Date: Wed, 08 May 2002 23:23:19 -0500
From: bobby blue <blbobby2@hotmail.com>
Subject: children of the night - the prequel

The Children of the Night
The Beginning

The usual disclaimers and copyrights apply here.  If you don't like stories
about kids enjoying life--including its sexual aspects--then read no
further, because that's what this story is about.

My thanks to Edward Arlington Robinson for writing the poem which inspired
me to write this and other stories.  If you wish to e-mail me with
criticisms, praise or story ideas, contact me at
blbobby2@hotmail.com.

The Children of the Night

By
Edwin Arlington Robinson


For those that never know the light,
The darkness is a sullen thing;
And they, the Children of the Night,
Seem lost in Fortune's winnowing.

Let us, the Children of the Night,
Put off the cloak that hides the scar!
Let us be Children of the Light,
And tell the ages what we are!



If you happened to be alive in the summer of 1959, that's when
this story takes place, you might recognize the time, and if you
ever lived in a medium-sized city back then, you might recognize
the park.  If you were ever twelve years old and on the verge of
promise and enthusiasm, just passing beyond cruel and lovely
innocence, then you will recognize the magic.  Most prepubescent
teen-agers cease to believe in magic, just at the point where
real magic takes place in their bodies, and in their lives.
This is the story of two kids, a boy and a girl, and an enchanted
amusement park.

"Well, I hope you are satisfied," my Mother said as she closed
the suitcase.  "You are gone off to school during the school
year, and now you are going to spend the summer with your aunt
Lola.  I'll never get to see you as a kid."

"I would think that would make you happy," I said, knowing it
would hurt my Mother.  It seemed that since my twelfth birthday
last spring, I had two vocal tones when dealing with adults:
surly, and bored.  That's because I had two moods: surly and
bored.

"Don't talk to your Mother that way," my Dad growled.  He, on the
other hand, had one tone he used with kids, bark.
"Yes sir," I said.  "I'm sorry, Mom."  I might be blind, but I
wasn't dumb.  I knew when surly was not advantageous to continued
existence.  Besides, I really didn't want to hurt my Mother, we
loved each other, but we just weren't getting along at that time.
I think it was primarily my antisocial glands kicking in, and her
fearful maternal glands kicking back.

My name is  Bob, and I am totally blind, and have been since
birth.  I tell you this, because it's an integral part of the
story, not because it
defines me.  For the moment just pretend that I'm just like you,
but my eyes don't work.  They never have, so it's not a
frightening thing nor sad, nor anything but a fact.

I attended the State supported school for the blind from
each September until May since I was six years old.  So, I guess
my Mother had a good reason for fearing I would grow up without
her.  But now I was getting a chance to show my folks just how
independent I could be.  I was going to spend the summer with
aunt Lola.  She and Uncle Al both worked, so I would have the day
time to myself.  She was the only relative I had who believed I
was able to take care of myself, and would let me do anything she
would let any other kid my age do.
What was even better, she lived a short bus ride from an
amusement park, and said I could go there during the day.  Even
my wimpy sister was jealous over that one.  My older brother, who was
fifteen, could care less; but, nothing impressed him these days.

