Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2008 15:16:27 -0600 (GMT-06:00)
From: Karl Keplin <karlkeplin@earthlink.net>
Subject: Phillip the Sissy 2

The next day was Friday, and as I climbed the stairs to my eighth grade
class I saw Phillip ahead of me. He went down the hall to the right. I
turned left and entered Miss Johnson's classroom. When the noon bell rang I
left the building, turning left to buy lunch in the commercial area of my
town that started just two blocks away. I heard footsteps rapidly
approaching me from behind.

"Hi, Adam. Where are you headed?"

"Oh, hi, Phillip. I'm just going to grab a couple of hot dogs at the
pharmacy counter for my lunch."

"Let me take you to the Colonial across the street -- my treat. I want to
thank you for riding me home on your bike after I got beat up yesterday."
He had what looked like a brand new outfit on: black slacks and a red shirt
(with the collar turned up). The colors reminded me of his bedroom.

After we dodged the cars and got across the street I jokingly said, "I
thought the blow job you gave me was enough thanks." He blushed slightly
and pulled me into the restaurant after him.

The greeter-lady said, "Hello, Mr. Moncrieff. Would you prefer the counter
or a table?"

"Could we have a booth today, Mrs. Pulaski?"

"Yes, of course. Come this way." I thought to myself, 'Phillip must be a
regular here. He probably just signs for his lunch every day.'

"Have something better than hot dogs, Adam," he said, handing me a menu.

"What's good? I've only been in here a couple of times years ago with my
parents."

"Well, the roast beef is pretty crummy, but the chicken-fried steak with
two vegetables is pretty good."

"OK, I'll have that and a lemonade."

"Are you ready to order, Sonny?" the matronly waitress asked him.

"Yes, Sheila. We'll each have chicken fried steak with mashed and slaw and
two lemonades."

When the food came and we dug in, I noticed that Phillip would cut a piece
of steak and put the fork in his mouth with his left hand. My mother had
once told me that was the way that English people and Europeans ate. I
would always switch the fork to my right hand before shovelling it in.

"Are your parents European, Phillip?" I asked him.

"Sort of. My father's French and my mother is English. We came to the
States when I was five.  They won't be back till the middle of next
week. Could you come to my house Friday night for a sleepover?"

"Oh, I dunno. I've never been on a sleep-over. I don't know if my parents
would allow it. They'd think that I'd have to reciprocate, and my cranky
father can't stand guests in the house."

"Well then, how about you come over Saturday around ten a.m.? I'd have Cook
make us lunch and you could be home before dinner time."

"Yeah, I think I could do that. I'll just say that Billy's mother over on
Keofferam Road has invited me to lunch. You have any activities planned for
us?"

"Adam, I was hoping we could fool around in new ways. I want to try some
new stuff. There's more to sex than just blow-jobs, you know." Phillip
blushed again.

I was intrigued. "Like what kind of stuff?"

"I'd like you to screw me in my ass."

"What? Put my dick up your poop chute? Wouldn't that be yucky?"

"No. I would clean myself out with an enema. It's called doucheing. A lot
of guys into ass-fucking say it feels even better than a blow-job."

Phillip signed for the food and we walked back to school. As we parted on
the second floor to go to our respective classrooms, I said to him, "OK,
Phillip, I'll be over Saturday at 10 a.m. to fool around with you."

"Great, Adam. See you then."