He seemed to be unscrewing something under the
blanket.  I couldn't imagine what he was doing. I turned around to look
at him, but his face was impassive.  He just stared out the front window.

A few minutes later, I felt him opening my pants, and then his big hands
were stroking my bottom.  His hands were so big and warm.  It felt very
nice.  Flesh-on-flesh contact.  I just loved my Uncle Monroe.  Then he
was doing something else.  It seemed like maybe he was holding a tube or
something in one of his hands, and he was squeezing it onto his other
hand.   The other hand came back to my bottom, but now it was wet and
sticky.

He had some wet and sticky, gooey stuff all over his big fingers.  His
fingers started exploring the crack between my tush.  And then his
fingers started going up my hole.  You can imagine that I was really
shocked.  I jumped a little, and I turned around and gave him a surprised
questioning look, but he just raised his other hand to his lips and made
the sign for "Sssshhh," so I kept quiet.

After a little while, his fingers up my bottom started turning and
swirling and spreading.  At first it felt a little uncomfortable, but
then it started to feel comfortable, and I just settled down on his
spinning fingers.   He closed his other arm around my waist, and we spent
the rest of the trip with his fingers circling in my behind.   It got so
that every Saturday, I couldn't wait for Sunday.  I was always looking
forward to it.  It became the highlight of my weekend.  Much more than
visiting Gram and Gramps, whom I really loved.

After a few weeks of this, Uncle Monroe added something even more
enjoyable to our little secret game.  He would open the fly of his pants
under the blanket, and pull out the big iron spike, which I couldn't
see, but only feel, and he would take my little hand and wrap it around
his spike.  It was so enormous and big and hard.  I don't know how to
explain this, but it made me feel very secure holding on to that hot hard
flesh.  It was like a security thing for me.  I felt that while I was
holding onto it, I couldn't fall, and also if the car stopped short, I
had something firm and secure that I was hanging on to.  I wouldn't go
flying forward like I had that other time.

A number of Sundays later, I was getting dressed before our trip, and I
couldn't find any underpants.  I looked in all my drawers and there were
none there.  That was really strange.  I asked my mother, and she just
got annoyed with me.  She insisted they were in my dresser drawer where
they belonged, and I must be blind.  I asked her to look, but she was in
a bad mood, and she refused.  I guess I was just going to have to go
without my underwear.  I didn't care what she said.  I certainly didn't
see any underpants.  They weren't there.

Then I took my little jeans and began to step into them, and as I looked
down, I could see the floor.  How was that possible?  I was looking into
my jeans, but I saw the carpet?  I looked closer.  There was a small neat
slit along the seam in the seat of my jeans.  I wondered how I had done
that.  But I had no other jeans.  There was nothing to be done.  And it
wasn't a very big slit, so maybe if I took small steps, my behind
wouldn't show and no one would notice.  I shrugged and cinched the waist
buttons.

We went down to the car, and I climbed into my spot on Uncle Monroe's
lap.  He spread the blanket over us, and I was all comfortably tucked in
before Grandy started up the motor.   After about ten minutes, Uncle
Monroe started our little game.  He greased up his fingers, and began to
feed them into me.  But he wasn't opening my pants.  He was slipping his
fingers through the slit in my jeans.  He knew about the slit.  Suddenly
everything became very clear.  Uncle Monroe had been responsible for the
disappearance of my underpants, and for the slit in my jeans.  So
sneaky.   This way he wouldn't have to go through all the trouble of
unbuttoning and lowering my pants and underwear, and then reversing the
operation when we got near our destination.

Under the blanket, he took my little hand in his and placed it on his
zipper.  I had never unzipped him myself before, but I knew what to do.
I reached in, and felt warm skin.  Uncle Monroe also wasn't wearing
underpants.  I felt the iron spike and I lifted it through the zipper
until it was standing straight up.  I was just holding it and holding it,
like I always did.  But now something different happened.  Uncle Monroe
withdrew the swirling fingers of his right hand from inside my asshole,
and under the blanket he grasped me around the waist.   He lifted me
imperceptibly, and then eased me back down.

His iron spike was trying to squeeze into my little hole.  It wasn't too
comfortable.  It wasn't really going in.  But Uncle Monroe knew what to
do.  His hands fiddled under the blanket, and I felt him squeezing some
of the goo out of the tube, and rubbing it all over his spike.

