Date: Thu, 30 Dec 2004 22:21:50 -0500
From: Charles Dickson <fisherman@iname.com>
Subject: Tim part 2

Tim part 2
by Carl Dickson


Warning: This story is PORNO.
I have tried my hand at friction, now I'm trying fiction. This story
contains vivid descriptions of sexual activity between a man and teen
boy. It contains no truth, partial truth, or half truth. What it does
contain is stroking material. If this kind of story turns you off, please
find something else.

The author does not encourage or condone sex between adults and underage
children.

If you are underage, or this is illegal where you are, then please go
away.  If you're under 18, come back when it is legal for you to read
this smut. If you lied about your age in order to access this story,
remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.

This story is copyrighted,2004. It is therefore illegal to copy or use
any part of this story without my written permission.



 No one really knows the number of men in prison that have been molested
by another male in their lives. Most of them don't tell. Some of them may
have liked it, some just went along and endured. But there are many that
hate what was done to them and will act out their emotions on anyone
suspected of being a child molester. Thus was born the prison name CHOMO.
It is an ignorant name supposed to be the combining of the two words
child and molester. It really shows the intelligence of the group at
large that have embraced the word. It reveals the fact that they are for
the most part illiterate.
 A Chomo's life is not easy. When a fag is outed he has more
companionship than he ever thought possible. When a Chomo is outed the
companionship turns brutal. The least part is being made everybody's
whore. The worst part is being beaten daily and made to pay tribute for
your daily breath. Breath is the most important commodity anyone has in
prison. It can be taken away in a flash.
 I awakened one morning to the guards telling everyone to line up at the
foot of their bunks. I had only been in the system a few weeks and was
still on edge of being discovered. A screen was brought in and placed
around a bunk four over from mine. All of us were made to strip and a
search was made of our person and our scivies that we slept in. It was
learned in short order that they were looking for blood spatters.
 An old man, old by prison standards, had been murdered in his bed. He
was in his early fifties. I was only just fifty. He had been outed by a
fluke. The prison administration tries very hard to keep a man's jacket
quite. The jacket of course is the folder in which the personal files of
the individual are kept. A plain old manilla folder actually, but that
folder, or jacket tells the whole story of why a man is incarcerated.
This old man's jacket came across the hands of a known racist, and
biggot. He would kill his mother for talking to another race. Fact was he
is doing life without parole for killing his mother and father.
 The dead man had been castrated and his balls hung on the wall over his
bead with a note that said, "Deck the halls with Chomo balls." Well
Christmas decorations are hard to come by in prison. A popular song in
this yard was sung to the tune of Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Only the words were, "Queer's nuts roasting on an open fire, faggots
hanging by their toes..." A merry little tune for the season.
 I was covered for the time. I had made friends with some of the more
powerful men in the white supemeacy gangs. I always had my Bible with me
and was always there for prayer or a reading from the Word of the Lord to
anyone who needed comforting. My name is preacher on the yard. Everyone
gets a nickname and I would never had thought of my pseudonym but I loved
it and it really stated who I was. Yeah, I made a mistake. I got caught
with the hard dick of a cute seventeen year old in my mouth. Not caught
outright but outed for the deed. It was a mistake that I will pay for for
the rest of my life and from the looks of things on the run this morning
that may not be for too long of a time.
 I learned from my landlord, the top ranking leader of my race on my run,
that there are two or three chomos taken out each month. He told me that
all old men are automatically suspect because young men commit the crimes
while old men search out little children for sex. It is a bold stereotype
but one with which the prison system has long endured. I watched an old
man get beaten down by some young wanna bes trying to earn their status.
The man was old and quite so he must be a chomo. The old man was smart
though. He had copies of his court transcripts in his locker. He went to
his landlord and showed that he was in prison for probation violation. He
was an alcoholic and was on probation for DUI when a shop lifted a bottle
of Vodka. He is serving six years. The two punks that beat him pay him
tribute each week They each bring him snacks and sodas from their store.
They probably collect them in tribute from some fag on the yard but now
they have to pay the old man for their mistake. And, oh yes, they got the
beating of their life by the gang. They brought shame to their skin and
they paid. They each took a turn in the circle as the, I won't use their
name, suprememists beat the boys senseless..
 Most pedophiles believe themselves innocent. They feel that they have
done the child a service by having sex with them and are actually deluded
enough to believe that the child liked it. Faggots are the worst for this
type of thinking. They prey on boys, especially young pubescent and
pre-pubescent boys, with the idea in mind that they are educating them
about their sexuality. They are sure that the boy likes it especially if
they have an on going relationship. They see the boy in a continuing