This amusement park, though, was special.  It was one of the old
kind with fortune tellers, rides, games for a penny, and the
like.  The park was probably built sometime in the nineteen twenties, and
had never been updated since then. Every time I entered the gate to that
park, I felt like I was walking onto the set of a Boris Carlof horror flick.
  I imagined horrible scenes of magic, torture and unspeakable crimes
against nature going on behind the scenes. They had this fun house, you know
with mirrors that made
you look chubby or emaciated, whatever. And then there was this special
room that once you entered it, the room was pitch black.
The attraction for me was that everyone in there was blind, and
blind was the accepted norm.
For lack of anything else to do, I started hanging around this
dark room.  Mostly I just guided people through when they got
lost; they never knew I was any different from themselves.
However, sometimes I had a little mischievous fun.  Whole
Families would go in there, and when they would get together in a bunch,
they would start trying to figure out who was who, laughing and talking loud
the whole time.  You know, put your hand on someone's head feel
their face, and identify your little brother.  I would get mixed
up in their little crowd and just not say anything.  The
responses were hilarious. They would be touching each other
unashamedly (after all this was family, right?) and saying "is
that you, Blake," or something like that.  Some wise guy would
eventually count heads and find that their family had grown by
one.  When I was asked a direct question, like "who are you" I
would melt back into the next room.  The funniest part, I
thought, was when they would start getting the idea that there
was a "sleeper in the wood pile" and mom or dad would assert
their authority, and, quite often blame some other kid for being
the outcast.  I
would usually find the smallest member of the group and keep him
close in case I needed to nudge him in between me and an angry
parent.
  Mostly, though, I just waited in that room listening to Jimmy
  Clanton sing "just a dream" for about the thousandth time.  At that time
the song had no special meaning for me, but later it would throw me into
peroxicisms of teen-age lust and love.
The owner, whose name was Ralph, was a neat gruff type of guy.
He allowed me to hang around the park and that room without
spending any money.  He said that my helping people through the
dark room saved him the chore of having to go in and rescue them.
In fact, he would pay me some times--not in money but cigarettes.


Finally, however, my solitary roguish games in that room ended abruptly.
I was reading the short stories of Edgar Alan Poe.  Braille is a wonderful
pastime in a pitch black room.  Slowly, by degrees, I became aware that
there was someone else in the room with me.  They hadn't made any
discernible noise, but there was a different smell.  It wasn't unpleasant,
or suddenly overwhelming.  I became aware of it slowly.  There was a person
smell, the kind that broadcasts itself to dogs and blind people that Man is
near.  There was also something else; perhaps, the slightest hint of
perfume, maybe.
	She, if it was a she, came into the room, just like any tourist, and
started to
	stumble around like she was lost.  So, I went into my
	superhero mode and took her by the arm to lead her out.  She
	grabbed me in a very inappropriate area.  I let go and backed
	off.  This might have just been an accident but... I had
	heard about perverts in the park, but had never encountered
	any.  I mentally began to prepare my defense--figuring that I
	had a distinct advantage in this room.  I tried my usual fade
	away in the next room, but she was there in front of me
	blocking my way.  I turned to another exit, and she was
	there, touching me again--mind you, not sexually, but ugh
	teasingly.  I tried standing still, not making any noise, and
	she did the same.  The second I moved a muscle, she grabbed
	me again.  I was getting desperate.  We went around and around that
	room for about fifteen minutes.  I was completely serious; I
	thought I was fighting for my life.  I even tried grabbing
	for her, but she deftly moved aside every time.
"If I let you go, will you be my slave?" she asked.  It was a girl, a kid
girl about my on age! She told me that her name was Sandy, and she was the
owner's daughter.  It
	turned out she had a bright flashlight, and could see every
	move I made.  I was so overjoyed when I found out it was
	another kid my own age.
	Sandy and I became bosom buddies that summer.  We ate about a
	hundred pounds of cotton candy, spent hours on the roller
	coaster, swings, etc.  All of it was free since her Dad own
	the park.  Most importantly, we talked--Lord we talked--we
	could tell each other anything.
I found that I could tell her about the loneliness of being different.
Sandy was, a little overweight, and had very bad complexion,
	and was very self-conscious about it.  She was very accepting
	of my blindness, without ever being taught how to be.  And,
	hell, I didn't criticize her for her appearance.  Why should
	I.
	We got where we would do battle with other kids for
	territorial rights to the park.  They called us blind and
	ugly.  They always regretted those words.  We worked well
	together, I was strong for my age and took wrestling at
	school.  Sandy was imaginative and resourceful.  Our favorite
	weapon was snow cone juice in a water pistol.  The liquid
	wouldn't do any immediate damage, but the gnats and
	mosquitoes that were attracted by it sure did.
We couldn't win all the battles, though.  If worse came to worse,
her Dad would interfere, or most of the police that watched the
park knew us and would take our side.  In fact, one of our city's finest
took me home one evening after I had been
bloodied over rights to the roller coaster.
	Sandy and I  became girlfriend/boyfriend near the end of that summer.
	We even tried sex, but neither of us knew exactly what to put
	where.  We decided we would rather eat cotton candy.  Her
	Dad, realizing that we wouldn't remain ignorant very long,
	started finding things for her to do when I was around, so we
	didn't have as much time together as we would have liked.
When I returned home to prepare to go back to school, we swore to be
faithful, and that as soon as we grew up, we would get married.
I couldn't explain to my Mother that indeed I had grown up a little in her
absence, but I think she understood.
	That fall when I went back to the school for the Blind, Sandy and I
	corresponded for a while, but we each got interested in other things
	and other people, and never saw each other again.

