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Creative Camp -- 22 (M/b) by Feather Touch
Chapt. 22
Brad guided the four young boys with him. He retrieved them from the bed and they huddled close while he got them in a position so they could do unto his neighbors as he had done unto them. Choosing Andy, he held the naked Jewish boy steady while the youngster worked his feet apart until his legs were widely spread. Supported against the nineteen year old, the young Jew was able to arch comfortably to accept his first openly homosexual touch.
Kevin did this. Slipping his slim left arm between Andy's sexy slim waist, he reached for the boy with his right hand and found him with a gentle, fondling touch, experimented with the remains of his foreskin, and slowly began to openly masturbate him. Braddie stood a foot in front of Andy's slim boy penis, and Rob stood behind Kevin, partially hunched over the smaller boy and molesting him with both hands as the thirteen year old stroked his new friend's big, hard erection again and again.
"Daddy," Chick whispered, "go in there with them. I want to watch you cum."
"That would be an anticlimax, I'm afraid," Roy said to his daughter.
"Dad," the girl replied, "they're so hot they'd make me have sperm. Go on. I'm too sore to be with you for a couple of hours, anyway; besides, you can find out if they're nice boys, because I'm sure you'd want to know before you turn me over to them tomorrow, and especially if you're going to present them with our baby as soon as you get back from picking her up."
The girl's arguments were sensible, and, by Plunkett standards, reasonable. The young males were obviously longing for his presence, not only judging from the homosexual display they were engaged in, but by the lingering looks they gave an apparently blank wall.
"I think you've gone from Chick to Fox, Foxy lady," Roy said, "and the second luckiest man in the world is going to be your husband."
"And the luckiest girl in the world," his girl answered, "is going to be my daughter when I let her come to you the very day I'm sure she's ready. Meantime, I want to watch while you practice on the little boy they call Braddie. Starting now."
Roy stood and Chick giggled when she saw he was once again huge and jutting from his athletic waist. The thirty year old kissed his girl's foot, and turned to leave. In a moment, she was alone and her right eye was back to the biggest and widest of the holes in the wall.
"Hole in the wall bang," she giggled silently to herself as she watched her dad enter Room 222.
Because they were off the bed and away from the wall, the five residents of the adjoining room were super thrilled with surprise when their door opened and closed behind the powerful rapist from next door. Roy stood quietly a few feet into the room as the assemblage before him slowly pivoted to face him while at the same time allowing she who remained behind a good view of what Kevin was doing to Andy.
Kevin kept doing it, repositioning himself to face the man while continuing his steady masturbation of the television star. In a few moments they were with Roy, not touching him, but showing him what they were doing to each other. Being homo together was awesome -- no wonder they called it `gay' -- but being that way with an adult watching was not only your basic thrill of thrills, but a thrill that went on and on.
By instinct, Rob positioned himself behind the welcome newcomer, and steadied him so the older male could stretch his legs wide apart, lowering his penis to Andy. As the two males came together, Kevin's gentle hands leveled their penises and brought them together where they nuzzled each other in the slimy syrup of their impending male gushers. Braddie stood to one side, leaving the view open, and occasionally reached in to fondle Kevin's hands as he continued to slowly jerk Andy off.
Rob whispered to Roy: "Have you ever molested a young boy before?"
"Not his age," Roy responded, nodding at Braddie, who was making it very obvious where he wanted any spraying sperm to go. "But, yes. Our paper boy. Matt. He's almost twelve now, but we started together just over a year ago, when he was ten.
"How about you, is this your first time with a man?"
"I'm an A student," Rob whispered back. "A library gizmo. This is my first time doing anything with anybody.
"Will you tell me what you did with the paper boy?"
"How old are you," Roy responded.
"Fourteen," the youth holding his waist responded.
"I'm glad you're tall for your age," Roy said. "Makes it easier for us to whisper together.
"Matt was very smart for his age; industrious and friendly to boot. He'd been a happy camper since we first knew him, then he seemed to change. Not long after he turned ten. He still did his job; at his age he could only have a few customers, so he'd always brought the paper to the porch mat, instead of tossing it, and he kept on, but I could tell something was wrong.