episode of sexual contact and tell themselves that the boy is interested
in what they are doing when in fact all the little fellow is doing is
making himself feel good. Sex is a whole new ball game for the lad and he
revels in the intense feelings that he receives. He seems anxious to
please the man when in reality he is just trying to get his jollies. He
may feel guilty when it's over or, in the cases we are seeing about
certain churches, later. This is where most of the men in prison are.
They see this Chomo and they remember that dirty old man of their youth.
It may not have been an old man. It may have been a cousin, the boy next
door, or even their best friend of the day. Whatever it was they look
back through the eyes of an older man and think it was wrong and take out
their aggressions on the target of the day, the Chomo.
 One of my good friends and co-workers that I had worked beside for over
twenty years and shared many happy times with came up to me after my
crime and told me that he hates me. He told me that he had been molested
as a boy and he knows what my victim is going through. Actually my victim
is a known homosexual youth and he virtually raped me but by law I was
obligated to say no. Not always easy to do.
 Where is this leading. I was walking the yard. In the middle of my
compound is an eighth mile circular track. I walked that seventy laps
everyday for a total of eight and three quarter miles. I have gone from
an entry weight of three hundred and eighty eight pounds, yeah I was a
huge fat man, down to a slim two hundred and thirty six pounds in almost
three months. The walking and my inability to get my hands on five or six
sixty four ounce Super Big Gulps cups of Coca Cola a day have been an
asset to health. I was looking good and I was taking pride in my new
body.
 I found out that someone else was taking pride in it also. There was a
youngster of twenty eight that had struck up a friendship with me. He was
five nine, medium weight, reasonably toned body, with short cropped,
curly, blonde hair. He was decent looking and would probably have been a
very cute boy. He would join me on the track after lunch each day. I
always did twenty four laps after lunch before I started my Bible study
class at a table in the middle of the yard. I don't remember his name. I
guess he scared my so bad that I don't want to remember it. He always
guided our conversations to androgynous sex. I was extremely guarded
given my condition and position but he was relentless.
 His talk became more personal over time and he had started to flatter
me. Now remember, I told you, I am fifty years old. My hair was just
beginning to fall out so I still had a healthy growth of black curly
hair. My weight was then down to about two sixty and I was feeling good
about myself. Upon a promise of sworn secrecy he told me that he was gay
and that he preferred older men. He pointed out a few other youngsters on
the yard that he had been having sex with and even engaged two of them in
conversation in front of me as they made arrangements to get together
with him for a blow job. He would tell me all about their dicks and what
ever turned that particular boy on when he sucked them. Some liked to be
finger fucked in the ass some liked to kiss, some before, some after. One
even liked to suck him afterwards if they had the time.
 This was all well and good. Another place another time I would have
loved to listen. I was in prison for this sort of activity and I had a
notion that he was too. I was really trying to repent of my past sins and
get my heart right with the Lord. I was helping to lead other men to
Jesus who had never heard the truth or even read a Bible for themselves
before. I was afraid. I didn't want to be outed for one thing and for
another I really wanted to get rid of the evil drive in my heart that
turned me to young boys. He fixed that part for me. After he got through
with me I didn't touch a boy for ten years.
 We had a medium security yard and were allowed to go outside around nine
in the morning until eleven thirty. We would go to our bunks and standby
for head count then go to lunch. After lunch we were open until three.
Then head count and dinner with open yard until dark..One morning the
yard opened and here he came with all of his worldly goods. He was moving
in to the bunk where the chomo had been castrated and murdered a week
earlier. Shit, I thought this guy drives me crazy on the yard now I got
him on my run.
 My worst fears came true that night. He came down and sat in my house,
on my bunk is my house in prison lingo. He scooted down so that he
couldn't be seen except by someone looking over the four foot high
dividing partitions we had as walls of our house for privacy. He was
talking about his eight inch dick and let it stand up from the fly of his
white prison issue boxers. It was long and skinny but not I think eight
inches. It had a bit of a hook to in making it look like a dogs dick. At
least that is what I think I saw and it helped to keep my mind off of it.
He wanted to see me. I was watching a movie on tv, yes we were allowed to
have up to a thirteen inch tv but had to use headphones. We had cable tv
which was very select in programming. Actually my favorite channels were
provided: PBS, CNN, TLC, Discovery, TBS, THS. Movies were played on the
prison system and were screened for content. The favorite shows by
inmates were cop shows. Cops, Police Story, LAPD, NYPD Blue, etc.
 This dude had his hand on my cock. Like of course it was hard. I'm in
prison, not dead. He was fondling me. He wanted to see it. I hate boxers
and had a good old fashioned pair of bun huggers on. I let him pull out
the waist band and look. He got more brazen and hooked the waist band