He sat me down on it once more, and this time, my little asslips started
separating around it.  His spike was going right up inside me.  He gave a
little sigh of satisfaction.   I settled back on his spike, and he
wrapped his arms around me again.  I turned around and looked into his
eyes.  He smiled at me.  I smiled back at him.  I gave a little sigh of
satisfaction.

The whole rest of the trip, the car gently rocked along the road, and
Uncle Monroe gently rocked inside me.  I had never been so comfortable.
As we turned onto Route 72, the last road before we got to Gram and
Gramps place, I felt Uncle Monroe's spike getting harder and more
insistent inside me.  It actually started to throb. To throb and then to
swell.  And then some hot liquid gushed out into me.  It was so warm and
soothing.  I guessed that it was that liquid that kept making a dark wet
spot in Uncle Monroe's pants, and made my bottom damp each week.  But
now my bottom wasn't damp at all.   The liquid was all up inside of me.

As Uncle Monroe lifted me off him, under the blankets, and rezipped, I
squeezed my bottom shut to treasure the warm injection.  I wanted lots
more of them.  Lots more.  We did it again on the trip home.  What a
great day.

We had a few more glorious weeks of this, when suddenly my whole world
crashed.  Uncle Monroe had fallen on the stairs, and bruised his
kneecap.  He was in a lot of pain, and his leg was all strapped up.  It
was obvious I was not going to be able to sit on Uncle Monroe's lap come
Sunday.  What was I to do?   I would be sitting on Uncle Hamiton's lap.
I thought Uncle Hamilton was really handsome, and I would have loved to
play the game with him, but only Uncle Monroe knew about the game.  What
could I do?   I was in a bad mood all week.

I got an idea.  I didn't know if it would work, but maybe it was worth a
try.  I went into Uncle Monroe's dresser drawer and I found the tube
that he used for our playing, so that I could sit on his spike.  I stuck
it in the pocket of my jeans.  My jeans were very small, as was I, so
that the top of the tube stuck out of the pocket.  I had to dangle my
arms over it to hide it.  Also I was afraid the bulk of the tube was
going to spread the split down the seat of my jeans.  I would have to
walk carefully, and closely in front of people, so that they wouldn't
have a full vista view of my rear.

On Sunday, Uncle Hamilton climbed into the middle seat and sat down.   He
didn't have the blanket.  That was bad.

"I want the blanket," I said.

"It's warm today," said Uncle Hamilton.   "You don't need the
blanket."

"Yes, I do," I insisted.  "It's drafty in the back.  I could get the
flu."

"Oh, all right," Uncle Hamilton agreed grudgingly.  "Dad, could you go
into the trunk and get the afghan for Roger?"

Grandy smiled and went around to the trunk with the keys.  He brought
back the afghan, and I pulled it over my lap, and Uncle Hamilton's, in
which I was now comfortably sitting.  When I was all settled in, Uncle
Monroe painfully climbed into his spot, and pulled the door shut.  And we
were off.

Uncle Hamilton wrapped his arms around me, outside the blanket, to keep
me safe and steady.   My own hands were under the blanket.  As we rode
along, I kind of kept shifting back and forth a little in Uncle
Hamilton"s lap.  I thought I felt his big squoogie start to get a little
stiff.  Like a flagpole.  He gave me a funny look.

"Roger," he said.

"Yes?" I asked innocently, grinding my bottom down on him.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"  I couldn't imagine what he was referring to. I
was just a little restless.  After all, this was a new lap for me.

Uncle Hamilton gazed into my innocent eyes.  "Nothing," he said.
"Forget it."  I kept grinding.

Yes.  It was more like a flagpole than a spike.  It was longer than a
spike.   Uncle Hamilton's face was getting redder and redder.   I knew
he was ready, and I decided to make my move.  If only he would keep his
cool.  If he were to expose me now, all was lost.  My life was over.  I
would be disgraced.  I would have to kill myself.  I took a chance.

My fingers reached down under the blanket, and ever so gently I started
to stroke his pole.  He looked at me.  I looked at him.  He didn't say
anything.  So far, so good.  After a few minutes of stroking, I got a
little more daring.  Ever so slowly I began to lower his zipper.   He
jumped.  I had really blown his mind now.  But he still didn't say
anything.  I reached into his underwear and circled my little hand around
his thick meat.  I drew it out of the opening, and gently palmed it in a
light circular motion.  He hips were starting to move a little of their
own volition.  Horniness had overcome shock.  He was getting into it.  He
was enjoying it.  He was getting a secret handjob under the afghan from
his little nephew.  What a nice surprise.