"After I'd noticed this three days in a row, I eighty-sixed the famdamily on a Saturday, and waylaid the kid; luring him inside with brownies and a joint. That put a little sparkle in his eyes, so I knew the cause was not lost, and we adjourned to the family room. Both his last customers were away for the weekend, so he had the day pretty much to himself."
"What did he look like?" Rob asked.
"The boy next door," the man whispered, though with the subtle electronics installed by various consultancies to the Plunkett group, every syllable was perfectly audible over a wide area. Even so, he felt like whispering, obeying a strange dichotomy to keep his daughter from knowing what he was doing with these young boys, at the same time realizing perfectly well she was watching everything through her peep hole. It was more than deliciously carnal, and Kevin's errant hand occasionally stuttered or thrummed wetly against his swollen glans, as the thirteen year old masturbated Andy, sending pockmarks of raw neural shock which forced grunts into his whispered story.
"Short brown hair and big brown eyes. Slim. Oval face. Not as cute as the boy who wants to be a teacher, not a doctor, in the ad, but similar build. Taller."
"Had you ever seen him with his shirt off?" the perv asked.
"Now that you mention it," Roy said, "no. Not even in shorts. Just street clothes."
"Sorry to interrupt," Rob apologized.
"Just don't let anyone interrupt Kevin," Roy answered and Rob squeezed him affectionately. Kevin looked up from what he was doing to Andy and grinned happily. Andy's grin split his cute Jewish boy's face, mirroring Kevin's, and he reached for the athlete's lightly hairy chest and began to fondle him, much as he'd seen other hands do, earlier.
Roy continued the story of his time with Matt. The boy hadn't come across as sullen, but rather confused and unsure of something. He hadn't like tricking the kid up on marijuana, at ten, but he was after results and was, for the moment, uninterested in the fine points of morality or the squiggles in books that were meant to be more important than men. No deacons, nor cops, nor teachers nor counselors; not even Miss Cleo of minds and spirits, was likely to get that unpretentious smile back, and he simply meant to have it back.
"Last week I saw Chuck Averson ditch his BMX," Roy had said to the boy. "They had to give him two units off a scalp laceration, and he looked better than you, Matt. What's up?"
The ten year old had hemmed and hawed, until the reefer kicked in. Then he began to lighten up.
"I guess it's something to do with gym," the boy finally said.
"Half the time it is, at your age," Roy said, adding, "it was for me."
"You?" came the surprised response.
"We'll save that for later, okay; subject at hand is the mysterious disappearance of a very nice neighborhood smile. We've found that gym is somehow at the bottom of things. If we share one more big toke, we'll get to the bottom of it, because I've been there; same age as you are, and there is nothing to be afraid of, and a dozen things to like the hell out of, once you get desensitized, which also means, used-to-it, which takes all of a minute or two, under the right circumstances."
Matt visibly relaxed and settled back on the leather sofa. Dozens of things weren't on his mind, just a total contentment at being where he was and with who he was. He almost wondered if he'd deliberately exaggerated his hang-dog countenance in hopes of just such a chance of really getting to know his tall, slim neighbor. Whatever.
"So," Roy asked, gently squeezing the back of Matt's neck with his left hand as he sat to his right, "has something exciting happened, or is it about to; do you want it to, or not want it to. Pitch in anywhere you like. Remember not to be overly embarrassed. Some boys brag about doing stuff only for money, and others brag about never doing it for money. It's one of humanities wider paradigms, with words and actions often in direct contradiction."
"All of that and more," Matt agreed after a few moments of thought.
"Showers?" the elder male asked gently, to receive an answer in a totally cute blush. "Been there, done that," he added, for the first time intruding on the young male's space by whispering in his ear.
"It's really embarrassing. More like scary," Matt said, whispering back.
"Has it happened yet?" Roy quizzed.
"I'm too scared. He's cool. Real quiet. All the boys like him. But he's real shy, and I don't know anything to say, so we kind of hang together after class, and I'm feeling really confused because I know he knows I don't take showers, and I know he probably knows why, and I want to talk to him about it, and I know he wants to talk to me about it, and we only get a little while together, three times a week, so it's all kind of a mess, and it just gets stronger and stronger, and we get quieter and quieter."