I went back to the park a couple of years later, and found that it was under
the ownership of someone else.  He said that he thought the
previous owner had died of cancer, and that his family had moved
away to Nebraska.  Though I never saw Sandy again, I will
remember that summer of the "blind and ugly" as a time when I
found one of the truest friends I ever had.

*****

After my vacation in the big city, I could barely stand the small town in
which my parents, older brother and younger sister chose to live, but, being
too young to move out on my own, I had to return to the mediocrity of our
town.  Then my Mother broke the news that to make matters worse, we were
going to visit our cousins who didn't even live in a town: they lived in the
country, for God's sakes.  What could you experience in the country?
Absolutely nothing!

My Uncle Bob (for whom I was named), my mother's younger brother, had just
married a lady with two kids.  My sister and I called them Ellie May and
Jethro (after the kids on the Beverly hill-billies).  The boy, who was nine
years old, was actually named Barry, really was a nerd, but I secretly
thought his sister, Maggie was pretty cool.  Maggie and I were about the
same age.  She was probably the kindest hearted, honest person I've ever
met.  But, the truth of that realization was to come later.  For now, let's
just say she was very nice.
If you've read any of my previous stories, you know that I am totally blind.
  Most people either treat me like a modern day miracle worker, ("why, he
can walk!") or like an object of pathos ("pobre cito").  Maggie, from the
outset treated me like another kid.  The first thing she said to me was that
I sure was skinny.  True, but it could have gone unsaid.

So, when we got to my aunt's and uncle's house, my sister and older brother
ignored everybody and did their teen-age thing: my sister stayed in the
house surrounded by the girly magazines she brought from home; and my
brother listened to the radio, a relatively new kind of music called
rock-'n-roll.

Maggie and I ignored them all.  We did her chores around the farm,
(actually, she did them and I just got in the way.)  This included milking
the cows and feeding the chickens, cows and horses.
On the day before we were to leave, she said "you want to go swimming in the
river?" and I readily agreed.  "After that," she said, "we can go horseback
riding."  This sounded great to me as I had never been horseback riding
before.

However, the swimming turned out to be a bit of a problem.  I didn't have a
swim suit, and all my shorts were in the dirty clothes.  My aunt came to the
rescue, though, and gave me an old pair of Barry's trunks that were only two
sizes to small for me.  Once I had squeezed into them, they made me legal,
just barely.  I remember thinking that if I got a boner, I was going to be
in real trouble.  But the potential embarrassment was worth it.

My sister and brother declined, and Barry was off at summer school.  So,
Maggie and I took off for the river.  Despite my excitement, I found the
river gross.  I hadn't thought about the moss and the slimy bottom.
However, I hid my squeamishness from Maggie.  I just ventured out as little
as was possible.  So, we wound up talking.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Maggie asked.
I considered telling her about Sandy, a girl I had met earlier that summer,
but decided it might be in my best interest to deny her.
"No," I said.  "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No, most guys say I talk too much.  Do you think I talk too much?" she
asked.

"No," I said.  "I like to hear you talk.  You have a nice voice, and you
have interesting things to say.  I bet you're pretty, too."