Little did he know, I wasn't done yet.  I took my hand off his thick
meat and saw a fleeting look of surprise and disappointment on his face.
What he didn't know was that I was taking the tube from my pocket, that
I was opening the tube, that I was squeezing out some goo, that I was
feeding it into my opening.  And then I began coating his large organ
with it and he knew.

I raised up ever so slightly, and holding his perpendicular slippery
pole, I sat gently back down on it, and it was sliding through the slit
of my pants, up my crack, and then through my tight bottom lips, up into
the very center of my being.  Triumph! Uncle Hamilton was all the way
inside me.

We rode the rest of the trip like that, and when we turned onto Route 72,
Uncle Hamilton knew it was time to finish up.  He grabbed me around the
waist, and imperceptibly began humping up into me until his hot spooge
was covering all my internal passages with a thick milky white cream.  He
lifted me off his shrinking prick, and zipped himself up.  I reached back
and pressed the tube into the space between the seat and the back-rest,
for later use.  This way I wouldn't have it bulking out in my pocket,
and stretching the slit in my pants.

Uncle Hamilton and I repeated our adventure on the way home that evening,
and it was such a relief to me to know that I was not solely dependent on
Uncle Monroe for my rectal titillation any more.  I had a back-up.  And
in fact, Uncle Hamilton's pole was longer than Uncle Monroe's spike.
And he was handsomer. This had been a good Sunday.

I was really into lap dancing now.  I had heard my father talk to my
uncles about lap dancing establishments, where the girls came over and
rolled around on the men's laps for money.  My father had been telling
Uncle Monroe about one in town, which he'd heard about, but hadn't
visited.  You could hear a lot of stuff if you kept your ears open when
the adults talked.  Especially if they were confident that you wouldn't
know what they were talking about, so they said it right out.

I knew that that's what I was doing.  Lap dancing.  Except I wasn't a
slutty girl.  I was a little boy.  And I wasn't doing it for money.  I
was doing it because I loved cock.

After dinner one night, everybody was down in the living room, but it was
my bedtime, so they sent me upstairs.  Mommy wanted to tuck me in, but I
would have none of it.  I figured I was old enough to tuck myself in by
now.  I was almost five.

Before going into my room, something drew me to Uncle Hamilton's room.
I don't know what.  Maybe I do know.  Sometimes I would come in, and
Uncle Hamilton would be standing in his closet reading a magazine, and
the minute he saw me, he would drop the magazine back onto the pile on
the floor and come out into the room and start making small talk.  I
sometimes noticed that he was showing a flagpole.  I had been wondering
what was in those magazines.  Tonight was the night I was going to find
out.

I went into Uncle Hamilton's closet, and way in the back, kind of below
his hanging bathrobe was a tall stack of magazines.  I picked up the top
one, and I saw pictures of men.  All naked.  With one man putting his
pole into the other man's mouth????  I had never even thought of that.
And then there were pictures of men putting their spikes into other
men's bottoms.  That I knew about.  So I wasn't the only one in the
world who liked it.

Suddenly I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  I pulled the closet
door shut, and cowered behind the hanging clothes.  What if they should
find me?  I peeked out through the small space I had left.  It was Uncle
Hamilton.  He went to switch on the light, but it was already switched
on.  He was puzzled.   He closed his bedroom door and started coming
toward the closet.   Oh. Oh.

But I was in luck.   Suddenly there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in," said Uncle Hamilton.

The door opened.  It was my father.   "Hi, Hamilton," he said.

"Hi Ernest," said Uncle Hamilton.  "What's up?"

"Monroe and Peggy and Mom and Dad are playing bridge down in the
parlor.  I didn't want to play.  I figured there might me better things
to do."

"You did?"

"Yeah," said my father.  He had kind of a leer on his face.  He walked
over to Uncle Hamilton and started pawing and squeezing his ass.
"How's my favorite ass tonight?"

"Fine," said Uncle Hamilton.

"Is it maybe a little horny?" asked my father.

"It's very horny," said Uncle Hamilton, shaking his head.  His eyes
glazed over as my father handled his bottom.  "Oh, Ernie.  Oh, Ernie."

"Does your ass want my big cock inside it, Hamilton?"

"Oh, Ernie.  You know it does.  You know how much my ass loves your
cock.  I wish I could have it every night, even though it's married to
my sister."