"I was lucky," Roy responded, "because a physical situation developed which broke the ice, and got things going. Also, I was almost twelve when it happened, thought, truth to tell, you ten-years-olds today are about the same maturity we were when we got to out teens."
"I know," Matt answered, glad of the momentary patch of safer ground, "you guys were shrimps in the Seventies. I've seen the old class pictures in the yearbooks. Even in `85. That's Fife's year of birth. He's coach's assistant. My tongue-tied friend."
"Then sixteen;" the man responded, "he sounds perfect for you. Sixteen and ten. And you're right; a few years ago, seventeen and twelve would have been a perfect match, not that any are bad at that age, you understand, but, yeah, today, a sixteen year old would be letter perfect."
"And a thirty year old would be something of a relic, not needing carbon dating, but not really in the swing of things, either," the boy said.
Roy thought to himself in a series exclamation points that his impromptu therapy was pretty hot stuff. He'd read that European clinicians used extensive homosexual involvement with certain patients with one hundred percent efficacy. Why the fuck not? What regimen of the printed page could come even close to cuddling, kissing, fondling, and finally climaxing together, time and again, until the patient was self enough to be with others. Since the terminally pissed-off would complain about any therapy, and go on to be buttressed by court and clergy, such therapy would not be permitted in the States even if it proved a thousand total cures per complaint. Lawyers under every bush. Millions of messed up, punked out kids. Role playing. Posturing. Empire building. Lord, oh, lord, it was becoming a noisesome place. He whispered a millionth prayer of thanks for Chick and Theresa; his killer wife, and gave his attention back to Matt.
"A thirty year old might indeed be a relic," he said, "but then again, museums are full of relics and I bet you remember a lot from the last time you went to one. They tend to make a lasting impression."
"You're just the opposite of Fife," the boy giggled. "We just stand there and look at each other's tummy's. If I look up high enough to see his chin I start blushing, then any little two or three words I might have thought of seem lame and stupid, so I don't say anything, and then I say everything a hundred times to myself on the way home, and the next time I see him, the same "Ground Hog Day" bull."
"Sounds like a problem for Super Relic," Roy pointed out, to the boy's giggle.
Could you do it, just verbally? he wondered. Talk the boy back around, shirt buttoned, zipper zipped? Lacking training, Roy felt it might be best not to take chances with half a cure. He was highly educated and acutely aware of the dangers of a little knowledge. For example, the Averson boy had had a little knowledge of jumping his bike. That thought reminded him of being bare-chested next to his pretty child, and that thought led very quickly to the tall ten year old pressed gently against his right arm.
"It's stupid, is what it is," Matt said after a few moments. "I mean look what's happening to kids in other places, and I'm messed up because I can't carry on a one minute conversation with a guy that's still really a kid, himself. What kind of dorkiness is that?"
"The kind kids, boys and girls, didn't have to face until nearly their teens a few years ago. Ten is still ten, and sixteen is still sixteen, and for every bad side of the situation, I absolutely guarantee you'll find a hundred good ones, once you break the impasse."
"And...?"
"And," Roy replied, "first I have to ask you if you're in love with him."
"Why, specifically," the boy asked.
"Because, it determines our lesson plan.
"If you're in love with him, I'll use a pencil and paper to answer any biological questions you might have, if not, I won't."
"I've know you a lot longer than Fife. I like him and I think he's powerful cute, but I'm closer to having a crush on you, than him, reliclively speaking, because, as you said yourself, ten is ten, and even in ought one, no time for a kid to be falling in love with anybody."
That seemed to end the discussion of paper and pencils, though Roy let the thought slip with a hint of resistance. He was an architect and drawing instructions for his paper boy would have not been a bad way to spend their time together.
"Would you feel more comfortable if we went upstairs?" Roy asked.
"I'd like to," Matt answered.
At this point, the senior male took gentle charge of the boys in Room 222. He guided Braddie to the inside of the bed, and lay near its outer edge. Rob knelt by his head, so he could hear the rest of the story, while Kevin positioned himself on the man's inner right thigh, guiding Andy to a similar position on the tall athlete's left thigh. With a little childlike wriggling the young teens brought Andy's swollen penis up against the top half of Roy's nine-inch cock. They wriggled very happily against the very lightly hairy leg muscles of the athlete, and both took turns guiding each other tenderly to the base of the man, as Kevin maintained his gentle masturbation of both males, whatever position they got themselves into at any particular moment.