under my balls and grabbed hold of me. He pulled the foreskin back and
ran his finger over the glans then licked his finger. He did this several
times until I chickened out and pulled my pants up. I was a nervous
wreck.
 It was lights out so he had to return to his house. I lay down and fell
asleep. I awakened some time later. The run was dark and warm. I was
soaking wet. I had a cold sweat that had permeated me and my bedding. I
took my sheets off and hung them on the back of the chair and on the low
wall to dry. I went to the guard station and asked special permission to
take a shower. I was standing there with my body covered in sweat and I
told the guard that I was hot. He could see that and let me go take a
shower.
 I had a full head of steam going and was basking in the invigorating
vapors, letting it permeate my body and deep in my lungs. Suddenly a hand
was rubbing a bar of soap over my ass. I'm fat, remember, there was a lot
of ass to cover. I rinsed the soap from my face and eyes and turned
around to see him. He continued to wash my butt but as he neared my crack
I clenched my cheeks and wouldn't let him in. He washed my back and
shoulders then he did a reach around and rubbed his hands over my
jewelry. Now I am proud of what I have and it works very well for me. I
have four lovely children, all grown, and nineteen grand children and
great grand children.
 What I didn't have is experience with someone fondling me without
permission. My mind raced to all of those little guys in my life and I
wondered if this is how I made them feel. I was shaking so hard that I
knew I was scrambling my insides, big time. He moved around in front of
me and gave me the same lecherous grin that I know I have given others.
He was stoking more than my ego and that was scary. I told him to stop
before somebody came in. He told me the guard was a special friend and he
wouldn't admit any one else until we were done. Now I was scared.
 He dropped to his knees and rubbed my nine and a half inch cock around
his face. He acted as if he were in love with it which I'm sure I felt
when I had a sweet boy's cock to play with. I was so scared I told him I
was about to piss. He kept rubbing my dick on his face so I pissed on
him. That's what a low life I thought he was. Worthy of nothing better
than my bodies excretions. He never faltered. he aimed my pissing cock at
his kneeling body and directed the stream to its' various parts.
 As my stream diminished he took my dick into his mouth. I was only half
hard from the pissing so he took the whole thing in and even managed to
get one ball in before I got too large for his comfort. He popped my nut
out, with a plop that could be heard over the sound of the water, and
continued to suck my dick and run his tongue under my ample foreskin. He
was enjoying himself and in spite of my fear he was joying me. I hardened
in his mouth. He pushed the foreskin back with his tongue as he applied
suction. He put his thumb and forefinger around my shaft and pulled the
loose skin all the way back exposing my naked cock head to his
menstruations. He was good. He knew how to suck a cock. I should calm
down and learn from this guy. I know that I never ever sucked anyone this
well. I thought of all the guys I did when I was in the Army. They must
have really been horny to keep coming back to me when there are guys out
there that can suck a dick like this.
 His hands were playing with my cheeks but I kept them clinched. I wanted
no part of him in my ass. I began to worry about him biting me or
breaking the skin. AIDS is very common in prison and I sure didn't want
to go that way. I let myself go and filled his throat with the hot cream
he was seeking. He nursed every drop and would have gone for more except
the guard called out for us to get in bed. It was time for bed check. I
was saved by the bell. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me and
went to my house to dry off. I felt filthy. I felt abused. I have never
felt so dirty in all of my life.
 I couldn't shake this horrible feeling of uncleanness that I had. I now
know what it is like to be molested and I cried. I cried for all of those
sweet little innocents that had been my victims. I wanted to find
everyone of them and undo what I had done. Just seeing me would have
traumatized them further so I got that thought out of my head. I did my
time and in just a few short months I was out of there. I ended up
serving a total of nine months of a two year sentence. I got out with a
full discharge. No parole. I am registered as a sex offender. I often
think I should wear a large button pin with bright red letters saying SO.
My own Scarlet Letter as per Nathaniel Hawthorne.
 He disappeared two days later. We never spoke again. In fact he seemed
distant. A week later I learned that he had PCed up. Protective Custody
is almost worse than death row. A man usually places himself in PC to
avoid being killed. I learned after I got out that I was under protection
while I was on that yard. I had brought the Word of Christ to some
powerful people and they loved me for it. Anybody who came near me to do
me harm were dealt with very severely. I ran into a man on the streets
four months after I got out. We had a cup of coffee and he told me the
story. He had wanted to come to me to study the Bible but he was afraid
of what it would do to his standing on the yard. If he turned Christian
he was afraid that he would appear weak and loose his status as a leader.
He had put some serious fear in my molester and now he was asking my
forgiveness. We prayed together and he is a strong Christian today.
 Me, I have Tim.

		    __________________________________

So there you have it. Is your friction enhanced? Tell me about it at
fisherman@iname.com