"Well, you know I love your sister, Hamilton.  But having a
brother-in-law with a hot tight ass, who loves to get fucked as much as
you do, was a big plus in my mind, when I decided to marry Peggy."

"Oh, Ernie.  Oh, Ernie," crooned Uncle Hamilton.  I peered out bug-eyed
through the crack opening of the closet door.   Uncle Hamilton was
stripping off his clothes.  Now he was completely naked.   He had a
beautiful, long, smooth body.  He stretched out on the bed and took one
of the pillows and pushed it under his midsection, so that his behind was
just raised up.  I knew what was going to happen.

My father looked at him lustfully, and patted his naked firm
hemispheres.   Then my father started to strip off his own clothes.  I
had never seen my father naked.  And I told you he was very handsome.
Like a Hollywood pirate.  But that doesn't even tell it all.  I could
never have imagined such a body.  I could never have imagined such a
rod.  It was like a very thick curtain rod that could have stretched all
the way across a picture window.  Wow!  Did I want that!

But right now Uncle Hamilton was going to get it.   My daddy climbed over
Uncle Hamilton's back, and positioned himself on his knees, between
Uncle Hamilton's spread thighs.  My daddy grabbed a-hold of his thick
long rod, and pointed it down toward the in-spot.   He spit on his other
hand and covered his cock with his saliva.  Then he drew up phlegm and
gave a couple of good hacks into Uncle Hamilton's crack, till the
opening was covered with slimy mucous.

As the rod fed into the slot, my father straightened out along Uncle
Hamilton's back, and lay on it.  His hips were cushioned by Uncle
Hamilton's tight hemispheres, and he bounced up and down on them.  Daddy
was working his ass as a cockdriver, while Uncle Hamilton worked his ass
as a suction-cup.

"Oh, God.  I love ass," screamed my father.  "I love fucking ass.
Better than anything.  I love fucking ass.   Take my cock, you
pussyasscunt.  Suck my juices out, bitchassman."

"Oh, yes, baby.  Fuck me.  Fuck me with your big cock."  I was getting
so excited hearing Uncle Hamilton say that.  That's what I always wanted
to yell in the car, when my Uncles had their cocks inside me.  But I had
to be discreet.  I couldn't display any pleasure or emotion.  I had to
remain impassive, while my soul was screaming, "Fuck me.  Fuck me with
your big cock.  I love it.  I love it.  Fuck me with your big cock.
Shoot your hot milk into me."  Even at my early age, I had a little bit
of an erection now, but nothing was going to happen with it.  Even so, I
could still enjoy the scene in front of me.

"Oh, God.  I love ass," repeated my father.  " I love faggot ass.
There's nothing in the world like faggot ass."

"Yes.  Fuck my faggot ass, Ernie.  My faggot ass loves your big thick
cock even more than your big thick cock loves my faggot ass."

"You really needed this, didn't you?" My father asked him.

"Did I ever," affirmed Uncle Hamilton.

"Yeah, I figured.  With Monroe's bad knee, you haven't had cock up
your hungry hole for over a week now."

"Yeah.  Over a week.  Too long.  Too long," Uncle Hamilton agreed
slamming his ass into my father's abdominal muscles.

Aha.  So Uncle Monroe was fucking Uncle Hamilton.  I hadn't known that.
New Information.  Very interesting.  But it all made sense.  They were
both not-married, and they had to be getting something somewhere, and
they never went out, so the conclusion was^Å..and now it had been
confirmed.

"Your ass is doing such great things to my cock," breathed daddy.
"Oh, yeah, Hamilton.  Make your ass suck up my fleshtube.  Suck it.
Suck it.  Pull the cum out of me, brother-in-law.  Fuck my cock.  Fuck my
cock.  You know how to fuck a cock?  Tell me.  Tell me."

"You know I know how to fuck a cock.  I'm fucking your cock.  I'm
fucking your cock."  Uncle Hamilton's ass became like a gyroscope.  I
was dazzled with his dexterity.  He really knew how to treat a cock.  I
would need to take lessons from him.

"AAAGGHHH.  AAAAGGGHHH.   AAAAAGGGHHHH," screamed daddy.  He was going
over the edge.  His ass was slamming his meat into Uncle Hamilton's
hole.  Shove. Shove. Shove.  Slower.  Shove. Shove. Shove. Slower. Shove.
Shove Shove.  Daddy's haunches came to a slow halt.  He pulled his long
limber instrument out of Uncle Hamilton's grasping receptacle, and
streams of liquid followed it, bubbling out, burbling out.