Brad knelt at Roy's waist, and leaned across his chest to grab Braddie, twisting the child gently, then pulling his cute, naked boy body up across the man's chest. Braddie chirped with delight at being touched by his uncle, then arched when the nineteen year old began openly fondling him where anyone spying through the wall could see what was going on.
In these positrons, all were comfortable, and Roy continued whispering to Rob.
"I have an invention," he said. "For exercising. I used that as an excuse, at least to myself, and, to tell the truth, he was pretty interested in it. In fact, he was so enthusiastic, he made me wish I was ten, and too young to fall in love with him, but, that's why they call it life."
"What's the invention?" Rob asked.
"How many want to hear about an invention?" Roy asked
"We're not going anywhere," Andy pointed out.
Roy continued his story.
"It's called the All You Need system. Fifty dollars. It's just a jump rope as far as how it works goes, but, the handles are connected by a wire. Gives a shock. Like an electric fence. Makes noise, too, loud, and like sand screeching on glass.
"It has a chip, so the shock is programmed to push you a little longer and a little harder, each day. See, you've got to jump until you get a shock, or it will shock you twice as hard the next time you pick it up. It's like brainwashing. After a week, you give up messing around with it, do what it makes you, and stay in shape. Fifty dollars, and it actually works.
" In a way, it's like those computer pets; treat `em right, and they prospers, but in this case, it's treat yourself right, or the thing half electrocutes you, and makes loud, rude noises that can't be turned off with anything less than a sledge hammer.
"Anyhow," Roy went on, "that's the All You Need Exerciser, and when Matt got up to my room I demonstrated my prototype "
"You've got motion sensors, timers, and three relays for the various voltage levels," Matt announced, after spending a few minutes examining the device and trying it out in demo mode.
"Ergonomic grips," Roy pointed out, "because they look cool; big battery in each grip for extra weight and balance."
"And motivation," Matt thought to himself, half grinning at the thought of said, pointing out something Matt had missed, namely, that the grips had to be squeezed. "Reinforces concentration, and tones the fingers," he explained. Matt wasn't quite sure if he was kidding, or not. At the moment he was wishing Roy would do bench curls, as they'd be more interesting to watch, but the machine was neat-oh, and he guessed, correctly, they were not going to spend hours fooling around with it. Roy ended the demonstration by giving the device to Matt and suggesting he give it to Fife. The boys eyes glowed with pleasure, and then brightened with intelligence. "You said something about learning by virtue of a device, it wasn't a jump rope on steroids, what was it?"
"Something private I had to get from my coach. You want me to show you?"
"Yes."
Roy nodded his head and said he'd return. Matt doubled the jump rope and hung in on the doorknob, so he wouldn't forget it if he ever had to leave this exciting place. Fife Varela was a tall, slightly craggy beauty of a Mexican teen. Not silky smooth, and suave, but of generous eyes, nose and mouth, of roughened skin, for a boy, and of a powerful male stature, full chested and very long legged. He would love the gift and the idea behind it; it included an alarm clock and so implicit was it's treat of noise and pain that one's routine would be finished before one was fully awake. If jumping through hoops was life's perennial pain in the ass, jumping through a flying loop made all the sense in the world.
"In the attic," Roy explained, as he sat on his bed, holding a folded brown bag in front of him. Matt approached and their eyes met. Damn, it almost was scary. So tall, so strong, obviously male with the light hair at his top button, alone, together, in a silent and otherwise empty house. The slight fear mixed with embarrassment and uncertainty and turned Matt half-zombie as he approached to take a look. Roy lowered his knees slightly and the ten year old was shocked to find himself simply settling to the lap of the big man.