"Silly, if you could see you wouldn't think so."
"Bet I would," I said.
We began to argue about it.  "Would" "Would not." "Would." "Would not."
Finally she threw water in my face and started to swim away.  I chased her
through the water splashing water at her the whole while.
Finally, with a final thrust of speed I caught up with her and grabbed her
by the arm.  "I'm going to see what you look like," I said, placing my hands
on her face.  I thought she would struggle and begin the fight again, but
she just stood there.  I think she wanted to know if I thought she was
pretty.
I began gingerly touching her face and talking all the time.  "Oh, what big
eyes you have, little girl," I said.  "What color are they?"
"Blue," she said.
"And what a cute little nose you have.  And, what a big mouth you have," I
said teasingly.
"The better to eat you with," she said, pushing my finger into her mouth and
sucking on it.  I moved it around in her mouth, touching her tongue, the
roof of her mouth and her teeth.
"Let me go," I said "or we'll never finish this exploration."  She opened
her mouth and I withdrew my finger.
"And, what nice shoulders you have.  Lifting lots of bales of hay, I'll
bet."
"And--" I stood there speechless my hands resting on her small but firm
breasts.  She reached up and moved my hands to her waist.  I quickly
completed the tour making sure I didn't stray into forbidden territory
again.  I was a little excited, but mostly embarrassed.  Besides, there was
the problems with the swim suit, you know.

Finally, I concluded, "Maggie, you are the most beautiful girl I've ever
seen."  I didn't bother to explain that my experiences were extremely
limited.
"I think you're sweet for saying that," she said.  "Now, let's go horseback
riding."

So, we went off to the barn to ride horses.  I didn't want to tell Maggie
that not only had I not ridden a horse before, I hadn't touched one since I
was a little kid, and had no idea what to do.  I shouldn't have worried,
though, I think Maggie understood my problem without my having to say
anything.  "My horse, Brownie, is a big horse.  He'll hold both of us."  I
didn't argue.
We used her dad's saddle since it would hold both of us, and she got on in
front, and I got on behind her.  I was surprised to see how huge the horse
was.  Not only could we ride this horse, I thought, we could live on it.

We took off slowly enough.  Maggie was an excellent rider.  I put my hands
on her hips, and she held on to the saddle-horn.  I marveled at how relaxed
she seemed.  "Relax, and just flow with the horse," she instructed.  I tried
it, but I was still bouncing all around.  She laughed at my attempts to stay
in the saddle.  "Silly, just relax."
We rode at a slow gait for sometime, and I did start to relax.  I found that
as long as I was relaxed, I didn't have to work at staying in the saddle.
However, once I thought about it, I was in trouble again.