I felt faint.  I sat down quietly on the floor of the closet.  I didn't
know how I was going to get out of that room.  I would have to wait for a
good opportunity.

"Thanks, Hamilton," said daddy.  "You're a great fuck, as always."

"No.  Thank you," said Uncle Hamilton.  "That was the best.  Just the
best.  I wish I could have it every night, like my sister,"

"Just be grateful for what you get," said my father.  "I guess I'd
better get back down to the bridge game.  I don't want Peggy to start
wandering the house looking for me when she's dummy."  My father put on
his clothes, gave Uncle Hamilton a last playful slap on his, now, wet
bouncy asscheek, and left the room.

I almost had a heart attack when Uncle Hamilton reached into the closet
for his bathrobe.  Thank god, just his hand entered.  It knew where the
robe was hanging.  He didn't open the door.  He didn't see me.  He put
on the robe and walked out of the room, down the hall to the bathroom, to
wash up.

The minute he closed the bathroom door, I was out of there.  Out of the
closet.  Out of his room.  I ran into my own room, and went straight to
bed, where I was supposed to have been all along.   I had a lot of
trouble falling asleep.  I was really stimulated, and I was lying there
playing with my little thing for what seemed like hours.

I couldn't believe what I had seen.  My own handsome daddy sticking his
cock into Uncle Hamilton's asshole.  Fucking Uncle Hamilton.   My own
handsome daddy.  He was available.  His cock was not off-limits, as I had
supposed.  Boundless joy.  I was forearmed with knowledge, and a little
knowledge is a valuable thing.  But how?  But how????

I put on my slit jeans on Sunday and joined the family by the car.  Poor
Uncle Monroe still had a painful knee, and I knew that I was expected to
sit on Uncle Hamilton's lap again this week.  Uncle Hamilton got into
the car,  (he already had the afghan) and reached his arms out for me.

"Come on, Roger.  It's you and me again, buddy."

I did not get in the car.  "No," I said stamping my foot.

Uncle Hamilton's jaw dropped.  "No?" he asked.  "Why not?"

"I want to sit in my daddy's lap," I insisted.

"No," said my daddy.  "You sit in your Uncle Hamilton's lap like last
week.  I like to be free to move around."

"No.  I want to sit on your lap.  You never let me sit in your lap."  I
started to stamp my foot again and cry.  I figured this was as good a
time as any to throw a temper tantrum.

"Roger, behave yourself," ordered my father.

"No. No.  If I can't sit in your lap, I'm not going," I started to
sob and turned around and began to walk back to the house.

"Come on, Roger.  You can't stay home by yourself.  You're only four
years old."

"Almost five," I screamed.

"Get in the car," said my father.

"No," I said.

At this point my father caved in.  "Get in, Roger.  You can sit in my
lap, okay?"

"Okay," I smiled.  My tears dried up in an instant.  I crawled along
the seat over Uncle Hamilton's lap, and positioned myself where I wanted
to be.  In my father's lap.  Without warning, I pulled the afghan out of
Uncle Hamilton's hand and draped it over my father's and my lap.
Uncle Monroe, favoring his knee, climbed into the car and slammed the
door.  Grandy turned on the motor and we were off.

"I don't know what gets into you sometimes, Roger," observed my mother
from the front seat.   I didn't answer.  I just snuggled down into my
daddy's lap and rested my head against his muscular chest.  He wrapped
his arms around me, and I was very, very comfortable.

Stealthily I moved my hands under the blanket and took the tube out of my
pocket.  It was half squeezed out now, so it was not so intrusive.   I
have to tell you that my plans had been so well laid, that my behind was
already lubricated.  Before we left the house, I had gone into the
bathroom and cleaned myself out with a little fleet enema plastic bottle
filled with water, that my mother sometimes used on me when I had trouble
going.   Then I had filled my anal cavity with gobs and gobs of the
jelly.  I had seen what a big cock my father had.  It was even bigger
than the ones that had already been inside me.

But now, all my preparations were going to bear fruit.  For about fifteen
minutes I just kept moving my little behind all around on my fathers
lap.  Back and forth over his squoogie, which was becoming less and less
squoogie.  He was starting to give me funny looks, but I just looked out
the window and shifted around.