"Hi," Roy whispered. Matt recalled a scene from and HBO feature of a child-molesting priest; in the confessional, the boy with his shirt off bending to the older male. While the story had been stereotypical hogwash, the image of the bare chested young male, his own age, in a similar circumstance, made him get a big, hard boner in a few seconds. He whispered, Hi, in response, and blushed at what had happened in his underpants. His shame caused his chin to drop, and in a few moments he was aware of a gentle finger tilting him back up. "For thirty, he sure looked like a boy," Matt thought, meeting the friendly eyes that somehow managed to gaze hotly into his own.
"This is what made it happen," Roy said, proffering the folded paper bag. "I was trying out for catcher."
The ten year old's hands unfurled the wrapping. The boy blushed when he saw it was a metal athletic cup. "It has to fit just right," Roy whispered, "so I had to let Donny, he was the coach, check me in several different ones before we selected this."
"Were you scared, I mean, you know, showing him?"
"That, and embarrassed."
"Did you like Donny?"
"Very much."
"Did you think he was cute?"
"More like to die for. "
Matt giggled and relaxed, inching himself forward to a more comfortable position on the lap of his new friend. He longed to peel himself to the waist, be like the boy in the confessional, but held back. Talking was fun, too.
"Is it okay if we whisper?" Ron asked. "It might be more embarrassing, but, believe me, that's a big part of the excitement of the first time; or, we could just go up and take a shower like two guys, then experiment if you wanted to."
"Is that what you did with Donny?" Matt asked, his voice dropping as he leaned to the man.
"We showered together afterwards" Roy answered, leaning himself closer to the boy and looking into the pretty brown eyes.
"Why? because you like got stuff on you?"
"Do you want to talk about that kind of thing?" Roy asked the boy.
"Yes."
"Are you embarrassed to say what the stuff is?"
The boy reddened a trifle and leaned close enough to be touched. Ron placed his fingers on his cheek bones and gazed past the wicked, sweeping eyelashes into the crystal brown. "I was, too; totally. Donny made me say it, and when I finally did it really added to the excitement of what he did to me."
"Did you see it?" Matt asked.
"Yes," Roy whispered back to him. "That was the most exciting part. Still is. Some girls think so, but mostly homo guys, and, actually, not all that many of them. But with boys or men with boys, it's usually kind of how you start off. You know, having your experience while you partner watches. First base, so to speak, with second base being oral and third base being on top while you experiment with anal and home, being on the bottom and taking your partner inside you."
Matt thought for a few moments and then responded brightly, "We have to outline stuff at school. That sounded like an outline. They aren't very interesting."
"Nothing to do with juicy?" Ron quizzed, drawing the boy out because he was fun at the talking stage.
"Not even," the boy replied.
"Okay," Ron answered, "we're at the plate, now, just like I was with Donny when I told him I wanted to catch. He gave me four of these, and told them to try the best one, and let him check to be sure it was okay.
"I was so nervous I went into the bathroom, and put it on, then put my underpants and shorts back on. That was exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. I wanted to strip, and just wear the cup, or not even," Matt grinned at the quick-witted redundancy. He'd never thought of liking as having much to do with the stuff guys did together, but between Fife and Roy he was rapidly learning it was the total secret ingredient and aphrodisiac extrodinaire. His penis was certainly in on the secret, harder by at least twice than it had ever been in his life. He inched still closer and bent his head to be kissed gently on the forehead.
"I don't think I'll be any braver when the time comes," Matt said.
"Well," the older male explained, "the last thing you want to do is showboat. That's a total turn-off, if not immediately, very quickly. Men invariably like quiet, curious, intelligent, friendly boys, not the swivel-hips, leering, smart-mouthed kind, ever, and no matter how awesomely cute. It's exactly the same with girls. The showboats just lie there; their act is external. It's the quiet, shy ones that keep you up all night, male or female. The one who look like the media says they should look, and make love like the media says they should make love, tend not to be very personal or affectionate about things."
"So," the boy responded with a giggle, "I shouldn't get a tattoo with Howdy Pardner."
"Learning quickly is good," Roy said, pecking the boy again on the forehead, then tilting his sweet face up and nibbling tentatively at his lips. Matt bowed his head in confusion. He'd never though of that. Kissing. Who knew? It was almost as if he'd done it, down there. Roy asked if he was okay.
"I guess I don't know to much about stuff," he whispered. "Did Donny kiss you?"
"A lot, but was shocked the first time, too."