Finally, she increased the horse's speed to a trot, and it was great: rough
but great.  I kept trying to talk to her, but my voice was shaking all over
the place.  We laughed about that.  "O.k..," she said "let's go." and she
increased the speed to a gallop.  Now that was great.  Gone were the shakes,
and gone was the feeling of having to work to stay in the saddle.  It was
just a steady up and down motion, and that was my undoing.  I realized that
my pecker, which had been under severe restraints all day, had given in to
the pressures of the day, and sprung alive.  The only place it could go was
down the skimpy leg of the size -2 swim shorts.  These, however, were moved
way up on my leg because of the girth of the horse.  In other words, my
pecker was very very close to daylight.  To make matters worse, I had slid
forward in the saddle and was rubbing my already stimulated prick against
Maggie's butt.  My body was feeling feelings it had never felt before.  A
feeling of excitement was welling up inside me, and I didn't know what to do
with it.  Suddenly, I felt like I was going to wet my pants, or something.
It was exactly the feeling of needing to pee, but it was something needing
immediate action.  "Maggie," I said, "please stop the horse.  I need to go
to the bathroom really really bad."
She started giggling, which started me giggling.  This distraction took my
mind off my "problem" and relieved some of the pressure.
"We're near the barn," she said.  "We'll stop in there."  And we did.  But,
once we stopped, I didn't, couldn't, get off.  My suit was sticking out like
a tent.  Maggie got off first to hold the horse, while I made my awkward
descent.  As soon as my feet hit the ground, Maggie started to laugh out
loud.
"What's wrong," I asked.
"I can see your thingy," she said, without embarrassment.  I quickly turned
my back and tried to rearrange that little suit.  I don't think I helped
things much.
When I turned back around, Maggie said, "Can I touch it?  I've never touched
one before."
"Yeah, I guess so," I said.  She took my hand and led me into the barn.
Then she stopped in front of me saying nothing.  "You promise not to tell
anyone, or laugh, or anything?" I said.  I was truly embarrassed and
excited.
"Oh no, I won't tell anyone," she said breathlessly.  For the first time, I
noticed that her voice was very shaky.  She was as excited and scared as I
was.
Finally, the moment of truth was upon us.  I could have backed out, I could
have turned and ran, but I pulled my trunks down.
"It's so big," she said.  Hell yes, I was sporting about four inches that
year, but to the naive "big" is relative to one's experience.  Apparently
our combined experiences averaged out to about zero.
"Would you like to touch it?" I asked.
"Could I," she whispered.
[Would you] I wanted to yell, but all I said was "yes."  She hesitantly
reached out with one finger and lightly touched it.  I reached down and
firmly put her hand on it.  She was shaking very violently, and I was afraid
she was going to run away in fear.  I reached out and put my arm around her
shoulders and pulled her to me.  She snuggled her face into my shoulder.
"Can I see yours?" I asked.  I had only seen one other girl's before, and
wasn't sure what to expect.
"No," she said, "I don't think that would be wise."
"Well, o.k., if you say so," I said.  The disappointment was obvious in my
tone.
"I'll show you, if you promise never to tell anyone," she whispered.  I've
kept that promise until today.  "Let's go up to the hay loft," she said.
For the first time I was very aware of my nakedness, and it embarrassed me.
She led me to the ladder that went to the hay loft, and I let her go first,
very aware of my awkwardness, trying to climb the ladder and protect my
family jewels at the same time.

When we got to the loft she led me to a bale of hay and I sat down.  I could
hear her removing her bathing suit next to me, and the thrill once more
awakened my overactive member.
"O.k., I'm ready," she said.  She was standing in front of me and I put my
hand out in front of me and felt her stomach.  I slowly moved it down and
encountered a sparse patch of hair.  That was interesting, as I didn't have
much hair down there at all.  Then I moved down between her legs and found
her little slit.  It was very moist, but, I realized, it was neither pee nor
river water.  It was kind of like slime, but exciting slime.  I slowly moved
my finger inside her and heard an intake of breath.  I believed that the way
to excite a woman was to reach as far in her as you could.  Therefore, I
started digging for gold.  She soon stopped me, and showed me where to touch
her.
As I lightly touched her clitoris, she began to move her hips back and
forth.

I took my other hand, and guided her to the hay next to me.  Then I turned
her face and kissed her.  It was a tentative kiss, but apparently
successful, as she began to press her body against mine.  I pressed her back
against the hay until she was laying down, and placed my body between her
legs.  Still moving my fingers just inside her pussy I moved my dick to the
entrance.  Moving my hand out of the way I began to nuzzle her breasts.  She
was breathing quickly by now.  I gave a little press with my dick and it
slipped inside her.  I don't even think I was big enough to break her hymen,
because she seemed to feel pleasure with no pain.
We both, not knowing what to do, began to move back and forth very quickly.
I felt the return of that pressure which I had known earlier on the horse.
It was building up very quickly.  I didn't know it then, but I was about to
cum.
>From a long way away I heard Maggie say, "stop, Bobby."  "Please stop, I
don't want to get pregnant."  I had never thought of that.  It had the same
effect as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on me.  Thoughts of
the family meetings that would take place, were she to get pregnant with my
baby, caused me to shudder.  I didn't realize that I was probably to
sexually immature to produce sperm.  Had I known that I would have finished
the act, and my entire future might be different.  But, I didn't.

Maggie and I got dressed, and swore our undivided love for one another.
But, already my thoughts were drifting back to the farmhouse and the planned
trip back home tomorrow and my trip to the school for the blind that was my
true life.

Maggie and I never got together again, nor did we ever talk of the incident.
  However, I sure did think about it a lot.  It was the cause of many
pleasurable fantasies, once I learned to masturbate.