I was actually jerking him off with my bottom, even with all those
clothes between us.  I could tell he was trying not to get aroused, and
it almost made me laugh to see how aroused he was getting.  I pressed and
rocked.  I pressed and rocked.

"Can't you sit still, Roger?" he asked.

"I am sitting still, daddy," I answered and looked into his eyes with
great innocence as I pressed and rocked again.

It was happening.  His fly rod was getting ready to go casting.  He
didn't know it yet, but my little behind was what he was going to
hook.   I just kept rocking and rocking.  It was solidly and firmly under
me.  And it was hard.  It was very hard.  Now was the time.  His breath
was even getting ragged.

I reached in and drew down his zipper.   He gave me the most horrified
look, but I continued.  I knew he wasn't so lily-white pure.  I smiled
up at him as I reached in and closed my little fist on his burning rod.
I smiled more as I drew it out of his pants.

"Roger," he said.  His voice cracked.

"What, daddy?" I asked.

"What are you^Å^Å???"

I interrupted him.  "Daddy.  Do you like Uncle Hamilton?"

"Of course, I like Uncle Hamilton," daddy answered.  "What a
question!"  But he and Hamilton gave each other a quick look, and I saw
a little drop of sweat drip down daddy's cheek."

I was staring him in the eye and beaming, as I covered his large firm
knob with jelly from the tube.  He didn't say anything else to me.  We
were ready.  I raised my bottom imperceptibly, still holding his long rod
with one hand, and through the slit in my pants, I settled down on it.
It was slipping into me easily.  I sank all the way down now, until I was
once more firmly in his lap.

He was taking this very well.  I felt his big dick throbbing inside my
little ass.  I closed down and squeezed on him three times.  I looked up
at him and smiled again.  Now he smiled back.   As the car traveled along
the back-country roads, we had a nice long leisurely fuck, which we both
thoroughly enjoyed, until we got to Route 72, when it was time to finish
up.  We worked together to speed his ejaculation through his fleshtube
into me.  Now my daddy's cum was a part of me.  I felt really complete.
It had been a wonderful journey today.  Good for both of us.  After all
he loved ass, and I loved cock.  What could be bad???

I shoved the tube between the seat and the back-rest again for use on the
trip home.  We used it.  Even though I was getting to a point, where
maybe I didn't even need it anymore.

I had fully intended to sit on daddy's lap the next Sunday also, but the
best laid plans of mice and men^Å^Å..

We got down to the car, and suddenly Grandy said.  "You know what,
Ernest?  I'm a little tired today.  I must be getting old.  I don't
feel like driving.  You drive, and I'll sit in the back."

"But^Å" I began to sputter.

"What's the matter, Roger?" asked Grandy.  "You don't want to ride
in your old Grandy's lap?"

I didn't answer.  Grandy handed daddy the car keys and daddy got in the
front seat behind the wheel.  Grandy climbed into daddy's spot, and
pulled me on top of him.  When I was firmly in his lap, he pulled the
afghan over us.  Uncle Hamilton sat down next to us, in the middle, and
gave me a big smile.  He gave Grandy a big smile too.  Grandy smiled back
at him.

Actually Uncle Hamilton looked a lot like Grandy.  They were both slim
and wiry, but Grandy's hair was all salt and pepper now.  And Grandy was
all man.  Much more than Uncle Hamilton.  I had never realized before
that my Grandy was a very attractive and desirable man.  I was realizing
it now.

Uncle Monroe's knee was almost better, but not totally.  He climbed in
and shut the door.  Daddy gunned the motor and we were off.

I was very well behaved today.  I was a little afraid of Grandy.  If he
ever found out what I had been doing with everyone, he would probably
take me down the basement and tan my ass with his leather belt.  He was
very stern, and used to giving orders and being obeyed.   I was feeling
very vulnerable.  I did not rock around in Grandy's lap.

Then the strangest thing happened.  You are just not going to believe
this.  I felt Grandy's hands fiddling under my bottom.  He was lifting
me up a little, and I heard the sound of a zipper.   Grandy spit into one
of his hands and moved it back under the blanket.  Right away I felt a
long firm fleshy spear pushing through the slit in my jeans, heading into
my asshole.  Grandy was pretty big, so it was lucky that, thinking I
would be sitting on daddy's lap, I had packed some jelly into my bottom,
in the bathroom, before we left the house.  And Grandy had just spit into
his hand, and apparently had rubbed it all over his spear.

In any case, the spear moved smoothly into me with no discomfort, and
when I settled down in his lap with his spear up my hole, I was, of
course, very, very comfortable.