"You got used to it?"
"Yes, but he had my shirt off, so it made it more part of things; of everything he was doing to me. But it's optional. That's why they say different strokes for different folks; I mean, it has a direct meaning, concerning what males do with each other, but it has an overall meaning in that different people like different parts better than others, or something like that."
"Does anybody like it so much on hope plate, they never even get to first?" Matt asked, some kind of larceny or humor in his voice.
"You'd have to look in "Guinness" for that, because if it has ever happened, it would be the only time."
"I guess you'd almost have to die to stop," the ten year old mused.
"No almost about it," Roy said, "but, at the same time, if you're cold, hungry, have a headache or anything like that, your interest goes to less than zero. It's a bon-bon. A morsel. A few hours a week, that, in the end, are probably not all that different from dining together, or playing a game of chess. You don't usually even work up as much of a sweat as a set of tennis."
"Then how come all the publicity?" Matt quizzed, a bit disingenuously, for he could feel why all the interest coursing through him with every beat of his racing heart.
[No cable system is perfect, but mine is being especially perverse, tonight. No picture for A&E's presentation on the Impressionists. I guess it's the enormity of the parallels that impresses me the most. The universal insistence on tens of thousands of hours as a journeymen before courting anything to do with a muse. Second, is family money, or the lack of it. It is the essential ingredient, often returning nothing for decades. The resistance to what we consider stunning today is interesting, but, it was, after all, France. It is awesome to exceed all these masters; to go further, on the granite of one's birth, then others were perhaps allowed to go. To quote Mr. Brooks again, it's good to be king. Also, the presentation is a variation on the theme of talent and genius. Early and florid, or more slowly and if slowly enough, absolute. It is all but fearful to so greatly outrank this esteemed lot, and the only modest thoughts I have on the subject are that it sure took awhile, and would never have happened without Word. I think the artists interrelationships are interesting, but, to be honest, half the reason I beat them at their own game is not very often hanging around at the tavern. It's called focus and it may be strange that a writer tightens the rays more finely than oil and canvas can render.]
"It's a marketing scheme for condoms," Roy stated, deadpan. Anything had to be better than moronic jokes, so the boy decided to try the kissing again, and tilted his childish oval face to his teacher. He was beginning to smolder, the transfer of heat at his thighs spread wide against the athlete's hard, muscular legs. And the kissing wasn't bad and getting better. There was a surprising number of ways to experiment. Nibbling, chewing, gnawing, with the teeth. Painting, with the tongue, both broad brush and sloppy, overall, like a guy painting a freighter, but also detail work. A little art for the corners. Some dabbing and some probing. It seemed like the kind of thing that could have gone on for hours, and might have, except Roy opened himself to the exploring tongue, the tongue probed and was allowed, then was gently sucked off. Suddenly, it was a thing that couldn't go on a moment longer. The child began to tauten like a bowstring, but was released before the arrow. Roy petted him gently away. "We've got hours together, if you want," he whispered. Thank god, that had been close. Hours were exactly what he wanted, not a sudden blow off, what kind, he didn't know, but her knew how fast the feeling could come on, and how overwhelming it's potential. No wonder they sold so many condoms.
"Tell me more about Donny," Matt said, resting further against the tall man, his fingers going to the top button of his shirt.
"He was very gentle He was sitting in his chair and I came behind his desk...
"Matt, we're both guys, and we're both excited. If you want to come forward so you can be against me, it's okay. Want to try it. A little bit more. Okay?
"Something made me stand closer to the arm of his chair than I had to so he could check me. I could see that scared him because he started yawning, and that made me yawn. Looking back on it, maybe we were signaling each other we wanted a nap."
Matt giggled softly against Roy's neck and the older male made a note to try to think of more jokes. A nibble brought him back into focus, and he continued.
"'Is this okay?' he asked, and he touched me. I didn't say anything. I kind of knew I didn't have to, and all I had to do was press into him for him to know it was okay. So he just kept his hand against the cup. I think I learned as much about sex in that five minutes as he taught me in the next couple of hours or that I've learned, since. Just standing there, his hand pressed gently. Not saying anything, but looking into each other's eyes, and on and on with the yawning. He finally asked me if I wanted to go, and I just stood there. A couple of minutes later, he said if I stayed, we should walk around the gym, be sure it was empty, and the outer door was locked. When he said locked, I almost couldn't even stand any more, because then I was sure he was going to molest me.
"While we were walking around, he whispered to me that he was sorry to be so nervous. He told me he'd never done it with a child, and only a few times when he was a teenager. I just said it was okay, but I remember feeling really glad that he'd done it at all, `cause I sure didn't know what to do.
"Anyway, we checked the whole place and when we got to the far end of the gym, itself, he turned be to face him as soon as the door was locked. He asked me to close my eyes, and when I opened them he was posing for me, with his hands behind his head and kind of bent back, and he was only wearing his underpants. He closed his eyes, and I got the idea, and took my shirt and shorts off, so I was just in my underpants, too, and, of course, the cup. He leaned against the door, and I knew what to do. I stood really close to him, and started getting him naked. He pulled me to him and whispered that I should feel him before I looked at him, so I pressed up to him and just reached down, not very far because he was tall, and peeled him down so I could feel his penis against my stomach. If I'd been taller we could have kissed, but it felt exciting, anyway, and he was kissing the top of my head.
"We stood that way for a long time, his boner against my bare chest. After awhile I began to get used to it, at least a little, and I wanted to see him. He signaled by tapping right here on the top of my right shoulder, and I closed my eyes, and went down to my knees, getting him completely naked, then I stood up and backed away so I could see him when I opened my eyes. That was like an atom bomb. Even though I'd felt him naked against my tummy and chest, I didn't know how big he was. I mean he wasn't a freak, but it was shocking how big he was. He knelt in front of me and pulled my underpants down, then the cup. Then he kissed me and whispered we'd be more comfortable in his office.
"We didn't make it. Not even half way. We held hands walking across the gym, sort of like two guy walking anywhere, except we were holding hands, we were naked, and we both had lifetime boners. We had to go slow, but the slower we went, the more excited we got.
"As I said, we didn't make it. He didn't say anything, just squeezed my hand to make me stop and pivot me so I was standing directly in front of him. Then he whispered, `Do you want to watch,' and I nodded. He put his hands down by his sides and I did, too, standing about a foot or two in front of him.
"I couldn't figure out why there'd be so much. I thought, you know, from school and stuff, that it would be a few drops, and he was getting it all over me. Even up in my hair and on my face and completely all over me. Then, when he was getting near the end he sort of spread his legs and squatted a little in front of me, and I knew what he wanted so I went up on my toes and he put his last big spurt right on me, then he picked me up and kissed me, licking some of his sperm off my face so I could taste it on my tongue. After that, he let me down, and adjusted me so I was leaning back against his chest. Then he molested me right there at half-court, and I was all excited and slippery and wet from what he'd done to me, so in a couple of minutes I started doing it, too. He couldn't lay off with the jokes, so he said, `That's first base," indicating my puddle of sperm at center court. It was, too. Even if it was accidental, we'd either gotten to first base, or it had come to us. Either way, we were on and safe.
"Then we had to clean up what I'd done to the floor. That was almost the best part of all; just working beside him to re-polish the floor. It took about half an hour before we got it so we couldn't see anything had happened. By that time we were both exactly the same as we were when we first reached half court, so he said we better hit the shower. That time we made it."
"What did it look like?" Matt asked.
"What?" Roy asked, teasing just a bit.
"Come on," the boy replied.
Teasing was something you never did for more than ten seconds. He was excited about the boy's reticence as an electric wire they somehow shared. He thought he knew a way to create a breakthrough.
"Matt," he whispered, "would you like to play a special game? It might make it easier for you to get comfortable."
"I don't want that," the boy answered, "plus, I'm plenty comfortable."
"No," Roy explained, "I mean psychologically comfortable. You know, so you can say the word you want to say."
"How can we do that?" the child asked, backing so his big brown eyes looked directly into those of his adult partner.