Grandy ran his fingers though my blonde hair affectionately.  He smiled
at me and hugged me closer.  Humping his hips up into my asscheeks.  Oh.
It felt so good.  Grandy was a great fucker.  He was the best fucker in
the whole family.  This was so terrific.  He kept up a steady pace of up
and down, in and out, up and down, in and out.  I hated to get to Route
72.  I wanted him to plow my fertile field forever and ever.  "Oh,
Grandy," I sighed to myself.  "Fuck me.  Fuck me.  Never stop fucking
me.  I love it.  I love it."  As I mentioned, I sighed this to myself.
What I wouldn't have given to scream it out for the world to hear, but
we all know that that was impossible in a crowded Chevrolet.

When we got to Gram and Gramps, Gram served lunch as usual.  Then Grandy
told me he was going to take a walk in the woods, and asked me if I would
like to walk with him.  I said,"yes," of course and we set out on a
trail.  Grandy held my hand as we walked, and told me to watch out for
snakes.

Finally we saw a large log, and Grandy suggested we sit down on the log
and rest a little.   He sat down, and I sat beside him.  It felt so good
to be with my Grandy.  I felt so loved and so protected.  Then Grandy
lifted me up and sat me on his lap, but this time I was facing him.  He
gently started running his fingers over my face as he talked to me.

"You're a real good kid, Roger.  I really like you.  Did you know
that?"

"No," I replied.

"Well, I really do."

"I'm glad, Grandy," I told him.

"Did you like what we did in the car before?" he asked me.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Do you like having a cock up your ass?"

"Yes," I again admitted.

"Well, I like having my cock up a tight ass.  A tight little ass.
That's what I really love.  Did anyone ever tell you, you had a nice
tight little ass?" he asked me.

"No," I said.

"Well, you do," he said.  "You have a nice tight little boyass.
There's nothing in this world I love more than I love boyass.  Nice
tight boyass."

I listened quietly and he continued.  I studied his strong face.  He was
so handsome.  His neat little grey moustache above his thin firm lips.
A real man's man.

"Your Uncle Hamilton was a great little fuck.  Did you know I fucked
your Uncle Hamilton?"  he asked me.

I told him that I hadn't known that.

"Well, I did," he said.  "What a nice tight little butt he had, and
what a real sweet kid he was.   I still fuck him even today, but he's
all grown up now, and it's not quite the same.  What I really like is
boyass.  Nice young boyass.  Like yours.  You don't mind me being frank
with you, do you?"

"No," I said.  I wanted him to be very frank with me.  I felt very
grownup to be sharing this conversation with Grandy.  I felt honored that
he wanted to confide in me like this.

"Of course, I used to fuck your Uncle Monroe too.  I fucked him first.
He was the oldest.  But your Uncle Hamilton.  Now he was something
special.  So slim. So firm. So tight.  I really loved hitting my balls up
against his little smooth firm bottom.  I hated to see him grow up.  He
was just the most perfect little fuck.  So perfect," Grandy was getting
sentimental in his reverie.

"But life goes on, and look what happened.  Now, I have you.  Don't
I?" he wanted my assurance.

I assured him.  "Yes," I said.

"Yes, now I have you to fuck.  Another nice tight little ass.  Just as
nice as your Uncle Hamilton's."

Thank you," I said.

"It was your Uncle Hamilton who told me that you were cockcrazy.  He
told me what a nice ass you had, and said that I ought to try it.  You
won't be mad at your Uncle Hamilton for cluing me in, now, will you?"

"I'm not mad at Uncle Hamilton," I said "I'm glad he told you.  I'm
glad you fucked me.  I'm glad about everything."

"Good.  Because I'm your Grandy, and I only want you to be happy.

I loved him so much.

"You know, now that it's not exactly a secret to some of us any more we
don't have to go around sneaking fucks on the Sunday drive, do we?"

"I guess not," I said.  I hadn't really thought of that.

"Why, I could even come up to your room after dinner at night, and bone
you right there in your bed.  How would you like that?  Would you like me
to bone you right there in your bed?"

"I really, really would," I said, bouncing happily up and down on his
lap in excitement and anticipation.

Then Grandy did a new thing.  He pulled my face up to his and gave me a
big wet kiss, right between my lips, right into my mouth.  I could feel
his big man tongue invading me.  And I liked it.  I began to kiss him
back, and even suck on his tongue.