"If it makes you uptight, don't do anything, and we'll do something else, but, if you want, you can go up to Theresa's room., second on the left at the top of the stairs. A lot of boys at least like to experiment dressing up as girls, so, if you were cool with it, you could go up and take your time. Pick out anything you want. If you duck into Chick's room, she's got a wig for Pocahontas, raven black hair with a single long pony tale. You're a thousand miles from being a fem boy, so if you want to experiment I don't think you'll end up breaking in to steal panties and bras or having unnatural thoughts about your mother.
"Call it a vote of confidence."
"Second door on the left?" was all Matt could think of to say.
"Yes," Roy whispered back to him, "and you can call me daddy, if you want to." He handed Matt the athletic cup and watched the cutie as he made his way haltingly into the interior of the house.
Matt found Chic's room, first, and retrieved the expensive wig. He carried it to the younger daughter's room, and lay it in the dresser while he explored. A summer frock jumped out at him and he half giggled to himself as he spread it on the bed over a British expression he'd heard on television. It went: In for a penny, in for a pound. A line from Mary Poppins also flitted through the boy's active mind. Best begun, soonest done.
The girls things were cute. Pretty. What the heck, stiff like that was part of life. Too much was claustrophobic, like living in a flower, but none? That didn't sound too cool. It took him about five minutes to make the change, most of it experimenting with pantyhose, then feeling they were not right for a summer dress, and returning them neatly to their place.
Once dressed, he put on the raven pony tail, and turned to face the mirror on the door. His oval face and soft brown eyes did well in the girl department. He supposed his neck was long and swan-like, his shoulders gamin with a bit of husk that might be expected in an athletic young female. In all, he felt no particular thrill and summarized that transvestitism might well be something which filled a void rather than something that was inherently exciting. What was inherently exciting was the adult male about thirty feet away. Managing a quick curtsey, what the hell, he grinned at his almost shockingly cute self, and began his miles down that final corridor, swimming and almost drowning in the knowledge he was the happiest ten year old in the world.
Roy had had enough of teasing and acting a bit silly with the boy. He had peeled his shirt and dropped his shorts the moment Matt was out of sight, and now stood, arms at his side, in the middle of the room, where the boy would see him as soon as he rounded from the hall. He wondered how long he'd last, a la Donny, and had just pegged it at under ten minutes when there was a gentle knock. "I found some things, do you want to see, Daddy?" the sweet voice said.
"Don't come in, I'm not dressed, sweetheart," Roy responded. He could hear the stifled giggle from beside the door frame. Bot it didn't last long. The kid was into the game, instantly.
"Daddy," the sweet alto voice said, "I just want to dance with you. Nobody's here. How dressed do you have to be, just for the two of us?"
"Sweetheart," Roy responded, hardly able to talk by now, "I'm a big man and I don't have any clothes on, and I'm standing in the middle of the room. I just don't want you to be scared. So just look around the door frame, and I'll got hide in bed or something if you want me to, okay?"
"Can I look now?" the girlish voice came back.
"Yes, angel," Roy whispered, as loud as he could.
Matt didn't hear a sound he could understand, but nobody was saying no, that was for sure. He looked around the door and saw Roy standing ten feet away, his huge penis slightly bent as it stood in relief, hard against the taut stomach with its light brush of male hair.
The man held his left arm up so his hand was at shoulder level, and stretched his right from his waist toward the boy in the light blue dress. The boy raised his right arm as he came to the man, and they danced to no music at all.
. . .
Is thee a notation in musical scoring for a tease? Divertimento? That's a musical aside, a diversion, provided, usually by a soloist, outside the published suite. Well, I have no dictionary, so it will have to do. The point being that, while I'm too lazy, or preoccupied, as the case may be, to name my chapters, I would like to call this one "Divertimento for David." A tease. Why? Because he said there's so many females in my work, he's now posting it under a bisexual heading.
Having had my little fun, I'll say that I've finally arrived at a solution to the enigma of being posted under sf-fantasy. Pretty simple, when you stop to think about it. What I'm going to do is write a saga based on the Penitos. A boy band.
Not a single letter on this whole series; no guesses on Brad, no nothing. I'm selling literature in a comic factory, but, the very gnarly joke is I can write comics, too, and lo and behold, when you scratch the surface, underneath you find like 300,000 words, only half of them funny.
Writer to clams, signing off.
Posted by Thomas@btl.net.
xxx