"I'm gonna teach you to suck cock, too," Grandy promised me.  "Would
you like that?  Would you like me to teach you how to suck a big cock?"

"Yes," I said.

"And suck a man's big balls.  Take them into your mouth and roll them
around on your tongue?  Would you like me to teach you how to do that?"

"Yes. Yes," I said breathlessly.

He kissed me passionately again.  Then I felt his hands working at my
clothes.  He was pushing my slit jeans down my legs.  He wanted to feel
my bare ass against his skin now.  He raised himself a second, still
holding me, and lowered his pants to knee level.  Now when he sat me down
on his cock, we were facing each other.  We hadn't used any spit or gel,
but his cock slid right in, and I was riding him as if he were a horsey,
and all the time we were kissing and kissing and kissing.   He spilled
another big load into my little asshole, which I guess now had more than
all the cum it could contain, and the cum started flooding out of my ass
around his dick, which was still inserted therein.

Eventually, he pulled a tissue out of his pocket and began dabbing at his
gummy cock and balls.  We both pulled our pants up and went back along
the path.  Back to Gram and Gramps house.

I noticed that the slit in the seat of my jeans was starting to fray.
They really weren't any good anymore.  Very soon you would be able to
see my little boy ass clearly peaking out through the tear.  But it
looked like I wouldn't even be needing them any more.

We still took the Sunday trips to Gram and Gramps house every Sunday.
And I loved Gram and Gramps.  After all they were my grandparents too.
But I never had any special attachment with Gramps.  The kind of special
attachment I had with daddy and with Uncle Monroe, and with Uncle
Hamilton, and most especially with my beloved Grandy.

Every night one of them would come to my room, and we would lock the
door, and I would get boned by Uncle Monroe, or by Uncle Hamilton, or by
my spectacularly handsome daddy.  But most often I was with Grandy.  And
he was true to his word.  He did everything he had promised me he would.

He taught me how to suck balls and to love it.  He taught me to take a
man's cock all they way down my throat so that the cum would spill
straight down into my stomach without even touching my tongue.  Little by
little, he cured me of my gag reflex.  And he taught me to take his cock
in every position imaginable. Lying on my tummy, doggy style, facing each
other with my arms and legs around him.  Lying on our sides, with my leg
slightly raised, and his dick feeding into my asshole from behind.  I was
an avid student, and I mastered it all.  If they gave report cards in
sexual intercourse I would have gotten straight A's.  I hoped I would do
as well in school when I was finally old enough to attend.

But the day did come.  I had been enrolled in Kindergarten, and early in
the morning, my mother took my hand and walked me down to the school bus
stop.  My corner was the last pickup.  I was waiting with about ten other
kids there.  The big yellow bus pulled to a stop and the doors opened.  I
kissed my mother goodbye, and she told me to be a good boy.  Then I
climbed up the stairs of the bus.  I smiled at the bus driver, a big
young muscular, strapping, red-headed guy, with his drive cap slanted at
a cocky angle on top of his head.  He smiled back at me.

"I'm Pat," he said.

"Roger," I answered.  We shook hands.  I started to move to the back of
the bus, and it was then that I noticed that there were no empty seats.
They were all filled.  I had nowhere to sit.  I turned to Pat, and
shrugged my shoulders.  He saw the problem right away.

"Well, Roger," he said to me,  "How would you like to sit up here with
me and help me drive the bus?" he asked.

"Okay," I agreed.  That sounded like a lot of fun.

He lifted me up into his lap, and placed my hands beside his on the
steering wheel, and we took off.   I felt I was really helping him
drive.  I was sure I was doing some of the steering.  It was really,
really exciting.  And then I began to notice that I was sitting on his
big squoogie.  And I started to roll my bottom around a little.  Little
by little the squoogie started to form itself into a big firepoker.
"What could that be in his pants?" I wondered.   I'm kidding.  I knew
exactly what that could be in his pants, and I was determined to give him
a good time as we steered together.   I rolled and I pressed, and I
rolled and I pressed.  I knew soon that he would have a big wet spot down
there, and that the bottom of my own pants would get a little damp.  But
I liked Pat, and wanted him to know it.  Pretty soon his gusher spurted.
He was breathing fiercely, and then a little easier, as he took one hand
off the wheel and pressed me into him.  I think he even bit down on my
ear lobe a little.

All was well.  I hadn't forgotten how to lap dance.  And Pat and I were
both very, very comfortable.